The Sinner

by Petra Hammesfahr

  "So what did you tell the chief?" Brauning asked hesitantly.

  "Well, about the two men and Frankie sitting on the sofa. Don't you have that in your file?"

  He shook his head. "That's odd," she said, "I didn't think he was slipshod. I told him they were friends of Frankie's," she went on eagerly, "and that the girl wanted me to do it with both of them at the same time. I'd like to stick to that story, and I'd also like to explain that Frankie was my pimp."

  `And was he?" Brauning asked.

  "Of course not," she said, sounding almost indignant, "but no one can prove the opposite. I'd already thought that over, but now ..." She broke off and smiled apologetically. "Things sometimes get mixed up when I'm thinking, but don't worry, I'll work it out."

  She sat back in her chair. "Well," she said, nodding thoughtfully, "we've discussed everything now It's been worthwhile, at least from your point of view, and you won't need to come again. I'm going to try to think some more. Perhaps you'd better go."

  Brauning thought so too. He had now gained some understanding, if not of her and her motives, of the police officers who had questioned her. It was time to discuss the case with Helene.

  She kept tripping over fragments, picking herself up and roaming on across the rubble-strewn wasteland that had once been a brain neatly divided into two halves by a wall. The chief's visit had left her in such a bad way, she'd lost herself. Although she occasionally came across bits of herself, they usually dated from another time.

  When her lawyer appeared, this chaotic jumble spewed out bits of the Cora who had defied her father-in-law and extracted an office, a salary and, finally, a house from him. Except that these fragments disappeared while Brauning was seated across the table from her.

  She found herself seated once more at Magdalena's bedside and down at the lake with Frankie. She dipped her face in his blood. The next moment, Johnny was smiling at her from the front seat of a car, even though she knew full well it couldn't have happened that way. It was as unreal as God the Father bending over her at night, when she thought she was asleep, and speaking of his guiltless son.

  She badly needed someone to help her clear away the biggest fragments, but it would have to be a very special person. Someone who understood and, if need be, believed in miracles and desires that turned into mental images. You had to believe in them when there was no alternative. But no such special person appeared, so she made a lone attempt to create a little order, a somewhat tidier impression.

  She realized that the other beds weren't a ploy soon after the day of her attorney's visit. How long after, she couldn't have said one day resembled another - but that was unimportant. She had no contact with the other women. Unlike her, they lived in relative freedom. She left the ward only when another session with the professor was due. Her fear of him was soon a thing of the past. She got on well with him and quickly discovered what he wanted to hear. She even ended by telling him about Magdalena because she assumed that he would hear about her from the chief in any case.

  And Frankie was to blame for Magdalena's death. She had eventually discussed this with her attorney. The professor didn't believe her at first because Frankie's father was a colleague of his and a professor like himself. He said a handsome young man of good family had no need to go pimping.

  She'd thought the same at one time, but what she'd thought had ceased to matter. All that mattered now was to marshal her thoughts like a flock of frightened lambs and prevent them from stampeding. They usually did that when wolves were chasing them but not during her conversations about Frankie the pimp. Then the flock stood firm, and the wolves kept their distance.

  Why shouldn't Frankie have been a pimp? He thought it chic to have a girl who danced to his tune. He'd never spoken about it to his father, of course. Nobody knew, but it was true! He'd accosted her that night in August and insisted on her having sex with two men at the same time.

  Frankie had expected a lot of her - too much, in fact. And when Magdalena was dead-when she needed him badly- he'd grown tired of her and found himself a new girlfriend. And, because she wouldn't go away of her own accord, he'd told his friends to teach her a lesson. They'd beaten her up while he and his new girlfriend watched.

  Her attorney would have been proud of her if he could have heard her. Although the professor was the expert, it was as easy to lie to him as it had been to Mother. She spent a total of three sessions drumming the pimp scenario into his head. She went into detail, adding the occasional embellishment and coming out with every enormity the human brain could devise. The little demons with redhot pincers provided excellent models for the perverted clients she described.

