The Killing of Emma Gross (31 page)

Among the clothes was a framed photograph that made me look twice. The print showed Trudi with an arm around a still-blonde Gisela Ritter. I blinked the image away. No, not Gisela, but a younger and thinner version of her.

I pocketed my Luger, checking for knife tears in the jacket and not finding any. I took the framed picture over to Trudi, who was heavy-breathing where I'd left her. I leaned over and showed her the photo.

'Who is this with you?'

'Emma,' she croaked.

'Emma Gross?'

She nodded. I looked again at the photo.
Gott in Himmel
, was this why Ritter had wanted to have a baby with Gross? Because she looked like his wife? It was the cheekbones and the way she held herself that made her look like Gisela. I'd seen cadavers aplenty in my time and I knew the distorting, diminishing effect of death on the human form, but still it was impossible to match this smiling young woman with the corpse I'd seen in Gross' crime scene photos. In this picture, she and Trudi were standing in front of a large beer barrel bearing a sign advertising the chance to bob for apples for a pfennig. Gisela had a half-eaten apple in one hand and was offering it to Trudi. From Trudi's appearance, it looked like the picture had been taken some time within the previous couple of years.

'Why did you kick my door in?' Trudi croaked.

'I thought you might be in trouble.'

'Oh.' She choked and coughed and turned her head to spit phlegm at the floorboards, her gold earrings reflecting the light.

'Why did you attack me?' I asked.

She swallowed a couple of times and gasped, 'I thought you were him.'

'Who?'

'Emma's regular suitor.'

'Ritter?'

'Huh? The cop? What do you mean?' Her blue eyes clouded and she frowned. Upside-down, as I saw it, it was an odd effect. She hadn't known that Ritter was the guy.

'Michael Ritter was the regular suitor, the father of her child,' I said. 'The one Brandt aborted.'

'You found her then.' She gave me a grin.

'You could have saved me a lot of trouble if you'd told me, instead of sending me out on a blind treasure hunt.'

'I didn't know where she was, you dumb bull. Emma never told me. Didn't want me involved, she said.'

'And you never asked around?'

'I respected her wishes. Besides, when I told Ritter what I knew last year it didn't go anywhere. I thought you were going to be like him. Another bull who didn't care.'

'But he did care, Trudi. More than anyone.' I eased her into a sitting position. She took deep breaths. 'You all right?'

'I think so.'

I nodded at the suitcase. 'So was that why you were leaving? Because this man might come after you?'

'I knew with you blundering around asking questions, not knowing anything, there was a chance you'd bring him out of the shadows. I thought by giving you Brandt's name it would keep the heat off me long enough to get out of town.'

'I need to know what else you know,' I said. 'Have you seen a man wearing a green fedora or a green scarf? When he's not wearing the scarf he has a wide scar on his throat, like this.' I traced a line from my ear to my adam's apple.

She shook her head.

'You sure?'

'I'm sure.'

'Okay then, forget about that. Let's go back to Emma and Ritter. Did you see them together the night she died? Did you see him leave in the morning? Anything like that?'

She rubbed the back of her head. 'No. I don't know what else I can tell you.'

'What did you tell Ritter? Back when he was investigating, I mean.'

'Nothing I haven't told you already. Like I said before, he didn't give a shit so what was the point of trying, you know?' She patted down her hair, her fingers catching the gold hoop in her left ear before stopping and caressing it for a moment. 'Wait.'

She went over to her suitcase and pulled out a box covered in split leather. She opened the box, palmed something from it and returned to me.

'When I found Emma's body that morning I noticed something glinting at me. Under the bed. I took it. Should have handed it in when the police came I suppose, but that Ritter was such an
arshloch
...'

Couldn't fault her on her character assessment. 'What was it?' I said.

I stretched out an upturned palm and she gave me what was in her hand. It was green, emerald green, cut in the shape of a tear and set in silver. Familiar as a piece of jewellery can be.

And that was it, bright and clear as a summer dawn. Ritter hadn't killed Emma Gross after all, but now I knew who had.

I entered the Church of St Rochus while the morning service was still going and I put out my hand so the door would close without slamming. The windows diffused the morning light. I breathed deep and got a hint of those sweet spices lingering on the air. And to think that all of six days ago when I'd entered the same church I hadn't had to make any effort to do that. The aroma had just been there, all around me, penetrating my unbroken nostrils without my needing to think about it.

Dear God, was it only six days since then? What day was it now? Wednesday? Thursday?

Whichever morning it was, there was a hell of a crowd in the pews, so many people that I couldn't make out Gisela anywhere. The white-bearded priest, or deacon, or whoever it was that did these things in Latin ceremonies, was speaking to the faithful. I hoped I hadn't got there too early. If my timing was good they'd have dispensed with the communion by then and they'd be drawing the mass to a close.

Frau Stausberg's blood covered my trousers, my jacket sleeves and some of my shirt. I hadn't made it home yet to change. Or to sleep, come to that. After the train station, I'd returned to the hospital. I still hadn't slept well and I still didn't know if Frau Stausberg was going to survive and, on top of all that, my neck ached.

I headed for the chapel where I'd found Kürten. I could wait there without attracting too much attention. Well, without attracting quite as much, at any rate. The priest made the sign of the cross and recited some Latin. The congregation responded, a deep chorus, again in Latin, and then the people rose to their feet with a loud rustle of clothing. They began to file out to the accompaniment of the organ. The white-bearded priest led the procession. Once he'd made it to the baptismal font the congregation began to talk, voices echoing and blending into one long serpentine hiss.

Five minutes went by before I spotted her. I took off my jacket and rolled it over my left arm to try and cover the blood stains. I left the chapel, went up to the line of worshippers and tapped Gisela on the shoulder.

