Rain Girl (23 page)

“Did I?” Arthur said, and felt flattered again. “Now, where were we?”

“My name’s Sabine,” Marilyn said.

Later, after she’d told him everything and shown him the private room and he’d enjoyed a tiny vodka after all, he thought with a certain degree of compassion that teachers really were poor bastards. They couldn’t get away with anything, really couldn’t make a single false move. They would always be recognized by someone, and there would always be someone with a score to settle—and who would do so with a smile.

He’d failed her. Without remorse, she said, without an ounce of compassion. He’d raised his left eyebrow a tiny bit and cold-bloodedly failed her.

It happened six years ago. She’d chosen chemistry in her final exams because she thought she could manipulate him with her female charms. Apparently that pissed him off. When he walked past her table during the prep period for the oral exam, she handed him her exam sheet. On it she’d written one single meaningful sentence in pencil.

I’d like to show my gratitude with enthusiasm and persistence.

A smile and a glimpse of her strategically placed, half-opened thighs should have done the rest, but they didn’t. He carefully looked over everything she had presented so cleverly, and then looked into her face. She noticed, in addition to his surprise, an amused glint in his eyes. He raised one eyebrow and that had been that.

“Even though,” she said, “rumor had it he was after anyone in a skirt. But just not me, unfortunately.”

“Well,” Arthur sighed.

“Well,” Marilyn sighed. “And so I’m stuck here, wasting my time, ’cause every good-looking guy coming through the door already has a date.”

Her eyes traveled up Arthur’s legs and to his face. She smiled, and he was afraid he’d turned red.

“Except for you,” she said and beamed. He beamed too, like a tomato on its way to the ketchup bottle.

Later on she added that the asshole didn’t even recognize her when she served him and that little slut their champagne and shrimp and sea bass—though it had only been six years ago. But he’d only had eyes for his little whore. She was sure things had gotten pretty hot in that private room between the main course and dessert, she told Arthur with bright eyes. She’d bet on it, if he knew what she meant.

Yes, he knew. She was hinting so unambiguously he couldn’t help knowing.

He learned everything: name, age, likes, dislikes, clothing size, everything.

And as the vodka spread through his body, warming him, he would have liked to warm himself somewhere else, too. If only there’d been time—but there wasn’t. Damn Herz! Damn all this overtime!

A short time later he followed her to the door. What a fantastic ass, he thought, overwhelmed.

And he left feeling elated.

57

Judith didn’t say anything but they could see she was surprised. She stepped aside, letting the detectives in, and then led them to the living room. They saw immediately that she was packing to leave: empty shelves, boxes stacked high, organized chaos. “I’m moving,” she explained. “I’m renting an apartment in town. We’re selling the house.”

She cleared the table, pulled up three chairs, and turned off the TV, which was showing the evening news. She asked the detectives to take a seat. “I should have done it a long time ago,” she said, staring into space. “I’m looking forward to being on my own.”

Would they have stayed together,
Franza wondered,
my son and her daughter? Would we have met, would we have liked each other?

“Can I offer you a drink?” Judith Gleichenbach asked, wiping off the table with her hand.

Franza shook her head, as did Felix. “No,” she said. “Thank you. How are you doing?”

Judith nodded and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m doing OK. I just have to. I’m going to look for a job.”

She paused for a moment, searching for words. Franza spoke first.

“We’d like to show you something,” she said. “We found this in Marie’s room.”

She placed the newspaper article and the photo side by side on the table. Judith leaned forward to look at them, and a moment later she froze. Then she jumped up and started digging in her boxes, throwing books, folders, and other odds and ends onto the floor. Finally she found what she was looking for: a photo album. She opened it with trembling fingers and turned page after page until she was about halfway through. Then she lowered the album and it slipped out of her hands onto the floor, where it stayed.

Judith covered her deathly pale face with her hands. “She took it,” she whispered. “She really took it.”

