“But the biggest surprise so far is the fact that the girl didn’t drown in the river, but in chlorinated water,” Pia said, concluding her report. “We’re still waiting for a conclusive analysis. Does anyone have any questions?”
No one spoke. No questions. She sat back down and turned over the floor to Kai Ostermann.
“The girl was dressed in cheap clothes from a department store, off-the-rack merchandise, manufactured in the millions,” said Kai. “Impossible to trace where, when, and from whom they were purchased. There are no dental records because she had apparently never been to a dentist. Except for the puzzling scraps of fabric found in her stomach, no conclusions can be drawn from the contents that would give us a lead. We’re really left with nothing.”
“And the media are putting on the pressure,” Pia added. “They’re making comparisons to the case from nine years ago. You know what I’m talking about.”
Everyone nodded. Nine years before, a girl of presumably Middle Eastern origin had been found dead in the Main River off Wörthspitze Park, wrapped up in a bedspread with a leopard pattern, her feet weighted down with a cement umbrella stand. The Leopard Special Commission had made immense efforts to discover the identity of the girl; team members were sent to Afghanistan, Pakistan, and northern India, and flyers about the girl had been posted all over. But in spite of the high reward offered, only two hundred tips came in, none of which provided a viable lead.
“How do you intend to proceed?” Dr. Nicola Engel asked.
“I would like to have an isotope analysis done so that we can find out where the girl was from, and where she has lived in the past few years. That could bring us a good bit further,” said Bodenstein, clearing his throat. “In addition, we need an analysis of the river currents in the Main so we can determine where the body was deposited in the water.”
“I’ve already arranged for that,” said Christian Kröger. “I marked it urgent.”
“Good.” Bodenstein nodded. “That’s the first step, and in the meantime we’ll keep in close contact with the press and the public. I’m still hoping that somebody will remember something and report it to us.”
“Okay,” the commissioner agreed. “What about the boy who was found near the body?”
“I was able to speak with him yesterday,” said Pia. “Unfortunately, he can’t remember a thing. A classic blackout. Not surprising, with blood alcohol of point thirty-three.”
“And the other young people?”
“They say they didn’t even see the dead girl.” Pia snorted. “Two of them weren’t particularly drunk, and I’m sure they’re lying. Still, I don’t think they saw anything that would be of any help to us. It was really just a chance encounter.”
Her cell buzzed.
“Excuse me,” she told the group, taking the call as she left the room. “Hello, Henning. What’s up?”
“Remember the scraps of fabric from the girl’s stomach?” replied her ex, as usual without bothering to say hello or to offer any other introductory remarks. “The material consists of cotton and an elastic fiber. Possibly she ate it out of hunger—that might explain why it was in her stomach. We were able to reconstruct some of the scraps. It might be interesting for your team. I’ll send you three photos as an e-mail attachment.”
Since the team meeting in the conference room was already breaking up, Pia went up to her office and sat down at her desk. She opened the e-mail program and waited for the server to download the mail from Henning. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the edge of her keyboard. Naturally, Henning hadn’t taken the trouble to compress the attachment, so it took her computer a couple of minutes to download three 5.3-megabyte photos. Finally she was able to open the first picture, and she stared in bafflement at the screen.
Kathrin Fachinger and Kai Ostermann came into her office.
“What have you got there?” Ostermann asked curiously, looking over her shoulder.
“Henning sent me photos of the fabric scraps from the girl’s stomach,” Pia said. “But I can’t make out anything.”
“Let me take a look.”
She rolled her chair back a bit and turned over the keyboard and mouse to Kai. He shrank the photos. Then the three colleagues examined the pictures of the scraps.
“The biggest piece is seven by four centimeters,” said Kai. “They’re letters! The fabric is pink, with white print on it.”
Kathrin and Pia bent over to look.
“That could be an
S,
” Kathrin guessed. “An
I
and then
N
or
M,
and
D
or
P.
”
“And on this picture I can decipher an
O,
” said Kai.
“S-I-N(M)-D(P) and O,” Pia jotted down on her blotter.
