Pull down the blinds, draw the curtains, turn off the main lights. From outside it needs to look like nobody’s home. Ideally, I would go around and knock on all the doors in the neighborhood, to check whether anyone has seen Erik, but that would probably be overdoing it a little.
There are other things I can do, though: like call the hotline for next of kin, and beg the woman at the other end to tell me whether my fiancé has turned up anywhere. Yes, I’m sure that he was there at the time of the attack. No, I haven’t heard anything from him yet, nothing at all. Yes, of course I’ll leave my name, address, and telephone number.
“Please call me as soon as you know anything, it doesn’t matter how late it is,” I say in a choked whisper before hanging up.
Erik looks at me thoughtfully. “I had no idea how convincing a liar you can be. It’s astonishing. And scary, to be honest.”
I open my mouth to respond, but then decide to stay silent after all. My day wasn’t as horrific as his, but it was still terrible. Right now my nerves are so raw that I could come out with any conceivable form of emotional outburst: hysterical laughter, or fits of tears. Or an attack of rage.
I don’t dare to even try to explain it. It’s better to stay quiet.
My next call is to one of the biggest hospitals in Munich, where I get through to someone on the switchboard after the third attempt and give another acoustic breakdown performance. This woman, too, notes down my details.
The more frequently our names turn up on the lists of the missing and those searching for them, the better. If Gabor were to report Erik missing, then he might find out that Erik’s fiancée already called. Multiple times. Everywhere. Right now, an open display of worry is the best disguise.
The next hospital. And then the next. At some point Erik stands up, gets a bottle of wine from the kitchen, and opens it. He hands me a half-filled glass, but I wave my hand to reject it. I need a clear head; it’s already after midnight. The fact that I’m ignoring my exhaustion doesn’t mean it’s not there.
So Erik drinks alone, lost in his thoughts as I call hospital number four and am kept waiting in the phone queue for ages. When someone finally picks up, I have to make a considerable effort to sound desperate instead of irritated.
By the time I finish the call, Erik has closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The glass in his hand is empty, as is the second, intended for me.
“You know what I find interesting?” he says, without looking up.
“What?”
“It’s possible to interpret your sudden flurry of activity in two different ways. That you’re trying to fake my death in order to protect me. Or—”
“Or?” My voice sounds irritated. Pull yourself together, I order myself silently.
“Or you’re getting everything ready for my actual death. If you wanted to kill me, you’d never get such a great opportunity as this again. No one officially knows whether I’m still alive or not, so if I don’t turn up again, the police won’t make any effort in their investigations.” He opens his eyes again and leans forward, to grab the bottle of wine and pour what little remains of it into his glass.
“They won’t find my body at the station, that’s the only flaw. But then again I could have been right next to the bomb and pulverized. Right?”
For a few seconds I just stare at him, lost for words. If it wasn’t for the episode with the knife, I would have every reason to be outraged. But … his train of thought wasn’t illogical. It’s clear I’ll never be able to convince Erik that he’s wrong.
I get up from the couch, go into the kitchen, and pick up the tapas cookbook from the shelf. Toward the back of it, there’s an envelope clipped between the pages. I pull it out and take it into the living room, where I throw it on the coffee table.
“There. There’s twenty thousand euros in it; that should keep you going for a while without having to worry about bills. If you really think I want to kill you, then take it and go to the airport, get on the first plane out of Germany, and hide somewhere.”
Erik barely glances at the envelope, his eyes have narrowed. “You think I’ll take your money?”
“It’s not about money, it’s about you being able to feel safe. Money isn’t the solution here, interestingly enough it never is, but it helps.”
I can see the gears turning in his head, contemplating whether my suggestion can in any way be linked to the theory that I’m in league with Gabor.
“There’s no way I’m going,” he says eventually. “Bernhard said you’re in danger; you really think I could just take off?”
I pick up the envelope and put it back into the book. “It depends on whether you trust me. Despite what happened with the knife, which I’m still unable to explain. Really. And for that reason, I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again, but I swear to you that I don’t want to hurt you. Not in my conscious mind.”
Erik rubs both his hands over his face. He’s pale, says nothing, and just nods.
I can’t let myself forget what he’s been through. Not just today, but in the past few days as well, when he looked after me almost around the clock. It’s only fair I take charge of things now.
And apart from that it feels good—it fits with the version of Joanna I’ve always considered myself to be.
“You sleep upstairs, in the bedroom, you can lock the door there. I’ll take my things and make up a bed on the couch.”
