Raven Sisters (Franza Oberwieser Book 2) (24 page)

57

Dr. Borger had brought the medical record into town with him when he went to eat. He’d planned to enjoy it after his meal—the high point, as it were. With the last wisps of smoke from his cigar drifting up into the blue September sky, the espresso and cognac drunk, Borger opened the file and began to read.

When he had finished, he leaned back, took a deep breath, loosened the knot of his tie, stared into space for a moment, and finally raised his hand to summon the waiter. This piece of news merited another cognac.

58

It was dark in the room. Only the narrow strip of light from a streetlight fell through the window and brought out the contours of their bodies.

At seven that morning Port would be leaving for Vienna. His car was parked outside.

He stroked her face.

“Tears,” he said. “You’re crying? My Franza.”

“It’s for seven weeks, after all,” she said. “And I’ve got so much to think about—Lilli, this case, you. Everything’s getting a bit muddled up, you know?”

He said nothing, just stroked her face. She sniffled, and he wiped the tears from her cheeks, her mouth. She sniffled and had to laugh a little.

“You’ll come, though, won’t you? To Vienna. You’ll visit me. Won’t you? I’d like you to come. I really would. Otherwise these seven weeks will really drag.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll come.”

They lay side by side, hand in hand. They laughed a little in the face of the imminent separation, in its salty, bitter warmth. Then he said, “I’m hungry.”

He started to get up to go to the kitchen, to the fridge, but she held him back.

“Leave it. Stay here. I’ll make you something.”

She stroked his face.

“Oh,” he said. “There’s luxury! What have I done to deserve that?”

She shrugged, smiled. “You don’t have to deserve everything you get. Sometimes you just get things.”

By the time she returned, he had fallen back asleep.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the plate of open sandwiches in her hand. In the end, she ate them herself.

He slept in the strip of light from the streetlight. She gazed and gazed at him, taking in all his features, until the strip of light grew wider and wider, eventually overtaking the whole room because morning was gradually dawning.

She stood and went to her laptop in the living room. She knew he would be there. He always was at that time. Woken by an internal clock, he would be there. Waiting for her. For
alien one.
He was
alien two.
How stupid those names were. She had never questioned it. It didn’t matter in the slightest. The words flitted across the page, like shooting stars—that was all that mattered.

At first she’d asked him what he was looking for there. After all, he was spoken for.

At the same moment she realized she could ask herself the same question, and as she did, she found she was unable to answer it.

He had tried to find someone.

He loved his wife. He felt committed to her for life. He would never leave her.
. . . but . . . there are some things . . .

. . .
some things . . . ?

. . .
some things
. . .

She left it at that, never asked more. Just as she never asked for a photo. Neither did he. But that wasn’t important. They knew nothing about one another, only the basic facts: age, location. He was a little older than she was, they lived in the same town, he had dark hair, she was blonde. That was it. And that was how it should stay. Wolves in the night, howling occasionally at the moon.

He was waiting.

. . .
i missed you
. . .
you weren’t here yesterday
 
. . .

. . .
i was very tired
 
. . .
she wrote,
. . .
i have a lot of work at the moment
. . .

. . .
what
. . .
he began.

. . .
don’t
 
. . .
she wrote quickly,
. . .
let’s stay as we are, two aliens who met in Internet heaven, who will one day lose each other there too
. . .

. . .
why do you believe that
. . .

. . .
because that’s how it is
. . .

. . .
what if I don’t want
to lose you
. . .
he wrote.

She logged out suddenly. Shut down the computer.
No,
she thought.
Not those questions. Don’t start.

But it had already started. He would be there again tomorrow:
alien two.
So would she:
alien one.

Tired, she went over to the balcony door. Lilli had not responded to her text. Earlier that evening Franza had tried to call her. Still nothing.

Rain was forecast, but it didn’t look like it. Franza fetched a blanket from the couch, wrapped herself in it, and went out into the morning. The ravens would soon be arriving, swarms of black birds filling the sky, their cawing full of harsh faith in warmer days.

Franza sat down, turning her face to the cool morning sun. The rain had a gentle touch. It was raining now, after all.

