The Rendition (43 page)

“Igor.”

“Right, Igor. Some of the women said his specialty was turning young girls onto drugs and then into prostitutes. Anyway, his death was no great loss.” He glanced over at Irmie. I wondered what kind of role she'd played in influencing Schneider's thinking.

All I really wanted at that moment was to get out of police head-quarters—and start celebrating.

I stood up. As I glanced at Irmie, I thought I saw in her expression just a trace of the same sparkle that had attracted me on that long-ago evening, at a party in this very building.

I told Schneider thanks. He got to his feet and stuck out his hand.

Before I left, I took one last glance at Irmie, whose expression continued to betray nothing. But I had noticed one thing: she was wearing the silver necklace that I'd given her so many years before.

Back in the apartment, I flung myself down on the bed and was asleep within minutes. For the first time in weeks I slept soundly.

When I awoke, it was late afternoon, and I felt I had to talk to Irmie. She answered on the first ring, and I said, “I have the urge to celebrate, and I don't want to have to do it alone.” I thought I heard her laughing.

“Well, I'm sure there are plenty of people around who you—”

“There's only one person who I want to celebrate with.”

“Oh, really?”

As we talked, I could hear Irmie's tone begin to soften. I got the feeling she was just as relieved as I was by the way things had worked out.

For our first date I chose an out-of-the-way café in Schwabing, a dark place with candles on the table and two musicians, on piano and violin, supplying a romantic background. At one point I recognized “Mephisto Walz,” a piece that I'd always liked and one which brought back some memories. Years ago, we'd attended a program of romantic composers at the Residenz Theater and that piece had been on the program. I wondered if Irmie remembered. The café was the kind of place she and I used to end up in after one of our long walks in the English Garden.

I was no longer tense, and I really was in the mood to celebrate. Although I supposed the police were in the process of wrapping up the case and had arrested Mehling, I didn't want to talk with Irmie about any of those things.

“I have to thank you, Irmie.” Before she could interrupt, I said, “You were taking an awful risk—”

“I had a responsibility to fulfill.” Although she continued to look at me with her blue-green eyes, she didn't say anything more.

I was still wondering why Irmie had done it. To whom did she feel a responsibility—to her job? She'd said a number of detectives had doubted Brinkman's guilt, but would that suspicion have led her to do what she did?

Or did she do it for me?

I said, “I don't think a day went by that I didn't think about you. Has it really been nine years?”

“Do you say things like that to all the girls, Alex? That you were
always thinking of them?” Irmie began toying with the stem of her wine glass.

“Only to the girls that are special.”

“And how many of them are there?” Was there just the trace of a smile at the corner of her mouth? I couldn't tell.

I reached out and took her hand in mine. “Only one.”

“And who might she be?”

“Irmie, are you being coy?” When she finally did smile, I said, “I can't reveal her name.”

“Now who's being coy?”

“I can say this. She's the only woman I've ever really loved. She's the only woman I ever will love. But it took a long time to realize that.”

“My goodness!”

“I know. I'm making all kinds of confessions.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

I pointed to the bottle standing on the table next to the flickering candle. “It must be the wine.” The musicians were playing “Yours Is My Heart Alone,” and I said, “Or maybe it's the music.”

Or was it only a guilty conscience?

“I have to admit, Alex. I never thought this evening would become so serious.” Irmie looked away, and her hands moved nervously.

“You know how serious I always am.”

She shook her head, looked at me with her round eyes, eyes that had suddenly filled with tears. “No, Alex. That's the one thing I don't know. I just think I have a completely different idea about you. I think of you as a person who—only wants to enjoy life.”

“Irmie!”

“You're like a grasshopper. Hop from here to there and avoid responsibilities.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You know why. Don't play dumb.”

I shook my head. “That shows we need to spend more time together. I think you should have the opportunity to get me know better.”

“I think it's time to leave, Alex.”

Although we continued to talk while waiting for the check, I can't
remember anything of what we talked about. But that's the way it always was with us. We could talk endlessly about nearly anything.

That was something that hadn't changed, and I was glad of that.

Although it was a chilly evening, we walked arm in arm down to the Münchner Freiheit, the big square, and then up the Leopoldstrasse. It had begun to snow, we were both chilled, and I hailed a cab. On the ride to Gröbenzell, Irmie seemed lost in thought. When she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, I didn't say anything.

At her building, she said, “I'll invite you in, but only for a few minutes.”

“Make me a cup of tea, and I'll be on my way.”

While we were drinking tea on her sofa, I asked her how long she expected to continue working.

For a moment Irmie looked away nervously. Then she reached for her cup and took a sip. “I'm not sure, Alex.”

I thought I understood Irmie's hesitation. I wondered whether Irmie would ever trade her career for marriage and a family. At one time, she used to talk about things like that.

As she placed her cup back on the saucer, I took hold of her free hand and placed my lips on hers. Although she pulled her hand free and tried to push me away, I was insistent. After a minute, her resistance melted away, most of it anyway.

“Alex, you promised—”

“That seems so long ago.”

“Nevertheless, you—”

“I can't be trusted.” When I kissed Irmie a second time, her resistance was fleeting. When I kissed her a third time, it was even more fleeting. I couldn't believe I was holding in my arms the woman whose memory had haunted me for the past nine years.