Franza got up and leaned down to look at the photo album. She saw there was a picture missing on the opened page. “What?”

“That there.” The woman’s voice was flat and her eyes glassy. “What you just put on the table.”

“Could you please explain?” Franza said and suddenly felt it was urgent. Time was running out because of something they didn’t yet know about.

Judith thought for a moment. “About half a year ago she turned up here, just before Christmas. I was . . . surprised. And very happy. She was different—she said she’d met someone. We drank tea and ate gingerbread cookies. She told me her boyfriend’s mother had made them. I found it a little strange, but also touching. She was so proud of this . . . normalcy.”

She laughed softly, tears streaming down her face.

“Then all of a sudden she wanted to look at photos from when she was little. I gave her two or three albums, but she must’ve looked at the rest as well.”

“Weren’t you with her?”

“Not the whole time. I was making her bed. She wanted to stay the night. But when I came back . . .”

She got up, wiping her face. “The albums had been put away. She’d taken the dishes to the kitchen and said she couldn’t stay after all; she had to go back to town. There was a bus in ten minutes.”

“Did she say why?”

“No.” Judith shook her head. “She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?”

“Because I knew I wouldn’t get an answer. That’s just how she was.”

“Had she changed?”

Judith shrugged.

“And you didn’t ask why?”

Trembling, Judith turned to the window. She was about to lose control.

“Good Lord, if you’d known my daughter you wouldn’t be asking questions like that. She either talked when she wanted to or not at all. And most of the time she didn’t.”

Franza nodded, trying to calm her down. “All right, let’s move on. What happened next?”

A deep sigh. “Nothing. She left.”

“So she found the newspaper article and the photo. In this album?”

Judith nodded. “Yes, that’s what must have happened.”

“What’s the connection?”

“There is none!”

“And we’re supposed to believe that?”

Judith trembled harder and shrugged. “The only connection is that I kept the article on this page of the album.”

“Why did you keep the article?”

“I can’t remember. It was twenty years ago.”

“Did you know the child in the accident?”

“No.”

“No?!”

Judith Gleichenbach opened the door to the terrace, letting in a gust of fresh air. She inhaled deeply.

“Frau Gleichenbach.” Franza walked over to her and touched her on the shoulder. “Frau Gleichenbach, please help us. It’s about your daughter!”

She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I know. About my daughter.”

“So, the girl,” Felix began. “Her name was Lisa Fürst, and she was here on vacation with her parents. Someone ran over her with a car and then just left her there to die. Whoever was driving just took off—that’s called hit and run. That’s a serious crime. I think you’re aware of that!” Felix held up the article for her to see, his voice had become sharp, angry. He knew that time was running out, too. “Look at her! You knew her!”

Judith shook her head with despair. “No, I didn’t know her, and I don’t know what you want from me!”

“Oh, just cut it out!” Felix was angry. “Are you seriously trying to tell us you just kept the article for fun? You must have had a reason! And you haven’t forgotten it!”

He waited, watching her struggling with herself.
Come on,
he thought,
don’t take forever
. He felt tiredness weighing him down the way it always did when difficult cases hit the homestretch but played hard to get right at the end.

Felix looked at Franza and saw she felt the same. They felt like puppets before the impending storm. When it broke, it would crush them. They always sensed that in advance. It was like a tingling in their bones, a turmoil in their guts. Felix knew he shouldn’t eat heavy food on those days, but he always did anyway and paid for it by spending hours on the toilet when it was all over, draining himself body and soul.

But that’s how it was, plain and simple. It made them old—damned old. They’d be doddering old fools before their time because all these cases sucked the bright, blooming life right out of them. In moments like this he could feel the aging, feel the weariness seeping its way inside him. It felt like he was being torn apart and the youth drained from his body.

He assumed it was the same for Franza. Her face and her eyes said it clearly enough, but he didn’t dare ask.

He could also see it when he looked at Borger. His ties seemed to be closing in menacingly around him, while propping up his bulging neck and making his cheeks look chubbier than they actually were.

