Woman of the Dead (7 page)

She sits in his chair, the telephone in her hand, listening to that incredible story. The abduction of three people, rape, imprisonment, horror for years on end. It had all begun harmlessly enough; they were supposed to start a new life working in the mountains, escaping an impoverished country. She had been smuggled into Austria, and wanted to leave her native Moldavia far behind. There were no prospects for her there, even her degree was no help; there was no work for an interpreter. She had no future; the only thing she could do was speak German. It seemed like a good idea to go to Germany or Austria. The people-smugglers promised her a good life, work in a smart hotel, first as a chambermaid, maybe later at the reception desk. The pay was good, everything seemed perfect, she had got into the country with no difficulty and all their promises had come true. The money she had paid them was a good investment.

Her new home was the Annendorf designer hotel in the ski resort of Sölden. A hostel for the staff, good food. It didn’t bother her that she wasn’t insured, wasn’t officially in Austria, so the hotelier could save a lot of money. She would have been happy for everything to continue as it was; she had made a new life for herself, had even found new friends among other illegals on the staff. They were busy hands working unseen in the kitchen, the laundry, the rooms; no one set eyes on them, and they were forbidden to go out. The hotelier didn’t want any problems, so no contact with the local villagers was the rule, and Dunya kept it. She went for walks first thing in the morning or late in the evening. When everyone else was asleep, she was out and about, breathing the mountain air, and enjoying it. When she had saved enough money she planned to go to a big German city, Hamburg or Berlin. She wanted a residence permit and a proper life, and for a little while she believed that it was possible. That the world was good, there was something outside Moldavia, something better. For a few months she believed that.

She had come to Austria almost exactly five years ago. Mark wanted to know the whole story, from beginning to end. He had won her confidence and so she talked. Mark didn’t want her to overlook a single thing, he wanted to be sure that the story fitted; he listened, asking questions now and then. Again and again he soothed her fears, assuring her that nothing would happen to her, that she was safe. He gave her his word. And she told her story, which had begun on a minibus. Nine of them had crouched there, perched under the loading area; they had been on the road for over a day and a half, with nothing to eat or drink. They hadn’t seen daylight again until they arrived in the Tyrol. Mark wanted to know the names of the people-smugglers, which of them had made contact with the hotel, who had met them when they arrived, where her eight companions had gone. Mark pressed her, but gently; he didn’t want to frighten her off, he went cautiously. He was looking for leads; he had to begin somewhere, and something in what she was saying must help him. But it was all so vague. Dunya didn’t know the answers to many of his questions, and there was a good deal that she couldn’t remember. What had happened five years ago was so far in the past, and between then and now there was so much suffering, so much pain, she had been given so many narcotics. Nothing she said led to people Mark could question, however hard he tried; Dunya couldn’t help him, not in the way he would have liked. She sat beside him in the car as he tried to find out more.

‘Please, Dunya. You must remember.’

‘I really did think I’d got lucky at last. My parents practically starved so that I could study at university. They wanted my life to be better than theirs.’

‘Your life isn’t over yet.’

‘No, it’s over. Nothing can happen now to make up for—’

‘Are your parents still alive?’

‘I don’t know. I was going to bring them here later. I really believed that would happen. I promised them it would.’

‘We’ll find those men, Dunya. They will be punished for what they did, and you’ll get your life back, I’ll make sure of that. You’ll see your parents.’

‘You shouldn’t be giving me false hope.’

‘It can only get better now, Dunya, but you must tell me everything – everything, you understand? Every tiny detail, everything that seemed strange about the hotel. Tell me about the evening before it began. Until I have something concrete to go on I can’t investigate officially. I’m doing this off the books. Officially you don’t exist. So come on, Dunya, give me something, anything.’

‘Ilena and I played cards that evening. It was all the same as usual. We’d finished work, the staff hostel was lovely. We even had a little pool there. It mattered to the hotelier that we were happy, he said.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Nice.’

