31

Two weeks later Judith stood in Merzig’s hallway. There was already an empty waste skip that had been delivered the day before waiting on the street. She cut through the crime scene seal and opened the door with the key she had picked up from the neighbours beforehand. Kai followed her, lugging the bag of equipment over his shoulder, and looked around, his eyes large.

‘Crazy,’ he said as they walked pasted Merzig’s bedroom.

The outline of the dead woman was still marked on the linoleum with white chalk. The dried blood looked like a black cloud. Judith went into the living room. Forensics had temporarily taped the window with plastic sheeting. The glass man would come that afternoon, and by then they needed to have the worst of it cleaned up.

‘Fuck me.’ Kai put the bag down next to the sofa and looked around. ‘Was that an aquarium?’

‘No idea.’

Judith looked at an ashen slimy blob that was protruding from a swarm of flies. Judging by the outlines and the smell, it could have been a cichlid. ‘Don’t step on that, otherwise you’ll spread it over the entire apartment.’

‘Oh man. Was there another one lying here?’ He pointed to the line next to the sofa. ‘Did he get shot too?’

Unlike her, Kai had not been informed about the event itself before his first crime scene. He was supposed to assist, no more. If Judith were to discover signs that he wasn’t up to all of this here, she would send him home immediately.

However, he strolled through the living room as if it was an absurd movie set. Like everyone else, he had followed the heated speculations of the tabloid press. Gretchen Lindbergh, an ex-CIA agent, from whom the agency had immediately distanced itself, had broken into Merzig’s house with an accomplice and had shot the former in cold blood. She was subsequently shot by her mysterious companion. The theories of the neighbours and press ranged from a large black man to Russian intelligence, frequently and enthusiastically called the KGB. Blackmail, Russians, the Cold War – Lindbergh/Espinoza became ‘The Beauty Who Came in from the Cold.’ It was assumed that Merzig had miscalculated the threat she posed and knew about some dark stain in her past. Because she remained equally colourful and mysterious, the murders in Berlin-Biesdorf would probably go down in the annals of unsolved crime cases. Many years later, an overeager television producer with a lively imagination might reanimate the case.

Judith was surprised the house had already been cleared after two weeks. Apparently the investigation had been closed. A distant relative had been uncovered, who of course wanted nothing to do with either the house or with the mysterious incident. Because Dombrowski had his informants everywhere – even at the telephone desk of the local police station in question – of course the assignment landed in his lap. And just as naturally, he sent Judith to that house, to free it from evil spirits.

Judith pulled on some work gloves. First she had to remove the shards of glass, then provisionally clean the sofa, and then take care of the flooring. Merzig’s relative wanted to come around noon. Dombrowski had told her something about an elderly woman from West Germany.

‘Take out the broken glass,’ she told Kai without responding to his question. Using the hand brush, she began to free the sofa from the shards of glass. Now and again, she paused and studied the bloodstain Kaiserley had left on the beige corduroy.

He hadn’t got in touch with her. She wanted to ignore it, like you register a rebuff or a return call never made. But she couldn’t. He had solved his puzzle, she hers. Their paths had parted. Should she have held him back?

The films were in her work locker. They would stay there until she could be sure that Weckerle would keep his word. Up until now it looked as if his networks would hold. But recently Judith had done a lot of thinking about promises and the breaking thereof.

By noon they had taken the remains of the aquarium and the window pane to the skip. Kai wondered about the crumbs that were spread all across the linoleum in the bedroom. In her own interest, Judith neglected to inform him what dried brain matter looked like. She handed him the dust pan and broom and instructed to simply remove everything that looked the slightest bit like dirt, crumbs, blood or chalk markings.

Then she climbed up to the second floor. There were only two converted rooms and due to the low-hanging rafters they seemed even more oppressive. Book shelves, an old rocking chair, dressers with bedding and covers. She sat down on the chair and began to rock carefully back and forth. She listened to the quiet creaking produced by the woven reeds rubbing together. The sun fell through the attic window onto her face, dust danced in the light. She closed her eyes.

The scent . . . so satiated by summer, harvest and hay. By wood and resin. The low room expanded, the walls shot up. It was dark, and she could see the stars through the window. They sparkled like diamonds on deep-blue velvet. Someone was embracing her. She felt the warmth of another body and cuddled closer. Over her Cassiopeia shone. She followed the tip of the ‘W’ and found the North Star. She would never lose her way again.

‘I won’t be paying you for that!’

Judith started. She saw the head of an elderly lady, who had stopped halfway up the stairs, out of breath.

‘I’m sorry. Excuse me please.’

The woman climbed the rest of the stairs and looked around. She was a head shorter than Judith, with a delicate frame, and white hair arranged in neat finger waves. She wore a comfortable outfit made of cotton jersey and shoes that looked orthopaedic.

