Small g (19 page)

“Glass of something? Anything—water?”

Luisa didn’t want anything. “I like your place.”

“Really? I hope so.”

Lights out.

Luisa lay listening to the traffic noises, the closer, more frequent
whoosh
of cars. She felt that Dorrie was not asleep either, that they both lay thinking, wanting to sleep because they had to get up. Luisa blinked, watching the car lights ripple and flow over the ceiling. Independence, Luisa thought, was sweet. And tomorrow, of course, she must fight for it, defend it. She sensed a battle just beginning.

21

D
orrie Wyss stopped her car almost in front of Renate’s house at seven minutes to eight. “How’s that for timing?” she asked, proud of herself.

Luisa was already opening her door. She realized that she didn’t want any of the girls to see Dorrie, lest they report something to Renate. And here came Vera.

“’Bye, my sweet. And call me anytime you feel like it. OK?” Dorrie gave a kiss to the empty air between herself and Luisa.

Luisa nodded and slammed the door.

“We-ell, you’re up early,” Vera said, brushing her long dark hair back, smiling. “Or up late.”

“’Morning, Vera. Up early,” Luisa said in a casual tone. She hung back and let Vera ring the bell.

They were buzzed in, and began climbing the stairs.

A man passed them, coming down on his way to work. Murmured good mornings, as Luisa didn’t know his name.

Renate was holding the door open. “Good morning, Vera. Another hot day ahead—or so it seems.”

“Ye-es, tough luck,” said Vera, cheerful as ever.

“’Morning,” said Luisa without thinking, and realized that Renate was taking the I-don’t-even-see-you tack. Fine, better than scolding. Scolding would come later; Renate wouldn’t be able to resist that.

Luisa returned to her work of yesterday. She had had a cup of coffee and part of a bun at Dorrie’s, and one of Dorrie’s cigarettes. And they’d left the beds! What a happy atmosphere at Dorrie’s compared to this! Today Renate would go out silently on her way to Jakob’s after nine-thirty, Luisa supposed, but to Luisa’s surprise, Renate said around that time, “Coming out for your second coffee?” It sounded awkward.

“Yes, sure,” Luisa answered. Then she understood: Renate probably wanted to watch Rickie this morning, to see if she could discover anything from his behavior.

“It is warm again today,” Luisa said as they walked. “Worse than yesterday, I think.” She had slowed her usual pace, as always, to match Renate’s step-and-drag, step-and-drag, though in public Renate made more of an effort at a normal gait than at home.

“Hm-m,” was the reply.

In Jakob’s, Luisa went to reach the
Neue Zürcher Zeitung
down from the circular rack, as she often did. As she turned to go to Renate’s table, Rickie came in with Lulu on the lead.

“Hello, Luisa!” Rickie called.

“Hi! Hello, Lulu!”

Lulu, happy at hearing her name called, stood on hind legs for a moment to greet Luisa.

“Had a nice time last night?” asked Rickie in a normal voice, as if unaware that Renate was within hearing.

“
Very
nice. Thanks,” Luisa said. “Talk to you later, maybe.”

“Do that!” A smile, and Rickie went on to his usual table.

Luisa saw that Renate’s eyes had fixed on Rickie. Luisa felt curiously sure of herself this morning. What had she done wrong, after all? Spent the night in a girl’s apartment, so what? And Dorrie Wyss had been a good hostess, considering how small her flat was.

Andreas bade them good morning and took their usual order, espresso with cream.

“You stayed at Rickie’s house last night?” Renate asked.

Luisa answered slowly, “No-o.”

“Then where?”

Renate didn’t know Dorrie’s name, but would know her by sight as one of the gay group, Luisa thought. “Does it matter? I was back in time for work—as usual.”

“It matters because you are in my
employ
,” Renate said with an effort at keeping her voice low, “and I can report you to the authorities.”

“For what?” asked Luisa, in a polite tone.

“For disappearing—not telling me where you are in the evening—the night.”

Andreas was serving, putting two little pieces of paper with the tally under Renate’s saucer.

“That is not in order,” Renate continued, when Andreas was out of hearing, “unless you tell me beforehand where you’re going—that you’ll be
out
all night!”

She said the last three words as if the phrase were a sin all by itself.

“I am not managing a hotel, Luisa. In a hotel you would have your freedom, of course.”

Where was all this written, Luisa wondered. Nowhere that she knew of. Luisa was mustering a reply, when Willi Biber appeared on her left, staring at Renate, apparently wanting to speak with her.