59

There were photos on the wall above the dining room table. A little boy, a man, a girl. I looked at them, lingering over the face of the girl. My heart began to thump, wildly, racing; my throat tightened and a longing flowed through me, an incredible longing. So that was her.

“So that’s her,” I whispered. My voice was cracking, and I had to clear my throat. “Is that her?”

“Yes,” Gertrud said. “Yes, that’s her. Of course it’s her. Who else would it be?”

I looked at Gertrud. Her face was ashen. We were silent. For a long while. It had gotten dark; only the small kitchen light was on.

“Maybe you’ll simply return to Strasbourg,” she said. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Perhaps.”

But I knew that wouldn’t work anymore. She knew it, too.

“What was it like,” I eventually began. I hesitated and had to begin again. “What was it like when she was growing up? How did you two get along?”

There was no hesitation this time.

“She was everything.” Gertrud’s words came flooding out.” She held me together when I wanted to break apart. She calmed me. She’s my home. It’s through her that I’ve always felt I’m alive. She never left me. I haven’t been alone ever again.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

“Sometimes,” she said, “it’s difficult. Like everything is. But . . .”

I nodded.

Silence again. For a while. I wanted a schnapps. We drank a little.

Eventually she said, “Come with me.” And she took me by the hand.

I went with her. It was lovely—her hand in mine, her arms around me, her scent. The night that glided over us finally gave me peace so that I was able to sleep. I fell asleep in her arms, like back when we were children and sisters.

But it didn’t last long, the stillness. The sleep. It didn’t last long. Christian arrived.

60

Franza was more punctual than usual. That was due to Port’s early departure, after which she had showered, grabbed a bit to eat, and set off for the office, intending to arrive first on that Tuesday morning. But she found Borger sitting outside her door. He greeted her with a smile.

“Hey,” she said, stopping in surprise. “You? Here? When all good people should still be asleep? I thought I’d be the first in today.”

He inclined his head. “Sorry to have foiled your good intentions, my dear, but I’ve got some information for you, which might be important. So I thought—”

“Wonderful,” she said as she opened up the office. “We need everything we can get. Any tiny detail that can move us forward somehow. Should we wait for Felix? He’ll be here soon, knowing him.”

Borger nodded and sat down. Franza put some coffee on, unpacked her Tupperware box, and got some cups from the cupboard.

When Herz arrived, he stopped in amazement, framed by the open door.

“What’s this? A full house already! Borger? You?”

“I’ve got something for you,” Borger said with a mysterious smile. Then he asked a question, to which both Franza and Herz replied with a resounding “Yes.”

And then he told them about his interesting discovery, which floored them both.

61

Leaping in the sunshine, whirring in the wind, the gentle touch of the droplets, drizzle. I want to catch it all with the camera, capture it in pictures—experiments, trials; we’ll see.

I’m playing a game. Tomorrow for tomorrow. Waiting for the rain. I’m lying on a blanket on the riverbank, camera at the ready, snapping and snapping, for as long as it takes. Then I put the camera back in its bag and lie flat on my back, surrendering totally. And I wait. For as long as I can bear to. Shirt up over my belly, sleeves pushed up, shoes off, pants off, to offer as much of myself to the rain as possible so it can rain down on me and leave traces on my skin.

At some point I always have to close my eyes. At some point I get a feeling as if the rain penetrates through my skin and into me, raining into my soul and into my brain. That’s the moment when I have to leave, jump up, put on my clothes, grab the camera, pick up my bike, and return, freezing.

The girl. My girl. She’s finally here.

62

“Gertrud Rabinsky,” Borger asked, to gain himself a little time. “Gertrud Rabinsky had two children, didn’t she?” A brief pause. “A daughter and a son, right?”

“Yes,” Franza said. “Why?”

“Yes,” Herz said. “Why?”

Borger shook his head. “But that isn’t possible.”

“What?” Franza asked blankly. “What isn’t possible?”

“That Gertrud Rabinsky has two children,” Borger said slowly. “Or, to put it another way, that Frau Rabinsky
gave birth to
two children, since”—he looked at the intent faces of the two detectives and continued—“since when little Moritz was born five years ago she was a primipara.”

“A what?” Herz asked.

