30

Judith wiped away the tears, pocketed the photograph, and stood up. She tucked Dombrowski’s gun under her belt.

‘How much time do we have?’ she asked.

‘None.’

‘Are you badly hurt?’

‘It was a flesh wound – went straight through. I’ll live.’

She walked into the kitchen and found the kitchen knives exactly where they were stored in ninety-eight per cent of all households. She chose a small, sharp specimen with a pointed blade. Under the sink she found a bucket, detergent, and rags. No gloves. She didn’t even look for them. She ignored the bucket and soaked the rag with undiluted detergent.

When she returned Kaiserley looked at her mockingly.

‘You don’t want to do an emergency operation here, do you?’

She shook her head and walked over to the opposite bedroom wall. She found the bullet hole and pulled the slug from the wall. Then she wiped away her fingerprints with the rag. She did the same thing with the door. She knelt next to Espinoza and searched through her jacket pockets until she had found the phone.

‘Are you coming?’ she asked and stood up quickly.

Kaiserley got up with a suppressed groan and hobbled behind her into the living room. She examined the destruction critically.

‘Did you touch anything here?’

‘The ashtray I think. It’s still over there.’

Judith raced back into the bedroom. She found it and put it in her work bag, which Kaiserley was already holding out for her. She threw the phone in right after.

‘Anything else? Think about it for a second!’

Kaiserley looked around.

‘The couch.’

‘No fingerprints on fabric. Maybe microfibres.’ She studied Kaiserley’s light trousers.

‘The glass? The table?’ he asked.

She looked at the floor. Then she went down on her knees and examined the glass of the coffee table against the light.

‘Nothing,’ she said and turned back around. ‘They’ll find your DNA. But they won’t be able to connect it to you. Let’s go.’

She tossed the rag in the sink, but not before hastily wiping down the handles on the cabinets and doors first. There was nothing more she could do. Maybe that would save them for a couple of hours. Then they left the house through the back door. The screaming of a police siren approached. The dim glow of the street lights blinded them like the floodlights of a sports arena.

‘This way.’ Kaiserley pointed to the paved garden path. It ended at a compost heap next to the back edge of the property. Judith looked around quickly. Somewhere in the neighbourhood someone was pulling up the shades.

‘I’ll carry you. Maybe the crime scene investigators will think it was an overweight giant. Come on!’

He pulled her close and lifted her. Judith held on tight. She heard him breathing hard through clenched teeth. He must be in severe pain. But he still fought his way through the bushes and reached the back of the neighbouring property. Judith prayed that there were no dogs running free. She tried to make herself as light as possible. She felt his arms and the strength with which he carried her, on and on. She couldn’t remember ever having been carried.

He stumbled and she opened her eyes. They stood in front of a low wooden fence. Judith climbed over and helped Kaiserley follow. His car was parked on the corner. He leant on her and once again, for a moment, it felt like they were a couple taking a late evening stroll.

The flashing blue lights ghosted up the façades of the buildings. Two officers were ringing Merzig’s front door. One decided to go round the house. He pulled his gun and was swallowed by the shadows. The other went back to the street and looked around.

‘Keys,’ Judith whispered.

Kaiserley gave them to her. She unlocked the car door and slid behind the wheel. Kaiserley sat on the passenger side. She started the car and slowly drove away. Two more squad cars drove past them before they hit the B1 motorway.

‘Judith . . .’

‘I don’t want to hear it! Understand?’

‘You have to talk about it. You killed a human being.’

‘It was self-defence.’

‘You found out things about your family . . .’

‘I don’t have a family! Not one like that! I don’t want them, is that clear? I don’t want them!’

‘They loved you. They did it so you would have a better life!’

‘Really?’ she slammed into second gear and hit the next main road at fifty miles per hour. ‘Great life then. A beautiful life! Thanks a lot! Ten years in a home! Out on the street at sixteen. On the needle at twenty! That’s supposed to be better?’

‘Judith!’

She turned on the hazard lights and let the car roll to a stop at the edge of the road. She held the wheel tightly with both hands. An ambulance raced down the street and turned off towards Biesdorf. It was followed by two police cars.

