The Child

by Sebastian Fitzek

  He gulped a couple of times, assailed by violent heartburn. Watching the boy beside him out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Simon was quite calm, almost relaxed. Unlike Stern himself, Simon didn’t give a start when the living-room door opened and a man came in, his bland face wreathed in smiles. At least sixty years old, he was no longer handsome in the classical sense. Age had thinned his once luxuriant hair at the temples and inscribed a network of fine wrinkles around his mouth, but this only added to his air of almost stately elegance. Despite his unconventional mode of dress.

  ‘There you are. How nice.’

  His voice sounded warm and friendly – thoroughly in keeping with the sympathetic aura he had about him. Eyes fixed on Simon alone, he clapped his hands in appreciation as he slowly drew nearer. The rustle of his dressing gown covered the sound of this subdued applause, which was almost inaudible in any case. His hands were encased in thick latex gloves.

  10

  Carina undid her ponytail and pulled off her raspberry-red headband. Borchert had advised her to dress as a jogger. In his opinion there was no better form of camouflage for someone running away from potential pursuers without attracting attention, but the elasticated headband had felt like a steel clamp around her throbbing head.

  What’s happened? Why isn’t Borchert answering his phone? Where’s Robert?

  Her fears for Simon redoubled with every heartbeat. She waited another minute, then made up her mind. She couldn’t sit there idly any longer.

  She turned the key in the ignition.

  But where should I drive to?

  She put the car into reverse. Her rear tyres hit the kerb with a bump. No matter. She was about to pull out of the parking bay when an orange delivery van double-parked just ahead, hemming her in.

  What the—

  A man got out of the van carrying two pizza cartons the size of wagon wheels. She wound her window down.

  ‘You! Move it!’ she yelled.

  The driver, a young student, gave her an impish grin, clearly amused by the red blotches on her angry face. He blew her a kiss.

  ‘I’ll only be a minute, darling.’

  Carina felt her throat tighten with panic. She remembered Borchert’s instructions before they split up. Anything goes, he’d said, but we mustn’t attract attention.

  So what to do now? The back of the van was obstructing her by a tyre’s width, but that was enough. To the rear her escape route was blocked by a tree with railings round it.

  This is impossible …

  Carina sounded her horn, but the student merely gave a casual wave without even looking round.

  OK. Don’t attract attention.

  She threw the car into reverse, crunching the gears, and it mounted the pavement with both rear wheels. Then she engaged first, removed her foot from the brake, and floored the gas pedal.

  ‘Hey, hey, hey!’

  The Golf crashed into the van’s rear door sideways on.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ she heard the driver yell. He dropped the pizza cartons and stared in horror at his van, which was now jutting into the road. The force of the collision had shattered its rear window.

  Yes, I am, thought Carina, and did it again. The second impact not only reduced her near-side wing to scrap metal but bulldozed the van far enough for her to exit the bay.

  ‘Hey! Stop!’

  She roared off down Argentinische Allee heedless of the yelling delivery man, who was spinning like a top as he looked around for witnesses to this outrageous incident.

  Carina knew that her own car had sustained some damage, judging by the sound of the tyre scuffing the wheel arch, but it didn’t stop her from driving even faster.

  What had Borchert said?

  She sped towards a red light, wondering feverishly which direction to take after the crossing.

  Borchert’s words came back to her: Just passing the petrol station on Potsdamer Chaussee …

  Damn it, Andi, there’s a petrol station on every other corner.

  She ignored the red light and turned sharp right. Somehow, heading out of town seemed more logical to her than driving back to the city centre. It was utter nonsense, of course, but she had to make a decision. She only hoped that fate had dealt her a decent hand of cards. For once.

  11

  Where’s he got to?

  Stern’s anger was focused on Borchert. For some unknown reason he was taking much too long. Five minutes at most, he’d said. Then he would break into the house and overpower the couple. After the intermezzo in Harry’s camper van, Stern felt confident that Borchert would manage to extract the information they needed – provided there was anything of value in the couple’s sick heads. He realized they were clutching at straws, of course. Stern had made up his mind that this operation must be their last, desperate attempt to get at the truth of Simon’s predictions.

  And find Felix.

  Afterwards, no matter how things turned out, he would call Engler and turn himself in. He was a lawyer, not a criminal, far less an undercover investigator of the paedophile world, one of whose fully paid-up members was sitting on the sofa beside him, fondling Simon’s knee.

  ‘How much?’ the man asked blithely, without taking his eyes off the boy. Stern tried to detect something diabolical in his profile, but he still looked like a nice old gentleman whom Stern would unhesitatingly have helped if his car had broken down.

  ‘We haven’t discussed that yet, my dear.’

  The woman was still standing beside the bureau. She gestured to Simon with her glass. ‘But take a good look at the boy. He looks ill to me.’

  ‘Really?’ The man lifted Simon’s chin. His latex gloves were even paler than the boy’s cheeks.

  ‘We advertised for clean goods. What’s wrong with him?’