He halfheartedly tries to protest, but I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s the only sensible solution. That way nothing can happen.”
He’s not convinced, but his tiredness wins. “Don’t open the door to anybody, Jo, OK? And if you hear any noise outside, come upstairs right away.”
I promise him. I grab my things and get set up on the couch, trying to beat back the uneasy feeling that’s creeping up inside me.
What if Gabor didn’t believe that I’m spending the night at a friend’s place? What if he sends someone by here to check?
Sleep eludes me. Every sound in the house makes me nervous. I listen for steps outside, for cars passing by—are they slowing down or is it just my imagination?—and even to my own pulse.
It’s past two o’clock in the morning when I finally give up and turn on the television. I keep the volume so low that even I can barely hear it.
There are still special reports about the attack on Munich station, and now the government is speaking up. Security services are on high alert, is the general gist of it, so the population don’t need to be afraid of any follow-up attacks. The only different opinion is that of the chairman of a right-wing populist party, who claims to have seen this coming for a long time and says that Germany is already at war. In between, there are live reports from the station and the same material from this afternoon. It will probably go on like this for the whole night. By now I’ve looked at the images so often that they’re almost familiar. So familiar, that despite the horror in them, I manage to doze off.
* * *
It feels like I haven’t slept any more than three or four hours, but when I open my eyes it’s almost ten o’clock. The television is still on, showing new images of the destruction; this time the large station hall can be seen from the inside. I stare at the images for a few minutes, only now realizing what Erik must have gone through. And all of a sudden I realize what we have to do next.
We can’t just bury our heads in the sand. Erik is convinced that Gabor at least knew about the attack, even if he wasn’t involved in it. Bernhard’s call was practically an admission of conspiracy.
We can’t keep all that from the police.
Or I can’t, to be precise. Because Erik has to stay dead. Until we’re somewhere safe.
A few minutes later I knock on his door. I feel my heartbeat quicken as it stays silent on the other side. Could something terrible have happened up here while I was asleep downstairs?
I knock again. Harder. Louder.
“I’m awake.” His croaky voice says otherwise.
“I’m sorry I woke you, but we have to discuss what we’re going to do next. I’ll make us some coffee, OK?”
A quarter of an hour later we’re sitting in the kitchen, each of us with a steaming mug in front of us. I’ve turned off the television; who knows what the sight of the images might provoke in Erik. I need his complete attention and concentration now.
“We have to inform the police.” He opens his mouth to interrupt me, but then stops as I shake my head. “We can’t get to the bottom of this by ourselves, and if we just sit around and wait, it could cost us our lives. I don’t think Gabor will wait too long before attempting to get rid of us again. Or to get rid of me, to be more precise.”
Erik stirs his coffee; for a few seconds the clink of the spoon against the inside of the cup is the only sound I hear. Apart from a car engine outside. A diesel engine, idling. Not driving past.
In my mind I picture men in black sunglasses taking photos of the house; maybe one of them will get out and try to peer in through the blinds … Everything inside me wants to get up and quickly look outside, but that would be the stupidest, the worst thing I could do …
I’ve barely finished the thought by the time the driver of the car steps on the gas. The sound of the engine becomes quieter, before disappearing completely.
Erik still hasn’t said a word.
“I’ll speak to the police, given the circumstances.” The certainty of my voice surprises even me. “But it would be very helpful if you could give me all the details again. Every moment of doubt you had about Gabor and his people.”
* * *
I’ve made notes for my phone call to the station so I don’t forget anything. I’m guessing that the conversation will be recorded, so I have to sound convincing, particularly in terms of being worried about Erik.
“My fiancé was at Munich station yesterday at lunchtime,” I sob, when I finally get someone on the phone. “He hasn’t been in touch since, I can’t reach him, and no one knows what happened to him.…”
The officer tries to calm me down, and I let him. After a few moments, I continue with a softer, more composed voice. “It was so strange yesterday. You know—I think Erik suspected that something wasn’t right. There were a few attempts on his life in the past few days. And looking at it in hindsight, it seems to me like his company could be involved in the attack. I also got this very strange call from one of his coworkers yesterday. He warned me, you know.”
“Really?” The officer is now listening attentively, but with caution as well. He probably gets ten people an hour calling him with some conspiracy theory. “Would you come to the station and go on record about your suspicions?”
I was afraid of that. “No. I’m sorry, I don’t want to leave the house right now. I don’t know if I’ll reach you alive.”
