The Lie (46 page)

He pointed to the dressing room and jerked his head at his companion. Then he came round the bed and looked down at her, a smile on his face. “Nadia Trenkler,” he said, following it with a sigh. “If your husband's convinced of that, then I suppose I'll have to accept it. Presumably a man will sense whom he's sharing his bed with.”

He sat down beside her. Ramon was still standing in the doorway. He looked almost as if he was expecting a special performance he didn't want to miss.

“Ramon.” Zurkeulen was insistent. “Will you please go and keep an eye on Herr Trenkler. I would like to ensure he doesn't do anything stupid.” Then he grasped her wrists and pulled her hands and the sheet down. The smile stayed as his eye moved downwards from her face. “Pretty,” he said. His eye was followed by a hand in a black leather glove. “And very sensitive, aren't they?”

She didn't feel it at all, her attention was entirely focused on Ramon as he crossed the room and went into the dressing room with the gun. And the red stain on the manager's shirt quickly spread. “No!” she cried. “Leave my husband alone. If you—”

Zurkeulen put his other hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he said. All was quiet in the dressing room. Gradually she felt the leather on her left breast, the painful pressure of his hand. “You're hurting me.”

He squeezed harder. “That's my intention. It could get even more painful. It's up to you whether it does or not.”

Perhaps it was the pain that kept the panic at bay. Perhaps it was the certainty that Zurkeulen wouldn't hesitate for one moment to kill her - and Michael, and the person who'd helped him get into the house and must be lying on the landing. She was convinced it was Jo. He hadn't returned the house key and he knew how to operate the alarm system.

“What do you want from me?”

“Six million.”

It would definitely have been more sensible to say, “OK, I'll give you the money.” For Nadia it would have been more sensible, not for her. “We haven't got that much in the house,” she said. “Have a look if you don't believe me. The safe's in the loft, I'm sure my husband will be glad to open it.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. And as he'd done to Michael, he struck out unexpectedly with his left hand again, so hard that she flew back into the pillows. She could taste blood, her lip was swelling. At the same time his right hand squeezed her breast so hard she couldn't repress a cry.

“Nadia?” Michael shouted.

“Tell your husband to restrain himself,” Zurkeulen said. “Otherwise I won't be able to guarantee that he'll survive the next few minutes. Nor the lady outside.” As he said that, he also drew a gun out of his jacket and pointed to the door onto the landing with it.

Lilo, she thought, as she called out, “It's OK, love.” Then she stammered, “What do you want. I haven't got six million, for goodness' sake.”

“I know,” said Zurkeulen. “But perhaps you can get hold of that amount if you're prepared to come with me. Ramon will keep your husband company until we're back. And if you're both sensible, no one will get hurt.”

He was going to go with her to 83 Antoniterweg, he explained, keeping his eyes fixed on her face as he said the address. He appeared to be looking for some specific reaction. But whatever he was waiting for, she couldn't provide it. Eighty-three Antoniterweg, it meant nothing to her. She'd deleted the file card too quickly in September.

“And the name Philip Hardenberg?” Zurkeulen asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“That's a pity,” said Zurkeulen. “Herr Hardenberg also claimed he didn't know anyone with your name.”

By this time she was calmer, though not free from fear, quite the contrary. Inside her chest, everything seemed to have gone numb, just her brain was working, but that with a strange clarity. “Why's it a pity?” she asked. “I don't know the man.”

Zurkeulen's smile broadened. “Herr Hardenberg or, rather, his partner had second thoughts.” He finally took his hand off her breast. The pain remained. “Unfortunately I'm in no position to assess the accuracy of her change of mind. For that reason I suggest you get dressed and we'll go and pay her a visit together.”

She hated the very thought of getting out of bed with his eyes on her and going to the dressing room, where Ramon was waiting. At the same time that was the one place she wanted to go. Ramon was standing
close behind the door, his gun aimed at Michael. Michael was leaning with his back against one of the mirrors, wearing a bathrobe with large patch pockets. His cheek and lips showed the marks of Zurkeulen's hand. He'd wiped the blood off. He didn't take his eyes off her. He said nothing, just followed every one of her movements, making it easier for her.

