Time Heals No Wounds (11 page)

“Hold on! What did you say? She may have visited your father? Who’s your father?”

“The former owner of Lagussa, Heinrich Ternheim. You might know him as Merlin.”

Fritz paused. Hannes dropped his fork and stared at him in disbelief. “What? Merlin is the victim’s father? That means Helene Ternheim is the daughter the farmer’s wife told us about? That crazy old man once led a pharmaceutical empire?”

“Yes,” said Fritz with a grin as he adjusted his square glasses. “He left the company a decade ago, which at his age is remarkable. Since then, he’s devoted himself to his true passion: painting crazy pictures. His son seems to share our opinion on them.”

Hannes was barely listening. He poked at the lettuce. “That explains why he was completely beside himself. Poor old man. Walks along the beach to collect amber and suddenly stumbles over his dead daughter.”

“He was crazy and taciturn before, according to the Olsens. But at least this sheds new light on the matter. My instincts tell me it was no coincidence Ms. Ternheim was found on that stretch of beach.”

“So what now?” asked Hannes.

Fritz looked at his watch. “In two hours we meet with Mr. Ternheim at the medical examiner’s office. He has to officially identify the dead woman as his sister. Unfortunately, he can’t be spared that.”

“She had no husband or partner? Are there any children or other family members?”

“No, she was never married, nor does she have any children. Her mother’s no longer alive, and after our experience with their father, I certainly wouldn’t want to drag him to the medical examiner’s office . . .”

While Hannes cleared their trays, Fritz strolled over to the counter and asked Mrs. Öztürk about the changes to the menu. When Hannes joined him, Mrs. Öztürk smiled.

“Ah, the young man with the green and blue eyes! Very good karma! In my village, it’s said that a man like you can look into other dimensions. The green eye to what was and the blue eye to what is. You’re at home in both worlds! You must learn to look correctly and take advantage of your great gift!”

Hannes’s ears turned red. Fritz laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “And with these ears, he can even hear the voices from the other side. If that doesn’t help us in our investigation . . .”

Fritz pulled Hannes toward the exit and waved good-bye to Mrs. Öztürk. She glared at him.

Christian Ternheim arrived at the medical examiner’s office in a modest car. Hannes had expected a cold, stiff businessman and now marveled at the pale, slightly bewildered face. On the other hand, who would arrive bursting with life at the place where you have to identify your dead sister? Mr. Ternheim seemed to want the matter over with as quickly as possible. Maria was already expecting them, and after a brief introduction, they headed for the elevator.

“Since we’re done examining, we have to go to the basement,” she said to Hannes. “The bodies are kept in the refrigerator down there.”

She sensed everyone wanted to get this over with and quickly led the group down a bright corridor to the tiny room. It was almost too small for all of them since the stretcher took up most of the space. Hannes realized it was impossible to distance himself from the dead woman beneath the white sheet.

Maria glanced at Mr. Ternheim. He nodded, and she gently lifted the sheet to reveal a pale face framed by light-blonde hair. For a moment, Christian Ternheim’s face relaxed.

“That’s not my sister,” he said and sighed. But only a moment later, his face contorted into a confused grimace. “Where . . . but . . . it’s her! Oh my God! Helene! But what happened to her hair?”

“Did you not know your sister had blonde hair?” Maria asked.

“No. She had brown hair that turned gray around her fortieth birthday. She never dyed her hair.”

Ternheim leaned over the stretcher, trembling as he touched his sister’s body through the thin cloth. He wiped his brow.

Fritz said, “We have a few brief questions about some abnorm—”

“Please!” Mr. Ternheim raised his hands. “Can’t we put this off until tomorrow? I . . . I need some time now. You can come to my office tomorrow, but . . . please, not now.”

Fritz nodded. “We’ll lead you upstairs. Thank you for coming here so quickly and . . . Well, we’re truly very sorry.”

As Hannes tried to leave the room, Maria held him back. “Wait. Let them go ahead. I need to show you something.”

Fritz looked puzzled but said nothing and closed the door behind him. Maria pulled the sheet to the waist so the battered torso was visible. Hannes leaned over the stretcher and looked intently back at Maria.
What a contrast
, he thought.
In front of me is this horribly disfigured, lifeless body, and behind me is this attractive young woman.

