Nina has to sit down before she returns Franzen’s call.
25
On Saturday afternoon, Nina helps Rebekka get ready for the evening. There isn’t really much getting ready to do: Rebekka will be wearing the black dress inspected and approved by Antonia, along with a neat white apron to match Hannah’s. But Rebekka is nervous and excited, and this has manifested itself in her indecision how to wear her hair.
‘Maybe a ponytail,’ she says, looking up at Nina in the mirror. On Rebekka’s insistence, Nina has taken the large mirror from the hall and set it up in front of the living room window, ‘for the light’. Rebekka sits on a stool looking into the mirror. Nina stands behind her with hairbrush and clips at the ready.
‘Or a bun. That would look good, wouldn’t it? Suit the whole “maid” look.’
Nina scrapes Rebekka’s lovely thick hair into a ponytail, then twists it around itself and secures it with bobby pins. ‘How’s that?’
Rebekka turns her head to the left, to the right, not taking her eyes off her reflection. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, then poses a smile, and a pout.
Nina feels ragged. She slept three, maybe four hours last night, and those few hours were distorted by half-grasped dreams, thoughts, memories, in which all seemed perfectly clear one moment, only to fog over and crumble into nothingness the next. Jessica Thiel knew Marie. Had they been friends? Had Jessica used Marie’s pen-name as some kind of joke? No, she decides, Jessica didn’t seem the type. Too uncertain of herself, too timid for that sort of humour. But her husband – a violent, choleric thug, more than capable of using his fists against a woman. No wonder his wife had such a defeated air. In one of countless dreams, Nina saw him pinning Marie against a wall, holding her arm twisted behind her back as her mouth gaped open in terror and pain. She’d woken at dawn with her heart thumping.
‘Ow, Mama, that hurts!’
Nina looks down and realises she’s pushing a bobby pin into Rebekka’s skull.
‘Sorry.’ She loosens the pin and then slides it gently into the bun.
‘No,’ Rebekka says decisively. ‘It makes my face look fat. Maybe I should curl it and then pin it up.’
Nina checks her watch and yawns. ‘Well, you’ve got just over half an hour before you have to leave the house. If you want me to curl it, fine, but then that’s it. No more changing your mind.’
She starts removing the pins. When she told Franzen about Marie’s connection with Jessica Thiel, he sounded interested, but guarded. As usual, he was impossible to read. That’s probably a prerequisite for his job, but it’s frustrating beyond belief. The hunt for Thiel has been moved up the priority list, he told her, but there were other things he wasn’t at liberty to discuss. ‘We’re doing our best, Dr Bergmann,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’
A sharp jolt of pain in her palm jolts her out of her thoughts. She has pressed a hairpin so tightly in her fist she has drawn blood.
Thankfully, Rebekka hasn’t noticed. ‘Okay, Mama. Final decision. Curl and up.’ She demonstrates with her hands. ‘But plenty of hairspray, okay?’
Twenty-five minutes later, Rebekka’s hair has been styled to her (near) satisfaction, they have had the obligatory argument, negotiations and compromise regarding make-up – a little mascara, no rouge, a touch of lip gloss, absolutely no perfume – and Rebekka heads for the study to present herself to her father.
‘Never a prettier maid,’ he says, laughing and winking at her.
‘Maid to be a lady,’ Rebekka responds.
‘Maid to measure.’
‘All maid up and nowhere to go.’
‘Listen,’ Nina says, slightly sorry to be spoiling their fun. ‘Don’t let Omi hear you say that. She prefers the term “housekeeper”.’
‘Why?’ asks Rebekka.
‘I don’t know. Middle-class guilt, I suppose.’
‘Whatever,’ Rebekka says, going back into the living room to take a last look in the mirror. ‘As long as I get the fifty euros, she can call me what she likes.’
Sebastian laughs. Nina helps Rebekka into her coat, insisting she take an umbrella, just in case.
‘We’ll see you at around nine,’ she says, kissing her daughter on the cheek. ‘Everyone else will be coming straight from the festival at Brandenburg Gate, so Papa and I will probably be there first.’
‘Okay. Later, then.’ Rebekka steps out into the cold. ‘God, I hope I don’t spill anyone’s soup in their lap,’ she says, pulling a face.