Maybe Franza was right to allow herself this young actor; maybe it let her feel something long lost. But how long would he be there for her? At some point he’d get an offer from somewhere up north, or from Switzerland—one he couldn’t resist. And then what?

Felix saw how Franza swallowed, how her eyelids twitched. She was tired. She’d had too little sleep the last few days. Her body and soul were drained from worrying about Ben and everything else.

“Frau Gleichenbach,” she said, “let’s not drag this out unnecessarily. We’re all tired. Let’s bring this to an end. What happened with the girl back then?”

Felix looked at Judith and knew Franza had found the right words. Judith gave in, melted.

“Just once,” she said. “I saw her just once.”

Felix took a deep breath. “When?”

She remained silent, wiping her face again. Tears continued running down her cheeks. She had time; she’d already lost everything.

“When? Where?”

She shook her head.
Different question,
Felix thought,
change the topic, quick!

Franza beat him to it. She picked up the photo from the table and pointed to the girl. “Is that you?”

Judith nodded.

“Did you draw circles around the heads?”

“No.”

“So Marie did. Why? What’s the connection?”

“I don’t know.” Her desperation—her helplessness—was tangible. She really didn’t know, not yet.

“Have you heard the name Lauberts before? Anton Lauberts?”

She thought about it, and then shook her head, repeating the name. “Lauberts? No.”

Too bad,
Franza thought,
that’s a shame
. She tried again. “So the man standing next to you in the picture is not Anton Lauberts?”

She shook her head again, uncomprehending. “No, what makes you think that?”

“Who is it then?”

She looked up. A suspicion crept into her eyes. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, as if wanting to shake off the realization gradually coming over her.

“No,” she said and gasped in astonishment. “No. It was twenty years ago. It can’t have anything to do with Marie. Please tell me it’s got nothing to do with Marie.”

“His name,” Felix said. “Tell us his name!”

“Johannes,” she said.

“Last name?”

She held her breath, her eyes started to flicker. They all held their breath.

“Last name?” Felix asked.

“Reuter,” she said. “Johannes Reuter.”

They looked at each other. They knew at once they’d heard the name before. Something clicked in their brains, slowly, but it clicked.

Johannes Reuter.

They knew the name, but from where?

It clicked louder, the fog lifted slowly, disappearing like bubbles in a foam bath. Johannes Reuter.

Franza looked at the photo, imagined him without the long hair, added twenty years. Some people were like good wine, only coming into full bloom after many years.

It came clear to them both at the same time. They looked at each other and knew. A full head of hair, athletic build, likeable, good-looking—murderers didn’t walk around with signs hung around their necks. Johannes Reuter. English and chemistry. Marie’s teacher.

Marie’s mother knew it, too.

“How did she know him?” she whispered. “How is all this connected? What happened?”

“Tell us,” Franza said. “Tell us what happened back then.”

“We were in the car,” Judith said in a monotone. “He was driving. Suddenly the girl was there. It was raining, we could barely see. It was a thunderstorm. We’d had a wonderful day, we were planning our future, we were together and in love. But all of a sudden this girl was there, lying on the road. And the rain was beating down on her.”

58

She woke up. It startled him; he hadn’t expected it. She tried to get up, swayed, and fell back down. “What?” she said.

All right,
he thought, feeling some relief,
it’s OK. This is going to be all right. Back to town, to the hospital, explain, talk, explain some more, the doctors, the police, his wife, Judith
.

He spread a blanket over the backseat of his car and lifted her up. She groaned. He put her on the blanket and carefully placed her head onto a second blanket so that the blood wouldn’t ruin his seats.

She won’t say anything,
he thought, shaking his head with determination.
I’ll save her, and she won’t say anything. We’ll go to Berlin. Lisa Fürst is all over
.

Is it ever all over for death?

He turned on his directional signal as he left the parking lot, his headlights cutting through the darkness. Soon there would be traffic.