‘I fucked it up,’ she said finally. ‘Just me.’

‘No. You just defended yourself. There’s something inside you that no one could erase. Your courage. Your empathy. Your strength. The first years of life are crucial for that. Everything that followed hurt you but didn’t break you. You were alone, you are alone, and if you keep it up, you’ll stay alone. But you’ll have to decide for yourself.’

‘Oh shit,’ she murmured. ‘Knock it off.’

‘OK.’

She looked up; he smiled.

The traffic was flowing steadily, and they disappeared into the anonymity of the big city. They didn’t say another word until Landsberger Allee. She turned left towards Kreuzberg.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To Dombrowski.’ She cast a quick glance at her watch. Just before ten. ‘The last office cleaning crew is just arriving. After that it’s calm there. I have to bring the gun back before he notices anything.’

Kaiserley nodded and looked satisfied with her answer.

‘The phone,’ he said. ‘Angelina wanted to incriminate someone. I’m just asking myself who.’

Judith shrugged her shoulders. ‘In my bag. Just press redial.’

Kellermann sat at Eva’s bedside and held her hand. Or at least her fingertips, because that was the only thing untouched by the bandages on her forearms and hands. The nurses checked the equipment in intensive care one last time – monitors with angular curves, the hydraulic hissing of the respirator, the IV solution that was dripping into Eva’s body from a bottle – and gave him an encouraging smile.

Kellermann thought about her suicide note for the thousandth time. He understood her desperation. He could even appreciate why someone would take sleeping pills and slash her wrists. He attributed the suicide attempt to his failure, and his betrayal. But who did she mean when she wrote ‘I’ve killed?’

Eva’s eyelids fluttered. Her hands ran restlessly over the covers. She opened her eyes and looked at him as if he was a stranger.

‘Eva?’ The happiness spread his chest, almost seemed to make it burst. ‘Can you hear me?’ Can you understand me? Everything will be OK. Believe me. Everything will be OK.’

She touched the oxygen tube in her nose. ‘What happened?’

‘I’ll explain it to you, Eva. One day. But first you have to get better.’

She looked at him, and the memories returned. His eyes were burning, as he let her gaze inside himself and waited for her accusation to be spoken.

‘She said you wanted to leave me.’

‘I won’t leave you. Ever.’

‘That you love her.’

‘I don’t love her.’

She took a deep breath. Her fingertips twitched. Kellermann rubbed her hand. I don’t love her, he thought. I don’t know what love is. But this here, the two of us, comes close.

‘And then . . . it was black. I don’t know anything else. What’s going on?’ She raised her arms and powerlessly let them sink again. ‘What happened?’

‘The pills?’ he asked. ‘You slashed open your wrists, Eva. You were almost dead.’ His voice faltered. He was embarrassed. He had never experienced himself this way. ‘You were almost dead.’

‘I didn’t do that,’ she whispered. ‘I would never abandon you. Only if you no longer wanted me.’

Kellermann produced the note. ‘Did you write this letter?’

‘A letter? No. What kind of letter?’

Kellermann crumbled up the paper and put it back. ‘It’s not important.’

She closed her eyes, her hand searching for his. She began to breathe calmly and evenly.

‘Stay with me,’ he said. ‘Don’t leave me. I still want you.’

The nurse crept back up quietly.

‘Go back home. You need to change your clothes and sleep for a couple of hours.’

‘I can’t.’

She pointed to his blood-splotched trouser legs, which were protruding out from under the green protective apron. ‘Do it for her. When she wakes up again.’

He looked down at himself and agreed with her.

Judith parked next to two moving vans, took her bag, and sprinted into the garage. Even if Kaiserley had wanted to follow her, he wouldn’t have been able to in his state.

The door to Dombrowski’s office wasn’t locked. Surprised, she stared at the burning desk lamp and the figure who hastily jolted awake from a light slumber.

‘Hi,’ she said, and stood there, out of breath.

Dombrowski took the lampshade and pointed it at Judith. She turned on her heels.

‘Stay here!’

