Rosa (26 page)

Hoffner, with no inkling of a roommate, rang the bell anyway. He suspected that Lina had taken care of any possible awkwardness, and he was right. Two minutes into his wait, she appeared through the glass and opened the door. She was wearing a long lilac dressing gown that pretended to be silk, with tatty little ruffles at the sleeves and collar. On anyone else, they might have seemed vulgar; on her, they looked playful. She had kept her hair up, the tight ringlets along her forehead holding firm in a little row of Os that, from a certain angle, seemed to be
ooh
ing at him. She was wearing a bit more rouge than he remembered from this afternoon. Hoffner liked that.

She quickly put a finger to her lips. In a loud voice she said, “Nice and early tonight, Elise. That’s a lucky break.” Lina stifled a laugh and motioned for Hoffner to head up the stairs. He did as he was told; she followed.

The room was more cluttered than he had imagined. The slant of the roof left little space for windows. Two small ones, recessed into narrow alcoves, peered up more than out, and gave a cropped view of the starless sky. Everything else also came in twos—bed, dresser, chair—except for the small stove and washstand. Those the girls shared. Hoffner noticed a large rectangular gap on one of the walls. A picture had clearly hung there for years. He wondered what could have been so offensive as to merit its removal.

“A bare-bosomed slave girl,” said Lina, having followed his gaze. “Horrible. She was being sold to some old letch, or something like that. We hated it.” Lina closed the door. She saw Hoffner reaching for his cigarettes. “Not in the room, please,” she said. Hoffner found the request charming. Or perhaps Lina was more concerned with Fichte’s highly developed sense of smell. Hoffner returned the pack to his pocket.

She moved past him and over to an icebox that he had failed to see until now. She opened it and pulled out a plate of various goodies: crackers and pastes and cheeses, and something that looked like chocolate. Hoffner knew otherwise; Lina could never have afforded the real thing. She placed the plate on a small side table by the bed. Two glasses and a bottle of kmmel already stood at the ready.

Hoffner said, “I wasn’t expecting all of this.”

Lina continued to organize the treats. “So you were thinking it would be off with your pants and into bed,” she said with a smile as she pulled open a drawer and retrieved a few more crackers. She placed them along the rim of the plate. “I thought you’d be hungry.” She licked at a bit of paste that had grazed one of her fingers. “I also thought you’d be here a bit earlier. The paste’s too cold now. Oh, well.” She smoothed out the blanket on her bed and sat. She motioned for Hoffner to join her.

Hoffner took off his coat.

“Just there on the chair,” she said, pointing across the room.

Hoffner laid his coat across the chair and then joined her on the bed. He sat with his hands on his thighs. He said nothing. Lina reached over and poured out two glasses of the liqueur. A bit dripped on her hand, and again she quickly lapped it up. She handed Hoffner his, and they toasted. Lina then placed hers back on the table before bringing the plate to the bed and setting it between them.

“The other bed,” he said. “I’m assuming that one belongs to Frulein Elise.”

Lina handed him a cracker with a thin slice of cheese. “She knows not to come home before two. We’ve plenty of time.”

Hoffner was unsure how to react to the precision of the night’s planning. He took a bite; the cheese had no taste, at all. He said, “She’s used to this sort of thing, your Elise? Does it on a regular basis?”

Lina looked up. The implication was obvious. She smiled disingenuously. “She’s at the White Mouse most nights.” She took a cracker for herself. “And she does it only for Hans. There haven’t been any others.”

“I didn’t imagine there were,” he said.

Lina chewed as she stared at him. Her smile softened. “So,” she said. “Do you like my little place?”

Hoffner took another quick scan. “Very nice.” He reached for a piece of the faux chocolate. To his amazement, it was real.

“Not expecting that, either, were you?”

“No,” he said. “Not that, either.”

He was enjoying the chocolate’s sweetness when, very gently, she reached over and started to undo his tie. No less gently, Hoffner reached up and took hold of her arm. He held it there. Lina peered at him, unsure why he had stopped her. For a moment she looked almost fragile.

“Why?” he said calmly. There was nothing uncertain in his question, no need for affirmation. He simply wanted to know. “Why me?”

She brought her hand back to her lap. It was something she had never considered. It took her a moment to answer. “Does it matter?” she said.

Hoffner held her gaze. “Yes. It does. Why?”

Again she waited. “Don’t look at me that way,” she said. Hoffner said nothing; he continued to stare. “With your eyes like that.” Her smile grew uncomfortable. “It’s too much . . . looking.”

Hoffner waited, then dropped his eyes to the plate. He took another wedge of cheese. “Better?”

“Much.”

He brought the cracker to his mouth. “So . . . how much do you pay for this place, you and your Elise?”

Lina once again had her glass. “Are you planning on helping out?” she said with a coy smile. She took a sip.

Hoffner laughed quietly. “I don’t imagine that’s the way this is going to work.”

“The way what’s going to work?” she said with mock innocence. “Oh, this. No, I don’t imagine it will.”

“You split it?”

Lina said, “You’re awfully concerned with how I’m getting on. At tea today, wondering whether the flowers were enough, now my rent.”

“Sorry,” said Hoffner. “I won’t ask anymore.”

“No. It’s nice.”

“Good.” Hoffner finished off his cracker. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

She casually placed her glass back on the table. “Forty. Yes. We split it. Twenty each.”