“Here.” Maria lifted Helene Ternheim’s left arm. “We studied the tattoo in more detail. This is not a typical tattoo. I mean, not some rose or anchor. Nor Asian characters, which are all the rage now. We examined it through a microscope and analyzed it on the computer. We’re convinced this is a series of numbers. While we couldn’t identify all of it clearly, a series of six or seven digits were tattooed on her arm around the time of her death.”

“It was so nice to see Amber again after so many years.” Merle was still trying to fight against the loneliness with the sound of her voice. “Even though I only recognized her delicate hands.”

Unfortunately, Mrs. Bernstein was hardly able to help Merle research her family history. She did know one thing, though, and it was of significant interest to Merle.

“Your father was a deadbeat. I’m sorry for being so frank. He was a little older than your mother and had rented a cabin in the mountains with three friends. Your mother, two other girlfriends, and I were on a ski trip and stayed in a nearby house. It didn’t bother us, of course, that four young men were staying just around the corner. On the second night, we went to après-ski with them.” Mrs. Bernstein sighed at the painful memories. “Your father had an eye on your mother, and she was very interested in him too from the start. He was not really her type—a little standoffish and cranky. One of his friends had told me that there had been some incident between your father and another woman in school, which his father was only able to straighten out with a great deal of difficulty. I warned your mother about him, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Why was she so attracted to him then?”

“Your mother had always been . . . well, interested in money, and your father comes from a rich manufacturing family. She had always fantasized that she would someday marry a rich man and be worthy of her noble name. Maybe she was hoping your father would be her savior.”

“But he wasn’t?”

“Not at all! And then the inevitable happened. They spent several nights together, then continued to write after the vacation was over and talked on the phone every now and then. But this was more on your mother’s initiative than his. When she finally realized she was pregnant, she thought he would marry her, of course.”

Mrs. Bernstein had laughed in discomfort and refilled Merle’s coffee. Then she had gotten up and hobbled to a closet.

“I have a few photos of the trip. Your father’s in one.”

Merle had considered the somewhat blurry image with curiosity. Her mother stood in front of a ski lift with her arm proudly around a large, stiff-looking man. He gazed at the camera with a forced smile. Merle had felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“You can keep the photo.”

“Thanks. What happened next? Did my father ever know about me?”

“Oh yes. Your mother immediately told him she was pregnant, but his reaction was different from what she’d expected. A lawyer appeared at her door and made it clear a marriage was out of the question. There were two possibilities: either she would stay silent and refrain from any contact with your father in return for a monthly payment, or the paternity would be challenged in court.” Mrs. Bernstein looked sadly into Merle’s eyes. “You already know what your mother decided to do.”

“Do you know my father’s name?”

“I’ve tried to remember, but it won’t come to me. However, I still keep in contact with a friend from back then, maybe she can remember. If I find out, I’ll get back to you.”

“Fortunately, the friend had a better memory than Amber,” Merle said to the darkness.

She tried to ignore her growling stomach because she had promised herself she would not touch any more food. She did not want to be knocked out again. She was restless and got up from the bed to walk in small circles around the room. Three times clockwise, then three times counterclockwise, and over again. “I have to keep moving. But if I move, I use energy and have to eat again. Whatever I do, it’s wrong.”

But the fear of being drugged again was greater, and Merle leaned against the wall next to the bed. She remained there in a trancelike state for an hour. Only the sound of footsteps shook her from her lethargy.

“You can keep your fucking food,” she whispered. At the same time, she hoped the light would allow her to discover more about the room, details she had overlooked last time.

The footsteps stopped in front of the steel door, and Merle heard a faint groan. Then the bolt was pushed aside, and she turned her head away to avoid being blinded. The room seemed unchanged: a large cobweb was all she had previously missed. Her eyes then fell on herself, and she looked at the clothes she had found that morning and put on while shivering. They seemed to be pajamas; the shirt and pants were striped blue and gray.

She noticed the door had been open for a while now without anything being pushed inside. She looked toward it, and a blinding flash of light hit her face. Merle screamed and put her arm over her eyes. A soft click, then another flash of light. Merle threw herself on the bed.

