Page 59 of Anatomy of a Killer
I thought he meant Marcus Steinhausen.
No, Ann, your father! They know he’s in custody in Berlin as the chief suspect. Brock just announced the fact: an innocent man is in prison for the crimes of the real ribbon murderer, who’s now wreaking terror here. The most heinous crime in German history, a huge scandal.
We slipped back into the pub via the rear entrance to avoid the crush in the dining room.They want to know everything and they see you as the greatest support in their hunt for the ribbon murderer.
The knocking has stopped and a murmur has taken its place. Jakob trying to get rid of Brock. I only catch snippets of their conversation. Brock is insisting on talking to me, especially as we wormed our way into his village under false pretences.
‘Please, Herr Brock, let it wait till tomorrow, okay? It’s all very unsettling for her.’ And I need a good sleep first, he adds. Just like Kerstin Seiler, I think. Kerstin, who also wanted some sleep and is now dead. I start shaking. I’m a total mess and I need to sort myself out.
Nathalie. It’s all to do with Nathalie. My encounter with her, the things she said.It’s not your fault, Ann. But what he did is unforgivable.
Did that sound like she knows my father? Like she thinks he’s the killer? That’s impossible; she lives here in Schergel with a mother who’s verging on eighty and a daughter of kindergarten age. Although they only moved here a few weeks ago. . .
‘Ann?’ Jakob through the closed bathroom door. ‘He’s gone but he wants to talk to you in the morning. He’s in a bit of a huff that we kept the truth from him.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Are you going to come out now?’
‘Just give me a moment.’
‘I’ll make us some tea if you—’
‘Jakob, please!’ I yell at the door, which I’m immediately sorry for. But I do need my peace, not only from Brock and his knocking, but from everyone, including Jakob. Peace to order my thoughts. To understand. ‘Just give me a few more minutes, okay?’ I say again, this time more softly. Jakob responds with silence. I hear his footsteps moving away, then the mattress springs faintly creaking: Jakob must have settled down on my bed. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Okay, Nathalie.
She originally comes from Wuppertal, Schmitti said. She, on the other hand, told me she moved here to Schergel from Wiesbaden. Two cities beginning with W; Schmitti might have got them mixed up. But how does she know the Nestorstrasse weekly market in Berlin?
And I suppose that’s also the reason why you’re here, isn’t it?she says in my memory of our conversation this afternoon.Because the other eleven girls all came from Berlin?
Eleven!
Leaping to my feet, I tear open the bathroom door. Jakob’s slouched on my bed, busy on his phone. It slips from his hand when I hurl his name across the room. ‘Just imagine this, all right?’
‘All– all right.’
‘Your daughter is kidnapped by the ribbon murderer, but, like Sarah, manages to escape. . .’
Eva’s theory now hammering inside my head: victims who didn’t go to the police.
Jakob sits upright. ‘And?’
‘What would you do?’
‘What do you mean, what would I do? I’d go to the police, of course. And no doubt my child would need therapy too.’
I wave my arms around wildly, an expansive gesture. ‘Look at the upheaval! Interrogation by the police, which Sarah finds so intimidating that she’s not saying a word! Probing questions from a psychologist! Medicines and child psychiatry!’
Jakob gives me a searching look.
‘Do you know the weekly market in Nestorstrasse?’ I ask him, but all I get is the same expression. ‘It’s in Wilmersdorf, Jakob! And it’s tiny. Even you don’t know it, though you live close by!’
‘I really don’t understand what you’re—’
I throw my hands up and grab my head. I wish Jakob could look inside here, simply penetrate the few millimetres of skull with his gaze and access my mental world. But of course he can’t, so I need to explain what’s going on inside my mind, and I’ve got to be patient, focused, organised. I take a deep breath. Compose myself. A new approach, as calm as possible. ‘Do you know what you could also do with your traumatised daughter to spare her all this upheaval? You could put her in the car and drive a few hundred kilometres away. You could find a safe place and shut yourself away to finally give your child some peace and quiet. It would have to be secluded, this place, but not too remote in case you need help. You tell the people around you that you’ve fled from your ex-partner so they don’t wonder why you’re behaving slightly oddly. That way you stop them being too nosy, while also securing their support. Just like she said:everybody has their own lies.’
‘What? Who said—’