“Frau Renate,” he mumbled, hands shaking. He gestured toward the door. “Today—”

“What about today, Willi?”

Luisa stared at Willi’s thin, pale face, fascinated by his struggle. What was he trying to say?

“—coming to my house,” Willi said.

Renate showed impatience. “I think they are repairing your door. Didn’t Frau Wenger say so?”

Willi shook his head in long, slow twists.

“Luisa, could you leave us just for a moment? I think Willi does better if there are just the two of us,” Renate said with a pained expression. “Sit down, Willi.” She gestured toward the end of the table, where the bench curved against a partition.

Luisa slipped out at the other end. She had been at pains not to glance at Rickie. Now she walked toward him.

“Luisa,” he said softly, “I think you have been dismissed. Please sit.”

Renate was listening to Willi with concentration, making a downward movement with one hand, as if to ask him to keep his voice low.

“And what did you do last night?” Rickie asked.

“Oh—a very nice dinner. Dorrie treated me, because I hadn’t a franc in my pocket. And then, I was sure Renate was going to make it hard for me to get in the house. So I stayed the night at Dorrie’s place.”

“Did you? Good! You mean you didn’t phone Renate last night?” he asked in a whisper.

“No.” Luisa had to smile.

Now Rickie chuckled, and his eyes strayed to Renate and Willi, still in conversation. Rickie reached for his cigarettes. He was thinking that Willi was talking about something more important than his doors being repaired, and that could be that the police wanted to see him today. But would the police ring up first and make an appointment? Maybe, via the Wengers. Rickie decided not to mention this possibility to Luisa. Best to try to reach Freddie Schimmelmann. Renate seemed to be concluding matters, trying to nudge Willi into departure.

“I think your jailer is requesting the pleasure of your company again.”

Frau Hagnauer was not beckoning, but the toss of her head as she tried to catch Luisa’s eye meant, “Come here, now.”

“A happy day to you, dear Luisa, and let me have your news, will you? Phone me today or this evening,” Rickie said.

Luisa was on her feet. “I’ll try.”

Willi Biber, shuffling toward the main door, disappeared from Rickie’s view. Renate had been giving Willi orders about something, Rickie thought. Her bony forefinger had struck the table again and again as she spoke. It was time he got to the studio, so Rickie left some coins and went out with Lulu, deliberately not glancing at Renate’s and Luisa’s table.

Renate was saying, “You never told me where you were last night.”

Luisa had drained the last cold drops of her espresso. Frowning slightly, ready to depart, she said, “At a friend’s.”

“A boy or a girl?”

“A
girl
,” said Luisa, annoyed.

She’d done nothing wrong, but Renate had been deprived of the pleasure of locking her out last night, or at least of delaying her getting in! Luisa had a premonition of a lucky, happy day, despite Renate’s sourness. And Luisa realized that a lot of her happiness—yes, happiness—was because she felt able to count on Dorrie Wyss now as a friend, just as Rickie was a friend, someone who would lend money, a key, a bed, in case of need.
I’m not an orphan anymore
, Luisa thought.

M
ATHILDE BROUGHT A COFFEE
to Rickie’s worktable. He was looking up Freddie’s two numbers which he had noted in a business address book.

Freddie’s home did not answer. His work number said that Officer Schimmelmann was on duty in a car, and was the message urgent?

“Yes,” said Rickie. “If you can reach him, would you ask him to ring Rickie Markwalder—just Rickie—when convenient. But by noon, if possible.”

Then Rickie forced himself to concentrate, pencil in hand.

The third telephone call that morning was from Freddie. “I was going to phone you,” Freddie said. “Senn and a doctor are coming at three this afternoon—to talk with our friend, y’know?”

“I suspected that.”

“At his place,” Freddie continued. “The Wengers’. I’d like to be there but I wouldn’t care to bet I can make it today.”

“Try,” Rickie said at once. “I can’t, of course. Listen—I think you remember—the woman at the Wengers’ in a long dress?”

“Um-m—yes.”

“I have a hunch she’ll be there—to help her protégé. You follow me?”

“Yep, Rickie.”

“I’ve a hunch she was rehearsing him this morning in the Small g. Where can I reach you—say around six?”

“Um-m—you can’t. I’ll get back. At your house tonight?”

“Likely enough. Try anyway, Freddie—and my thanks!”

R
ENATE WENT VERY SOON
to the telephone after she and Luisa returned from Jakob’s. She wanted to speak to Therese Wenger, whose L’Eclair number she had to look up in the book. She used the telephone in the sitting room, which offered more privacy than the hall.

