The Sinner (21 page)

She nodded as if in self-confirmation. Somewhat more briskly,
she went on: "I also remember what his friends were called. Not the
people from Cologne - I really can't recall their names at present
- but the other two, the ones who were down in the cellar with us. I
don't know their real names, of course, only what they called each
other: Billy-Goat and Tiger."

She laughed softly and gave an embarrassed shrug. "It sounds
silly, I know, but that's what I heard in Cologne, when Frankie and
the man were talking about them."

Grovian didn't get this - didn't know what to make of it. She was
back on track again, and this latest change in her manner banished
his suspicion that it was all an act. What reason would she have
for breaking off a successful performance? So it had just been a
mental slip. The second that day, perhaps, except that the hand
holding the knife had slipped as well.

He couldn't bring himself to interrupt her and didn't know what
to believe any more. In a calm, controlled voice, she was describing
those few days she'd spent in Cologne. How she'd desperately
tried to regain the affections of Horsti, AKA Johnny or Georg or
Frankie. How he had coldly, implacably brushed her off. How his
friends, that young couple, had helped her. Genuinely nice people,
very sympathetic and touchingly concerned on her behalf. She
would definitely remember their names tomorrow She was having
trouble with names at present. Hardly surprising, perhaps, after
such an awful day.

It was a few minutes after midnight when the phone went. All
three of them gave a start at the first ring. She broke off in mid
sentence. Werner Hoss picked up the receiver with evident relief.
"Yes," he said. He listened for a few moments, then gave Grovian
an odd look.

Equally relieved at the interruption, she saw Hoss hand the
receiver to his boss. A short break would enable her to sort out the
fragments. Her brain was in turmoil. The wall was collapsing. Big
cracks had appeared in many places, and something was showing
through them. The white lobby with the little green mosaics in the
floor, the stairs, the splashy painting - they all belonged behind the
wall. And that was only the start. At the bottom of the stairs lay a
room filled with flickering light.

She hadn't fallen in, but she'd looked down and seen some white powder on the back of a hand, teeth biting into a lemon.
A crystalline paw, Billy-Goat and Tiger . . . It was terrible but
ludicrous. Strange the chief hadn't laughed.

Hunched up with fear and apprehension, she studied his face.
The look of surprise that flitted across it gave way to one of
satisfaction.

"No, not necessarily," he said. "Tomorrow morning would be
fine. Ten o'clock, say?" He listened some more - he even smiled.
`All right, if it's so important to you. It won't be the first night's
sleep I've lost."

Having hung up, he gave the man in the sports coat a meaningful,
semi-apologetic nod, then nodded in her direction. His smile was
tinged with compassion. He pointed to the telephone. `A young
couple?" he said. "Friends of Georg Frankenberg's?" He sighed.
"Really, Fran Bender!" His tone became indulgently paternal.
"Why didn't you simply tell us your aunt lived here in Cologne?
You took refuge with her in December five years ago. There wasn't
any young couple. That was your aunt just now, Frau Bender."

She shook her head. The young couple had been a mistake.
She sensed more fragments falling from the wall - she tripped
over them and slithered a few steps down the stairs. There was no
handhold anywhere, so she clung to Margret. "No," she exclaimed,
"that's wrong! My aunt has nothing to do with this - she's never
had anything to do with me. I've just remembered what the people
were called. The wife's name was Alice, and the husband ... Wait,
it's on the tip of my tongue. His name was ... He ... Damn it,
what's the matter with me? I thought of it a moment ago. He ...
He told me he planned to join a group practice."

Damn it, thought Grovian: Winfried Meilhofer and Alice Winger,
the lake ... That's all she remembers.

But she was still vociferating. "Why should I have gone to my
aunt? You really think I'd have asked for help from a woman I
hardly knew?"

"Yes," he said in a tone of disappointment and frustration. "I
not only think so, I know so. Your aunt just told me. That poses the
question of where you really heard the names Frankie, Billy-Goat and Tiger. Not from some man in Cologne. You picked them up at
the lido this afternoon, am I right?"

She stared at him, her brow furrowed with concentration. She
might almost have been debating his question, but she didn't reply.
It was superfluous in any case. Everything was in doubt again. He'd
been taken in by her, fool that he was. Why, for God's sake? Because
she'd told him exactly what he'd believed at first to be the only
rational explanation: an idyllic love story with a tragic outcome.
He sighed and made a gesture of dismissal. "Let's stop."

"No!" It was all she could do to remain seated, he saw She was
once more gripping the seat of her chair with both hands. "I can't
go through this again. Let's get it over."

"No," he said likewise, very firmly. "I've had enough for one day.
I'm sending for the duty sergeant; he'll put you up in a cell for the
night. A dose of sleep will do you good. You're very tired, you said
so yourself."

"I said it, I know, but I'm not-not in the least." Almost in the same
breath, she added: "What did Margret want? Why did she call?"

"She wants a word with us," he said, feeling that it was high time
to speak with a member of her family. `And it's so important to her,
she can't wait until tomorrow. She's on her way here right now"

"You must send her away again," she said imploringly. "You'll
only be wasting your time - she can't tell you anything. No one
can but me."

Grovian gave a mirthless laugh. `And you've said quite enough
for today. It'll take us another three days to sort it out. Let's see if
your aunt can help us."

She shook her head again, even more fiercely this time, and
slithered a few steps further down the stairs. "She can't! I never told
her anything - I never told a soul, I was far too ashamed. You've no
right to question Margret. She knows nothing, I tell you."