W
EDNESDAY
E
VENING

Hannes’s thoughts raced. He stared out the bus window. So the tattoo on the victim’s arm represented a series of numbers. A code? What did the perpetrator want to tell them? He was now convinced there was a perpetrator. Ms. Ternheim’s sudden disappearance, the secluded location of the crime scene, the dyed hair, the tattoo, the sedative in the blood—the list was too long for it to be a coincidence or for there to be an innocent explanation. But what really puzzled him was the role of the real estate agent, who had disappeared without a trace. Hannes had been glad when Fritz had let him go early.

Hannes got off the bus, and as he turned the corner onto his street, he was met by several flashing police lights. A large crowd had gathered in the middle of the narrow road. Traffic was blocked by emergency vehicles, and an ambulance was parked in front of the building where he had lived for the last six years. He saw his neighbor Richard, who lived with his girlfriend in the apartment next to his. Hannes quickly pushed his way through the crowd over to him. “Hey, what’s going on? Was there a fire?”

“No, the weird guy who lives above us has a large terrarium, and a python escaped. They’re now searching for it.”

Hannes’s face went pale. “A . . . a snake? In our building? You’re kidding me!” He had been afraid of snakes since he was a child, and they haunted his dreams. “How long has it been missing?”

“No one knows. The guy left yesterday morning, and when he came back an hour ago, the terrarium was empty. He probably didn’t close it properly after feeding the snake.”

Hannes broke out in a cold sweat, thinking how he always left a window open because of the heat. “So it might have been slithering through our building yesterday?”

“Maybe. You don’t need to worry. At the moment, the snake isn’t dangerous because it was just fed yesterday. The fire department’s combing the building, and when they’re done, we can return to our apartments. Evidently, it’s a nine-foot python, so it should be pretty easy to find.”

“What if they don’t find him?” Hannes imagined waking up the next morning and looking directly into the eyes of a python dangling from the ceiling lamp and had to suppress a gag reflex.

“Then it’s definitely no longer in the house,” Richard said and seemed to wonder about Hannes’s overreaction. “Besides, pythons aren’t normally aggressive toward humans. Anyway, the police officer over there just told us we’ll be able to go back inside within the hour.”

“How come that loser was able to keep a snake in our building? Isn’t it illegal?”

“Apparently not.”

Hannes sat down on the curb and wondered how he could ever get a peaceful night’s sleep in his apartment again. Even if the python was found, it still meant it was going to be living directly above him, and if it had already escaped once, perhaps it had developed a taste for freedom . . .

A firefighter announced through a megaphone that the search was over. The python, however, had not been spotted. Hannes jumped to his feet and scanned the area. There was no way he was spending the night there! He would look for a hotel room, preferably on the other side of town. He needed a change of clothes and some toiletries, but he had no desire to enter the building.

He suddenly had an idea and pulled his cell phone from his bag. Ben picked up after a few rings.

“Ben, it’s Hannes. Remember yesterday afternoon in the park? You know, when you were a completely law-abiding citizen? Well, I’ve got a favor to ask . . .”

“Man, that was fast. Okay, what’s the favor?”

“Could you please come to my apartment as soon as possible? You live close by, right? Twelve Tower Street.”

Hannes was surprised that Ben didn’t ask any questions. “All right, I’ll swing by in ten minutes.”

Ben got there in eight minutes. Hannes had kept his eye on his watch the entire time. He really wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

“What’s up?” Ben asked as he pulled alongside Hannes on his Old Dutch bike.

“Some idiot neighbor keeps a snake, and it’s loose.” Hannes painted a brief picture of the situation, and Ben scratched his head through his dreadlocks.

“That’s one for the papers . . .”

“Well, I’d prefer that it stayed in the papers.”

“And what would you like me to do? Fumigate the place with marijuana?”

“I’m terrified of snakes! I can’t sleep here tonight. I’d rather pay for a hotel somewhere. I just need a few things from my apartment.” Hannes handed him the key. “Could you please get me some clothes?” he asked in embarrassment.