Therese answered.

Renate said, “I gather our Willi will have visitors this afternoon at three?”

“Ye-es, he had a notice—in the post—and he brought it to us to read to him. And they also telephoned. A man called Senn,
Detektiv
. And another who is a doctor.” Therese Wenger spoke softly and clearly.

“Oh? What kind of doctor?”

“I didn’t ask. But we’ll be here to help Willi. Of course it makes him nervous,” said Therese calmly.

“Of course! I don’t know why they want to see him
again
. I shall come over, Therese—just before three, if that’s all right with you.”

It was of course all right with Therese.

Just after two-forty, Renate spoke to her girls, said she was going out, probably for less than an hour, and were there any questions now?

There were not.

When Luisa heard the blessed click of the apartment door, she stood up. Check with Rickie. Something was going on.

“Who wants another coffee?” Vera yelled.

“With cake? Yes! Who’s serving?” asked Stefanie, grinning, her blonde hair dark with sweat above her forehead.

“I will,” said Elsie, and got up.

Luisa knew Rickie’s studio number by heart. She dialed it in the sitting room.

In a few seconds, Rickie was on the line.

“Excuse me, Rickie. Is there something happening today—now—”

“They’re asking our simple friend a few questions today at three. Freddie told me. At L’Eclair, you know. The—authorities.”

“I think Renate just went there,” Luisa said.

“I am not surprised. Can you phone me around six today at my apartment?”

“I’ll try. I’ll have to get out, of course, to phone.”

I
N
K
ARL AND
T
HERESE
W
ENGER’S TEAROOM
, five ladies were having tea and pastry, two pairs and one single at the tables. And Willi Biber was at work in the generous kitchen behind this room, washing mixing bowls and baking pans in the big sink. On Frau Wenger’s orders, he wore a loose yellow shirt over his sagging T-shirt, but he had already got the rolled-up sleeves wet, because they had sagged with his activities. Still, the arrival of the police and their entry into L’Eclair’s kitchen came at a time when Willi was respectably employed, and not three meters from his modest dwelling.

“Willi?” said Frau Wenger, who preceded the men into the kitchen. “Your friend Frau Renate is here. And here is—”

“Thomas Senn,” said the sturdy blond man in civvies, with a polite smile.

“Officer Schimmelmann,” said Freddie. He carried a brown paper-wrapped package which he held in both hands.

“Dr. Faas,” said a smallish, mustached man of about forty.

Willi looked but didn’t even vaguely acknowledge these introductions.

“Willi, if you dry your hands—I thought we might go up to my apartment.” Frau Wenger stood straight and attentive.

“No, Madame,” said Thomas Senn, “we would like to go where the accident happened. That was in a street near here, I believe.” Senn was ready to move.

Out they all went then, except Frau Wenger, into the warm sunlight. Feldenstrasse with its row of plane trees was two streets away. Hatless now, Willi towered over the others, even over Senn who was a tall man.

“So,” said Senn, having glanced at a house number on his left. “Here by this tree—”

Renate could see an
X
in chalk, worn but still there, on the pavement near the tree. She caught Willi’s eye, gave him a nod and a small smile of reassurance, almost a wink. He was sweating with nervousness, she could see.

“Officer—” Senn gestured.

Officer Schimmelmann at once pushed the cord off an end of the package, and pulled out the tripod section with its scratched yellow paint.

“Do you know this object, Herr Biber?” asked Detective Senn. “Seen it before? It was found in the walk there—just behind you.”

Renate said, “I think you should not put ideas in his head, sir. You see that he is handicapped.” She wished that Therese—so helpfully pro-Willi, so used to him—had come along, but she had casually stayed behind to tend the tearoom.

“That’s why I’m here, Madame,” said Dr. Faas amiably, “to make sure Herr Biber is treated fairly—no pressure. I understand the situation. We all do. But it is necessary to ask a few things.”

“Yes,” said Senn. “Just names to begin with. Teddie. You know a young man called Teddie?”

Willi shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Or Petey,” said Officer Schimmelmann. “You knew a young man named Petey, I think—several months ago?”

Renate stamped a foot. “What are we talking about—and who?” She shot a glare at Schimmelmann, the little chum of Rickie Markwalder, an evasive type, no friend of hers or of Willi’s, certainly, and why a friend of Markwalder’s? Had Markwalder given him money? “I thought we were talking about a boy called Teddie—whom Willi does not
know
. Willi said to the officer here the other day that he didn’t know Teddie. Remember, Officer?”