‘Johannes Schönborn?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s in politics these days. The hotel doesn’t belong to him any more. He sold it four years ago.’

‘Then why are we driving there now?’

‘To help you remember.’

‘There’s nothing, however often you ask me. I went to sleep, and when I woke up I was in that cellar. I went to sleep in the hostel and I wasn’t there when I woke up. It was the same for Ilena and Youn.’

‘The other two.’

‘Yes. Ilena was in the minibus with me.’

‘In the minibus taking you out of Moldavia.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Dead?’

‘She bled to death.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘She had a baby. We were on our own – Youn and I tried to help her, but the blood wouldn’t stop.’

‘In the cellar.’

‘She died in my arms. Youn was holding the baby.’

‘Dunya?’

‘Yes?’

‘Is that the truth?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please, you must tell me whether this is really true.’

‘How often do I have to say it?’

‘You are telling me that your friend had a baby and died in your arms. In a cellar somewhere, a cellar where you were all locked up.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I believe you. But you know how it sounds …’

‘Why would I make it up? Tell me why.’

‘What happened to the baby?’

‘They took it away.’

‘Where?’

‘How would I know?’

‘What about Ilena?’

‘They shouted and swore, they were beside themselves. They didn’t like having blood all over the place. Or for her to have died just like that. The huntsman gave us something to knock us out, and then it went dark. I don’t know what happened to her.’

‘The huntsman?’

‘How many more times? I’ve told you and all the other officers before you.’

‘I know, I’ve read the records, but I’d like to hear it from you. Just once more, please. This is important, Dunya.’

‘He was the one who shot us with the tranquillising darts. He hunted us down, we ran round the cellar and he shot at us. Like animals. He found it fun.’

‘What about Youn?’

‘I don’t know. He was still in the cellar. He’s probably dead as well. I don’t know.’

‘Why didn’t he go with you?’

‘He hadn’t come round yet. I shook him, I tried to drag him away with me, but he was too heavy. I couldn’t wait. I had to get out of there, the door was open, don’t you understand? I wanted him to come with me. I really did try everything. They hadn’t locked the door, it was open, and I had to go – had to run for it.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What did you see when you reached the road? Did anyone meet you? Can you remember any building? Did anyone speak to you, did you call for help? What did you do? Please, you must remember.’

‘I just ran.’

‘Where to?’

‘A long way away.’

‘There must have been something there. A place name on a sign, a mountain with a particular shape, a shop, a factory, something that you can remember?’

‘I told you, I just ran. I wanted to get away. I don’t know what was there or where I was. And then I was in that truck.’

‘Had you been trying to stop cars?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where was it, Dunya? Where? We have to find Youn. You must remember something that will tell me where that damn cellar is.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Were there a lot of people around? Was it somewhere in the countryside?’

‘There was only that stinking truck driver.’

‘He wanted to help you?’

‘No, he said he just wanted a bit of fun. I remember that.’

‘Couldn’t he see that you needed help?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He must have noticed there was something the matter with you.’

‘Yes, that’s why he threw me out of his cab.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What kind of truck was it?’

‘No idea.’

‘Please, Dunya, give me something.’

‘There’s nothing to give. He was just a leery man making jokes. I was dazed, I wasn’t right in the head yet, I kept tipping over. All I remember is the road, and the way he laughed. I’d got away after five years. Five years, do you understand? And then there was a hand on me again, on my thigh. I screamed and I didn’t stop until he opened the door and threw me out, just like that.’

‘At the service station where my colleagues found you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, they brought you in from there.’

‘Yes, maybe.’

‘I really want to know where to look for that cellar, Dunya.’

‘It was such a lovely feeling.’

‘What was?’

‘Being alone at last, just lying there. On the tarmac in some shitty car park. I was free again and none of them were there. Not a single one of them. Only me, do you understand, there was only me.’