He prepared to be teased, but Ben remained serious. “Hold on, I have a better idea! I’ll get you a couple of things from up there, and then you can bunk with me until they find it. I have a guest bed, so it’s no problem.”

“Really? That’s so nice, but . . . I mean, we barely know each other.”

“Well, it never hurts to have a police officer in the house, right? So long as you consider me a law-abiding citizen and turn a blind eye, it’s no problem,” Ben said and laughed. He pushed his bike up against a rusty bike rack and unstrapped his gym bag from the back. He reached for the key. “So what do you need and where can I find it?”

He returned with a full bag. Its contents, including clothes, would tide Hannes over for the next few days. The sun had set, and Hannes followed Ben to his house, which stood slightly back from the road in a large garden dominated by tall broad-leafed trees. The old house seemed to have been recently renovated and had a sophisticated elegance. Hannes never would have imagined that Ben lived in such a place.

“By the way, Elke called me a little while ago,” Ben said as he pushed open a rusty gate. “She suggested our fairground group get together Saturday night. Kalle and Ines are free. What about you?”

“Good idea! Where are we meeting?”

“We can meet here at eight. I’ll let Elke know tomorrow.”

Just before the front steps, Ben turned down a paved path lined with bushes. Confused, Hannes followed him as he disappeared around the corner. Ben turned around and gave his trademark grin.

“Impressed, huh?” He lifted his arm and pointed to the back of the garden. “I live over there. A doctor and his family live in the big house, so there are toys all around. Watch your step.”

“So you live in the bushes, or . . . ?”

“What are you implying? Don’t worry, I’ve got a little more style than that. Come on!”

Hannes was careful not to step on one of the numerous toys and followed Ben deep into the garden. He could see the outline of a small structure between two trees.

“This was once the gardener’s home,” Ben said as he walked toward the little house. “But since there’s no gardener—as you will easily see in the daylight—they rent out the cottage. And since the family likes a little diversity, I got the place.”

Ben hit a light switch, and a dim outdoor light lit up a small but very well-maintained brick house. The red shingles of the gable roof were overgrown with moss, but otherwise the house seemed in very good shape. There was even a small tiled patio with a table and chairs next to the front door. A book lay facedown on a chair next to an overflowing ashtray.

“I’d just curled up with a book when you called. Don’t look too closely at the ashtray,” he joked.

“So how many joints do you smoke a day?”

Ben shrugged. “Depends. Why do you think people are so susceptible to drinking? The desperate attempt to feel real. To finally be their true selves, even if it’s only an illusion. I’m no better than them.”

He opened the unlocked door and turned on the light. Hannes followed him into a tiny hallway with coat hooks and two shoe shelves. Ben put his bag on the floor.

“Although it looks very small from the outside, I have everything I need. In here to the left is the living room plus a small kitchen, then there’s my bedroom, next door to that is the bathroom, and right here’s the room where you can sleep. It’s a bit Spartan, but at least you have a sofa, wardrobe, and a small table and chair. But you can use the kitchen and living room too—and the bathroom of course.”

“As long as I don’t have to share your bedroom,” Hannes joked, remembering Ben’s suggestive remarks on the Ferris wheel.

Ben suddenly looked embarrassed. “Oh, I was just kidding. Sometimes I get carried away. Let me show you the rest of the place.”

The bathroom was small but clean and even had a washing machine and a laundry basket, which made it nearly impossible to turn around. Ben’s bedroom was no bigger than the guest room; it had a double bed and a wardrobe, which took up an entire wall.

“And now, the holiest of holies,” Ben said as he opened the door to the living room. Hannes was terrified as a large ball of wool rushed at them and jumped up on Ben.

“It’s all right, Socks!” Ben patted the big dog’s head, and after seeing his four white paws, Hannes realized the name was entirely justified. “I surprised you, didn’t I?” he said to Hannes. “I trained him so well that he rarely barks. That was a prerequisite to living here. He’s also very good with children.”

Apparently Socks was also fond of police officers. He sniffed Hannes and put his front paws on his chest to lick his face.

“You can leave him at home and he won’t destroy your apartment?” he asked, scratching the animal behind the ears. Socks panted, his breath reeking of dog food.

“I only leave him here for a few hours. He can wander around the garden freely. My landlord also looks after him, so he goes in and out as he pleases.”

