sorry,” he said and stood up. In the doorway to the kitchen he suddenly stopped, then turned around.
“Marie,” he said, and seemed deep in thought. “Yes, Marie. Yes, I think that’s it. Marie. That was her name. Marie. It had something light about it. I remember thinking that it suited her. Marie. Yes. Exactly.”
He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Shortly after, he reappeared again.
“There was something sad about her,” he said. “And something bright. And it wasn’t yet clear which would outweigh the other. Nothing about her was decided yet.”
Later, after Franza left, she thought of his words. Now, it was decided.
20
Franza entered the office she shared with Felix, sat down at her desk, and looked at Felix. He was on the phone. “Her name is Marie,” she said, interrupting his conversation.
He looked up, stared at her briefly, barked into the receiver that he’d call back later, and hung up. “What?”
“Our dead girl,” Franza said, realizing she was enjoying the surprise effect as much as Port had. “I’ve got her name. It’s Marie.”
“OK,” Felix said, “now slowly, and from the beginning. Did Borger find the name scratched into her skin?”
Franza gave him a withering look and told him what she knew without giving any details about her source. When she was done, Felix leaned back in his chair, relieved.
“Well,” he said, “that’s something. We’ll get there. Coffee?”
“Yes. I’d love some.”
And then everything happened very fast. The phone on Felix’s desk rang, and for some reason they knew immediately it was important. Felix turned on the speakerphone.
It was Robert. He’d been answering the phones. “Her name is Gleichenbach, Marie Gleichenbach. Her mother called. She recognized her in the paper.”
21
They didn’t talk much on the drive, which took them out of town to a small remote suburb. Franza thought of the caller, and tried to imagine what the woman must have felt like picking up the paper and looking into the dead face of her daughter. Unimaginable. She started to retch, but she swallowed it back, and the moment passed.
They pulled out into traffic on the A9 toward Berlin, and drove past the rest area where the girl—whose name at least they now knew—had received the injuries leading to her death. They took the next exit and followed a country road, past cornfields swaying in the wind like yellow waves in a yellow ocean. Finally they passed through a small wood and into the village where Marie’s mother lived. It was afternoon when they arrived. The sun was hot, and it felt like there would be a thunderstorm.
Franza thought of the Danube and how nice it would be to lie in the shadows of the bushes, cooling off in the water from time to time.
“Yes,” Felix said, as if he’d read her mind. “I’d rather be having a cool swim and a cold beer, too.”
“Or coffee,” Franza said. “Iced coffee.” And she thought of the coffeemaker she bought when she’d left Port’s. It was sitting on the backseat, still in its box.
The house came into view. It stood a little outside the village in the middle of a yard full of tall trees. They parked the car, rang the doorbell, and a woman appeared, standing silently in the doorway. Franza guessed she was about forty, with brown eyes and dark, shoulder-length hair, curling at the ends. An older version of Marie.
“Frau Gleichenbach?”
She nodded.
“Police,” Franza said, trying to sound as gentle as possible. “I’m Detective Oberwieser, and this is my colleague Detective Herz. We’re here because of your daughter, Marie.”
The woman nodded, turned around, and walked straight through the house into the garden, to a group of chairs standing in the shadow of a chestnut tree. She sat down, gestured vaguely to two chairs, and Franza and Felix took a seat.
“Yes,” she said, her voice trailing off into the trees. “I know why you’re here.”
Franza realized she hadn’t offered
“Marie,” he said, and seemed deep in thought. “Yes, Marie. Yes, I think that’s it. Marie. That was her name. Marie. It had something light about it. I remember thinking that it suited her. Marie. Yes. Exactly.”
He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Shortly after, he reappeared again.
“There was something sad about her,” he said. “And something bright. And it wasn’t yet clear which would outweigh the other. Nothing about her was decided yet.”
Later, after Franza left, she thought of his words. Now, it was decided.
20
Franza entered the office she shared with Felix, sat down at her desk, and looked at Felix. He was on the phone. “Her name is Marie,” she said, interrupting his conversation.
He looked up, stared at her briefly, barked into the receiver that he’d call back later, and hung up. “What?”
“Our dead girl,” Franza said, realizing she was enjoying the surprise effect as much as Port had. “I’ve got her name. It’s Marie.”
“OK,” Felix said, “now slowly, and from the beginning. Did Borger find the name scratched into her skin?”
Franza gave him a withering look and told him what she knew without giving any details about her source. When she was done, Felix leaned back in his chair, relieved.
“Well,” he said, “that’s something. We’ll get there. Coffee?”
“Yes. I’d love some.”
And then everything happened very fast. The phone on Felix’s desk rang, and for some reason they knew immediately it was important. Felix turned on the speakerphone.
It was Robert. He’d been answering the phones. “Her name is Gleichenbach, Marie Gleichenbach. Her mother called. She recognized her in the paper.”
21
They didn’t talk much on the drive, which took them out of town to a small remote suburb. Franza thought of the caller, and tried to imagine what the woman must have felt like picking up the paper and looking into the dead face of her daughter. Unimaginable. She started to retch, but she swallowed it back, and the moment passed.
They pulled out into traffic on the A9 toward Berlin, and drove past the rest area where the girl—whose name at least they now knew—had received the injuries leading to her death. They took the next exit and followed a country road, past cornfields swaying in the wind like yellow waves in a yellow ocean. Finally they passed through a small wood and into the village where Marie’s mother lived. It was afternoon when they arrived. The sun was hot, and it felt like there would be a thunderstorm.
Franza thought of the Danube and how nice it would be to lie in the shadows of the bushes, cooling off in the water from time to time.
“Yes,” Felix said, as if he’d read her mind. “I’d rather be having a cool swim and a cold beer, too.”
“Or coffee,” Franza said. “Iced coffee.” And she thought of the coffeemaker she bought when she’d left Port’s. It was sitting on the backseat, still in its box.
The house came into view. It stood a little outside the village in the middle of a yard full of tall trees. They parked the car, rang the doorbell, and a woman appeared, standing silently in the doorway. Franza guessed she was about forty, with brown eyes and dark, shoulder-length hair, curling at the ends. An older version of Marie.
“Frau Gleichenbach?”
She nodded.
“Police,” Franza said, trying to sound as gentle as possible. “I’m Detective Oberwieser, and this is my colleague Detective Herz. We’re here because of your daughter, Marie.”
The woman nodded, turned around, and walked straight through the house into the garden, to a group of chairs standing in the shadow of a chestnut tree. She sat down, gestured vaguely to two chairs, and Franza and Felix took a seat.
“Yes,” she said, her voice trailing off into the trees. “I know why you’re here.”
Franza realized she hadn’t offered
Similar Books
