The Sinner (47 page)

He gave the distinguished-looking old lady a faint smile and
transferred his attention to her son. "I paid Frau Bender a visit
today. She said she'd spoken to you. Did you visit her in person?"

When Brauning nodded hesitantly he asked: "You consider one
interview sufficient?"

"Of course not, but I don't yet have all the documentation. I'm
still awaiting the psychologist's report."

"I can tell you what it'll say: not responsible for her actions.
Georg Frankenberg was a chance victim. It could have happened
to anyone."

Brauning stared at him, frowning slightly. Having waited in vain
for some comment, Grovian asked: "What impression did Frau
Bender make on you?"

He was well aware that the distinguished-looking old lady had
been watching him closely. He also noticed the smile with which
she awaited her son's reply, not that lie could interpret it. She
seemed almost amused. Brauning still said nothing.

Grovian grinned. "Come now, Herr Brauning, this can't be the
first such interview you've had. What did you make of Frau Bender?
She told you a load of nonsense, am I right? Did she also quote
from the Bible - stuff about the Saviour and Mary Magdalene?"

Eberhard Brauning was by nature an exceedingly cautious and
suspicious man. This certainly wasn't the first such talk he'd had.
Policemen like Grovian were normally in favour of long custodial
sentences and strove to impress that on you.

He still had a vivid recollection of the "nonsense" his client had
talked, and he'd discussed it with his mother often enough in the
last few days. Not just the nonsense, but also the clearly intelligible
statements about her sister. "I had to get her off my back somehow
or other ..."

Helene shared his opinion. Having read the interrogation
transcripts, she'd said: "I can't assess this woman's mental condition
from my armchair, nor can I tell you if she knew her victim. One
shouldn't altogether exclude the possibility that he was merely
a former client - prostitutes often appeal to young men from
respectable families - but the police will find it hard to establish
such a connection, and it'll be to your disadvantage even if they
do. I don't want to meddle in your work, and I'm aware that you
regard psychiatry as an unsatisfactory solution, but perhaps you'll
reconsider your attitude. In this case it would be the best solution.
You can't do much for this woman in any case. Persuade her to tell
Burthe how God the Father appeared at her bedside. That sounds
more intriguing than the irrational act of a former prostitute."
Helene was right!

"Herr Grovian," he said with a knowing smile, speaking slowly
and deliberately, "I'm not of the opinion that Frau Bender told me
a lot of nonsense. I can well imagine that you'd sooner see her in
the toils of the penal system, but

Grovian cut him short with a single, emphatic "Wrong!" After
a momentary pause he went on: "I'd sooner see her sitting in
her garden, putting her little boy to bed or busying herself at the
kitchen stove - even working in the cubbyhole she called her office.
She felt good there - she felt mature, efficient and contented. Have
you seen the place? You should; it doesn't even have a window In
the Bender household she was no more than a welcome beast of
burden, but she was free, despite that. It was her heaven on earth.
One wonders what her hell must have looked like!"

He could hardly believe lie was saying all this, but it flowed
from his lips with ease. It was the truth too. For the first time, he
admitted to himself that Burthe hadn't been altogether wrong
about him. The hell with it! Nineteen years with Elsbeth Rosch
were punishment enough. A person sentenced to life imprisonment
could hope to be released after fifteen years. From that angle, Cora
Bender had already served four years too many.

"How much do you know about her childhood and adolescence,
Herr Brauning? Only what's on file, or has she told you about it?"

She hadn't, so he did it for her. He summarized those miserable
years in fifteen minutes and took the cassette from his pocket as he
brought his account to a close. `And then it happened," he said.
"I'm absolutely sure it happened just as she describes it, but I can't
prove it, Herr Brauning. I can't prove it!"

A pinch of sarcasm was the only antidote to the depression those
words aroused in him. "You've got a nice hi-fi there, a tape deck
and all the trimmings. I'm now going to grant you the opportunity
Frau Bender denied you: to be present at her interrogation. You've
missed a great deal. One has to have heard it - reading a transcript
isn't the same. Start the tape, it's at the right place."

Her voice issued from the big loudspeakers as if she were
sitting beside the distinguished-looking old lady on the sofa. He
heard once more her tear-choked, imploring, faltering words, her
agonized cry of "Help me!"

He saw Brauning swallow hard a couple of times and took a
sip of coffee to suppress his own urge to do likewise. After a few
minutes, Cora Bender's voice died away. "I brought her back to
that pitch today," he said quietly. "She went for me just as she went
for Frankenberg. If she'd had a knife, I wouldn't be sitting here
now"

Brauning didn't reply, staring at the tape deck as if he felt there
must be more to come. His mother remained equally silent and
uncommunicative.

"I don't quite understand what you expect me to do, Herr
Grovian," Brauning said at length.

Grovian felt annoyed. It was on the tip of his tongue to say:
"What do you usually do as a court-appointed counsel, just go
through the motions?" But he controlled himself "Get her another
psychologist," he demanded and was rather surprised when the
distinguished-looking old lady suddenly intervened. "Professor
Burthe has a first-class reputation," she said.

"Maybe," he retorted, "but even the finest reputation isn't proof
against Cora Bender's stories. She tossed him a tasty morsel,
and lie swallowed it whole. Prostitution and perverts!" It struck
him, as he went on, that Eberhard Brauning's expression was changing. He wouldn't have won many hands of poker. "Did she
spin you that yarn too?" He got no answer, just that meaningful
expression.

"Listen," he said, "I have to know what she told you - every
word, even if you think it's rubbish. She drops a lot of hints. You
only have to interpret them correctly."