'There you are, dear,' I said, forcing some jollity into my voice. Looking at those nearest to her in the queue, she didn't seem to be with any friends. Her face betrayed no surprise at my being there. I pulled her out of line, tugging on the sleeve of her high-necked, low-hemmed black dress.

She took the hospital stationery envelope I handed to her and she came with me to the chapel. I beckoned her further inside, closer to the altar. That red bucket of sand was still in the same place by the side of the altar.

'What do you want?' she said, looking around.

'Here.' I took the envelope back. Relieved of her burden, she crossed her arms to shut me out. I unrolled the jacket and slipped it back on, then I slid the envelope into an inside pocket. I went to the iron rack for the votive candles. I selected a fresh candle, lit it and put it on the rack, offering a silent prayer to Lilli as I took a deep breath. My stomach gurgled again and it was uncomfortable as hell down there.

But the pain was gone.

'I named her, you know,' I said.

'What are you talking about?'

'Lilli. That's what I would have named her. Our daughter. If she'd lived.'

'You...' She didn't know how to end her thought. I didn't blame her. 'If she'd lived?
If
she'd lived?
How dare you do this to me, now, here, in my church. You were the one who insisted. You were.' Gisela pointed at me and her plump lips were turned down at the ends, as they had been ever since the day our Lilli died.

I took her glare and I didn't flinch. She deserved that much from me.

'Did you know about your husband's arrangement with Emma Gross?' I said. 'Was that why you killed her?'

She came closer, close enough that I could see the open pores and small clumps of face powder on her cheeks, the plain studs in her lobes where the tear-shaped emerald earrings I'd bought had once hung. Red spots bloomed along her cheek bones.

'Did you kill her because she'd agreed to bear him the child you couldn't? Or because she had it killed the way...' I took another deep breath and tensed my belly '...the way you killed Lilli.'

She flung a fist at me. I caught it and twirled her around until she fell into my arms. I held her close. She tried to pull away but I wouldn't let her.

There were tears in those chocolate brown eyes, and if there was a point I would've let her walk away from it all, that was it.

'I found your missing earring,' I said. 'Someone at the hotel picked it up at the scene and gave it to me.'

'Liar. Michael got that earring back and I – '

She stopped herself, realising too late what she'd said.

'Yes, that's what he told you. But he lied to you, honey. Was that why he suggested you stop colouring your hair too? In case anyone had seen you that night?'

She looked down at the floor and then back up at me. We held each other in a tight embrace. She was tensed to break free, while my arms began to ache with the effort of restraining her.

'Why, Gisela?'

'Why did you make me kill our baby, Thomas? Why did you make me do that?'

She looked up at me, eyes shining. The feel of her in my arms made me shake, and it wasn't just from the effort of stopping her getting away. I told myself it was the adrenaline kicking in.

'What I really don't get is why you agreed to him having a child with her,' I said. 'I mean, the woman was a prostitute.'

She looked puzzled. 'Why did I agree? It was my idea, Thomas.'

'What?'

'He told me about her. She'd turned up at headquarters one day. Vice brought her in for a VD screening. Michael caught sight of her in the courtyard and asked about her. He was so struck by the resemblance to me that he told me about it later that night. I had my idea straight away. To help make amends for you and me. He should cultivate a relationship with her, have the child with her that I couldn't give him. I thought that if the baby came out looking like me, no one would ask questions, and everything would be okay.'

Damn, but those plump lips of hers were inviting. She parted them and a small animal sound escaped, her whole mouth quivering. Tears welled in her eyes.

'But then she betrayed him,' Gisela said. 'She changed her mind. And it was like I'd betrayed him, so many times over. First with you, then by becoming barren, then by suggesting getting that harlot pregnant. And then...the final insult. Another crime against the Lord.'

She closed her eyes then and began to hum.

'You mind not upsetting my wife, partner?'

Gisela gasped and spun her head around, eyes wide. Ritter stood at the entrance to the chapel, his back to the stragglers still shuffling out of the church. He was aiming his Walther
polizei
pistol at me. His hand was steady despite the purple flush of his cheeks and the hard look he gave me. Even with all those danger signs, I couldn't take my eyes off his terrible moustache.

'You didn't forget our appointment to meet for breakfast did you, darling?' Ritter asked.

Gisela sniffed and shook her head.

'Let her go,' Ritter said to me.

I pulled my Luger and dug it into Gisela's ribs, flinching from the bruising on my knuckles. Stupid to forget about the swelling on my right hand. Even if I wanted to pull the trigger, I doubted I'd be able to. I hoped Ritter wouldn't notice.

'Oh come on, Thomas!' Ritter laughed.

'I have to turn her in,' I said.

'Why? This whole sorry mess is your fault.'

'Shhhh!' Gisela said. 'Not so loud, Michael.'

I swallowed hard.
Ignore him
, I told myself.
He's just trying to weasel out of this. Don't listen. Don't admit that a part of you thinks he's right.

'I have to turn her in,' I repeated.

'Fine, go ahead. But with what evidence?'

'With the envelope she handled a few minutes ago. The lab should be able to match one of the latents on it to the print found on the divan at the scene.'

He looked at his wife. Her hair brushed my chin as she nodded.

'The odds are a thousand to one against getting a match,' Ritter said. 'You know that.' But the doubt was there in his voice. I didn't move, though Ritter had circled around the edge of the chapel. He was creeping closer, keeping his pistol close to his body to obscure it from anyone who might look across from the nave. I dug the barrel of my gun in deeper and Gisela stiffened. Ritter caught the movement and stopped under one of the windows. It cast him in shades of green.