  The professor had her taken back to the ward when he'd heard enough. There she was a madwoman who could let herself go, and she did. When no one else was around it didn't matter where she was or whether she herself was present. Plenty of other people were there. Mother and Father, Magdalena and Johnny, Billy-Goat and Tiger, Frankie and a doctor. Not to mention her fear and shame and guilt.

  Members of the nursing staff came in periodically, but since they entered by the door she knew exactly how to behave. She spoke normally to them, confining herself to trivialities for fear of making a mistake. "What's for lunch today?" she would ask. "It smells nice." Or she would look at the mush on her plate and say: "I wish I had a better appetite, but I've never been a great eater."

  Sometimes she would also ask: "Do you think I could have a really decent cup of coffee? I'm always so tired. Some coffee would do me good, I'm sure."

  She wasn't anything like as tired as she made out. That was because she only took her prescribed medication at night. Then she went straight to sleep and didn't have to cope with the other women, one of whom might have asked why she was there. But the pills on her tray in the morning she got rid of. The nursing staff were careless, and she herself was very convincing.

  She had the situation under better control without medication. She could ask Father's forgiveness, enthuse to Mother about communing with God in the open air and tell Magdalena about her randy boyfriends and their forthcoming flight to America. Frankie and the other young men were the only ones she didn't say a word to. Her throat seized up when Frankie gave her his forgiving look. He must have known he'd been born a sacrificial lamb destined to wash away her sins with his blood. What else could have accounted for the look on his face?

  Perhaps Mother's preachifying hadn't been so crazy after all. If the Saviour had ascended into heaven two thousand years ago, who or what was there to prevent him from returning to help and redeem people once more? To enable her to experience a few minutes' absolute freedom? Perhaps he had brought that platinum blonde to the lake for one reason alone: to demonstrate to her that Magdalena had been a dirty beast. Perhaps he wanted her to fight, not for her outward freedom but only for the inward sense of being redeemed by him.

  She would have liked to discuss this with her lawyer, but she didn't see him again for the time being. The chief paid her another visit and wanted to talk about irrelevancies with her, but she shook her head, and he left it at that. He hadn't come as a policeman, just as an ordinary visitor.

  And, like anyone visiting the sick, lie came bearing gifts. A newspaper, a bottle of shampoo and some fruit. Three apples. Golden Delicious. No knife. He looked rather sheepish as he deposited the paper bag on the table.

  "I hope you'll enjoy them, even if you can't cut them up first," he said.

  His embarrassment rendered him harmless and human. So did his first few questions. Had she had any visitors?

  "My attorney came one day."

  "No one else?"

  Who, for instance? She knew what he was getting at: Gereon. But that chapter was closed. It was almost as if she'd invented her years with him. Family, job, a child, a house, a nice life. It was over. Her stories only had a dramatic ending, never a sequel.

  The chief had had another word with Margret. He'd gone to the trouble of driving all the way to Buchholz again to ask after
her father, because he thought she might be interested. Of course she was interested, and it almost moved her to tears that an enemy should display such a generous human emotion.

  Margret was still with her father. She sent her love and said how dismayed she was to hear that Cora had been transferred to a psychiatric ward. He repeated what Margret had said, word for word: "For God's sake get her out of there before she really loses her mind. Have you any idea what you're doing to her?"

  The chief spoke of this quite openly. He was straight with her too. Unfortunately, he said, he had no influence in this respect. It all depended on her, on how well she cooperated with Professor Burthe. Had she now told him about Magdalena?

  "Yes, of course," she assured him.

  Rudolf Grovian wagged his head at her. Her smile spoke volumes. She might just as well have said: "I told him a pack of lies." He injected a hint of fatherly reproof into his voice.

  "You must tell him the truth, Frau Bender, so that lie can form an accurate impression. You'll only harm yourself if you lie to him. Your future depends on his report."