The living room surprised Hannes the most. He had expected complete chaos, but it looked tidy, and the furniture—a comfortable couch, a dining table with four chairs, and a wall shelf—seemed cozy and stylish. Only the open kitchen was as chaotic as he had expected, with piles of dirty dishes and various packages of food and plastic bags. He even noticed a half-eaten, dried-out cheese sandwich.

“Yeah, the kitchen’s unfortunately a little messy. I’ve been considering getting a dishwasher, but I’m not sure where I’d put it.”

“Are you kidding? This place is a dream! If you ever move, let me know!”

“Expected something different?” Ben teased. “You don’t have to live in a pigsty to show how countercultural you are. I really like it here, and besides, what’s important is what’s going on in here.” He tapped his forehead.

Hannes again revised his thoughts on Ben. He really appreciated that Ben had showed up to help without asking a single question or making up an excuse. He seemed to be very levelheaded and thoughtful, even if he had hidden this side of himself when they’d first met.

“Okay, dude. Socks has to go outside again. We can let him run around the garden. He knows where he’s allowed and where he’s not, and the children know it too. We can make ourselves comfortable on the patio and toast your traumatic experience with a cold beer.”

While Socks roamed the garden, sniffing, Hannes stretched out in the deck chair that Ben had generously offered him and took a big gulp from the bottle of beer.

“This is insane! I’ve been looking for a new apartment for a long time and would be grateful for a reasonably decent and affordable one in an apartment building. And you live right here in the middle of paradise,” Hannes whispered.

“You don’t have to whisper. My landlord left on vacation today. Anyway, their bedroom’s on the other side, so they wouldn’t hear a thing. Trust me, I’ve tried . . .”

Hannes looked at Ben’s book.
The Anti-Nazi Handbook.
“You really are engrossed in the topic. How many people are in your organization?”

“We’re not an organization in the classic sense. We have no name and no fixed structure. There’s only an e-mail list, and those who have the time or desire come to our irregular meetings or participate in our activities.”

“What was the last thing you organized?”

“We had something on Monday, which was why I had to disappear so suddenly. A few morons from the neo-Nazi scene had gathered at the war memorial to hold a spontaneous tribute to fallen German soldiers. The monument’s location was perfect—one of its sides sits about thirty feet below the park’s balustrade, so while the skinheads stood there proudly holding their stupid banners, we threw firecrackers down at them. Their memorial was quickly over.” Ben laughed. “You should have seen it! Suddenly they weren’t so cool anymore. Since there were only three of us, we made a run for it. We didn’t want to get into a fight with thirty Nazis. We’re not that crazy!”

Hannes laughed. He was amused by the image of the skinheads frantically jumping around to avoid the firecrackers. “Have you been attacked by guys like that before?”

“Sure, several times. I even once fell into the hands of some sort of neo-Nazi women’s group. I had to spend a week in bed after that.”

“What drives you to do this? Your grandfather’s death?”

Ben thought for a moment. “Perhaps it plays a role subconsciously. I mean, the story was always a recurrent theme in our family, and it has certainly influenced me. But actually, I see it like this: some people now argue that we should finally let go of the past. But these people overlook an important point. It’s not a question of collectively donning sackcloth and ashes. I wasn’t even an embryo during the Nazi regime and am therefore not guilty. To me, it’s not about passing judgment on the guilt or innocence of our grandparents. It was a completely different time with very different circumstances. Education and media coverage back then certainly didn’t compare with today’s. Not to mention the fear of what might happen to you if the Gestapo didn’t take a liking to you. Who can really say how you would have behaved back then?”

He paused for a moment and took a swig of beer. “Of course there were heroes who didn’t buy into that perverse game, and I can only hope that I would have been one of them. What concerns me the most is what we can learn from history. I can’t just sit idly by and watch as these asshole B
rownshirts band together and shout idiot slogans to lead us right back down the road to hell.”

Hannes nodded, impressed. Ben pulled a pack of tobacco and a small plastic bag from his pocket and rolled a joint on the table. He pointed to the greenish-brown mixture in front of him. “Like I said, if you want some, it’s not a problem.”