‘You won’t. You’ll have fun. Now, off you go, or you’ll be late.’
Nina gives her a small wave and watches Bekka walk towards the bus stop. She looks so grown up, with her straight-backed, confident gait. What happened to her little girl? You stand so close to your children, she thinks, that you fail to see them growing. It’s almost the cruellest price to pay. One minute, they’re still in nappies, the next they’re wearing bras and braces, and menstruating, and picking up on hidden emotions with some adult radar. At this moment, she regrets not having taken more photographs, not having bothered getting out the camcorder (but the battery was never fully charged, the memory card was full, the cables never where they should be), and decides she has no excuses not to get out her phone more often. Better late than never; at least she won’t lose out on Kai’s vanishing childhood in that way.
She wonders where these emotions are coming from. Was she feeling like this before Sebastian mentioned having another baby? Or did this trigger some unconscious need, some underlying longing to start again, from the beginning? Perhaps – and Nina entertains this thought only for a single, painful second – she wants to replace the baby Marie couldn’t have.
*
Nina stands at the sink brushing her teeth while Sebastian takes a shower. The mirror has steamed up, so she wipes it with her hand, creating a circle that reflects only her face, neck and the tops of her shoulders. Her eyes are still puffy from lack of sleep. As she counts brushstrokes in her head – a habit she acquired in childhood and has never abandoned – she notices how nicely pronounced her collarbone has become. She traces the bone with the fingers of her free hand, tapping softly and listening out for the slight, hollow sound. She spits and rinses. Sebastian steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist.
‘I’m looking forward to tonight,’ he says, coming to stand behind her. He leans against her to wipe the mirror at his eye level.
‘Are you?’ Nina says. She doesn’t what to wear to the dinner. The dress code is, naturally, black tie, and she has a few evening dresses to choose from. But two of them are off-the-shoulder, and the others have spaghetti straps. She worries that her mother will notice the weight loss and she could kick herself for not planning ahead. This morning, on the scales, she was 800 grams away from her target. She should have bought a stole, or an evening jacket. She’ll have to wear the black silk cardigan, although she hasn’t even taken it out the wardrobe for years and it probably smells of mothballs.
‘Sure. There’ll be some interesting people there,’ Sebastian says and gently nudges her out of the way so he can start shaving. ‘And the food’s bound to be great.’
Nina steps through to the bedroom and pats her legs dry, carefully avoiding the bruise on her right knee. Then she slips into her underwear and a tracksuit. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Sebastian watching her.
‘I’m going to do my hair before I get dressed,’ she explains.
‘You don’t want to overdo it,’ he says, spreading shaving foam over his lower face.
‘No,’ she replies. ‘I was thinking of the dark blue dress, you know, the one with the sequins at the front.’
‘I don’t mean that,’ he says. ‘I mean the diet.’ He strokes his own stomach. ‘It’s not as though I don’t admire your discipline. I get to the gym twice a month these days if I’m lucky. But you don’t want to get too thin.’ He grins at her. ‘Your boobs will shrink.’
Heat rises to the top of her head.
‘I, I’m not
–’
She’s saved by the doorbell.
Sebastian looks at her. ‘You expecting anyone?’
‘No,’ she replies. ‘You don’t think it’s Vanessa, do you?’
Vanessa – the mother of Kai’s friend Jakob – came to pick up Kai earlier for a sleepover. ‘Did you make sure to give her your mobile number?’ Nina adds.
‘Of course,’ he replies, giving his jaw a last scrape with the shaver. He turns to her. ‘I can hardly get the door like this, can I?’
She gets up and goes downstairs to open the front door. It is Franzen.
‘May I come in?’ he asks.
Her heart skips and she steps aside to let him in. A gust of damp, icy air blows in behind him.
‘I’m very sorry to intrude,’ he says, as Nina closes the front door and gestures towards the living room. ‘I thought I should come in person, rather than phone.’
He’s come to tell her that they’ve found Thiel, or that they’ve charged Fraunhofer with Marie’s murder and, suddenly, Nina falls back into last night’s dream, except now she is picturing Fraunhofer’s slim, solemn face, twisted into rage and violence, his thin white hands curled into bony fists as he beats the life out of Marie.