Uma doesn’t want to eat. Nela makes a mess of the kitchen floor, spills water over it, throws her pasta across the room. It’s midday. Blum watches them. Blum leaves them alone. She knows two things. First, she must look after the children, love them, give them all the things she never had herself. Second, she must find Dunya. The woman talking on the mobile phone, the woman whom Mark met so often right before his death. Blum wants to look into her eyes, she wants to see if Mark was right.

He must have picked her up, probably at the tearoom, she had got food there. They drove to the hotel and went on talking. Mark wasn’t letting go, but he had nothing to go on. No lead as to how the men managed to abduct them from their beds. Dunya had no idea. Anyone determined could have walked into the staff hostel; indeed, any tourist could have gained access to their bedrooms. The front door was never locked, they had no reason to live in fear. That was why it sounded so incredible, so unlikely that someone had drugged them and taken them out of the house. Three grown adults abducted from a hotel, just like that, unnoticed. In Sölden, a famous centre of winter tourism, with crowds milling on the pistes, in the boutiques and in the après-ski bars, with Tyrolean charm for sale, wood-panelled rooms where caviar and champagne are served. Blum knows what the place is like; she and Mark had been skiing there, they had drunk tequila and danced to meaningless songs. Sölden is like any other Tyrolean resort. Anyone would doubt the feasibility of abducting people from it. But Mark didn’t. And Blum doesn’t either.

Why is she getting involved in his work, why is she interested in it? She can’t help herself. She has to follow it up, she can’t just sit there pretending nothing has happened. There is a terrified woman out there. A woman who was abducted and locked up for five years, raped and abused. What Blum has heard doesn’t allow her to doubt for a minute that she must find out whether it is true. Whether Mark was on the trail of some major and dreadful crime. Why would I make up a story like that? Dunya asked. Blum wants to know. And she wants Uma to finally finish her pasta, she wants Nela to stop rubbing tomato sauce into her face.

Ilena, Youn, Dunya. And five men who kept coming back to have their fun. To hurt their captives. As she watches the girls, innocent and smiling, she wants to banish the thought from her mind. She doesn’t want to spend a second longer thinking about those recorded conversations, Mark’s questions, Dunya’s answers. Yet the story won’t go away and she can’t think of anything else. From Sölden to the service station near the Italian border. None of what happened will go away, it will stay in her mind all day and all night.

Blum no longer feels the pain that has been eating away at her for three whole weeks; she has almost suppressed her longing for him. That feeling has gone, leaving only Dunya. And Mark. Somehow it is as if he has come back to life and she is sharing something with him, she has discovered something he kept hidden. Mark, her husband, her love, the father of her children. He lives on in the conversations that she listens to as she drives through the city searching for Dunya – a stranger to her, a woman without a face. All that Blum knows of her is her voice and that she comes from Moldavia. Blum knows that she speaks extraordinarily good German and is sleeping rough, somewhere under the autobahn. This woman without a surname who has suddenly changed everything.

She doesn’t say a word to anyone. She has decided to keep quiet for the moment; first she wants to talk to Dunya herself. Only then will she go to Karl or Massimo and ask for help. If it’s true. If she can find Dunya. Innsbruck is not a large city but it is difficult to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. Blum prepares for a long search; the staff at the soup kitchen can’t give her any information. No one knows a woman called Dunya, the name means nothing to the homeless people Blum speaks to. Even money can’t persuade them to tell her where to look. Dunya has left no trace. All Blum can do is search the city, the parks, under the bridges, under the autobahn. She drives around for hours, walks for hours, but to no avail. There is no Moldavian woman speaking almost unaccented German, no sign of her for three days.

Then, suddenly, there she is, in the supermarket. A slender woman in old clothes. She looks too beautiful, too radiant to be homeless. Dunya is carrying a bag of bottles; she wants to exchange them for money, but the machine isn’t working. The salesgirl comes and takes the bottles from her, sorts them into crates and writes out a voucher for the cash. Nothing has changed yet, Blum is still searching, she is on the point of giving up, she has searched every nook and cranny of this town, has checked every place that someone might hide. But Dunya wasn’t there. Dunya had disappeared. Now they are standing side by side.