Authors: Pierre Frei
'See you tomorrow, darling. Goodnight, nurse.'
Ashburner hurried out to his jeep. Sergeant Donovan's voice was echoing from the loudspeaker. 'Call in, boss, for God's sake! Its bloody urgent.'
He was disappointed. She'd granted him nothing but a brief rattle in the throat, and then she withdrew before he could possess her. Spoilsport, he thought, feeling injured. He leaned his motorbike up against the kerb somewhere and patted the tank as if it were a horse's flank. It had helped him to get that persistent inspector out of the way. Now it was no more use to him. Feet dragging, he made his way home. In the kitchen, he carefully peeled himself an apple and bit into it. 'Too sour,' he muttered disapprovingly.
Glass splintered. Suddenly the large pane in the French window leading from the kitchen to the garden was shattered. Bewildered, he saw the inspector clambering clumsily through the window frame. Klaus Dietrich had broken off a plank of wood from a fence somewhere, and was using it as a crutch.
'I should have seen it days ago. Your secretary handed it to me on a plate, never suspecting, and I didn't notice. "The boss marked the other four with a cross too," she said. The other four cards in the card index, making five in all, right? And with that cross on the fifth card you were anticipating Jutta Weber's death. Only the killer could know she'd be the next victim.'
Chalford picked up the knife on the kitchen table. An unfortunate mistake, inspector. I assumed you were a burglar. so then I stabbed you.' Hand raised, he made for Dietrich.
Dietrich shifted his weight to his sound leg. He could keep his balance for only a few seconds, but it was enough. Putting his full weight into it, he brought the piece of wood down against the back of his attacker's knees. Chalford collapsed. The inspector swayed and fell to the ground beside him.
And we'll take care of the rest.' Captain Ashburner, followed by Sergeant Donovan, climbed into the kitchen, crunching over shards of broken glass. He helped Dietrich up and found him a chair. The sergeant handcuffed Chalford and hauled him up by his collar.
'Take him to the station and lock him up. And don't take your eyes off him for a second,' Ashburner told his sergeant. 'Inspector, you'd better rest for a little. Meanwhile I'll take a look around here.'
Klaus Dietrich was exhausted. He had caught the killer. He felt neither triumph nor satisfaction; he was just glad to have done the job. Back to the security services firm, he thought with mild humour.
'Inspector, take a look at this,' Ashburner said. Dietrich reached for the plank of wood and hauled himself up by it, breathing heavily. Ashburner had forced open the cupboard in the study next door. Behind them, someone screamed in horror. Chalford's housekeeper was staring past them at the open cupboard. A washing line was stretched across its interior, with four pairs of bloodstained panties hanging from it.
Inge Dietrich had accompanied her husband to the hospital, the OskarHelene-Heim. He needed a new prosthesis. They waited until it was his turn.
'We've impounded the black-marble obelisk from Chalford's desk. A genuine Barlach, he used to tell visitors. There's no doubt that he used it to torture his victims.'
'Oh, be quiet, Klaus, I don't want to hear about it.' Inge went to the reception desk. 'Will it be much longer?'
'Your turn will come in due course,' the nurse told her.
She sat down again. 'What will happen to Chalford?'
'There is no Curtis S. Chalford. Only Kurt Kalkfurth, the trainee butcher, who was murdering women in Onkel Toms Hutte before the war. The Americans will be happy to hand him over to the German judicial system.'
And his mother?'
'Martha Kalkfurth is as guilty as her son. She's known he's a pathological killer since he committed his first murder in 1936. She could have prevented all those other deaths by turning him in. Instead, she bribed an employee in the American consulate to grant him an emigration visa. Shortly before the outbreak of war, Kurt Kalkfurth disappeared. His mother spread the story that he'd volunteered for the Motorcycle Corps and fell during the invasion of Poland. She paid for her infatuation with a stroke and the paralysis that followed it. I'm sure she was secretly hoping he'd come home sometime, because in spite of her physical disability she looked after his motorbike and kept it hidden all through the war.'