Kai read the e-mail that Henning had sent with the photos.
“The stomach acid had already begun to attack the fabric. There was no foreign DNA detectable. No teeth marks were found on the fabric; it had been cut or torn into small pieces.”
“But how did it get into her stomach?” Kathrin wondered aloud.
“Henning thinks she could have eaten it because she was hungry,” replied Pia.
“Good God.” Kathrin grimaced. “Just imagine. How desperate would you have to be to eat cloth?”
“Maybe somebody forced her to do it,” Kai suggested. “Considering everything this girl was subjected to, it seems plausible.”
They heard raised voices in the corridor.
“… haven’t got time for such nonsense,” they heard their boss say. A moment later, Bodenstein appeared in the doorway.
“We just got a tip that sounds promising,” he announced. “Pia, we’re leaving at once.”
Frank Behnke appeared behind him.
“You’re calling this nonsense? An official investigation of the Office of Internal Affairs?” he asked smugly. “Get down off your high horse, Mr.
von
Bodenstein, or there might be unpleasant consequences.”
Bodenstein turned to look down at Behnke, who was a head shorter.
“I refuse to be threatened.” His voice was icy. “Once my current case is solved, I will put myself at the disposal of the Grand Inquisitor. Until then, however, I have no time for you.”
Behnke’s face first turned red, then pale. His gaze shifted and he looked past Bodenstein. Only now did he notice his former colleagues.
“So, Frank,” said Kathrin with a derisive grin. “You’re looking good in your new role.”
Behnke had always had a problem with women, especially with female colleagues who were of equal or superior rank. But Kathrin Fachinger was his special object of hatred because she had reported him for assault, and that had brought about his suspension.
His lack of self-control remained his weak point.
“I’m going to get you, too!” In his fury, he allowed himself to utter a potentially incriminating remark, and before witnesses, too. “All of you! You’re in for a real surprise.”
“I’ve often wondered what sort of person you’d have to be to spy on your own colleagues,” Kathrin retorted in disgust. “Now I know. You have to be a relentless conspirator who’s eaten up by inferiority complexes. A pathetic loser, frankly speaking.”
“You’re going to eat your words,” Behnke hissed as it dawned on him that he’d shown his weakness. He turned on his heel and marched off.
“You really could have kept that remark to yourself, Kathrin,” Bodenstein chided his younger colleague. “I don’t want any unnecessary trouble.”
“Sorry, boss,” said Kathrin without the slightest regret. “But that toxic midget isn’t going to be making any trouble for me. I know too much about him … and about Erik Lessing.”
This cryptic remark gave Bodenstein pause. He raised his eyebrows.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he said in an admonishing tone.
“Gladly.” Kathrin stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans and stuck her chin out belligerently. “I’d like nothing better.”
* * *
“She was angry because she didn’t get her way. That’s completely normal at that age; all children act up every now and then.” Florian got up and put his coffee cup in the sink. “Really, Emmi, I don’t think you should make such a big deal of it. Today she was completely back to normal, wasn’t she?”
Emma gave her husband a dubious look.
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“It’s just a phase.” Florian took her in his arms. “This isn’t easy for any of us.”
Emma hugged him around the waist, leaning against him. Moments of closeness like this were rare, and she was afraid that they’d become even rarer once the baby arrived.
“We ought to go away for a few days. Just you and me and Louisa,” he said, to her surprise.
“Do you have time?”
“I can probably take off four or five days.” He let her go and put his hands on her shoulders. “I haven’t taken any vacation time in ten months, and for the past few weeks I haven’t been very nice to you.”
“True.” Emma smiled.
“It’s because…” He fell silent, searching for the right words. “I know that you like it here, but for me it feels somehow … claustrophobic to be back living in my parents’ house all of a sudden.”
“But it’s only temporary,” said Emma, even though that wasn’t what she thought.
“Is that how you see it?”
She saw the skepticism in his eyes.
