Page 56 of Anatomy of a Killer
I have to realise it’s dark outside; the faces are merely small dots blurred by the candlelight in the blackness. The mortuary van has driven off and there are just two police cars left. The crime scene has been secured, Jakob and I have been questioned and our personal details taken. How did we end up finding Kerstin Seiler, what did we want from her? The truth: Jakob is a journalist writing about the ribbon murderer, and I’m the daughter of the chief suspect. Frowns, incomprehension. A story and a background that defy cursory explanation. So we’ve got to come back to the police station in Bad Kötzting tomorrow morning to fill in the gaps. I feel like Bill Murray inGroundhog Day: police, hospital, bodies covered in blood. I’m stuck in a fricking time loop, a nightmare. And why? My father’s still in prison; I haven’t achieved anything. On the contrary, all I’m doing is causing chaos.
Jakob’s face appears in the reflection of the windowpane. Standing right behind me, he puts his hand on my shoulder. I still see the blood on it, even though he’s had a thorough wash. Both of us took a shower, first Jakob, then me. As if what we’ve just been through could be rinsed down the drain along with the blood. The police have taken our clothes in a plastic bag. Jakob’s coat and his blood-smeared trousers for forensic examination. To confirm that all the blood got on him when he was checking Kerstin for a pulse, rather than when he killed her. My–Dad’s– jacket has gone too because Jakob touched it with his bloody hands. I’m already missing it; I feel as if I’ve lost more than just an item of clothing.
I turn around, straight into Jakob’s embrace. Jakob, who holds me tight, my cheek against his chest, and his heart beating comfortingly. He strokes my hair. There are no words. I think of Sarah. Imagine the police psychologist trying to make her understand what’s happened. They told us that her hospital room is being guarded around the clock. For it may have been Sarah’s abductor who killed Kerstin. But why? Nothing makes sense anymore; only one thing is clearer than ever: Sarah needs to talk. She has to say what happened from the moment when, on her way home alone on Boxing Day, she met her kidnapper. What he looked like. Where he took her. How she was able to escape from him. A loud sobbing reclaims me from my tangled thoughts. It’s me, crying and sobbing so uncontrollably that my whole body is shaking. Jakob continues to hold me, stoically, firmly, solidly.
‘I just want to wake up.’
‘I know,’ he says. Then he lifts my chin and kisses me. It’s the situation, the deep despair, two people clutching each other because there’s nothing else. It feels good somehow, and yet. . . I pull away, turn away.
‘Have I done something wrong?’
I shake my head. Think back. How we used to sit in the Big Murphy’s car park during my lunch break, separated by the coy distance of two people who’d really like to arrange a proper date. But they don’t; the woman has her reasons.
‘There is someone,’ I tell him, then sniff and wipe the tears from my eyes. ‘That’s to say, there was someone until recently. I’m not quite over it yet.’
‘Okay, I understand. Sorry.’
‘Me too.’
‘Did it fall apart because of the thing with your dad?’
‘Yes.’
I drop on to the bed; Jakob sits beside me.
‘Then he’s a fool, Ann, he really is. Whatever your father might or might not have done, it’s got nothing to do with you. You’re a good person. Most of the time, at least.’
‘Locking you in the boot– I imagine you still hold that against me.’
‘You’ve no idea. I’ve had to pee at least a dozen times today already.’
I lean my head against his shoulder. ‘What are we going to do now?’
‘What should we do? There’s no point going to pay Sarah a visit at the hospital. First, they wouldn’t let us in, and second– even if they did– there’s no way she’d talk to two strangers. I think we’ve no choice but to leave it all to the police and hope they can clear the bloody thing up.’ He puts an arm around me and kisses me on my head. ‘We ought to go home.’
‘Home,’ I repeat. The mere thought of it makes me tense up. Back to Berlin where my father’s in prison, Eva’s in hospital and Ludwig’s waiting to lecture me. Where there’s nothing but ruins, debris and pain. ‘Shit, it can’t bethatdifficult, Jakob!’ I lift my head and look at him. ‘Logic! Logic’s the way to solve this. Think! Why would Marcus Steinhausen kill Kerstin? What would he gain by it?’
‘You still believe it then.’
‘What?’
‘That Steinhausen’s behind all of this.’
‘When you said today that Sarah might be keeping her mouth shut because she knows her kidnapper, I had a moment or two of doubt. But now. . .’ I get up from the bed and pace up and down the room. ‘No copycat who merely wanted to put the wind up the village would commit murder, would they? That must be going too far! That could only be someone who’s utterly ruthless. Who’s used to killing.’ I stop right in front of Jakob. ‘Out of all the dreadful things that have happened over the last few days, do you know what the worst one is for me?’
His response is to raise his eyebrows. I pull up my left sleeve and hold out my wrist. ‘The moment when Eva and I found outhowhe killed the girls.’
Jakob takes my hand and examines the scar. ‘What happened?’
‘About nine months after Mum died I had an accident on my bike. A stone dug into my wrist and cut it.’ As I gently turn my wrist in Jakob’s grip, the scar shimmers in the light. ‘It’s a piece of information the police don’t know about. It would fit far too neatly with the clues they’ve already got.’
‘So you did have doubts about your father.’
‘I don’t know if I’d call it doubts. But it’s the only thing I still can’t explain. Why does he kill the girls in this way? On the other hand, maybe you start drawing parallels like mad if you’re searching for meaning. Maybe you come across connections that don’t really exist. Things your mind bolts together by itself because it’s desperate to understand. But now,’ I say, carefully taking my hand out of his, ‘I’m more certain than ever. Kerstin’s murder is the proof.’
‘Of your father’s innocence?’ Jakob rubs his brow. ‘I mean, you’re right. Someone who just wanted to give the village a fright, then got such cold feet when the police turned up that he let Sarah go, wouldn’t be capable of committing such a gruesome murder the very next day. I mean, he really. . .’ He shakes his head as he breaks off. I crouch down and put my hands on his knees.
‘We can’t go home, Jakob, please! Think about it. He could have done a runner when Sarah escaped. Or at least hidden and kept quiet. But he didn’t. On the contrary, by killing her mother, he’s literally shouting in our faces:I’m still here, you fools!He’s making fun of us.’
