Black Ice (18 page)

Scholten sat up straight. And there was something else too.

He'd be free of Wallmann. For the rest of his life.

Just a moment. Think it all over carefully, Jupp Scholten. Nothing wrong with thinking about it, was there? The Lord God never said you mustn't think.

He cleared his throat and stared through the windscreen.

Suppose he took Hilde with him next time he went to the house by the lake. He only had to do exactly what Wallmann had done. No one would ever find out. No one had found out what Wallmann did, not even the police. Only Jupp Scholten.

He just had to make sure Hilde went down the steps. But there must be some way of doing that. He could say he still had something to do on the boat. And if he didn't come back she'd go down the steps to see what he was up to. “What are you doing, Joseph?”

And then all the misery would be over.

No one would work out what had happened.

Except Wallmann.

Wallmann would know why Hilde had fallen down the steps. But he couldn't say. Because if he did he'd be giving himself away. Wallmann would realize that Scholten knew how Erika had her accident. And he could think himself lucky he didn't have to fork out for that too.

Wallmann would leave him in peace for the rest of his life.

Scholten passed his hand over his face. He took a deep breath. Then he started the engine and drove off.

As he was about to turn into his own street he stamped on the brake hard. Then he put his foot on the accelerator and went on again. “Oh, hell!” he swore. “Oh, bloody hell.”

He drove twice round the block then went a couple of streets further and finally stopped outside a bar. He stayed sitting in the dark, rubbing his chin.

He had overlooked an important point. It couldn't work. If he were to do it, and he had no intention of doing it, but
if
he were to do it, there'd be a problem that had not faced Wallmann. Or rather, it had faced Wallmann. But Wallmann had been able to solve it.

The alibi.

Jupp Scholten would have no excuse for driving back into town. No files, no bowling club. No Sauerborn to take him home.

Hilde wouldn't be going into Grandmontagne's either. She wouldn't be buying meat or drinking grog. She'd be going away with him, her Joseph, sticking to him like a burr, she wouldn't leave his side for a moment if possible. He'd have to take her to the house with him. No one would be able to swear she'd been sitting in the village bar alive and well drinking grog while he was already on his way back to town.

He could do everything else just like Wallmann, but the waterproof alibi wasn't available. Not to Jupp Scholten.

Bloody hell.

He groaned out loud, and was startled by the sound emerging from his chest. He stared at the windows of the bar.

Well, it had only been a crazy idea anyway. He hadn't really wanted to do it. He wouldn't have done it. It had been just a flight of fancy.

He pulled himself together, got out of the car. He stood there, holding the door handle. Then he slapped his forehead and laughed.

It had all been nonsense anyway. How could he have thought up all that stuff?

Wallmann would never send him up to the house again in any case. Not after that business with the reporter. That was all over now.

He locked the car and went into the bar.

20

There was a spell of fine weather in mid-October. Blue skies, bright sunshine by day, although it turned very cold at night. The air was clear at the office. No complications. Wallmann was behaving tolerably well.

One Monday afternoon he summoned Scholten into his office. He offered him the cigar box. “Like one?”

“If I may,” said Scholten, choosing a cigar.

Wallmann said: “I'm going away for a few days tomorrow.”

“Oh yes?” Scholten turned the cigar in his fingers, passed it back and forth under his nose. Wallmann's bit of fluff had gone on holiday on Friday. For two and a half weeks.

Wallmann cleared his throat. “Yes, for a couple of weeks. I need a few days' relaxation.”

“Are you taking the boat?”

“No, no. It gets boring on the lake for that long. And it's too cold now. No, I'm flying to the Bahamas.”

“Good heavens.”

Wallmann shifted position in the chair at his desk. “At least I can sail properly there.”

“Sure.”

Wallmann cleared his throat again. “What I wanted to ask is, could you go up again while I'm away and see to the boat? It's time to put it to bed for the winter. I won't be able to do the job myself. All this came up quite suddenly – going away, I mean. If you'd get the
boat ready then I can take it into the yachting basin as soon as I get back.”