She took some underwear out of one of the cupboard drawers and put it on, ignoring Ramon's nauseating grin, got a pair of trousers and said, “I'm going to put a pullover on, it's cold outside.”

Michael nodded, following her hands with his eyes. It was only a water pistol, a useless toy. But that wasn't obvious at first sight. The chunky black gun was in the middle of a pile of pullovers. Michael closed his eyes in horror when she picked up the top three and took one out of the drawer. Then he had himself back under control again and managed to give his look of alarm a plausible explanation. “I'm not letting that guy take you with him.”

He pulled her to him, positioning their bodies in such a way that Ramon couldn't see him slip his hand into the drawer. He gave a start of surprise. The weight must have told him what he was holding. And he hadn't seen Zurkeulen's gun. “Be sensible,” she said. “They're both armed. We have to do what they ask.”

He understood. The water pistol disappeared in the left-hand pocket of his bathrobe. “OK,” he muttered, moving away from her and letting his arm hang down beside the pocket. He looked harmless, defeated.

Zurkeulen was already out on the landing when she came back into the bedroom. He waved her over. He'd put the gun back in his jacket pocket. She came out and almost stumbled over Andrea, who was lying on her stomach, her arm over her face. As she passed, it was impossible to say whether she'd been injured or in what way. But her shoulders were twitching so she wasn't dead, thank God. Zurkeulen made her lead the way down the stairs and followed close behind.

“Take the jacket, Nadia,” Michael shouted from the dressing room. “It really is cold.”

Zurkeulen gave a mocking smile. She saw it as she quickly looked back. “If anything happens to my husband…” she said.

“Nothing's going to happen to him,” Zurkeulen promised. “As long as he does nothing to provoke Ramon.”

Michael called out again, telling her to take the jacket. She felt there was something urgent about his tone. There was only the leather jacket in the closet. And underneath the jacket was the alarm with all the buttons. Zurkeulen kept his eyes on her hands as she went to get the jacket. She didn't go too close to the box, just took the jacket off the hanger and slipped it on. It must have belonged to Nadia, it fitted perfectly. Zurkeulen gestured towards the front door.

 

The street was empty, the nearby houses dark. The street lamps made pools of glittering light on the damp tarmac. No one noticed anything, not even Eleanor Ravatzky's dog. The black limousine was in the drive. Zurkeulen unlocked the doors, waited until she was settled in the front passenger seat, then got in himself. The engine made a soft hum as the car drove almost silently out into the street.

Something was digging into her hip. There must be some object in the right pocket of her jacket, the seat belt was pressing it against her hipbone. She passed her hand over it and felt a longish object under her fingers.

Zurkeulen noticed. “Lift your hands up,” he demanded, as he pulled up at the side of the road. Then he felt in her jacket pocket and took the object out. It was a cigarette lighter, fairly large, with a firm's logo on the side. In the left pocket was a slim cigarette case. He put them in her hands. “I must ask you not to smoke in my car.”

“I gave up some time ago,” she said. “I'm pregnant.” Why she said that, whether she hoped it might make him treat her more gently, she couldn't say. Men like Zurkeulen knew no mercy. He was sitting at the wheel like a stone statue, cold, stiff and silent. She almost wished he'd asked who she really was. And perhaps realized that they'd both been taken for a ride. But if not even Nadia had managed to stay alive…

On the other hand, she wasn't Nadia and she'd already managed to get out of one apparently hopeless situation. The two awful days in the abandoned factory after the second bank robbery suddenly took on meaning. Dieter's opinion that she occasionally tended to wildly overestimate her own abilities was neither here nor there. It might be crazy to imagine she could somehow outwit Zurkeulen, escape and rescue Michael and Andrea, but it was precisely that idea which kept her from slumping down listlessly in her seat.