“Okay, you’re right. I do feel pretty good here,” she admitted, “but I can see that it’s strange for you. If you get another job abroad, the children and I could stay here at first, but if you stay in Germany, we should look for a place of our own.”
Finally, the smile reached his eyes. He seemed relieved.
“Thanks for understanding,” he said, turning serious again. “The next few weeks will determine what the future holds for me, and then we can make plans.”
He disappeared into the bedroom to pack his suitcase, because he had to leave soon. He was going on a lecture tour in the new federal states of Germany. Even though he’d be away again for a few days, Emma’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. She placed both hands on her belly.
Just five more weeks and the baby would be here.
Florian had finally admitted that he didn’t feel comfortable staying here, after hardly talking to her in weeks except to discuss day-to-day matters.
Everything was going to be all right.
Half an hour later, they said good-bye, and she successfully resisted the urge to hold on to him and never let him go.
“I’ll call you when I get there, okay?”
“Okay. Have a great trip.”
“Thanks. Take care of yourself.”
A little later, he clattered downstairs; the door opened with a faint squeak of the hinges, then closed with a gentle thud.
Emma heaved a sigh, then headed for the laundry room. Maybe she was just too sensitive at the moment. Corinna was probably right: For Florian, the whole situation was far from easy. And once the baby arrived …
Emma opened the door to the laundry room and turned the old-fashioned light switch until it clacked and the fluorescent lights on the ceiling came on. Through a high window, a little daylight fell into the room, which contained a washing machine and a dryer. Clotheslines were hung across the room, and it smelled of detergent and fabric softener. As she sorted the piles of laundry into dark, light, hot wash, and delicate fabrics, Emma’s thoughts wandered to the beginnings of their relationship.
When she and Florian realized that they both came from the Taunus, they suddenly had a feeling of home out there so far away from Germany. In the middle of nowhere, they had eagerly spoken of mutual acquaintances, and that had given them a closeness that had actually never existed. They hadn’t had much time to get to know each other, because only a short time later she found that she was pregnant, and they had married rather precipitously in the camp, because Florian had to go to India. For months, they had communicated only by e-mail, and she had fallen in love with the man she glimpsed behind the insightful comments, the incisive introspection, the words full of affection and flattering desire. He wrote about openness and trust and how happy he was he had found her. But when he was standing right in front of her in flesh and blood, everything changed. Their conversations seemed superficial, never reaching the quality, depth, and intimacy of all those e-mails. She was always conscious of the stale aftertaste of disappointment and inhibition, the subliminal fear of pressuring him and asking too much of him due to her need for closeness and tenderness. Embraces never lasted as long as she wanted them to, so she was unable to enjoy them because she was expecting at any moment that he would let her go and reinstate the distance between them. He never seemed capable of giving her the feeling of security that she yearned for with every fiber of her body.
Emma had believed and hoped that this would come with time, that he would open up to her and realize what she wanted from him, but that hadn’t happened. And ever since they’d moved into his parents’ house, she’d felt more than ever that she didn’t really know her husband.
“Oh, damn it, you’re thinking way too much,” Emma chided herself. “That’s just the way he is.”
She grabbed his jeans, turned them inside out, and searched the pockets so as not to wash coins, tissues, or keys along with the clothes. Her fingers touched something smooth; she pulled it out to see what it was. In disbelief, Emma stared at the object from the pants pocket, her mind refusing to believe what it might mean. She went hot, then ice-cold; she felt a stab in her heart, and tears of pain welled up in her eyes.
In a split second, her whole world had collapsed with a clap of thunder. In her palm lay a torn-open condom packet. It was empty.
* * *
Hello, Mrs. Herzmann. Unfortunately, your cell phone is turned off, so I’m trying to reach you on the landline. Please call me no matter how late it is. It’s extremely important. Thank you.
Leonie Verges had never called Hanna before, but her voice had such an urgent undertone on the answering machine that Hanna grabbed the phone and dialed her therapist’s number, although she was exhausted and wanted only to have a cold beer and go to bed. The woman must have had her hand on the receiver, because she picked up on the very first ring.