Scholten realized that he was crushing the cigar. He placed it carefully on Wallmann's desk, put both hands in his overall pockets. “Well, I'll have to talk to my wife. What exactly would you like me to do?”

“I looked out last year's checklist.” Wallmann took a piece of paper off his desk and handed it to Scholten.

Scholten looked at the list. “I don't know that I can do all that in one day. And if I'm up there anyway, I might as well get the weeds out.”

“I don't mind if it takes you two days. I'll pay you.”

“Yes, but we have a lot to do here at the moment. All the balance sheets.”

“I know, so why not go at the weekend and take your wife? If you leave here a little early on Friday you'll be through with the work by Saturday evening, and then you can relax on Sunday. I think the weather will hold, and it's beautiful up there at this time of year. It will do your wife good.”

“Yes, I'll make sure I can manage it.”

Wallmann took two hundred-mark notes from his wallet then added another two. “That's for the materials. You can tell me what they came to when I'm back.”

“Yes, right.” Scholten took the money. “Thanks very much,” he said.

Hilde concealed her pleasure by asking how much longer he was going to let Herr Wallmann impose on him. She said she didn't know if she could take the strain of it all, she'd been feeling very unwell all day.

When Scholten came home on Tuesday evening she had already packed. She said the packing had left her very stressed; it was just amazing what Herr Wallmann expected of him.

Scholten said he'd go to the DIY store after work on Thursday and buy the materials; drive them straight over to the house and get everything ready so that it wouldn't take him so long on Friday and Saturday. Then they could fit in a walk on Saturday as well.

Hilde was against this idea. She said he could buy the materials during office hours on Friday; it was Herr Wallmann's boat, after all. And then she said he only wanted to go over on Thursday so that he'd have at least one evening alone up there, and he wouldn't be getting anything ready because he'd be sitting around in Grandmontagne's bar half the night.

Scholten said Grandmontagne didn't open on Thursdays, he'd told her so hundreds of times. And he hadn't said he was planning to spend the night at the house either; he could be back around nine or ten in the evening. But if she didn't like it, and as usual he was sure she knew best, then he'd give up the idea of the whole trip, he'd only agreed for her sake anyway, he could well do without it, and Herr Wallmann would have to see about putting his boat to bed for the winter himself.

On Thursday at midday Scholten called the Meteorological Office in Essen. During the lunch break, when Rosa had disappeared into Büttgenbach's little room, he went into Inge Faust's office, dialled Directory Enquiries with trembling fingers and asked for the number. He wrote it on a scrap of paper, put it in his overall pocket, looked out into the corridor again and listened for anyone who might be coming before he called the Met Office. A man with an impressive bass voice told him that unless something unforeseen happened, the weather would hold over the weekend. Scholten asked: “Could there be frost?”

The man said: “It's possible. Near water, you understand.”

Scholten was bathed in sweat by the time he was back at his desk. He tore the note into tiny scraps and threw them in the wastepaper basket. He looked out of the window. He began to count on his fingers, silently moving his lips. After a while he nodded. He nodded several times. When he heard Rosa coming he picked up his papers and began hastily looking through them.

At three he went to see Büttgenbach and said Herr Wallmann had told him to deal with the boat. He was just off to buy the materials and take them straight up to the house, there were a few things he had to get ready there, or he wouldn't get it all done at the weekend.

Büttgenbach said: “Herr Wallmann never said anything about today. He just said you might be leaving a little early on Friday.”

Scholten asked when, in that case, he was supposed to buy the materials? Had Herr Büttgenbach any idea of the crowds at the DIY store on a Friday afternoon? And he didn't want to spend the whole weekend working on the boat. He supposed he had a right to a little time off. However, if Herr Büttgenbach had anything against it he'd stay here, and if he wasn't finished with the boat by Sunday evening that was just Herr Wallmann's bad luck.