‘My God,’ she said and shook her head in dismay. ‘All this junk. The young man downstairs belongs to you?’

‘Yes. That’s Kai. Judith Kepler, Dombrowski Facility Management.’

She shook hands with the woman. She expected to feel something. Blood ties? Recognition? The sudden flash of acknowledgement in the eyes of the other? Nothing of the sort occurred. Judith felt a passing disappointment touch her heart and then immediately leave her.

‘Are you cleaning up here? I’m Andrea Günzle. The deceased was my cousin.’

‘My sincere condolences.’

Ms Günzle cast a look in the other room. Judith followed her. Two wardrobes were standing there. Merzig’s cousin opened them and wrinkled her nose.

‘Dear me,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Get rid of it, all of it. Do you declutter as well?’

‘Yes, sure. We make houses broom-clean.’

Ms Günzle closed the wardrobe door. ‘Horst, I mean – the deceased and I weren’t very close. Terrible how his past caught up with him. He was, well, you probably know from the papers. So he hadn’t made many friends.’

‘Is there any more news?’

‘They’re looking for another guy. The third man. Apparently the American woman shot my first cousin and then tried to go for the other one. The hole in the door and everything, I’m not an expert, but the police tell me that it was probably self-defence.’

‘Terrible,’ Judith murmured. Ms Günzle nodded.

‘Did he have any relatives beside you?’

Ms Günzle’s face darkened. Judith was upset at herself that the question had slipped out of her. She didn’t want to burden the nice old woman. The past was dead. Who did it help if she talked about it? She studied the old woman once more furtively, who had turned away and let her gaze sweep over the low walls one last time. Judith tried to find a similarity, but found none. At most it was in the way she moved: pointedly, quickly, keeping everything in view. And she was apparently fairly restrained in saying farewell.

‘No,’ Ms Günzle finally said. ‘He had a daughter and a granddaughter. But they died in an accident.’

‘An accident.’

‘Yes. In Romania. Drifted off the road at night. The end. The whole family. He was a complicated man. But after that he didn’t have any contact with anyone, actually. He just . . .’

Ms Günzle left the room and headed for the stairs. Suddenly she stopped.

‘. . . locked himself in,’ she finished her sentence. ‘Yes. That’s how you could put it. He was like those fish in his aquarium. We were standing around and looking at him, but he was in another world.’

Ms Günzle shook her head and felt for the rail to climb down.

‘May I have the rocking chair?’

The old woman turned around to her once more. ‘If you want that old dust catcher . . . broom-clean, yes. I believe he’d agree to it.’

Merzig’s house in Biesdorf was the last assignment Judith completed. After a week it was empty, clean, and ready for the estate agent, to whom she handed the key. Afterwards she climbed into the moving van that was transporting all of Merzig’s movable possessions to the Berlin dump, and didn’t look back once. Kai, Josef, and two work placement volunteers lent a hand. Judith stood next to the open hatch and waited until everything had disappeared into the various containers.

She said farewell to Dombrowski, who called out several unpleasant curses, which she interpreted as indicating he would miss her. For at least the next three months that she would be taking off. She went to the locker room, took a shower, changed, and began to clean out her locker. She could understand Dombrowski. He wasn’t sure she’d come back. She didn’t know it herself. She had to work out a couple of things. This included the question of whether after all that had happened she could now turn her back on her job, or whether it actually meant something to her.

She closed her locker and watched the office cleaning crew returning from work and Josef parking a semi in the yard. Kai was already on his way home. Dombrowski had offered him an apprenticeship. Facility management, not crime scene cleaning. The boy was a little disappointed but his mood had brightened a bit when Dombrowski had signed him up for the Merzig house with Judith and promised to organise additional training if they came to an agreement.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked across the yard to the large rolling gate. Suddenly she heard a shrill whistle from behind her. She turned around and saw Dombrowski standing at an open window.

‘Hey!’ he called out and tossed something in her direction. She let the bag drop and caught it. It was the key to the old van. ‘Make sure you bring it back!’

He rammed the window down again and disappeared. Judith lifted her bag and went to the car. The idea of taking a real holiday and just driving off was really beginning to take shape. She threw the bag onto the passenger seat, rounded the bonnet, and ran into a man.

‘Where are you headed, Ms Kepler?’

Judith furrowed her brow and examined the man, from his carefully drawn parting to his hand-sewn wingtips.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name. So many of those recently, you understand?’

‘Peter Winkler. Telecommunications and Communication Systems South. But you remember Malmö, right?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She reached past him and opened the door. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘Can we speak openly for a minute?’

‘Are you wearing a wire?’

‘Not at all, technically speaking. Beyond that, I know I would be in good hands with you.’

A charming smile flitted over his lips. Did they teach that at the BND? Smiling trustworthily at women? She looked around. There was no one to be seen in the car park. And the van was the only place where she could be sure no one was listening in.