Dombrowski stood up, had reached the door in three strides, and slammed it shut with such force that the stucco crumbled.

‘Gun.’

She pulled the pistol out of her waistband and gave it to him. He checked the gun with practised motions. Then he sniffed at the barrel.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me!’

He ripped open the desk drawer and threw the pistol inside. Judith jumped. She’d never seen Dombrowski like this.

‘Did you swim here?’

‘No.’

‘Listen up, girl. I’m able to smell it five hundred metres away if someone’s in deep shit. And you stink! I covered your ass. I lied to the cops for you. Kai gave you an alibi with your time card. You stole my gun. You come back at night, you’ve fired shots, you look like death. Now tell me finally what happened!’

‘I can’t.’

‘Then I’ll call the cops. I haven’t done it before, I swear. But now it’s my only protection.’

He dropped into his Schalck-Golodkowski chair and reached for his telephone. Judith pounced on him and ripped the receiver out of his hand.

‘No!’

‘Then talk!’

Judith put the handset back. Her hands were shaking. She saw Dombrowski’s furrowed face and the concern that was written all over it. And something else: affection. She thought about the photograph in her pocket, and Merzig’s bloodshot eyes, and a family that had betrayed each other and knew that it was still better to know it all now. Because you could only despise what you knew. It seemed to be similar with affection.

She lifted her hand and placed it on Dombrowski’s powerful arm.

‘Come here,’ he said hoarsely.

He pulled her onto his lap, embraced her and held her tight. At the same time, he clapped her on the back like a furniture mover. Judith let it happen because any rejection would have hurt him terribly. And because she could vaguely remember how she had pictured her father. Dombrowski’s eyes were damp when she softly disentangled herself.

‘I never had a daughter,’ he said.

‘Three, if I may remind you. From three different women.’

He nodded and attempted a pitiful grin. ‘But they never came to me when they were in trouble. I thought I’d get to do it right at some point.’

‘You did, Dombrowski, that you did.’

‘Is everything OK?’

‘It is now.’

She gave the drawer a shove. It slid shut and the pistol disappeared.

‘Another incident like that and you’ll get the public toilets!’

‘Sure,’ Judith said and grinned. She was about to open the door when Dombrowski called after her.

‘Catch!’

She turned around too late. Something slapped against the wall, fell to the floor, and broke open. A penetrating odour of dog shit, urine and mould spread.

‘Don’t leave that lying around again. It almost knocked Josef out.’

Judith stared at the broken bin bag and the black, indefinable bundle of rags at her feet. A memory flashed brightly but couldn’t be ordered. Those films are valuable. You carry them around. You keep them in sight. You try to make them disappear at the last second.

In your fear of death and your despair you throw it over the balcony railing. It lands in the hedges and is found by the dogs, buried and hidden. It stays outside, lying out in the rain, in the sun, by day and by night. Until it becomes rubbish that no one wants to touch.

She bent over and picked the thing up with splayed fingers.

‘That’s disgusting.’

‘You said it. Get it out of here. Toss it. What is it?’

In front of Judith’s eyes the rags transformed into something that had once vaguely resembled a stuffed toy. Arms, two legs, an empty space where a head must have been: a furry head with big ears and a black bobble for a nose. Arms and legs were now just chewed remnants. But she still recognised it. She gasped for air.

‘It is . . .’

She ran her fingers over the belly of the creature. Her fingers suddenly froze. She looked up at Dombrowski.

‘Carpet knife?’

He pulled open another drawer, found what she was looking for in a single motion, and went over to her. Judith placed the thing on the floor. The stench was breathtaking. She took the knife, extended the blade, and opened the creature’s belly with a single incision. Metal scraped on metal. She tossed the knife aside and stuck her hand in the wet, ancient tatters.

‘What is that?’ Dombrowski asked.

One after another, Judith pulled out four tins of Florena cream.

‘It was my teddy. My favourite toy.’

‘And those?’

She tried to open the first one but it was either cross-threaded or rusted.

‘Let me,’ Dombrowski said. ‘What’s inside? Coke? Heroin? Uncut diamonds? Was this why everyone was after you?’

