‘I actually thought you’d be able to tell me.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Korten’s steps slowed. He stood still, turned, and scrutinized me.
‘That Schmalz senior personally had no reason to kill Mischkey is clear. But the plant did have some trouble with him, put him under pressure, even had him beaten up; and he did show resistance. And he could have blown your deal with Grimm. You’re not going to tell me you knew nothing about all this?’
No, Korten wasn’t. He had been aware of the trouble and also of the deal with Grimm. But that was surely not the stuff of murder. ‘Unless…’ he removed his glasses, ‘unless old Schmalz misinterpreted something. You know, he was the sort of man who still imagined himself in service, and if his son or another security man told him about the trouble with Mischkey, he might have seen himself as obliged to act as saviour of the Works.’
‘What could Schmalz senior have misunderstood with such serious repercussions?’
‘I don’t know what his son or anyone else might have told him. Or if anyone just plain incited him? I’ll get to the bottom of it. It’s unbearable to think that my good old Schmalz ended up being exploited like this. And what a tragic end. His great love for the Works and a silly little misunderstanding led him to take a life senselessly and unnecessarily, and also to sacrifice his own.’
‘What’s the matter with you? Giving life, taking life, tragedy, exploitation – I’m thinking: “It’s not reprehensible to use people, it’s just tactless to let them notice” ’
‘You’re right, let’s get back to the matter at hand. Should we bring in the police?’
That was it? An over-eager veteran of security had killed Mischkey, and Korten didn’t even turn a hair. Could the prospect of having the police in the Works frighten him? I tried it out.
Korten weighed up the pros and cons. ‘It’s not only the fact that it’s always unpleasant to have the police in the Works. I feel sorry for the Schmalz family. To lose a husband and father and then to discover he had made a lethal mistake – can we take on the responsibility for that? There’s nothing left to atone, he paid with his life. But I’m thinking about reparation. Do you know whether Mischkey had parents he looked after, or other obligations, or whether he has a decent gravestone? Did he leave anyone behind we could do something for? Would you be willing to take care of it?’
I assumed that Judith wouldn’t particularly care to have anything of the sort done for her.
‘I’ve investigated plenty in Mischkey’s case. If you’re serious, Frau Schlemihl can find out what you need to know with a couple of phone calls.’
‘You’re always so sensitive. You did wonderful work on Mischkey’s case. I’m also grateful that you kept going with the second part of the investigation. I need to be aware of such things. May I extend my original contract belatedly and ask you to send a bill?’
He was welcome to the bill.
‘Ah, and another thing,’ said Korten, ‘while we’re talking business. You forgot to enclose your special pass with your report last time. Please do pop it in the envelope with the bill this time.’
I took the pass out of my wallet. ‘You can have it right now. And I’ll be on my way.’
Helga came onto the loggia as though she’d been eavesdropping behind the door, and had picked up the signal for saying goodbye. ‘The flowers are truly delightful, would you like to see where I’ve put them, Herr Self?’
‘Ah, children, drop the formalities. Self is my oldest friend.’ Korten put an arm round both our shoulders.
I wanted out. Instead, I followed the two of them into the sitting room, admired my bouquet on the grand piano, listened to the popping of the champagne cork, and clinked glasses with Helga, over the dropping of formalities.
‘Why haven’t we seen you here more often?’ she asked in all innocence.
‘Yes, we must change that,’ said Korten, before I could respond at all. ‘What are your plans for New Year’s Eve?’
I thought about Brigitte. ‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘That’s wonderful, my dear Self. Then we’ll be in touch with each other again soon.’
23 Do you have a tissue?
Brigitte had prepared beef stroganoff with fresh mushrooms and rice. It tasted delicious, the wine was at a perfect temperature, and the table was lovingly set. Brigitte was chattering. I’d brought her Elton John’s Greatest Hits and he was singing of love and suffering, hope and separation.
She held forth on reflexology, acupressure, and Rolfing. She told me about patients, health insurers, and colleagues. She didn’t care in the least whether it interested me, or how I was.
‘What’s going on today? This afternoon I scarcely recognize Korten, and now I’m sitting here with you and the only thing you have in common with the Brigitte I like is the scar on your earlobe.’
She laid down her fork, put her elbows on the table, rested her head on her hands, and began to weep. I went round the table to her, she nuzzled her head into my belly, and just cried all the more.
‘What’s wrong?’ I stroked her hair.
‘I… oh… I, it’s enough to drive me to tears. I’m going away tomorrow.’
‘Why the tears about that?’
‘It’s for so terribly long. And so far.’ She raised her face.
‘How long, then, and how far?’
‘Oh… I…’ She pulled herself together. ‘Do you have a tissue? I’m going to Brazil for six months. To see my son.’
I sat down. Now I felt ready to weep, too. At the same time I felt angry. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I didn’t know things would turn out so nice between us.’
‘I don’t understand.’
She took my hand. ‘Juan and I had intended to take the six months to see whether we couldn’t be together after all. Manuel misses his mother all the time. And with you I thought it would just be a short episode and over anyway by the time I left for Brazil.’
‘What do you mean, you thought it would be over anyway when you left for Brazil? Postcards from Sugar Loaf Mountain won’t change a thing.’ I was quite bleak with sadness. She said nothing and stared into space. After a while I withdrew my hand from hers and got up. ‘I’d better go now.’ She nodded mutely.
In the hallway she leaned against me for one last moment. ‘You see, I can’t go on being the raven mother that you never liked anyway.’
24 She’d hunched her shoulders
The night was dreamless. I woke up at six o’clock, knew I had to talk to Judith today and thought about what I should tell her. Everything? How would she be able to continue working at RCW and hold on to her old life? But that was a problem I couldn’t solve for her.
At nine o’clock I phoned her. ‘I’ve wrapped up the case, Judith. Shall we take a walk by the harbour and I’ll fill you in?’
‘You don’t sound good. What have you found out?’
‘I’ll pick you up at ten.’
I put coffee on, took the butter out of the fridge, and the eggs and smoked ham, chopped onions and chives, warmed up milk for Turbo, squeezed three oranges for juice, set the table, and made myself two fried eggs on ham and lightly sweated onions. When the eggs were just right I sprinkled them with chives. The coffee was ready.
I sat for a long time over my breakfast without touching it. Just before ten I took a couple of gulps of coffee. I set down the eggs for Turbo and left.
When I rang the bell, Judith came down straight away. She looked pretty in her loden coat with its collar turned up, as pretty as only an unhappy person can be.
We parked the car by the harbour office and walked between the rail tracks and the old warehouses along Rheinkaistrasse. Beneath the grey September sky it all had the peacefulness of a Sunday. The John Deere tractors were parked as though they were waiting for a field chaplain to begin the service.