‘Get in.’

Once Winkler was seated, she started the car and drove off. She didn’t know where to go, so she drove towards the city autobahn.

‘What’s up?’

‘We kept our part of the agreement. Now it’s time for you to do your part.’

‘Who’s going to tell me that the police won’t suddenly have completely new information? The American killed at least four people, and would have killed me too, if I hadn’t defended myself.’

‘I know. And that’s why we’re making you an offer that is just as binding for us as for you.’

‘And that would be?’

‘We had the supposed grave of Marianne Kepler examined in Sassnitz. Mr Kaiserley asked us to do it. He was right to do so. There were ashes from two deceased in the urn. After all that he’s told us we now believe that they are the remains of Richard and Irene Sonnenberg.’

Judith hit her indicator and watched the stop-and-start traffic at the Gradestrasse exit, trying to find a space to merge into. Kaiserley’s name had hit her unexpectedly. The fact that he had talked to Winkler about her behind her back hurt her.

‘You got that from Kaiserley?’

‘We suggest a transfer of remains and the establishment of a new grave. You would have somewhere to go where you could pay your respects.’

‘Who says that I want to? My father and grandfather were not heroes you shout from the rooftops about.’

‘And your mother?’

Judith bit her lip. She didn’t want to show any weakness in front of this man. Her feelings belonged to her alone. Still, she had to blink, and that upset her. Winkler reached into his suit and removed a passport.

‘We’ve provided you with new documents. Perhaps you might want to carry your birth name again. Christina Sonnenberg. Here.’

He held out the passport. Judith eyed it briefly before returning her concentration to the traffic. Christina Sonnenberg. She listened to the sound of the name and knew that it would always be strange for her.

‘Keep it. I’m not so into names. I might end up forgetting it and would be standing there like Karsten Michael Oliver Asshole.’

Winkler let out a dry laugh. ‘He’ll be all right. Operative execution isn’t his strong suite. His father was better than him by leaps and bounds.’

Judith shot a quick glance at Winkler. ‘His father?’

‘Kaiserley. I thought you knew that. If not, then forget it fast. Kaiserley was in Munich for a couple of days. I think the two gentlemen had a great deal to discuss.’

On the tip of Judith’s tongue lay the question of whether he was back in Berlin. And if so, since when. And why he hadn’t got in touch with her. But Winkler was the wrong person to ask that.

Winkler packed the passport away.

‘Are you the registry office?’ she asked.

‘I do what I can.’

So Winkler was the man who had helped Kaiserley all these years. Maybe he had been the only person who had believed him. For a short, crazy moment she considered what it would be like to trust him as well.

‘What would you do with the films if I gave them to you?’

‘Up until this point we only had manipulated material available, which had gone through many hands before it reached us. We could compare them.’

‘And make the names disappear.’

‘In cases in which, after weighing all the possible consequences, it would appear advisable – yes.’

‘No way.’

‘That’s what I expected. You can let me out over there.’

He motioned to a blue sign with the label ‘Hohenzollerndamm.’ Judith braked and turned off onto the exit. She reached a large intersection that had to handle traffic from all four directions, the feeder roads, and the S-Bahn. Winkler pointed to the train station.

‘Over there, please.’

‘No car either, right?’ She stopped.

Winkler laughed. ‘I have one more thing for you. I was supposed to give it to you from Mr Kaiserley.’

He handed her a small package. Judith kept it in her hand, but didn’t open it.

‘Are you concerned with the man who calls himself Weckerle?’

Winkler looked out of the window and didn’t answer. Judith turned over the package. It was wrapped in an ordinary piece of paper.

‘I don’t know how forgiveness works. But I had the feeling he cares about his wife. Maybe you can keep out of it. He’s an asshole. But one of those who admits it. It makes me almost sympathetic.’

Winkler nodded.

‘I do want the grave.’

He turned to her and looked at her. ‘You’ll get it. I promise you that.’

Judith reached into her bag, pulled out the Florena cream tins, and gave them to him. Winkler opened one and immediately closed it again.

‘There’s a great copy shop on Silbersteinstrasse,’ she said. ‘They scan, digitalise, duplicate . . . I was there yesterday. If I find out that you left the little guys hanging again and the big ones get away . . .’

‘Don’t worry,’ Winkler said quickly. He was still keeping an eye on the tins, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was holding in his hands. ‘Thanks.’

He got out, crossed the bridge, and disappeared into the station. Judith unwrapped the package. It was an MP3 player. Nothing else. She turned the car around and merged into the Kurfürstendamm traffic towards the ring road.

The first song she heard was Edith Piaf – ‘Parlez-moi d’amour.’

She left the ring road at the next exit, turned and drove down the city highway towards Prenzlauer Berg.