'You've questioned her?'
'She can't talk any more. A second stroke, the day before yesterday. But she confirmed my accusations by blinking her eyes - that's all she can still move.'
And Chalford - I mean Kalkfurth?'
'He lay low in the United States. Not unusual for a pathological killer of his kind. He was completely fixated on Onkel Toms Hiitte. When the American government was handing out jobs in defeated Germany, he took the opportunity to come back there.'
'Suppose someone had recognized him?'
In American uniform? Not very likely. All the same, he accepted the risk. He couldn't help satisfying his urge again in the old neighbourhood.'
The nurse called their names. The orthopaedic workshop was at the end of a polished corridor. The technician took a basic wooden leg from the shelf. It had a rubber tip and a couple of straps at the top. 'I'm afraid I can't offer you anything better just now, Herr Dietrich.'
'Oh, just throw in a parrot for my shoulder and I can play Long John Silver.' Dietrich had decided to take this lightly.
A parrot?' The man had never read Treasure Island. As soon as I get the materials I'll make you a better lower leg, but it could take some time. What with all the demand, and these bloody awful circumstances ... excuse my language, ma'am.'
'The main thing is for you to be mobile. We'll strap the thing on somehow.' Inge helped him. 'Can you manage to get home with it?'
He took her arm. 'I can manage anything with you.'
They had invited Jutta Weber and John Ashburner round. A kind of engagement party for you,' said Klaus Dietrich, rather awkwardly. And, well, because we've known each other a while now.'
John Ashburner had brought a couple of bottles of wine, and cigarettes for the district councillor. He listened patiently to Hellbich's version of the story, according to which he, Hellbich, had of course suspected Chalford all along.
The women had only one thing to talk about. 'When's the wedding?'
Jutta beamed. In four weeks' time. We're getting married in the Evangelical church near the U-Bahn station, and then having the wedding breakfast at Club 48. You're all invited. Sergeant Panelli is already working on a wedding cake with four tiers.'
'You'll have your new leg by then too, inspector. I've had a word with General Abbot, and he's given the go-ahead for the military hospital to make you one.' Ashburner pointed to the window. 'Take a look out there.' A tricycle stood outside the house, with Sergeant Donovan beside it. 'He made you that in his free time. Know what he brought himself to say about you? "That darn Kraut, he's the right sort."'
'I hope he'll like the lunch. Find another plate, Inge.' Klaus Dietrich limped to the front door and waved to Donovan to come in. Expectantly, the family and their guests gathered around the table. There was good pea soup with fried onions and large cubes of bacon, courtesy of grandmother Hellbich's Persian lamb coat.
'Coming to lunch, Ben?' called Inge Dietrich.
'I'm not hungry. Keep some for me,' replied a voice from the steps. All eyes were on the soup tureen. Unobserved, Ben slipped out of the house.
Riemeister Strasse was dozing in the sun. Its inhabitants were at lunch, if they had any, or dreaming of better times on their verandas. Someone was listening to the radio with the volume right up and the window open. A neighbour opposite shouted, 'Turn it down!'
Ben breathed deeply in and out, straightened his back, held his head high and put his left hand flat in the jacket pocket. He left his thumb outside; the new suit called for upright but casual bearing. To his great grief, he met no one to show respectful amazement at his inimitable elegance. Only an old lady shuffled past with her head bent.
Where Riemeister and Onkel-Tom-Strasse came together to trace the rest of the long way to the Kurfiirstendamm, the Grunewald began, now much sparser because of the bombs and shells. It was five minutes from the outskirts of the wood down to the lake.
The Krumme Lanke lay dark silver in its marshy setting. It was a part of the chain of lakes that had once been an arm of the Havel running through the Grunewald, navigable until the middle of the sixteenth century. Elector Joachim II of Brandenburg had been able to bring the building materials for his hunting lodge in the middle of the forest along the river. Ben had learned that in history at school. At the moment, however, he was more interested in Heidi ROdel than in princely architecture. 'Sunday at two in the hollow by the lake,' she had said, which showed that she knew how to appreciate a well-dressed man.
