Page 30 of Anatomy of a Killer
I stop and watch the two of them. And then, without knowing why, I follow them. Perhaps it’s my bad conscience. Perhaps I do after all want to be slightly different from those I despise for their prejudice. Maybe I want to do something right, at least one thing on this day that feels so totally wrong. ‘Excuse me?’
The woman turns around. I put her in her mid-forties, about as old as Michelle. A few grey strands stick out from her lush, dark-brown hair, as if they’d gone astray. She looks friendly, but very tired too. ‘Yes?’
‘I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re the wife of Herr Steinhausen.’
‘I’m Susanne Steinhausen, yes,’ she says warily. I don’t look like a hospital employee coming to tell her she can see her husband now.
I point to the hospital behind me. ‘My name is Ann. I was there when it happened to your husband. At the construction site, I mean. . .’
‘What?’ The woman’s eyes grow large.
‘It’s thanks to my friend Eva that your husband. . .’ I break off when I see Frau Steinhausen’s eyes well with tears. Like Elke and Caspian, she is another of those people who’ve had to take a call today that they’d rather not have received. ‘Is he in a very critical condition?’
‘He’s out of danger, but. . .’ She shakes her head. ‘Andreas and I were going to get a divorce. Ever since I moved out in summer we’ve done nothing but argue. About money, about the house and especially about our youngest daughter.’ She nods towards the little girl, who’s sweeping snow from the swing. ‘Had he died today, it would have meant that I’d had a really bad go at him the last time I ever saw him. And yet we used to love each other so much.’
I awkwardly put out my hand and pat her arm. ‘Maybe this is a good day to make peace.’ I smile– and then it hits me. ‘Andreas?’
The wife looks confused.
‘Your husband?’
‘Andreas is my husband, yes.’
‘Not Marcus? Marcus Steinhausen?’
‘No, my husband is Andreas.’ Now she’s sounding impatient. ‘Marcus is his brother.’
‘His. . .’ The machinery inside my head is finding it hard to get into gear; small, rusty wheels turn slowly, clattering like an old clock. Brothers who look so similar that Marcus could even show Michelle, who knew him well, a photo of Andreas with his family without her noticing the difference. Brothers so similar that Meller didn’t doubt for a second he’d grabbed the right man from the school playground. Andreas Steinhausen, who was probably only there to pick up his little daughter Amelie. I imagine him not having a clue what’s going on to begin with, then trying to persuade Meller he’s made a big mistake. But Meller’s so delirious that he’s not listening. He keeps pummelling his fists into the face of the man he believes to be his stepdaughter’s killer, until Andreas Steinhausen is barely able to speak anymore.
Once again I reach out for his wife’s arm, not to comfort her this time, but in my own self-interest, to keep me on my feet when the cogs inside my head finally creak into place. If Andreas Steinhausen is the patient in this hospital, then Marcus Steinhausen is still out there somewhere. Unscathed, at liberty and possibly guilty of ten murders.
Am I all right?
Am I feeling sick?
Do I need to sit down?
I’m not saying anything, I’m just swaying, reeling, gaping. Frau Steinhausen takes the initiative. She summons her daughter from the swing, links arms with me and takes me back inside, to the café, where she finds us a table by the window. Maybe she thinks the view of the snowy park will soothe me, or at least it can’t do any harm.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she says to both me and her daughter, who sits opposite me and is allowed to play with her mum’s mobile until she comes back. I don’t realise how overtly I’m staring at the child until she looks up and waves the screen in front of me with a smile. A masked cartoon girl in a ladybird outfit is swinging across the roofs in Paris.
‘Do you want to watch? That’s Marinette. She’s a superhero, but nobody knows that because she’s still at school.’ I shake my head. As if offended by my ignorance, Amelie sticks out her tongue, gets up from her chair and immediately sits down again at the neighbouring table, her back turned. I gaze out of the window and think of Eva. Of how everything can change in a matter of seconds. And how absurd it is that the life you know and utter chaos are often separated by a mere breath.
‘Here we are,’ Frau Steinhausen says, placing a tray on the table. Hot chocolate for her daughter, tea for her and a cola for me, to get my circulation going again. I’m so overwhelmed by her kindness that I almost start to cry. But I can’t; I have to pull myself together. She’s Marcus Steinhausen’s sister-in-law and might be able to help me. I say the first thing that comes into my head: ‘I think my father’s in prison because of Marcus.’ That’s unfortunate and ill-considered of me, because of course now she’s going to start asking questions. What’s my father in prison for? What exactly is he accused of? What do I think Marcus did?
But there’s nothing. No curiosity, no eyes wide in astonishment. Only: ‘I’m not surprised.’ She asks the girl to give her the mobile– ‘Just for a bit,’ as she assures the protesting child– and shows me photographs from their last family holiday on the Baltic. Andreas, her and two of their three daughters, the younger two. ‘Look, Amelie, do you remember?’ she asks the girl, but Amelie’s sulking.
I can understand Frau Steinhausen. She can’t wait to be let in to see her husband so she can tell him that the last six months aren’t important. I’m envious of her for this, the chance to simply wipe the past half year from the table like a careless mess.
‘Frau Steinhausen,’ I say, to get her attention.
‘Hmm?’ She looks up. ‘Oh yes, I’m sorry. Here, Amelie,’ she says, giving her the mobile back.
‘But that’s not all,’ I continue, earning a frown from her. ‘I mean that my father’s in prison because of Marcus. All that stuff only happened to your husband because somebody mistook him for Marcus.’ Leaning into her, I lower my voice. ‘You must’ve heard of the ribbon murders?’
She nods, perplexed.
‘The stepfather of one of the victims is convinced that Marcus is the ribbon murderer.’
