Read Online Critical Mass by Sara Paretsky - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sara Paretsky
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able to give you. I wanted you to share my excitement over the innermost secrets of nature; you wanted me to be at home with you instead of your Oma , or Frau Herschel’s Kindermädchen . On the days Martina’s mother still worked for Frau Herschel, Käthe and Frau Herschel’s granddaughter, Lotte, played in the light, bright nursery in the big apartment on the Ring, but when Martina would ask Käthe, Did you see the rainbow of light on the nursery floor? the child would only stare at her sullenly.
Right before the Anschluss, she had taken Käthe and Lotte on a skiing trip in Tyrol. She tried to interest Käthe in the stars, in the mystery of the explosions inside them that made those jewels twinkle andglow in the night sky. It was Lotte whose eyes grew round with wonder, Käthe who gave the pinched scowl of disapproval she’d learned from her Oma , announcing it was too cold to stand outside at night.
Birgit, the Kindermädchen , appeared from the shadows and swept the girls away with her. Past their bedtime, too much excitement for them, anyway. And then a month later, the Anschluss, the new laws, and Birgit looking at them with contempt. I’m not picking up after your children anymore. You do some work for a change . Addressing even Frau Herschel with the familiar du , and all of them powerless to respond.
The memory is too difficult, but before she can lose herself once more in statistical mechanics, the noise around her suddenly increases; the soldiers are barking like their dogs, compressing her even more tightly against the old woman, who is still crying for Joachim. The train, staining the dawn sky black with its puffs of coal smoke, is entering the station. No whistle, no lights, just the relentless thudding of axles, so that the proper Viennese burghers, sleeping on the other side of the station, are protected from the sight of cattle cars filled with, well, whatever they’re filled with. Not citizens, because citizens wouldn’t be treated like this. And not people, because they’ve been labeled as vermin. But—it’s a conundrum—because if they’re not people, then there’s no need to protect the rest of Vienna from seeing them packed up, shoved, heels nipped by the dogs, the old woman still crying for Joachim.
If I didn’t look after my daughter when she wept, over all the unaccountable things that made Käthe weep, why should I look after you? Martina thinks, but she nonetheless puts a gentle hand under the old woman’s elbow and helps lift her into the boxcar.
6
ARITHMETIC PROBLEMS
I T WASN’T QUITE four when I got back to my office. I yearned for a nap, but with only an hour left in the business day, I needed to answer calls and messages from my clients. Before I started, I put Martin Binder’s phone number and e-mail into my database and wrote him a note, explaining who I was and how distressed his grandmother was at his absence.
“If you want to get in touch, I promise that I will keep anything you say completely confidential,” I finished.
I also looked him up in the social media universe. He played some complicated math game in the Facebook world and had made a killer move in early August, right before he disappeared—that was his last update. He had one photo of himself, taken outside a tent in a snowdrift. He was wearing a T-shirt and cutoffs and was grinning at the camera, proud of standing half-dressed in the snow. Unfortunately, he had on sunglasses and a baseball cap, making it hard to see his face. I uploaded it to my own system, but for a good search I’d need a better head shot.
Martin also had a Twitter account, which showed a few tweets from the summer, mostly on music, but he was a uniquely silent member of his generation.
I logged into LifeMonitor, a subscription database that hacks into people’s financial history. Martin had told his grandmother thatsomething didn’t add up. Maybe he’d discovered that his mother was stealing from him. Just in case, I started
Right before the Anschluss, she had taken Käthe and Lotte on a skiing trip in Tyrol. She tried to interest Käthe in the stars, in the mystery of the explosions inside them that made those jewels twinkle andglow in the night sky. It was Lotte whose eyes grew round with wonder, Käthe who gave the pinched scowl of disapproval she’d learned from her Oma , announcing it was too cold to stand outside at night.
Birgit, the Kindermädchen , appeared from the shadows and swept the girls away with her. Past their bedtime, too much excitement for them, anyway. And then a month later, the Anschluss, the new laws, and Birgit looking at them with contempt. I’m not picking up after your children anymore. You do some work for a change . Addressing even Frau Herschel with the familiar du , and all of them powerless to respond.
The memory is too difficult, but before she can lose herself once more in statistical mechanics, the noise around her suddenly increases; the soldiers are barking like their dogs, compressing her even more tightly against the old woman, who is still crying for Joachim. The train, staining the dawn sky black with its puffs of coal smoke, is entering the station. No whistle, no lights, just the relentless thudding of axles, so that the proper Viennese burghers, sleeping on the other side of the station, are protected from the sight of cattle cars filled with, well, whatever they’re filled with. Not citizens, because citizens wouldn’t be treated like this. And not people, because they’ve been labeled as vermin. But—it’s a conundrum—because if they’re not people, then there’s no need to protect the rest of Vienna from seeing them packed up, shoved, heels nipped by the dogs, the old woman still crying for Joachim.
If I didn’t look after my daughter when she wept, over all the unaccountable things that made Käthe weep, why should I look after you? Martina thinks, but she nonetheless puts a gentle hand under the old woman’s elbow and helps lift her into the boxcar.
6
ARITHMETIC PROBLEMS
I T WASN’T QUITE four when I got back to my office. I yearned for a nap, but with only an hour left in the business day, I needed to answer calls and messages from my clients. Before I started, I put Martin Binder’s phone number and e-mail into my database and wrote him a note, explaining who I was and how distressed his grandmother was at his absence.
“If you want to get in touch, I promise that I will keep anything you say completely confidential,” I finished.
I also looked him up in the social media universe. He played some complicated math game in the Facebook world and had made a killer move in early August, right before he disappeared—that was his last update. He had one photo of himself, taken outside a tent in a snowdrift. He was wearing a T-shirt and cutoffs and was grinning at the camera, proud of standing half-dressed in the snow. Unfortunately, he had on sunglasses and a baseball cap, making it hard to see his face. I uploaded it to my own system, but for a good search I’d need a better head shot.
Martin also had a Twitter account, which showed a few tweets from the summer, mostly on music, but he was a uniquely silent member of his generation.
I logged into LifeMonitor, a subscription database that hacks into people’s financial history. Martin had told his grandmother thatsomething didn’t add up. Maybe he’d discovered that his mother was stealing from him. Just in case, I started
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