Page 36 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘Absolutely no way! Who would Eva have told? And when? We were together the whole time until. . .’ I blink wildly as the image of her lifeless body tries to form in my head again, her head in the pool of blood, her stiff, half-opened eyes. ‘Absolutely no way,’ I repeat shakily.
‘It’s all right,’ Ludwig says, moving his hand from the chair to my back.
‘I’m sorry, Frau Lesniak,’ Brandner says, pointedly pushing the biscuit tin towards me. He must think I need another dose. ‘I don’t mean to upset you; I’m trying to protect you.’
Even though I don’t fancy it, I take another one, this time a shortbread heart with a jam filling. Once again, Brandner waits until I’ve finished before asking the question that I must have already answered several times this evening. ‘And are you really sure you didn’t recognise the intruder?’
‘Absolutely sure,’ I say, nodding. ‘I hadn’t turned any lights on, so it was pitch-black in the house when I tore the balaclava off his face. Then he knocked me over and disappeared through the terrace door.’
You would approve, Dad.
Maybe you’d even be a bit proud of me. I’m following the great philosophers: Machiavelli, Bentham, Kant. I’ve checked the end and the means. The end is not exclusively selfish, but morally right and important for the common good as well: the longer you’re in prison, the longer the real killer remains free, able to claim the lives of more innocent victims. The end is to expand the police’s narrow view, the means is the break-in. They have to investigate and thus explore every possibility, including that Steinhausen might be behind it. I know it wasn’t him, but the police have no option but to take a closer look at Steinhausen. They have to check out everyone who might have had a reason for breaking into our house now that I’ve started asking questions. I’m still sure they’ll hit on Steinhausen one way or another, but until I’ve got clear, definitive proof of his guilt, outwardly I need to be careful. They mustn’t think that, like Meller, I’ve developed an obsession about this man. They need to take me seriously when the time comes.
The end justifies the means.
It’s okay that I lied, slightly twisting the circumstances of the attack in my favour. It’s okay, that doesn’t make me a bad person, does it, Dad?
‘Don’t worry, Anni,’ Ludwig says in your place. I’m beside him in the passenger seat, sitting slightly crooked from the pain in my shoulder. I’m nervous to boot, but not because– as he probably thinks– I’m traumatised by the attack. ‘I’m going to take better care of you from now on.’
‘I’m fine, Ludwig,’ I protest for the umpteenth time, starting to sound annoyed. Which is counterproductive because he mustn’t become suspicious. I’m Anni, who was standing in the doorway when he came back with dinner. Anni, as if paralysed, and holding a black balaclava. Anni, who could only stammer when she told him about the intruder she’d surprised in the study. It had been a man, that much was certain. But she couldn’t see him properly in the dark. He’d wrestled her to the floor then escaped via the terrace. Ludwig immediately sat her in his car where she could feel safe while he went into the house, switched on the lights and inspected everything before calling the police.
‘Really I am,’ Anni insists, giving him a conciliatory smile. ‘After all, nothing bad happened. I just want to go home and get into my bed.’
‘You want to do what?’ Ludwig looks aghast. ‘No way. You’re going to stay at my place tonight.’
‘Honestly, there’s no need. I—’
‘Really? What happens if the intruder comes back?’
‘After that turnout? The police spent two hours searching the house, garden and garage, securing evidence. If I were the intruder, I’d get out of the city as quick as I could.’
‘There’s still the question of how he got into the house in the first place.’
I lower my eyes guiltily, just like earlier when giving my statement to Inspector Brandner. ‘The terrace door. I must have left it open again, there’s no other explanation I can think of.’
Ludwig sighs. ‘I realise you’ve been out of sorts recently, Anni. And I can understand it too, but—’
‘I really should be more careful, especially now I’m living in the house on my own,’ I say, finishing his sentence with the words Eva said to me yesterday. A yesterday that seems an eternity ago. ‘I know, Ludwig.’
‘Apart from that, the meaning of the red ribbon on your oleander needs looking into again. That might have been him too.’
‘Do you think he’s been watching me for a while?’
Ludwig just growls quietly, the reaction of the man who only yesterday was still downplaying this and stopping me from notifying the police.Someone was in your garden and tied a red ribbon to the oleander. Nothing else actually happened, a shrug of the shoulders. All the same, I don’t protest anymore when he takes the wrong turn. I’m desperate to go back home, but Ludwig’s arguments are better and he has a more credible scenario. We say nothing more until he turns into his drive.
‘Here we are,’ he says, reaching behind for the bag with the two styrofoam boxes from the Thai restaurant.
We get out. Before us is his swanky villa, a house whose art nouveau opulence spits a big fat ‘ner, ner, ner, ner, ner’ in the face of every guest. This is home to someone who’s made it, who doesn’t know what to do with his money. Ludwig could have sold the place after entering retirement– which he’s spending in the forests of his Polish homeland– and simply stayed in a hotel on his sporadic visits to Berlin. But he doesn’t do this because he doesn’t have to. He can afford to keep a house he no longer lives in, like an outsized trophy, a memorial to his life’s work.
‘The world will look a very different place after you’ve had a good night’s sleep,’ he says, punching a code into the number pad beside the front door. People like Ludwig aren’t surprised by intruders in their studies because nobody can get past the alarm system. In the hallway I put my rucksack down and take my boots off. I’d really love to go straight to bed, but I know Ludwig. He will want to be sure that I really am all right. Moreover, he won’t be able to sleep himself until he’s soothed his conscience with a little paternal care towards me. But he must– he must fall asleep if he’s not going to notice me stealing out of his house in the middle of the night. I’ve thought it over very carefully. I’ll ruffle the bedclothes a bit in the spare room, then wait for a while before doing a runner. And tomorrow, when he realises I’m not there and calls me, I’ll simply tell him I got up early and didn’t want to wake him. I’ve got everything under control, Dad. I’m not going to let myself be helplessly churned up by the chaos any longer; that’s enough now.
I go into the kitchen, fetch two cups from the cupboard and then tap my way through the functions of the coffee machine, which is complicated if you’ve never used it before. But I have, on numerous occasions. I know which drawer I’ll find a packet of cigarettes in. Ludwig, who hasn’t smoked in ages apart from the odd cigar on special occasions, keeps one there for emergencies. For emergencies like me. I also know that there’s an ashtray hidden next to the cleaning things in the cupboard under the sink, and where to find the matches. I know I have to open the window, not because of Ludwig but Frau Cluth, the housekeeper, who gave me his mobile number earlier. She’ll moan– she always has– if you’re careless enough to fill the room with smoke. I know all this because I’ve been a regular visitor here. As a little girl I used to sit at this kitchen table with a cup of hot chocolate and a roll that Frau Cluth had buttered for me. I climbed on the leather armchairs in the library or built a camp in the loft while Ludwig and my father were deep in conversation.
‘Are you smoking again?’ Ludwig asks, entering the kitchen and putting the bag with our dinner on the work surface. He’s got changed and is now wearing a cardigan with a shawl collar rather than his jacket. I sit at the table puffing smoke rings into the air. Zoe showed me how to do it after we’d been out dancing one night, which ended on the balcony of the student halls of residence where she was living. Slightly puff your cheeks, keep the smoke in, form an ‘O’ with your lips, then carefully push your tongue forwards. As simple as that and yet for the life of me I couldn’t do it. Now that I can, Zoe is living alone in our flat and getting ready for her term abroad– Cornwall, without me.
‘Off and on,’ I say to Ludwig. ‘But please don’t tell Dad. You know, my asthma and all that.’
He mutters something and fetches a cigar. We drink our coffee and smoke. The food remains untouched in its bag.