He groaned, and then he had the lid in one hand and the tin in the other. He looked at the contents in surprise.

‘Film?’

Judith nodded. ‘Film,’ she answered. ‘Holiday memories from Plattensee.’

Suspicious, Dombrowski handed her the tin. She stuffed it back with the others and the animal in the sack and made everything disappear in her bag.

‘Just film?’ Dombrowski still didn’t appear to believe her.

Judith opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. It was impossible. You couldn’t explain it in a single sentence. All she could do was take the tins to Kaiserley and throw them at his feet. Words weren’t necessary for that. He was the only one who would understand all of it. Everything. From beginning to end.

On the way to the bedroom Kellermann saw that someone had called. He paid no notice to the blinking light. Half-blind, he searched for something to pull on, climbed under the shower, dried off, and slipped into clean, dry clothes. On the way to the door he turned around and went out into the garden. He took the rose shears and cut flowers until he had a massive bouquet. Red and white. Then he remembered that he wasn’t allowed to take flowers into intensive care. He let them fall. Nothing he did meant anything.

He checked the answering machine, praying it wasn’t the clinic. Instead, Eva’s name was glowing on the display. Kellermann furrowed his brow. Her phone was in Berlin. She herself was in Munich. The two didn’t fit together, and he had not devoted any attention to these confusing circumstances. He pushed the play button, but two seconds long he only heard a roaring sound, as if someone had been sitting in a car and had cut the connection too late.

Judith sat on the back seat of Kaiserley’s car. The doors were open, her feet touched the asphalt. She was smoking. Kaiserley had turned on the interior light over the rear-view mirror and held the beginning of the roll of film up to the light.

‘Well?’ she growled impatiently.

Dombrowski was ruffling through the boot.

‘I can’t find your first-aid kit!’

‘Under the spare tyre!’ Kaiserley replied. Hushed, he continued: ‘The only things I recognise are the index cards. It would have to be viewed on a reading device. But I’m guessing the film is genuine.’

Dombrowski began to clean out the boot. He cursed terribly while doing so. Kaiserley gave Judith a look of amusement.

‘Nice boss,’ he said.

She cast a fleeting glace back at him. ‘He is. What are we actually going to do with this stuff?’

Kaiserley looked at her long and hard. He understood that ‘we’ was a gift. One he could accept or reject.

‘There’s a lot of people who will ask us that.’

Judith received the ‘us’ with a nod.

‘Where’s the rest?’ Kaiserley deposited the film in the tin. ‘We have to hand it over to the Stasi Records Agency.’

‘We don’t have to do anything.’ Judith reclaimed the plural form. ‘Those are my rolls of film. And I decide what I’m going to do with them.’

‘You don’t even know where to go with them. The VS will be at your door in a couple of hours. The BND will also want to take a look at them. These need to be put in the right hands.’

Judith stood up, stepped on her cigarette, and bent over the open passenger side to Kaiserley.

‘These are the right hands.’ She grabbed the tin and put it with the others. ‘I had to pay for them. My whole fucking family paid for them.’

A phone rang. Irritated, she looked at Kaiserley, then at Dombrowski, who was busy uncovering a month’s pay in deposit bottles. Finally, she realised that it was coming from her bag.

She pulled it out and took a couple of steps to one side.

‘Yes?’

‘Who am I speaking with?’ An authoritarian voice, used to giving orders. Judith recognised it immediately. The last time she’d heard it was in the Underground. She immediately pictured the powerful figure of the man who had dared to put her under pressure.

‘Mr Weckerle. I know I shouldn’t name names. But in this case, and because it’s certainly not your real name, I’ll gladly make an exception.’

Silence. Then disbelief: ‘You?’

Judith went a couple of steps further. ‘Can you tell me who it is you wanted to call right now?’

‘First I want to know how you got that phone.’

‘The days when you were the one asking questions are past.’

‘Where . . .’