She wondered whether it would help to start a conversation. He must know that she'd lied and Helga had told the truth. She herself had shown Ramon that she knew Alfo Investment. Even though she couldn't say for sure at what point the grey car had started to tail the Alfa, there was only one place he could have picked it up and that was the underground car park of Gerler House. Should she tell him her marriage had broken down and that she'd already discussed getting an apartment with an estate agent's, Behringer and Partners? What would be the point? After the way Michael had reacted, he would hardly believe her. And Hardenberg would presumably render anything she did in that direction futile.

He accelerated when they were on the autobahn. Her thoughts went back to the house. Would Michael have any chance? With a water pistol against Ramon's gun? Or would he rather not take any risks so as not to endanger her? And Andrea? She'd been crying, though silently, what in Heaven's name had they done to her? Or to little Pascal? Or to Andrea's husband, if she had one? She'd also mentioned a grandmother.

The suburbs were approaching far too quickly. If she'd been the only one involved, she'd have tried using her fists, her teeth, holding the cigarette lighter to his hair, even at the risk of it ending up with two dead bodies being recovered from a crashed car. But there were two other lives to consider. Even if it had just been Michael alone, she wouldn't have taken the slightest risk. She played with the useless lighter in her lap. It came apart and she thought she'd broken it. But it wasn't broken, it was a knife. A thin, narrow blade attached to a plastic ring that formed the bottom of an ordinary plastic disposable lighter. The urgency in Michael's voice suddenly made sense.

Zurkeulen was staring concentratedly into the darkness of the autobahn exit. She pushed the blade back in as the car swung into the long curve. He slowed down and turned off to the right. On the right-hand side were detached houses. Again he turned off. Antoniterweg she read, a blue sign on a white wall. They passed large houses with extensive gardens. Feeling with her fingers, she pulled the plastic ring out of the lighter in her lap. Zurkeulen was looking ahead, she out of the side window. Number fifty-three. There were several building sites on the other side of the road. The thin, narrow blade was almost completely hidden in her hand.

Number seventy-five. The car slowed down and stopped outside number seventy-nine. “You lead the way,” he said, pointing to the car door, “I would like to stay in the background initially. And it would be sensible if you didn't indicate my presence to Herr Hardenberg. I would like you to allow me to see you greet each other in a relaxed manner. It could turn out to be highly beneficial for your future.

Whatever he was promising, he couldn't afford any witnesses, that much was clear. When she didn't move, he leaned over and stretched his arm out across her lap for the door handle. One second later the thin blade was at his throat.

“Don't move,” she said. “If you move I'll cut your throat. And don't delude yourself that I'll have any inhibitions.” She felt in his pocket, grasped the gun, pulled it out and placed the muzzle against the back of his neck.

He didn't move. Half lying across her lap, he said, “You're making a big mistake, Frau Trenkler. I'm afraid it's going to cost your husband his life. And that is quite unnecessary. I wasn't thinking of violence, more of cooperation.”

“You don't believe that yourself,” she said. “But you've no need to worry about my husband. He's got a gun, a much bigger one than the little thing your companion was waving around. And now turn the car round. We're going back.”

She thought she could hear him grinding his teeth. “First take the knife away,” he said.

She withdrew the hand holding the blade. Immediately he made a downwards and sideways thrust with his head. It was a violent butt to the solar plexus and stomach that winded her. She didn't deliberately squeeze the trigger, it was just a reflex action set off by the pain. But nothing happened.

Zurkeulen took the gun away from her and said, almost sympathetically, “The safety catch is on.” Then he forced the little knife out of her clenched hand.

He gave her three minutes, just three minutes, to get over his head butt. Whilst she was doing so, he rang Ramon. It turned out to be unnecessary to warn him about the water pistol. He'd overpowered Michael long ago, Ramon said. Zurkeulen passed the information on to her. “Was there any difficulty?” he asked. “You sound rather strained.”

Ramon said that had been caused by Michael's violent resistance, which had cost him one of his front teeth. “You didn't shoot, I hope?” Zurkeulen said, asking whether Herr Trenkler was still conscious and wanted to say farewell to his wife. Ramon informed him that he was no longer capable of that. “Then take him down to the cellar,” Zurkeulen ordered. “The woman too. Throw the pair of them in the pool.”