  She gave a low laugh. "I don't want a future. I've enough of a past to last me for a century. Please give Margret my love and tell her she's wrong; it's like being on vacation. You don't get a tan, but everything else is fine. The service here is no worse than in a cheap hotel, and the staff are nice. No one complains, no one expects a tip. During the day I even have a room to myself, as you see. I'll tell you something: if the word gets around, they'll be run off their feet. Some day you'll be happy to be able to keep me company in here. It's restful, I can guarantee you that. Now and then you have a civilized conversation with an educated man, but the rest of the time you can devote yourself to your own thoughts."

  "What thoughts do you devote yourself to, Frau Bender?"

  She shrugged. "Oh, it varies. My favourite thought is that I killed Frankie's wife instead of Frankie himself, and that I only tried to take the knife away from her. To be honest, I'd have preferred it if the little demons had concerned themselves with my sins at a later stage. I'm not Pontius Pilate."

  Grovian nodded. He'd had a row at home, the first real row for twelve or fifteen years. He couldn't even have said how long ago it was since Mechthild had lost her temper. She'd made a hell of a scene when he casually asked her at breakfast if he could take the spare bottle of shampoo from the bathroom and maybe a newspaper or something else to read.

  She'd stared at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "Why, planning to give Hoss a shampoo and read to him, or have you something else in mind? Rudi, don't tell me you're ..."

  Of course he was, he had to. He'd learned a lot on his second visit to Buchholz - far more than he'd dared to hope - but it still wasn't enough to complete the puzzle. For that lie needed another few pieces, and they were buried in her head. He'd tried to explain this to Mechthild.

  That had started it. It ended with: `All right, go! Go and see her if you can't leave well alone. She can keep you, for all I care!"

  Then Mechthild had rushed into the living room, snatched the apples from the fruit bowl and slammed them down on the table in front of him. "Here, you'd better take these too. You can use them to reconstruct the course of events."

  She was barking up the wrong tree. What he wanted to reconstruct had nothing to do with apples.

  He proceeded to chat in a casual, innocuous way. Her father was genuinely a little better. The doctors said lie was over the worst. Margret wanted to find him a good nursing home. She was also thinking of returning to Cologne in the course of next week. Then he asked Cora whether she was allowed to talk to him at all. Private visit or not, her lawyer might have advised her to keep her mouth shut.

  This made her smile again. "No, he looked as if he could use some good advice himself. He reminded me of Horsti in a way. Not that he's a weedy little runt, but he's just as shy and just as easily impressed."

  Grovian had really wanted to spend a little longer talking about her attorney. Eberhard Brauning ... The DA had mentioned the name, but it didn't mean anything to him. He would have liked to know if Brauning was a tough customer. The court-appointed attorneys included one or two tough customers who did their best for their clients.

  Mechthildwas of the opinion that Cora Bender needed a really tough attorney whose first concern would be to keep a certain policeman away from his client because the said policeman was on the verge of insanity himself. That was, perhaps, the favourable aspect of the aggro at home: that Mechthild was concerned about him. "You're wearing yourself out, Rudi. Just look at yourself! My God, you aren't twenty-five any more - you need your sleep."

  And he hadn't had much sleep in the last few nights. Too many thoughts racing around in his head. He would gladly have given a few away - to her lawyer, for instance. It was understandable that she should deny him, a policeman, access to her last line of defence. He had been her assailant from the outset, whereas an efficient defence counsel would be quick to convince Cora Bender that he was on her side.

  What she had just said did not smack of efficiency or powers of persuasion, and Horsti was the second item on Grovian's agenda. He seized upon the subject, grateful not to have to rack his brains for a way of bringing her round to it.

  He hadn't undertaken yet another long drive to Buchholz to talk to Margret or enquire about her brother's condition. There was nothing more to enquire about. Wilhelm Rosch was dead, and Margret was looking for a nursing home for her sister-in-law, who couldn't be left in the neighbour's care indefinitely. But Grovian couldn't have brought himself to break this news, even if Professor Burthe hadn't specifically advised against it: "Frau Bender couldn't cope with it." Of course not! So Horsti had been approved as a harmless topic of conversation.