  Stern felt like grabbing the man’s hand and breaking his fingers. He wouldn’t be able to control himself for much longer in the couple’s presence. If Borchert didn’t come in soon he would settle matters himself. The old man weighed twenty pounds less than him and would be easy to overpower, and the snake in shades shouldn’t present any problem as long as he retained the element of surprise. He would have to use the standard lamp’s extension lead to tie them up with. The only thing was …

  Stern was puzzled when the estate agent removed his latex-sheathed hand from Simon’s knee before he could intervene. Then he heard a faint hum. The vibration became more audible when the paedophile took a wafer-thin mobile phone from the pocket of his dressing gown.

  ‘I see, thanks,’ he said after some innocent preliminaries. Stern’s heartbeat accelerated. Although he couldn’t hear what was said on the other end of the line, the two parties appeared to be on good terms. The estate agent laughed and expressed his thanks twice more. Then his smile abruptly vanished and he stared at Stern.

  ‘All clear, I understand,’ he said, and hung up.

  The sofa emitted a sigh of relief as he rose and took Simon’s hand.

  ‘He’s a lawyer,’ he said, turning to his wife. ‘He’s wanted by the police for abducting this child from a hospital.’

  ‘What is all this nonsense?’ asked Stern, doing his best to sound calm and composed. In reality, his pulse was racing with fear. His heart beat all the faster when the woman pointed a gun at him.

  ‘Take that thing out of my face,’ he demanded. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing, Herr Stern. What game are you playing?’

  ‘No game. I came here to—’ Stern broke off. The man was still holding Simon’s hand.

  ‘While you’re talking business, my dear,’ he purred, ‘we’ll go upstairs, shall we?’ He blew his wife a kiss.

  ‘Robert?’ Simon said timidly as the man pulled him to his feet.

  Stern started to rise, but the woman jerked the gun at him. He blinked and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts whirling so ineffectually around in his head.

  What shall I do? Where’s Borchert? What the hell shall I
do?

  The handsome old monster holding the boy’s hand was a few steps from the door, and he had no idea how to stop them leaving the room.

  ‘Robert?’ Simon said again softly. He might have been asking permission to spend the night at a schoolfriend’s. He was still totally confident that his ‘lawyer’ would not put him in jeopardy. After all, Stern had promised to clear things up and protect him from any kind of danger. Whatever happened.

  Besides, the boy still firmly believed he was destined to kill someone on a bridge tomorrow morning. That being so, nothing could happen to him here and now.

  Stern sensed Simon’s train of thought, so he knew what would happen if he didn’t intervene at once.

  He had perhaps five seconds left before the brute to whose mercies he’d consigned the boy walked out and took him to his darkroom on another floor.

  Stern was wrong. They disappeared after only four seconds.

  12

  A speed camera caught her doing ninety kph past the cemetery. She didn’t even notice, but she took her foot off the gas even so. The traffic was suddenly slowing.

  What’s happening up ahead?

  All at once, on a level with Dreilinden, the cars ahead of her were pulling over into the right-hand lane.

  A tailback? At this hour?

  If anywhere, it should have been on the opposite carriageway, where Berliners out for a day’s drive in the country were now heading home.

  She pulled over likewise and slowed down. Then she spotted the trouble. A police car was occupying the fast lane in front of the lights before the intersection.

  Oh no, please no.

  Why did there have to be a police roadblock now of all times?

  She neared the flashing blue light and looked for a traffic cop flagging cars down at the side of the road. But there was no one and the traffic was flowing surprisingly smoothly. Most of it turned off right towards the station so as not to—

  Oh no …

  Tears sprang to Carina’s eyes. She took both hands off the wheel and clasped her mouth. Stationary beyond the patrol car was a small silver saloon the hazard lights of which were working on one side only. Borchert was nowhere to be seen, but there was no doubt who owned the Corolla.

  Andi must have broken down. Oh my God …

  Carina was slow to grasp the full implications. For a few seconds her mind refused to accept the truth. This was no police checkpoint. She wasn’t being flagged down or arrested. Something far worse was happening. Now. At this very moment. To Simon. At a place known only to Robert Stern, who was relying on help that would never arrive.

  And now? What now?

  Carina could only think in fragmentary sentences. She drove slowly past the Corolla and across the intersection in a stream of traffic, searching for a clue as to where Stern and Simon had been taken. Looking in her rear-view mirror, she saw two sturdy traffic cops start pushing Sophie’s car off the road.

  All at once a thought struck her. She turned and looked back.

  The direction of travel.

  The car was pointing straight on. Towards Potsdam. It wasn’t much to go on, but still. Once past the intersection Carina speeded up, spurred on by the thought that so far she hadn’t made a mistake. She was driving along the right road in the right direction. That irrational hope buoyed her, but for only some two hundred metres.

  And now?

  She shot past the turning to Grosser Wannsee without knowing whether she’d lost the trail.

  13

  ‘Abducted from a hospital? What’s the matter with the poor little mite?’

  The cynical creature sounded like a worried aunt as she continued to hold Stern in check with the gun. ‘I trust it’s nothing infectious?’