Hoffner watched as her neck twisted with the movement. It was almost a perfect neck. “That’s not the question I meant.”

She turned back. “I know. I haven’t come up with an answer for that one, yet.” Without waiting for him, she reached over and took his glass. She set it on the table, then did the same with the plate. Hoffner knew exactly what was coming, yet he did nothing. He sat there as she moved closer, as she untied her dressing gown and let it drop off her shoulders. It spilled into a pool of silk by her thighs. She was wearing a nightgown beneath, pale white and thin, with two ribbon straps over her shoulders. Her small breasts were almost lost, save for the deep crimson of her nipples that puckered at the cloth.

Hoffner could smell the tangy sweetness of the rosewater in her hair. Her neck arced slightly, and he could see a thin ridge of powder that had gone unsmoothed by her chin. He felt a distant weakness in his arms and legs.

She slowly took his hand and placed it on her waist. “How many do I make, Nikolai?” she said. Hoffner felt a heat below the gown, the suppleness of her skin. “Girls like me,” she said. “The ones that mattered. How many?”

Hoffner followed the moisture of her lips. Without warning, he pulled her into him. He saw her eyes widen as she let out a sudden breath. She showed no vulnerability, no guile. He could taste the saltiness of her breath.

“How many?” she said.

“Six,” he answered without having to consider the number for even a moment.

Lina’s smile returned. The total was irrelevant. All she had wanted was an answer. She placed her hand on his cheek and brought him into her.

Twenty minutes later, Hoffner was asleep, his naked backside still glistening from the exertion. Lina pulled the blanket over him. She liked the weight of his arms and chest on her, the thick flesh of his back as his breathing grew heavier. He had taken her without reserve, and had left her spent. She had never felt such hunger in a partner. She could still feel him inside her, a deep vacancy where he had been. She imagined what it would be like to be loved by this man. She felt no less empty.

At one o’clock she woke him. Hoffner roused himself slowly. He had been dreaming, something to do with wild dogs and Georgi. He felt as if he had been running for hours. He dressed quietly and finished off his glass. Lina sat and watched him from the bed; she was relieved that there would be no need for a repeat performance. She held the blanket around her naked shoulders as she brought him to the door.

“You don’t ask any questions about Hans,” she said.

Hoffner half smiled and shook his head. “No.”

She ran her hand along his chest. “That’s good.” She kissed him.

An hour later, Hoffner dropped his pants and shirt at the foot of his bed and crawled in next to Martha; she hardly seemed to breathe. With the scent of Lina still fresh on him, Hoffner placed his arm around Martha’s back and was asleep within minutes. No dreams. Instead, for the first time in weeks, he slept through the night.

POINT TUDE

On his third time through the notes, Hoffner wrote: “No pleasure or purpose in it; no imperative; kills because he can.” Fichte was on his knees at the foot of the desk, busy with one more stack of papers that he had just pulled from his valise. He had come directly from the train and had been pleasantly surprised to find Hoffner in an almost buoyant mood. There was nothing to apologize for; van Acker had been right: best to get it all here as quickly as possible. Fichte had decided not to question his good fortune. For Hoffner, though, the clear evidence of van Acker’s hand in the choice of documents had been far more important than the speed. As far as he could tell, the Belgian had sent along everything they might need. Unfortunately, it would be another hour before Fichte would have the papers in any kind of presentable order, but at least they were here.

Unwilling to wait, Hoffner had started in on what looked to be the most self-contained and thus coherent of the packets. It was the transcript of van Acker’s first interview with Wouters, dated October 7, 1916, two days after Wouters had been taken into custody. Not surprisingly, it was making for some rather interesting, if disturbing, reading:

REPORT CASE #: 00935

SUSPECT: WOUTERS

INTERROGATOR: ACKERS

7 OCTOBER 1916

CI van Acker: So you killed your grandmother. Anne Wouters.

M. Wouters: Yes.

CI van Acker: Because of the way she treated you.

M. Wouters: Because I had the bristle.

CI van Acker: So you deserved the beatings?

M. Wouters: (Pause) I don’t know. I don’t think so.

CI van Acker: And you were pleased to kill her. As you said, to “watch the blood flow down her neck.”

M. Wouters: (Pause) I don’t think I understand.

CI van Acker: You liked watching her die.

M. Wouters: No. Why should I like watching her die?

CI van Acker: Because she had been beating you. Because of the scars on your back.

M. Wouters: I don’t think so. I don’t know. (Pause) Would it be better if that was why?

CI van Acker: If what was why, Mr. Wouters?

M. Wouters: Would it be better if it was because of the scars on my back? Would that be right?

CI van Acker: (Pause) Are you sorry your grandmother is dead?

M. Wouters: You’re asking the same question again.

CI van Acker: No, I haven’t asked that question.

M. Wouters: Yes. Yes, you did.

CI van Acker: I can assure you, I didn’t.

M. Wouters: Yes. You asked if I was pleased to kill her. “To watch the blood flow down her neck.” You see.

CI van Acker: (Pause) And you buried her outside the city.

M. Wouters: Yes.

CI van Acker: “In the soft earth near the Shripte factory.”

M. Wouters: Yes. The dirt smelled like coal, there.

CI van Acker: Like coal. I see. (Pause) So if there was nothing wrong with what you did, Mr. Wouters, why not tell the police when they asked you about her disappearance?