She sprang to her feet, not that it helped much. Although her
body rose from the chair, her brain slithered down the last few steps
and landed in the midst of the flickering light. She blinked hard.
"Please leave Margret alone," she entreated. "She hasn't done
anything bad. No one has, only me. I'm a murderess, believe me. I killed an innocent child. That's the truth. And Frankie! Him as
well, of course, but I had to kill him because he ..."

She started stammering, gesticulating frantically, helplessly with
both hands as if to emphasize the truth of what she was saying
and compel him to devote a few more minutes of his time to her.
"He ... He didn't know what to do. I told him to be careful, but
he wouldn't listen. I told him to stop, but he didn't care. Do you
know what he did?"

Grovian didn't know, naturally, but he could well imagine. Her
halting words seemed to be an attempt to refocus his attention on
her pregnancy and miscarriage. However, what followed was out
of context.

"He threw himself on top of her," she said breathlessly, still
blinking hard. "He kissed her. And he hit her. He kissed her and
hit her in turn, over and over again. He was crazy, not me. He went
on hitting her until she was dead - I heard her ribs snap. It was so
terrible, so awful. I wanted to help her, but they caught hold of me.
One of them lay on top of me, the other gripped my head and
stuck his thing in my mouth. I bit it, and ..."

The light flickered once more before it went out. She couldn't
go on. The chief was staring at her. The man in the sports coat
jumped up, hurried to the door and went out. The tape recorder
was still running. Having recorded every one of her words till now,
it recorded the rest as well.

"Call him back!" she shouted. "No one must leave. Please don't
leave me on my own. Please! I can't stand it. Help me, for God's
sake help me! Get me out of here. I can't stand it in this cellar. I
can't see, turn on the light again. Help me, please!"

Everything was blotted out. The chief was simply standing there
without moving. He ought to have done something - anything.
Taken her arm, held her hand, led her over to the stairs. Or turned
on the light, at least, so she could find the way there by herself. It
was so dark. Only a few green, blue, red and yellow flashes pierced
the gloom and wrested fragments from its depths. "Let go," she
gasped. "Get off her, leave her alone. Stop it! Stop it, you swine!
Let go of me!"

Grovian couldn't react, he was too shocked by a sudden
realization: what she was saying sounded like rape, and what she'd
blurted out before sounded like murder. And she'd mentioned a
second girl who had been stupid enough to join them, so it may not
have been as much of a fiction as he'd temporarily assumed.

He saw her gesticulate wildly, gagging as she did so, with one
hand over her crotch and the other in front of her face as if trying
to push something away. There was no doubt about it: she was
reliving what she was trying to tell him.

He saw her throw up an arm defensively. Saw her clasp her
head in both hands and cry "No!" Saw her sway, saw her puffy,
contorted features abruptly go limp. But he wasn't quick enough.
Almost within arm's reach, she was lying on the floor before he
could reach her and break her fall.

It had happened too suddenly. He froze for a moment, incapable
of reacting. Then he smote his thigh with a clenched fist. He felt
more like punching himself on the jaw or kicking his own backside
- if only he could have reached it. This was his nightmare. He
hadn't summoned a doctor, in spite of her battered face and
Meinhofer's statement: "I thought he was going to kill her."

Cerebral haemorrhage ... The words flashed through his mind.
At last he kneeled down beside her and raised her head. "Come
on, girl, up you get," he said, unaware that he was whispering.
"Don't do this to me. Come on, please! You were all right before."

A red patch the size of his palm was forming on her forehead. In
search of further injuries lie brushed her hair aside with trembling
fingers, knowing only too well that he wouldn't be able to detect
anything serious with the naked eye.

But he did see the dent in her skull and the jagged white scar on
her hairline. Her breathing was shallow but regular. He lifted her
left eyelid just as Werner Hoss re-entered the room closely followed
by Berrenrath and his colleague, who had been detailed to hold
her in custody overnight. Hoss picked up the phone at once.

"She fainted," Grovian said helplessly. "I was too late."

The doctor alerted by Hoss took ten minutes to get there
- ten hellish minutes from Grovian's point of view Although she recovered consciousness even before Hoss replaced the receiver,
every spark of life seemed to have left her. She suffered herself to
be picked up and deposited on a chair like a rag doll, but when
Grovian laid a hand on her shoulder and started to say something,
she struck out at him feebly. "Go away," she sobbed. "Why didn't
you stop? Why wouldn't you help me? It's all your fault."

She turned to Berrenrath. "Can't you get rid of him?" she
begged. "Please, he's driving me insane - he pulled down my wall.
I can't take it any more."

Grovian felt obliged to leave the room and give her time to calm
down. Hoss followed him out into the passage. He cleared his
throat several times.

"How did it happen?"

"How do you think it happened?" Grovian snarled. "You heard
her: I wouldn't stop - I pulled down her wall."

Hoss didn't speak for a moment or two. Then he said: "What do
you make of her story?"

"I don't know yet. It isn't all make-believe, that's for sure. I've
never known anyone to faint from telling a pack of lies."

"Me neither," Hoss said uneasily. "Still, I could have sworn she
was taking us for a ride."

The doctor's arrival absolved Grovian from replying. The three
of them entered the office together. She was still sitting on the
chair as before. Berrenrath was standing beside her with one hand
resting on her shoulder - either consolingly or supportively, it was
hard to tell which.

But she seemed in no further need of support. As soon as she
caught sight of the new arrival she shook off her apathy and
started complaining bitterly. Despite her bemused, bewildered tone
of voice, she claimed to be feeling fine. No headache, nothing. She
certainly didn't need a jab.

The doctor checked her reflexes and, after a long look at her
pupils, diagnosed a straightforward fainting fit. He blandly assured
her that an injection would do her good. Just something for the
circulation, a harmless restorative to get her back on her feet.