‘Didn’t you understand me?’ Kaiserley started listening. He looked over at her as if he would have liked to get up and hobble over to her. ‘Who do you think should have been picking up in my place?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I can hear you lying, Weckerle. And you know why?’ Because I come from an inferno. From hell. Because I . . .’ She stopped because she was aware it wasn’t a secure connection. ‘Because I know who last had this phone in their hands. And I’m only talking with you because someone wanted to railroad you. And that, Mr Weckerle, is the only thing we have in common.’

The man on the other end was silent. He probably needed a moment to process what she had just told him. When he spoke again it sounded like the weight of the world had just fallen from his shoulders.

‘We can speak openly. The smartphones were already swapped weeks ago.’

‘Aha.’ Judith didn’t know what that meant. But apparently that meant a green light for this connection.

‘The phone belongs to my wife,’ he continued. ‘She’s in hospital now. She supposedly attempted suicide. In her suicide note it says she killed someone.’

‘How’s she doing?’

‘They say if she survives the night . . .’

Weckerle, or whoever the man at the other end was, stopped.

‘Listen. I’m very sorry about your wife. I don’t know what else she did. Or if she was one of your killers, but she has nothing to do with this here.’

‘She’s not a killer. She’s my wife.’

‘Well perhaps she’ll still become one,’ Judith replied. ‘Are you authorised to negotiate?’

‘About what?’

‘You know exactly what I mean. I have demands.’

‘What?’

‘Does the name Gretchen Lindbergh ring a bell?’

‘No.’

‘Mr Kaiserley knew her by the name of Angelina Espinoza. She’s dead. She shot a former Stasi Lieutenant-General. And if you’re able to make it look like she subsequently killed herself, then I might throw this phone into the River Spree. Someday. When I can be sure that grass has grown over this business.’

‘You’re overestimating my scope of influence.’

‘No,’ Judith said. ‘I’m sure I’m not. I have the film.’

Weckerle was silent. Presumably he was calculating what he could offer Judith.

‘I don’t want money. I don’t want a passport. I don’t want a cover story. What I want is for you all to leave me alone. Now and forever. Effective immediately, you’re my attorney, Weckerle. I’ll protect you and your wife if you represent my interests.’

‘I don’t know how a higher pay grade might rule on this issue . . .’

‘I don’t care how you get the higher-ups to get in line. People wanted to kill me because you guys fucked up. I defended myself. If that gets out, my family’s name will be dragged through the mud. And I don’t want that.’

‘I’m afraid . . .’

‘Weckerle? You should be afraid a little bit longer. Either you do for me what you would do for every one of your fucking agents or I’ll rip you a new one. I’ll have the entire Sassnitz case opened up again. I’ll take everyone who covered it up and line them up against a wall. I’ll have the graves dug up to reveal the ashes of two people inside instead of one. I’ll have the money transfers to Malmö from the BND slush fund reported to the parliamentary oversight committee, and have posters printed with the names of everyone whose Stasi past hasn’t been outed yet. I’ll destroy you, understand?’

Silence.

‘Understand?’ Judith bellowed.

‘You really found the films?’

‘Fuck you. I sure fucking did.’

She ended the conversation and turned off the phone. Kaiserley stood behind her. He had heard everything. He wanted to say something but at that moment Dombrowski triumphantly returned from the boot with the first-aid box in his hand.

‘The doctor would like to do an examination,’ he called over to them.

‘I’ll be leaving then,’ Judith said.

And she did. The whole way to the bus stop she still hoped someone would call her name. When the bus arrived, she got on and didn’t look back.

The only thing he’d thought to say to her was a song about cemeteries.

Kellermann called Kresnick before he drove back to the hospital. He reached the State Director of the VS on a tennis court in Schwerin and spoke with him for exactly two minutes.

‘Out of the question,’ Kresnick said when Kellermann had finished.

Kellermann added thirty seconds’ worth of a summary of the alternatives. Even if he made an effort to use politer expressions than Judith had done, Kresnick appeared unimpressed.

‘It’s still out of the question,’ Kresnick said.

‘Kepler will inflict immense damage on the intelligence services of this country . . .’

‘Let me finish. Your request is absurd and unworthy of discussion. But I didn’t say it was impossible.’