  Stern was still staring at the doorway through which Simon and the old pervert had just disappeared. He was incapable of replying and reluctant even to breathe. The thought of inhaling the same air as this woman – of sharing what had previously issued from her mouth and nose – was utterly repugnant to him.

  ‘You realize we won’t pay for damaged goods, don’t you?’ The face obscured by the sunglasses gave a throaty laugh and lit another cigarette. Stern could hear footsteps on the stairs, the creak of leather slippers drowning the faint squeak of Simon’s trainers. The sounds steadily faded.

  ‘Now, now, don’t move.’ She raised the gun. ‘My husband won’t be long. It’s only forty-five minutes to the first interval. Then it’ll be my turn.’

  She puckered her dark-brown lips in the semblance of a kiss. Stern, feeling sick to his stomach, looked at the ceiling. The footsteps were directly overhead.

  ‘Any moment now.’ The lips twisted into a grimace that presumably stood proxy for a smile.

  The next thing Stern heard was music – classical music. The paedophile was obviously an opera fan, because he recognized the strains of La Traviata. For the first time in his life, he wished Verdi had never written any arias for Violetta.

  ‘Right,’ said the woman, glancing at her watch. Let’s make the most of our time and have a little chat. Come on, out with it. What are you really after?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious?’ Stern hoped she wouldn’t notice the tremor in his voice. The soprano overhead was getting into her stride. ‘You advertised for a boy. I delivered him.’

  She was clever. She didn’t make the mistake of coming any closer. At this range she could empty a whole magazine into him before he’d covered half the distance between them. The only weapons he could use against her were his voice and his intelligence, and both were threatening to give up on him.

  Where the hell has Borchert got to?

  ‘You can’t be an informer – you’re wanted by the police yourself. But you aren’t one of us and you don’t behave like a lawyer, so why did you respond to our advertisement?’

  ‘I can explain the whole thing,’ he lied. The truth was, he had no idea what to say or do to avert the danger. He could hear footsteps overhead again.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Feverishly, Stern racked his brains for a plausible story while time was running out for Simon upstairs. He strove to remain outwardly calm. Inwardly he was programmed for escape, but there was no way out. If he stood up he was a dead man.

  ‘Well? Cat got your tongue? It’s a very simple question: Why did you abduct that child from a hospital and bring him to us?’

  It struck Stern that the footsteps had fallen into a rhythm. The madman was dancing. A sudden thought occurred to him as he listened. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but all at once it became clear. There was something he could do. Something profoundly repugnant and unnatural for which he would hate himself in retrospect. He nodded like someone who has had an idea and raised his hand. Slowly and cautiously, so as not to provoke a violent reaction on the woman’s part.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Answering your question. Showing you what I’m after.’

  She raised her left eyebrow far enough for it to show above the rim of her sunglasses. Stern had placed his hand on his chest. He proceeded to undo one of his shirt buttons, then another.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘May I take off my jacket?’

  ‘If you like …’

  He not only slipped off his jacket, he undid the rest of his shirt buttons. Moments later he was sitting on the sofa stripped to the waist.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  In lieu of a reply, Stern ran his tongue over his lips and swallowed twice in quick succession. He hoped he looked lascivious. In reality, he was suppressing steadily mounting nausea.

  ‘Oh, come on.’ The woman had momentarily lowered her gun. She raised it again. ‘You don’t think I’ll fall for that?’

  ‘Why not? That’s why I’m here.’ Stern kicked off each off his leather slip-ons in turn and unbuckled his belt.

  ‘You said it yourself: I’m not a cop. I’m not an informant either. I’m plain horny.’ He pulled the belt out of his trousers and tossed i
t over to her.

  ‘Come here and see for yourself.’

  He couldn’t see her eyes, so he didn’t know if his theory held good, but experience had taught the lawyer in him that there was always some form of bait you could dangle in front of an opponent like a carrot in front of a donkey. With most people it was greed or lust that made them do things they regretted later.

  The woman laughed. ‘You’re crazy,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette.

  ‘Maybe, but I’ll prove it if you like.’

  He pulled off his socks. All he was wearing now were the thin trousers of his second-hand suit.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Come here and have a feel.’

  ‘No, no, no.’ She continued to stand there with the gun trained on his crotch. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Stern couldn’t help smiling. He wasn’t play-acting now. She’d taken the bait. Not completely as yet, but he could see her breathing faster and hear the note of excitement in her voice. He had struck some chord within her. But was it the right one?

  ‘Stand up.’ She backed towards the door, careful to maintain the distance between them.

  He complied. It was good to move. In the right direction, too. Anything was preferable to sitting idly on the sofa and waiting for the soprano’s voice to mingle with Simon’s screams. At least, that was what he thought until the woman said, ‘Let’s see how horny it makes you to watch my husband in action.’

  14

  Carina was convulsed with panic.

  What should she do? Drive straight on along Königstrasse? If so, how far? To Glienicker Bridge? Or turn off right towards the waterfront? She could also take one of the many access roads on her left.