‘Would you like to sit down?’ he asks, placing his hand gently on her arm.
‘Oh. Yes.’ She takes a seat on the sofa, Franzen opposite, like the last time he was here.
There are footsteps on the stairs. Franzen looks at the door.
‘My husband,’ Nina says.
‘Good,’ Franzen says. ‘It’s better if you both hear this.’
‘Have you spoken to my parents yet?’ she asks.
He shakes his head. ‘No. I recall your father mentioning that he’s involved in some . . . event, today.’
Sebastian comes in, wearing his black dinner suit but with the bow tie still loose at his throat. He looks at Franzen, and frowns. Franzen stands up and holds out his hand to shake.
‘Hello, Herr Lanz,’ he says. ‘I was just telling your wife that I thought it better to come by in person. I do apologise if I’m intruding.’
Sebastian takes his hand. ‘Are you on duty today?’
‘Afraid so.’ Franzen lets out a quiet laugh. ‘It’s the kind of job that doesn’t take account of weekends and national holidays.’
‘Please, sit down,’ Sebastian says, and Franzen takes his seat. Sebastian sits beside Nina, taking her hand and interlacing his fingers in hers. ‘So,’ he continues, and she wonders how he can stay so calm, ‘what can we do for you?’
‘Well, the first thing I can tell you is that we’ve located Frau Thiel.’
Nina lets out a small gasp. ‘Where? Is she all right?’
Franzen nods. ‘She’s staying at a women’s refuge. The women who run the place are very protective, understandably – their address is only available on a need-to-know basis –’
‘Even to the police?’ Sebastian sounds incredulous.
‘Yes,’ Franzen continues. ‘But they allowed a female officer to go and interview her. Frau Thiel recalls meeting a young woman at a café several months ago, by the name of Dora. They got chatting, and the woman gave her your card, Dr Bergmann. Apparently, Frau Thiel was worried she might be pregnant and, well, it wasn’t something she was happy about.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Nina sees Sebastian turning to her and raising a single eyebrow. She remains facing forward. ‘I see.’
‘Frau Thiel gave a description of Dora that matches that of Marie. She had no idea what had happened to Marie – the murder, I mean. She was quite distressed about it, by all accounts. But she did give her husband an alibi for the day of the attack. He was sleeping off a hangover on the day in question. He didn’t leave their flat until late afternoon.’
Nina squeezes Sebastian’s hand so hard her fingers begin to feel numb. As hard, she thinks, as she squeezed his hand when she was in labour with Kai.
‘Perhaps she’s frightened,’ she says, releasing her grip to place her hands on her lap. ‘Perhaps she’s giving him an alibi because she’s afraid of her husband finding out.’
Franzen tugs at his earlobe and looks quite uncomfortable.
Sebastian stands up, crosses his arms across his chest. ‘I think my wife has a valid point,’ he says. ‘It’s quite possible that the woman is lying, surely. Which would be understandable.’
Franzen fixes him with a stare, and then also gets to his feet. ‘Herr Lanz, please sit down.’
Sebastian hesitates, but then sits back down and drapes his arm around Nina’s shoulders.
Franzen returns to his chair. He looks at her. ‘Herr Thiel was killed in the early hours of this morning in road traffic accident. The driver of the car he was in careered headfirst into a tree. The pathologist’s report isn’t final yet, but they both evidently had high levels of alcohol in their blood.’
Nina’s hand flies up to cover her mouth.
‘God in heaven,’ Sebastian murmurs.
‘I’m sorry if this comes as a shock,’ Franzen continues. ‘You will receive official confirmation by the prosecution service that the case against him has been discontinued. But I thought you might like to know as soon as possible. I’m sure this has been a concern for you. I’m sorry, perhaps I should’ve told you this news first.’
Sebastian lets out a grunt of disapproval and turns to Nina. ‘Are you all right?’
She nods, barely. She can’t find her voice. This wasn’t what she’d expected. But then, surely, Marie’s murderer must be Jakob Fraunhofer, and the relief at this thought, at the clarity of the circumstances, gives rise to a kind of elation.