Büttgenbach said: “I never said I had anything against it.” He opened a file and immersed himself in reading it.

Scholten drove to the DIY store and looked out the materials for Wallmann's boat. Then he bought a roll of insulating tape, twelve yards. Before he started along the motorway he stopped off at a supermarket. He put three bottles of beer in his shopping trolley,
thought about it and added a fourth. In the meat section he chose a fillet steak. Then he looked at the salads and decided on a medium head of lettuce.

Just before six he drove up to the garage. It was almost dark already. The vault of the sky was blue, turning to a pale green towards the west. The first stars were twinkling on the eastern side of the great dome of the heavens, above the black crest of the woods. A cold breeze blew in off the lake.

Scholten carried his provisions into the house and put the beer in the fridge, taking one bottle with him; it was cold enough. He left the materials for the boat in the garage.

Then he chose five of the remaining wooden strips. Using the circular saw, he cut ten lengths of twenty-eight inches and ten of twelve inches each. He put the remnants on the hearth and lit the fire.

When he came out the sky was dark blue in the west as well. Scholten went around the house once, stopped, listened. Nothing to be heard. The starlight cast a faint glow on the roof of the house, on the treetops, filling the air.

Scholten shivered. He took out his handkerchief, mopped his brow and the back of his neck with it. He put the handkerchief away. He stood there for a moment longer, listening again. Then he quickly went into the garage.

He took the bolts out of their tin and put them in his pocket. He found a long-armed spanner, tested it to see if it fitted tightly enough on the nuts for the bolts. Then he took three of the old planks out to the steps.

About fifty minutes later he had changed over the three planks of the landing and the two steps above it, had taken the planks he had removed into the garage, put insulating tape on the edges of the planks, nailed
the strips over it. His back and belly were dripping with sweat. His back was trembling too as he bent to check the slope of the little basins he had made.

He cleared the contents of the freezer into the two coolbags, filled his basins with water and put them carefully in the freezer, one by one. He propped the lowest on two pieces of wood and stacked the other four on top, pointing in different directions, so that there would be room for the shanks of the bolts below the planks.

He closed the freezer and looked around the garage. All in order. His lettuce was washed and dressed at a quarter to eight, when Scholten put the fillet steak in the pan.

When he had eaten and drunk he sat down in the living room with the last bottle of beer. He planned to switch the TV on. He sat there for a while.

Suddenly he felt his heart beating, beating hard in his throat. He cleared his throat to break the silence. His own ears heard the hard fast beating of his heart.

21

He finished his beer, locked up the house, glanced round the garage again and drove away. At eight-thirty he rang the doorbell of Grandmontagne's house. Marlene opened the door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked. Grandmontagne came out of the living room in his slippers.

Scholten said he'd be back tomorrow evening, he had to get the boat ready for winter over the weekend. He was bringing his wife with him.

“Good God!” said Grandmontagne. “Well, have a nice weekend. See you some other time.”

Scholten laughed. He asked if Grandmontagne could get him some meat for goulash, a pound of best braising steak would be about right, and three-quarters of a pound of ground beef for steak tartare, four pork and beef sausages, and half a pound of sliced cooked meats. And a piece of fine liver sausage, not too small.

“Sure, Jupp,” said Grandmontagne, “you can collect it when you drive up tomorrow evening. Write it down, Marlene.”

Scholten asked if the boy couldn't bring it over to the house when the shop closed. His wife, he said, always had problems after a drive, she didn't take car journeys well, she always had to go and lie down when she arrived, and if he stopped off at Grandmontagne's there was bound to be a great fuss.

Grandmontagne said: “Oh, you don't need to say no
more, that's okay, Jupp, the lad will bring it up around quarter to seven.”

Marlene said: “Why don't you drive slower, then? Show a bit of consideration for your wife!”