I told her the truth. Not a trace of hysteria.
‘Stupid that with office,’ she said. ‘But with Ahrens, that your problem. I have my problem, and I can pay. You look for my mother first is agreement.’
So far I hadn’t asked her, and I didn’t really want to know either, but now I did think for a moment of what she might have gone through during the Bosnian war. Perhaps by comparison she thought all this fuss about an office blown to pieces was just hysterical shit for those who lived in a land where people drove Mercedes.
‘… and of course I’ll keep my word. Don’t worry.’
‘Good. But with office, why lie?’
‘Because your mother is probably with Ahrens, and I didn’t want you to be afraid.’
She thought about that.
‘Understand. But I not afraid. My mother is strong.’
Yes, sweetheart, but obviously not strong enough to get home to you last Sunday, and certainly not as strong as knives, knuckledusters and guns, and when Ahrens hears — as he’ll have heard by now — that I took you away from the hostel with me, he doesn’t have to be a genius to work out a nice little blackmail move appealing to my professional honour, and then we both have a problem. Because I’m not quite so honourable as to hand myself over in exchange for your mother, and get shot down.
Instead I said, ‘I’m sure she is. I only have to look at her daughter.’
‘Look at her d.?’ she began, before she understood, and for the first time since my appearance in Schmidtbauer’s office her pouting lips curved into a smile. ‘Yes, we all strong people.’ And after a pause, sounding almost annoyingly confident, ‘Will be nice when my mother back. You like her too.’
‘I certainly will,’ I agreed. And I registered, to my surprise, that my heart changed its rhythm and skipped a couple of beats.
Ten minutes later we drew up outside my flat, and if I had not quite admitted my fears to myself, I felt very relieved all the same at the sight of the building standing there, not shattered by any bomb. My flat might be badly heated, it might have woodchip wallpaper, and I couldn’t make up my mind whether I preferred the sound of Heino or Sting coming through the walls, but by comparison with my ex-office I liked it. Slibulsky had often asked me why I didn’t find myself something nicer than this two-room coffin in a new building. But I’d never yet thought of any kind of flat to suit me better than the two-room coffin. Some people liked to wear check suits, others drank Fanta with fish. And I’d once seen someone perfectly happily dancing to a German-language cover version of Stairway to Heaven. I’d grown up in flats in new buildings. The angular, low-ceilinged surroundings, always smelling slightly musty of glue or cleaning fluids, gave me the kind of feeling others get from the smell of Christmas baking.
When I’d showered, put clean sheets on the bed for Leila, shown her the bathroom, given her towels, and in reply to her question had told her, to her satisfaction, how many cable channels my TV set received, I ordered enough casserole, cheese and salad from a Turkish restaurant for a whole party of truck drivers. Then I poured myself a vodka, and while soft splashing and bubbling sounds came through the bathroom door I rang my caretaker-greengrocer friend.
‘Oh, Herr Kayaya!’ he greeted me cheerily down the phone. At first I thought I should take this as the sign of a night with a tart ahead, and because Leila was here I was almost about to ask him to turn the volume down a little today. But then I realised that we were speaking on the phone for the first time since our west-of-Thuringia-alliance pact, and that he was probably just keen on this form of communication because it could be relied on to exclude any eye contact. I was used to the innocently proffered curtailment of my name. It was among the last when-are-you-going-to-go-home tricks that he still allowed himself from time to time.
‘How can I help you?’
‘Well, listen, I don’t like this, but I have to tell you.’ I paused, and heard his breath halting slightly. ‘As you know, I’m a private detective, so now and then I have to deal with people who… well, people one would rather not have to deal with, know what I mean?’
He hesitated before a cautious, ‘Well, not really,’ came over the line, and definitely any other answer would have been a joke.
‘Then let me put it bluntly.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’m talking about pimps, or to be precise a pimping gang. Tough guys, Russians, Mafia members. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Russian Mafia.’
‘Er…’ He swallowed.
‘For instance,’ I said, helping him out, ‘that massacre in the upmarket brothel a few years back, ten prostitutes dead and about a dozen of their clients, I don’t recollect the exact figures — that was the Russian Mafia. Or the men who arranged the call-girl orgy last autumn and then tried to leave without paying the bill and as a result… well, it was in all the papers. Why I’m calling you now is because, in connection with an ongoing investigation, I was speaking to one of the bosses today, and when I gave him my address so that he could send me something… well, he looked really grim. He finally said, and he didn’t sound good: there’s a swine lives in that building beat up my best little floozy…’ By now the other end of the line sounded as if I were phoning a tomb. ‘Well, that’s the kind of way he speaks. Anyway, then I asked him for a description of this… er, swine — I mean, it seemed just about certain he must be one of my neighbours, and naturally I wanted to warn whoever it was…’ I took a deep breath and then went on firmly, ‘I’m really sorry, and I’m sure there’s some mistake, but the description he gave me fitted you exactly…’ I stopped for a moment. ‘Hello?’
I heard a distant noise, human in physical origin but sounding more mechanical. Like the final breath escaping a corpse.
‘Are you still there?’
The corpse groaned. Then it said, almost in a whisper, ‘It can’t be true… please, believe me, I…’
‘That’s just how I reacted. My neighbour the greengrocer — it can’t be true! I mean, we both know that I know, and I entirely understand — we all do as nature demands, don’t we? — I understand that you have, let’s say, visitors now and then.’
‘Well… er…’
‘You don’t have to tell me anything, really you don’t. And you can rely on me not to tell anyone about it, so far as that’s in my power.’
‘Thank you, Herr Kayankaya, oh dear, this is all very unpleasant…’
Kayankaya! And uttered with perfect fluency. I thought of the discipline it must have cost him to get my name wrong in front of me all these years.
‘But it doesn’t have to be. I’m sure this will all turn out to be a misunderstanding. For now, however, I’m afraid I must advise you to keep a sharp eye open for anyone approaching this building. Especially at night. As I see it, these people will either try to throw a bomb into your flat or your shop, or send a bunch of thugs. They’re acting according to their lights: leave a bruise on my girl and I’ll put you in a wheelchair.’
‘But I didn’t leave any bruises!’ he burst out. ‘I didn’t even — I mean…’ He was gasping in panic. ‘Didn’t even do anything unusual. Understand? Perfectly normal, and always with a condom. And sometimes we just talked!’
Yes, of course: Heino belting it out and groaning fit to shake my bed, and the two of you were just talking!
‘Like I said, I’m sure it will all be cleared up. But I do insist that you must call me at once, even in the middle of the night, if any stranger tries getting into your shop or through the front door of this building. I’d say — well, my instinct tells me — the front door’s more likely.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to call the police?’
‘You know what the police are like! By the time they arrive you’ll have been beaten to a pulp long since, and the thugs will be back in Uzbekistan or somewhere. Quite apart from the questions you’d have to answer then. And the police don’t do it discreetly, they bawl you out in the middle of the front hall, what filth were you up to with that poor Russian girl? I mean, think of it, maybe before supper time…’