“Fine. Then we’ll send someone over to you. This afternoon around two; please make sure you’re available, on the phone as well.”
I give him the address and hang up.
* * *
The three hours until the scheduled arrival of the police feel like three days. Just before twelve, Ela calls, distraught, wanting to know if Erik has turned up yet, saying that she can’t find him on any of the lists—neither the survivors list nor the casualty list.
It hurts to have to lie to her, but if I want to keep Erik’s cover intact, there’s no other way. “No. No sign of him.” I whisper into the phone. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll come by.”
“No.” That was a little too quick. “Please don’t. I didn’t get a moment’s sleep the whole night and I just took a sleeping tablet. Maybe tomorrow, hopefully by then…” I didn’t finish the sentence, but Ela understands.
“Oh God, yes. Hopefully.” I can hear her hesitating, like she wants to say something else but doesn’t really know what. “You sound almost like you used to before. Like you care about Erik. So do you? Are you remembering?”
He is sitting opposite me, and looks up when he realizes I’m staring at him. Tries to smile.
“No,” I say. “Not even a little. But I’m still so terribly worried about him. And no, I don’t understand it either.”
We promise that we’ll contact each other right away if we find out anything about Erik, then Ela hangs up.
* * *
When the doorbell rings shortly after two, it almost takes superhuman effort for me to open the door. The two men I can see through the spy hole could just as easily be Gabor’s people. Dark pants, dark jacket. Only when one of them holds up their ID do I open the door.
We sit down in the living room. I wanted Erik to wait upstairs until the policemen are gone, but he insists on hearing as much of the conversation as possible. So he’s sitting in the pantry, and I hope there’s nothing in there that makes him sneeze.
I’ve prepared myself for this. Among other things by covering the remainder of the bruise on my forehead with concealer. I don’t want the police to ask the wrong questions.
But they barely ask anything anyway; instead they let me speak, and I tell them everything. About the boiler which almost cost us our lives, about the car accident that pushed Erik off the road. “There are police reports and hospital files on both of these incidents, which I’m sure you’ll be able to take a look at. The day before yesterday, Erik said that he suspected Gabor Energy Engineering were behind all of it. But he didn’t think anything of it when they asked him to pick up some business partners from Munich station on Monday. His boss specifically told him that he had to be there at ten minutes past one, and not be late.”
I look at first one, then at the other policeman, seeing their faces blur before my eyes. Tears, at exactly the right moment. “And it seems he was there on time.”
The policeman sitting opposite me and to my left has been making notes the whole time. Now he lays his pen aside. “If all of this is the case, Frau…” He glances at his notepad. “Frau Berrigan, why didn’t you report the suspicion previously? Why didn’t Herr Thieben?”
“We didn’t have any proof.” I wipe the back of my hand across my face, taking care not to touch the part with the concealer. “Do you think Erik would have been able to keep his job after that? And besides, we didn’t know whether we were right, it all seemed so implausible. And there wasn’t even any reason for Gabor wanting to get rid of Erik.”
The two policemen exchange a quick glance.
“You said on the phone that one of Erik’s coworkers called you yesterday and warned you?”
“Yes.” I pick up my phone from the coffee table and open the caller list. Hopefully the officials will also see my forty-seven unsuccessful attempts to reach Erik; that can’t hurt.
“This call here at half past twelve, that was Bernhard Morbach, a close colleague of Erik’s. He’s never called me before, so I have no idea where he got my number from. He seemed to want to apologize more than anything. He said that he hadn’t known exactly what was going to happen, that he should have warned Erik, and that he was sorry. And then he said that I should disappear, hide as quickly as possible. Otherwise I would soon be dead too.”
Another quick exchange of glances between the two. The one on the right makes a note. “Thank you, Frau Berrigan, this information could prove to be very helpful. It would probably be a good idea if we take you to a safe place until we’ve checked the details of your statement. We don’t want anything to happen to you. Would you agree to that?”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “For now, I’d rather stay here. In case Erik turns up again.”
The man shrugs regretfully. “We’d like to station someone here to protect you, but right now we need everybody we’ve got. So it’s best if you don’t open the door to anyone and call the police if anything strange happens. Maybe you have some friends who could stay with you for a few days?” I don’t answer and just shrug instead.
“OK then. If you change your mind…” He presses a card into my hand; I take it with a grateful smile.
No place the police could offer me would be as safe as the one I’m going to get us to.
Just another day, then everything will be over.