Brauning removed the cassette from the tape deck and handed
it to him. "I'll need copies of all the tapes," he said for form's sake.
"Including the one that was played beside the lake."

"Did she talk to you about that?"

Brauning didn't answer at once. Very deliberately, he resumed
his seat with a disapproving frown. "Really, Herr Grovian, you
can't expect me to divulge my conversations with a client to the
other side."

"But I'm not the other side, damn it all! Do I have to go down on
my knees to persuade you to talk? I may be here in my capacity as
an investigator, but I'm not the woman's enemy."

"She thinks otherwise." Privately - Helene wasn't helping, just
sitting there smiling - Brauning came to the conclusion that it
couldn't hurt to disclose a few of Cora Bender's effusions.

He began with David and Goliath, went on to the three crosses
with the guiltless figure in the middle and ended with God the
Father, who sometimes appeared beside her bed at night, bent over
her and assured her of his son's innocence.

Grovian listened attentively, but he soon realized that any input
on his part would be a waste of time. "Well," he said, rising from
his armchair and giving the distinguished-looking old lady another
brief smile, "we're all tempted to take the line of least resistance
sometimes, and in a case like this it suits us all perfectly. Don't
condemn the poor creature, just lock her up - no need to wonder
why she did what she did. I'd reached that stage at one time, but
then I developed this itch to get to the bottom of the affair. And
now I'm up to my neck in it. However, I'm afraid they won't let me
delve any deeper. Burthe blames my investigative methods for Frau
Bender's presence in a psychiatric ward. That should be grist to the
mill of any good defence counsel."

That was the moment when Eberhard Brauning remembered
his role, or rather, had his nose rubbed in it. Defence counsel ...
He felt a trifle uneasy. He would have to discuss the matter with
Helene, of course, and work out what was to be done, if anything.
Perhaps he shouldn't leave the initiative to the DA. If a policeman
was rooting for this woman, her chances couldn't be that bad.

He cleared his throat. `Just between the two of us, Herr Grovian:
if I produce a contrary expert opinion, do I stand a chance of an
acquittal?"

"No," Grovian replied calmly, "you don't. But a few years'
imprisonment are better than a death sentence, and that, I'm afraid,
is the way she's headed. Cora Bender needs no judge or jury. She
has already passed sentence on herself and is currently engaged in
providing us with the grounds for it. She may be luckier carrying
it out the next time. Once in prison with normal offenders, I think
she'll refrain from committing suicide. To get there, all she needs
to do is admit she recognized Georg Frankenberg and wanted to
take revenge on him."

"Revenge for what?" asked Brauning, and Grovian told him.
What he suggested was far from legal. He was sticking his neck
out, but at that moment he didn't care.

It was nearly nine o'clock when he took his leave. During that
last hour with the Braunings he'd kept asking himself why the
mother should seem so interested until the son explained what
her profession had been. Not a bad combination, he thought, and
wondered if Cora Bender would be prepared to cooperate with
Helene Brauning.

Although it was pretty late to go calling on someone else, Ute
Frankenberg had so far been treated with great consideration. No
one had asked her any distressing questions. Two or three answers
were all he needed.

He pulled up outside Frankenberg's home, a modern apartment
house, at ten past nine. Winfried Meilhofer opened the door to him. A young woman was sitting in the living room. She'd
been too distressed to be interviewed the previous Saturday,
like Frankenberg's wife, but Werner Hoss had since taken her
statement.

Although Grovian had never set eyes on her before, he knew her
name. She was Alice Winger, whose flirtation with Meilhofer had
been so rudely interrupted by Cora Bender. The couple seemed
to have drawn closer in the interim, because their manner to each
other was suggestive of something more than friendship.

"I must apologize for disturbing you at this hour," he began,
"but I was in the neighbourhood and I didn't want to drag Frau
Frankenberg over to Hiirth specially. She can just as well answer
my questions here."

"Ute has gone to bed," Alice Winger informed him. "What
questions?"

Nothing of great importance. He merely wanted confirmation
of when and where she had met her husband. Alice Winger was
able to answer that one herself. "Last December, at the Ludwig
Museum. I was there myself."

Next: had Frankenberg ever mentioned the name Cora to his
wife? Her lips tightened. "I strongly doubt it."

Well, one or two other names had cropped up in the course of
his inquiries. "I'd really prefer to speak to Frau Frankenberg in
person. It's just a formality."

"I'll get her." Alice Winger rose and left the room. Meilhofer used
the time to ask: `Are you making progress with your inquiries?"

Grovian nodded. It was a good thing, in a way, that the man
who had witnessed the murder at close quarters should assume
that inquiries were still under way.

"I can't get it out of my head," Meilhofer said quietly. "The way
she sat there, looking at Frankie. She seemed happy. I shouldn't
say this, perhaps, but I felt sorry for her. Strange how one reacts.
I should have been horrified. I was too, but more by Frankie's
reaction, by her husband and myself. I'd never have thought a
situation could arise in which I was rooted to the spot. I could have
prevented it. Not the first blow, but the second and ..."

He was interrupted by Alice Winger's reappearance. "She's
coming," she said. "Please go easy on her, the whole thing is still so
fresh. They were so happy."

"Yes, of course." Grovian felt almost ashamed. These people
were the "other side", the one lie was paid to uphold. Respectable
citizens whose lives had been turned upside down, in the twinkling
of an eye, by an incomprehensible act.

It was several minutes before Ute Frankenberg appeared in the
doorway. All he noticed at first was the pink velvet ankle-length
housecoat in which she had swathed herself as if she were cold.
Surmounting the collar was a plump grey face, tearful and tired,
the nose and eyes reddened from weeping, and a close-fitting cap
of platinum blond hair gathered at the neck with a barrette.