Rain Girl (25 page)

He saw the car approaching; its harsh noise grew louder. He saw the girl; somehow she’d managed to get up, limping.
Don’t put on such an act,
he thought,
stupid bitch! Just like her mother
.

He laughed. What a coincidence; I struck again.

As if she’d heard him, she started to run, into the lights, throwing herself toward them. They picked her up, took her in, and threw her into the air.

But the sky was too high. Too high.

Soundlessly, she fell through the transparent rain.

A high-pitched voice sang in his ears like a memory, and he knew she was dying. He knew she was already dead.

59

He drove home and checked every room in his house. The kids were asleep and his wife, too.

He took a shower, setting the water to seventy degrees. It cooled and calmed him. Then he went into his bedroom, turned the alarm clocks on both sides of the bed back by four hours, pulled the blinds down to shut out the light of dawn, woke his wife, and had sex with her and enjoyed it. He shook his head at himself.

“What time is it?” she asked sleepily as he rolled off her.

“Not that late,” he said, holding one of the clocks up to her face. “Here, look.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I could have sworn . . . Where have you been? All of a sudden you were gone.”

“I met an old college friend at the party, an uncle of one of the students. We went for a drink,” he said. “Just imagine, what a coincidence.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, it must have been pretty exciting for you to come home in this mood.”

She laughed softly and leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned away in disgust.

“Don’t,” he said, trying hard to suppress the retching.

But she noticed, and ran her hand over his chest. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you sick?”

“Yes,” he said, jumping out of bed, “I’m suddenly not feeling well. The flu, maybe.”

“Maybe you’ve just had too much to drink,” she said. “I can smell it on your breath.”

He ignored the reproach in her voice and said, “Yes, could be, go back to sleep,” and closed the door.

In the bathroom he vomited, twice, three times, and rinsed out his mouth. He frightened himself when he looked in the mirror. When he went back to the bedroom, she had already gone back to sleep.

He lay awake until morning, until it was time to turn the clocks forward again and pull up the blinds.

60

They walked to the car. It was late, as usual. Dark, even though it was summer.
Amazing,
Franza thought,
where are the days going?

Felix groaned as they got into the car. His intestines were rebelling, or maybe it was his kidneys, his liver, or his discs, something or other that you schlepp around inside you. He made a face, saw Franza’s worried look, and shook his head.

“Are we in a race,” she asked, “to see who can get onto Borger’s table first?” He gave her a long look and tapped his forehead.

They called Arthur on his cell phone. “We’ve got him,” Franza said.

“Yes,” Arthur said, “me too. Reuter.”

“Great!” she said. “Excellent! Do you have an eyewitness statement?”

“Of course!” he said, clicking his tongue.

“Great!” she said again. “We’ll confront him. Find out his address and call us back. We’ll meet there. Good work.”

“Roger that,” Arthur said, happy about the praise. He called the night-shift team at the police station.

“The address for the following name,” he said. “It’s urgent.” He still felt happy as a little boy, racing through town with flashing lights. It had been one of the reasons he wanted to become a policeman.

61

It was hopeless; he knew it. He couldn’t go on like this. His life was slipping away from him. He was OK with that.

On the evening of the third day he decided not to leave the house or go to work anymore. He passed a concerned-looking Karen and went into the bedroom, locked the door, and lost himself in the photos. He spread them all over the bed, the dresser, the floor, everywhere. He ignored Karen’s banging on the door, her demands to sleep in her bed; and he didn’t leave the room again until the morning, when the house was empty and quiet.

The children got on his nerves. Karen did, too, with the dark rings around her eyes. He couldn’t stand her anymore, couldn’t imagine how he’d ever been able to. She didn’t know anything about the dark energy pulsing through his veins and driving him mad.

They were flashing through his mind, Marie, Judith, the child. They were pulsing through his veins.

And him? He wanted to follow the silence.

And? Nothing else.

62

“He won’t be home,” Felix predicted grimly as he rang the doorbell. “They’re never home. And I always know it in advance. I can feel it in my bones, especially today.”

He stretched his back gingerly, waiting for something to crack inside him, but nothing happened.

The door opened within seconds, as if someone had been waiting for the doorbell to ring. On the other side of the door, two young girls looking frightened and silent were huddled up against a woman. Franza immediately thought of Bohrmann’s children and wondered what other tragedies this town still had in store for them.

An elderly couple appeared in the background. At least she wasn’t alone. At least she’d called in support.