‘There’s more, I’m afraid.’ Franzen takes a deep breath as if to drag down the bubble of hope inside her. ‘Jakob Fraunhofer is no longer a focus of our enquiry.’
No one speaks. Nina can hear the dishwasher go through a rinse cycle, a whoosh followed by a dull thumping sound. Sebastian probably put a wooden spoon or something in the cutlery tray, and now it’s hitting off the spinning arm. Or perhaps it’s the sound the dishwasher always makes, she can’t be sure. She can feel her pulse in her throat, or rather, in that fleshy part on the underside of her tongue. What’s the term for that? She can’t remember.
‘He’s been dropped from the investigation?’ Sebastian says. ‘What? Completely?’
Franzen nods. He looks sad at having to convey this information to them.
‘He had an alibi without knowing it. A Russian import-export shop on Schönhauser Allee had an illegal CCTV camera installed, facing the street. Anyway, Fraunhofer had claimed that he went for a long walk up Schönhauser Allee on the morning of the attack, without meeting anyone who could corroborate this. My colleague, Kommissar Maslowski, saw a copy of a complaint someone had made about the camera, so we decided to check it out. And there he was, Fraunhofer, on the morning of the attack, heading north shortly before nine a.m., and back south again at ten.’
‘That was lucky,’ Sebastian says dryly. ‘Your colleague coming across the complaint like that.’
Franzen holds his hands out, palms facing upwards. ‘That’s the way these things work sometimes.’ He sounds tired, unwilling to engage with Sebastian’s hostility.
Nina’s mind has fogged over. She clears her throat. ‘But wouldn’t that still give him enough time to get to Marie’s?’ she asks. ‘Frau Lehmholz only found her at eleven.’
Franzen shakes his head. ‘No. Even if he borrowed someone’s car, or took a taxi, he wouldn’t have made it to Marie’s flat much before ten-thirty, ten-twenty at the earliest. And we know that he was at work at half past ten.’ He pauses, then looks straight at her. ‘Truly, I’m sorry.’
Nina looks away.
Sebastian leans back and crosses his arms over his chest once more. ‘What happens now? Are there any, what would you call them, second-order suspects?’
‘No. There’s the man Frau Lehmholz saw, or claims to have seen. But –’ Franzen sighs. ‘To be honest, it doesn’t look promising. I’m
sorry I’m not able to give you better news.’
Nina realises that she’s freezing. She’s afraid that if she opens her mouth to speak again, her teeth will start chattering.
Franzen stands up and says in a brusque tone, ‘I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I’ll contact you if there are any developments.’
Sebastian also gets to his feet. ‘Thanks for coming by.’ He holds out his hand. Franzen shakes it and nods at Nina.
‘But what about that letter from Robert?’ The sentence bursts from her mouth.
Franzen and Sebastian turn to look at her.
‘The letter, it was among her things. You must have read it. Robert was still in love with her. That’s a motive, isn’t it? Even if he wasn’t the father of her baby. Especially if he wasn’t the father of her baby.’
‘Nina,’ Sebastian says with an odd tilt to his voice. ‘Robert has an alibi.’
‘What?’
Franzen frowns. ‘I told you this, when I came to see you. The Max Planck Institute in Leipzig was hosting a conference on the day Marie was attacked. There are some twenty people who can corroborate Robert’s presence there.’
‘But . . .’ She blinks several times. Did he tell her that? She would have remembered, surely. She gets to her feet. And suddenly she’s on a roll, making connections she hasn’t made before. ‘But what about his new girlfriend? You said yourself you don’t know the gender of the attacker. The murderer. It could’ve been Robert’s girlfriend! Hmm? She might have been jealous about Marie and Robert’s past, about the two of them wanting to stay friends. That’s enough to drive someone to –’
‘Frau Bergmann.’ Franzen voice is all smooth edges now. ‘I do understand, believe me. And yet I’m going to be quite frank with you. You are clutching at straws. This is not unreasonable behaviour, under the circumstances. But we have exhausted all possible leads, asked all possible questions and explored all possible avenues. Not to solve a case is an extremely frustrating outcome for any police officer, and I realise that what is frustrating for me is unimaginably painful for you. The case will remain open, but for now, there is nothing more we can do. I’m sorry.’
Sisters of Berlin Page 19