“Primi . . .”
Franza thought aloud. “The first, first-time
. . .
”

Borger nodded with a smile.

“And
partus,”
Franza continued, “means birth.”

“Good,” said Borger. “Very good! Continue
. . .
What do you conclude from that?”

“A first-time mother,” Franza said, catching her breath. “She was a first-time mother!”

“Bingo,” said Borger with a smile. “Give her one hundred points. Once again, I’m full of praise for our educated classes!”

“Wow,” Herz said. “That’s quite something.”

They were silent for a moment, taking it in.

“So?” Borger finally asked. “Do you want the details?”

Of course they wanted the details. Borger loosened his tie and began.

“So, after I found out that Frau Rabinsky had had a hysterectomy
. . .
” He trailed off, a teasing gleam in his eye.

Franza shook her head. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Can you just get to the point?”

“But of course,” Borger said. “Of course, my dearest Franza. So, hysterectomy, as I said. When I discover something like that it naturally arouses my curiosity—why, how, and so on—and I request the medical files. So I got them yesterday afternoon and there it was. Frau Rabinsky was admitted to the clinic five years ago on February 25 with severe pains, there was a vaginal birth, but it was followed by postpartum bleeding.”

He paused and raised an eyebrow at Herz, who nodded. “Understood. I do know some things.”

Satisfied, Borger continued. “Good. They carried out a curettage, a scraping of the uterus, in order to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t successful. So they decided to carry out an abdominal hysterectomy, that is, removal of the uterus through the abdominal cavity.”

He paused briefly. “And in addition to all this information, the medical records also stated that she was at the time
primipara
. And therefore we can conclude that she could not have given birth to a child several years previously.”

“And medical records don’t lie,” Herz said slowly.

Borger nodded. “That’s right. Medical records don’t lie.”

“What about Lilli?”

Borger shrugged. “Whoever she is, she isn’t Gertrud Rabinsky’s natural daughter. The rest is up to you.”

He took a gingerbread cookie from the tin, and was devouring it with relish when the door opened. Arthur.

“Oh,” Herz said. “Here already?”

Arthur stopped, out of sorts.

“Sorry,” he stammered, glancing at the clock. “I’m not
that
late. How come you’re all here so early?”

“News,” Franza said, and gave their younger colleague a quick summary.

“So, we have a new situation on our hands,” Herz said when she finished. “Name of Lilli. And now we need to get to the bottom of it. Perhaps this is the key.”

“What about Tonio? How does he fit in?” Arthur asked.

“We’ll find that out, too,” Felix said. “We always find out. Thank you, Borger, you’ve been a great help.”

“My pleasure, as always.” Borger rose. “I’ll be off, then. Two postmortems waiting. Good luck with the rest of the case.”

They nodded and he left.

“She knows,” Franza said, scrabbling for her cell phone.

“What?” asked Herz. “Who?”

“Lilli,” Franza said as she dialed Lilli’s number. “That was what she wanted to tell me. That she knew, somehow. Or suspected. Of course. The strangeness. Of course! My God, how stupid am I? Why didn’t I get it?”

“Don’t stress,” Herz said. “Something like that isn’t necessarily something you get right away. I mean, you’re not clairvoyant.”

Franza shrugged as she waited impatiently for Lilli to answer.

“Arthur, you continue with the searches. Work with Hansen, arrange for photos of Hanna and Tonio to be distributed to the press,” Herz said.

Arthur nodded.

“She’s not answering,” Franza said.

“We’ll drive over,” Herz said. He turned to Arthur. “And call Herr Brendler, tell him to go to his daughter’s house right away. Tell him we’ll wait for him there. Tell him it’s very important!”

Arthur nodded.

“You’re looking a bit delicate, by the way,” Felix added.

“Didn’t get much sleep,” Arthur muttered.

“Business as usual, then,” Felix said casually.

Franza grabbed her jacket.

“I can’t wait to hear what the Brendler family have to tell us,” she said. “Are you coming, Felix?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” He followed her. “You, too,” he said as they went down the stairs.

“What?”

“A bit delicate.”

She said nothing.

“Been on the chat sites again?” he asked.

“A little.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I know.”