It was past ten o’clock now. The sky was dark, but lamps on posts to the left and right of the door lit up the entranceway to the row house.

The family didn’t say anything. They just stared at the detectives.

“Frau Reuter,” Franza said and held out her hand, but it wasn’t taken. “Do you remember us? We were at your school two days ago.”

Karen remained silent.

“We’d like to speak to your husband,” Franza said, hating herself for it. How many times had she been the bearer of bad news? How many times had she been the cause of further tragedies, sometimes more damaging than the initial one? All the times she’d brought pain to houses and apartments, again and again, and it never got easier.

There’d been many times she’d wanted to tell Arthur about it, about the pain that gripped her every time and how it held on longer each time. “Look for something else,” she wanted to say. “Forget about this job. The pain makes you too lonely. But by the time you notice, it’s too late.” But she knew she wouldn’t tell him any of this, just like no one had told her or Felix. He’d find out for himself, just like they had. It was what it was. They were cut from the same cloth; he didn’t have a choice.

“Our son-in-law isn’t home,” Karen’s mother said, stepping up to Karen’s side and putting an arm around her. “Who are you and what do you want from him, anyway?”

They presented their IDs. “Police, Homicide Division,” Felix said and gave their names. “We’re investigating a murder. When do you expect him back?”

“We don’t know,” the mother said coldly. “It’s late. Could you please leave? My daughter’s not feeling well, and the children need to go to bed.”

Franza and Felix shook their heads simultaneously.
Funny,
thought Arthur, who was standing behind them,
how attuned to one another they are. Like an old married couple
.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Felix said slowly. “But please, put the children to bed. May we?” He pushed his way past the mother and into the house. Franza and Arthur followed.

The furnishings were tasteful, some modern furniture mixed with old pieces. Art was hanging on the walls. On the dining table in the middle of the room was a pack of cigarettes. Franza and Felix looked at each other, and he nodded. It was the right brand.

Karen’s father began to protest. “Hang on a minute, you can’t do that! Just push your way into a house like that!”

“Yes,” Felix said. “We can. There’s a law for situations like this: exigent circumstances.”

Karen spoke. “Was it him?” she asked. “Did he kill her?”

“You should put the children to bed,” Franza said and leaned down to the girls, smiling as best as she could.

The grandmother nodded, wiped tears from her face, and took the children out of the room.

“Yes,” Felix said, looking at Karen. “We have reason to believe he did.”

Karen swallowed. Her lips started to tremble and she sucked them between her teeth. She walked over to a cupboard, pulled out a stack of photos, and threw them on the table. Marie. Photo after photo—only Marie.

“I found them in our bedroom,” Karen said, her voice firm and steady now. “He’d locked himself in there yesterday and didn’t go to work today. When I got home today he was gone. Only the photos were still here.” She fell silent, turned to the window, and looked into the night outside.
Once again,
Franza thought,
looking out the window, into the distance, into freedom, even at night.

“He kept it to himself,” Karen said. “Until yesterday I didn’t notice anything, nothing at all. And then you two turned up, and he just snapped. Left the school, took off somewhere, I don’t know where. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. I can’t get through to him anymore.”

“Did you know? Were you covering for him?”

She spun around, frightened and angry—a bit of both. “Who do you think I am?”

Felix shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

All is fair in love and war,
Arthur thought, and then wondered at what a stupid expression it was.

“His love . . .” Karen said quietly and shook her head. “I don’t think it was ever . . .”

She broke off, her face an expression of unhappy yearning. “No, I never had it. Even though I would have done anything for . . .”

Franza looked at Arthur. He was standing perfectly still and listening attentively. She found it touching.

“He’s never been happy,” Karen said, pulling herself together again. “He was always looking for happiness, but it never came. I don’t think he loved me, maybe not even the children. No one. I always had the feeling he was waiting, for someone or something. But it never came, and he was always disappointed. But then, suddenly, there was Marie.”

She laughed softly, thinking about it. “It was obvious. He devoured her, right from the start. She took his breath away. Yes, that’s how it was, whenever he was around her. He was dying to touch her. I could feel it. His hands would always tremble when she was around. She drove him crazy; I could see it.”

She fished a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and opened the window. The smoke curled off into the darkness. She coughed softly.

“Then when she wore that dress on Monday.” She turned around, Franza nodded. “He went up to her, whispered something in her ear. They probably arranged a meeting place, so he could . . . Probably . . . everyone saw it. I don’t know. I felt ashamed.
Me!
” She shook her head and gave a short laugh. “Isn’t that crazy?”