  It hadn't taken him much of an effort, just a few questions, to locate Cora's first boyfriend. Grit Adigar's daughter Melanie, now back from Denmark, had recalled that Horsti's surname was Cremer and knew where to find him: at Asendorf, a small village not far from Buchholz. But that wasn't all Melanie knew

  The three of them had sat in Grit Adigar's modern, airy living room while Melanie dredged her memory.

  She had once seen Cora at the Aladdin with Johnny Guitar. On Magdalena's birthday. Grit sought to contradict her daughter on that point. "You must be wrong," she said. "Cora would never have gone out that night."

  "I know what I saw, Mother," Melanie said reproachfully. "I was surprised myself - I even spoke to her about it. She was on her own, and ..." A touch of jealousy manifested itself. Johnny Guitar was a blond Adonis, a fascinating youngster. Melanie obviously wouldn't have kicked him out of bed herself, although he was to be treated with care. He always went around with a fat little acolyte.

  Melanie had once seen a girl come back into the Aladdin after going for a drive with the pair - in tears! She retired to the ladies' with a couple of girlfriends. Melanie was curious, so she eavesdropped on them. "The swine!" she heard the girl say between sobs. `Johnny didn't lift a finger - he simply let him do it. I'm going to report them!" Someone else said: "You'd better keep your mouth shut. We did warn you, but you went with them of your own free will."

  They all kept their mouths shut. However, Johnny had found it harder to pick up girls after that, and it could only be a matter of time before he changed his stamping ground. Melanie doubted whether Cora had learned of his dangerous reputation because she was always with Horsti.

  But not that night. Johnny promptly seized his opportunity, and Cora became absolutely infatuated with him. They danced and necked. Watching them, Melanie made up her mind to warn Cora before Johnny talked her into going for a drive. But then a miracle occurred: his fat little friend also got lucky that night. She saw him dancing, almost without a break and always with the same girl. She was new to the Aladdin, blonde and rather plump but quite cute. Just right for a boy like him.

  "We left around half-past ten," Melanie said. "He was still dancing with her, and Cora was with Johnny. I didn't want to spoil her fun
. Besides, I thought nothing much could happen if she was in a foursome. That was the last time I saw Cora. Johnny and his friend never reappeared after that either."

  Horst Cremer confirmed and amplified those particulars. He had last seen Cora the first weekend in May. She told him she couldn't meet him for another two weeks. She gave no special reason. She certainly didn't say anything about her sister being worse, but then she very seldom mentioned her sister at all.

  Horst had stayed at home on the night of 16 May. On 23 May he waited in vain for Cora to show up at the Aladdin. He hung around outside her parents' house for the next two evenings, hoping to get some explanation from her. Also without success. He didn't dare ring the bell; he was too intimidated by the horror stories she'd told him about her martinet of a father.

  He tried his luck once more on the last Saturday in May, but Cora still didn't show When he asked around, he was told that she'd done the dirty on him on the sixteenth. Melanie Adigar wasn't the only one who'd witnessed the start of her liaison with Johnny Guitar. Several other people claimed to have seen her get into a car with Johnny and his fat friend later that night, accompanied by another girl whom nobody knew

  This information had instantly reminded Rudolf Grovian of the skeleton on Luneburg Heath. Nothing much could happen if she was in a foursome? Like hell it couldn't!

  He failed to discover the make of the car in question. Melanie Adigar had no precise recollection of it. "They didn't always turn up in the same car. It may have been a silver Golf on one occasion, but that would have belonged to the little fatty. Johnny went in for classy motors like Porsches or Jaguars. Once I saw him getting out of an American job, no idea what make. Lime green it was, I remember, with huge fins and lots of chrome - an oldie, a regular show-off's car. I remember thinking his daddy must be rich or in the second-hand car business."