Laughter and shouting came up from the water. These hard times could not spoil the pleasure of the bathers. Ben kept away from the bank so as not to be hit by someone's wet ball, but just close enough for the public to be able to react with speechless admiration to the appearance of the gentleman in Prince of Wales check. Public reaction was not very forthcoming. 'Hey, aren't we posh!' someone called after him. Ben replied with what he hoped was a scornful smile hovering around his mouth.
'Rather overdressed, eh, kid?' grinned an elderly man in a towelling wrap, but Ben loftily ignored him. Nothing anyone said could affect his suit. It symbolized a world in which everything was all right, where there were elegant people and enough to eat. He skirted the puddles left by last night's rain; they would have done the suede shoes no good. The fenced clearing rose gently from this bank of the lake. Ben avoided the bramble bushes and slipped through the young birch trees which could do no harm to his suit.
He didn't see Heidi until he had almost reached the hollow. She was sunbathing in a two-piece, blue bathing suit. Ben saw her full, half-opened lips, which she had quickly moistened as he approached, and her breasts rising to an amazing height with every breath she took. She had closed her eyes and appeared not to have noticed him. He cleared his throat. 'Oh, it's you,' she murmured sleepily, as if she were not very interested.
Ben was hurt. 'I can always go away again. Though we did have a date.'
'I know.' Suddenly she was wide awake. 'Looks really good, your suit.' She invitingly patted the ground beside her. He sat down, arms folded behind his head, and looked up at the sky. He had never been so close to her before. She smelled of walnut oil with a faint lily-of-the-valley fragrance, the pharmacist Schmidt's own concoction.
What happened next? Did she expect him to kiss her? Or would she rather they talked, and if so, what about? Perhaps she'd like a cigarette? He still had a packet with a couple of Stellas in it. On the other hand, you weren't allowed to smoke in the wood.
Suddenly her face was very close. She pressed her lips to his. He wondered how long she would keep them like that without taking a breath. She didn't go that far, but told him, 'If you open your teeth it works better.'
He did as she wanted. Her tongue darted out like a little snake and felt for his. He got the idea and let his own tongue wriggle vigorously. It set off a pleasant tingling feeling somewhere else entirely.
'Much better than Gert Schlomm.' she assessed his efforts in a pause for breath. 'Do take your suit off or it will get all crumpled ... and then there's the grass stains . . .' These were convincing arguments, particularly as he had his bathing trunks on underneath. Minutes later the precious garments were hanging on a young birch tree and the suede shoes were lying on the moss. Leaves rustled somewhere; it was probably a deer.
He pushed her down in the grass, and they went busily on exploring each other's mouth with their tongues. The top half of her bathing suit had slipped, because she had carefully unhooked it. Her breasts were warm and soft, a little slippery from Herr Schmidt's sun oil, but all in all very pleasant.
'It's much nicer with nothing on,' she whispered, slipping the bottom of her bathing suit off too. He removed his bathing trunks, hesitantly, because he felt ashamed of his erect penis. She took it in her hand with interest. The deer was rustling in the background.
He stroked her mound of Venus. The little hairs were silky soft. Only five minutes before he would never have believed he'd ever touch her there. He did it with a heart beating fast, and she seemed to like it. Her hand gently rubbed him. 'Did you ever do it before?'
Something told him that this was a moment for honesty. 'Not really, no,' he admitted. 'But I know what you do.'
'I know too.'
'I mean, did you ever . . . ?' He swallowed. 'With Gert Schlomm, for instance.'
'What, with the ridiculous way he carries on?' she exclaimed, her hand rubbing harder to encourage him.
Ben knelt between her thighs. 'Help me a bit.' She showed him the way. He felt her damp warmth - and slid out. Patiently, she helped him in again. He tried once more, in vain. His sheer anxiety to do it properly had made his prick go soft. 'Oh, shit,' he muttered.