But when I tried to kiss her again, she pushed me away and got to her feet. Her lipstick was smeared and strands of blonde hair were going in every direction. Naturally, her mild dishevelment only made her look even sexier.

But there was anger in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong.

“I'll tell you what's wrong, Alex. I can't trust you.”

“That's not true, Irmie.”

She was crying. Tears were running down her cheeks. Mascara was all over her face. As I tried to put my arms around her, she pushed me away.

“You're irresponsible, Alex.”

Would I be in Munich working at an impossible job if I wasn't responsible? Would I have hung on here in this city while the police were holding a murder charge over my head if I wasn't responsible? But I couldn't say those things. I wanted to talk about another time—and another kind of responsibility.

She looked at me with her round eyes. “Are you going to break my heart again? Well?”

After learning she was in the hospital, I'd written, but she hadn't answered. But what I should have done was drop everything and fly to Munich. By the time I realized what the right thing was, it was too late. It was a series of heartbreaking misunderstandings.

It hurt to have to acknowledge that I was responsible for all these misunderstandings.

“Good night, Alex. I never should have asked you in.”

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I knew this wasn't the moment to try and say them. Instead I said, “I haven't finished my tea, Irmie.”

“You can finish it next time.”

Irmie clicked the door closed behind me, and I'm not sure she heard my “good night.” On the way out of the building, I wondered whether there would be a next time.

“I heard the news,” Max said. “Congratulations!”

It was slightly more than an hour after my visit to Irmie's apartment. Max and I were standing in his kitchen, both of us holding a glass of
Weissbier
with a slice of lemon floating on top. He had already gotten the news that the police no longer considered me a murder suspect.

We touched glasses, and I took a long swallow. Then I followed Max into the living room and plunked myself into an easy chair.

He said, “You can start enjoying life again.”

My argument with Irmie was still very much on my mind. “I'm not sure I can.”

“What's the problem now?”

I told him that I wondered whether Irmie and I would ever get together again, and gave him a brief description of our little spat.

Looking at me with his cold, blue eyes, Max said, “You're overreacting, Alex. Irmie has to sort out her feelings. Since you left, all kinds of things have happened to her.”

I said I knew that. “Nevertheless, Max—”

“She's still in love with you. That's all you should be concerned about.”

“If that's true, she certainly has a strange way of showing it. She was angry, Max. She all but tossed me out of her apartment this evening.”

“Alex, she's wild about you. She really is.”

For the next ten seconds, I gazed into the beer glass sitting on the coffee table in front of me. Max's reasoning was impossible to argue against, and I didn't try.

Max grinned. “I didn't know you were so sensitive.”

I set the beer glass down on the coffee table. “I didn't know it either. The way you're talking, Max, it seems you know more about what Irmie's thinking than she knows herself.”

“I know a great deal.” Max paused. “When you showed up, I spoke with Irmie. You remember us talking in the English Garden just after you arrived?”

“Of course.”

“That evening, right after I dropped you off, I called her. We had a drink together. When I told her you were back in Munich, she very nearly fainted. I realized later I should have broken the news a little more gently.”

I didn't say anything. I knew Max well enough to know he wasn't exaggerating.

“She began shaking, Alex. That's how excited she became. Then she had to go to the ladies' room to compose herself. When she got
back, she was pale, and I could see she'd been sick. Then she began talking, a blue streak. About you, Alex. About the times you spent together. About how there hadn't been a day in the last nine years when she hadn't thought about you. About what you were doing and how you were getting along. Some days, she said, she spent the whole day thinking about you, and that the biggest disappointment in her life was that things between the two of you hadn't worked out differently.”

The funny thing was, Max was describing almost perfectly my feelings for Irmie. And how I'd spent much of my time during those years.

“She wondered whether it would be possible for you two to get back together.”

“Irmie wasn't to blame for what happened, Max. I was.”

Max shrugged. “Who's to blame isn't important anymore. Think of the future, not of the past. The woman loves you. And, unless I'm mistaken, you love her.”

“I'll never fall in with love another woman. It's taken me nearly nine years to realize that.”

“Something worries me, Alex.” When I asked Max what it was, he said, “What I think is you're about to make the same mistake you made last time. You're not being decisive enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, don't go wandering off like you did last time. Now is the time, believe me. There can be only one explanation for the tremendous effort she made to keep you out of jail and get this case solved.” Max paused, fixed me with an unwavering gaze. “She loves you, she really does. And she'd marry you in a second.” Max paused. “Do you know what I'd do in your place?”

“I think I do.”

Max raised his glass, and we both finished off our beers with a long swallow. I left a few minutes later.

During the taxi ride home I thought about what Max had said. When I found I couldn't relax, I went for a long walk. But that didn't help. After finally going to bed, I was too wide awake to fall asleep, and spent most
of the night tossing and turning. In the course of the evening I made my decision.

On Saturday morning I visited a downtown jewelry shop. The people were very helpful, showing me styles and estimating sizes. They said I could pick up the ring on Monday afternoon. I couldn't wait.

My plan was to call Irmie on Monday, ask for a date, and then pop the question. I went over in my mind just how I would do it and just what I would say. I wondered, first of all, whether I should first ask for her hand and then produce the ring. Or should I just take out the ring, and let her draw her own conclusion. Finally, I decided I'd let events take their course.

I thought that a nice place to go might be the café we visited the previous week. Maybe I could ask the musicians to play an appropriate piece of music, something really romantic.

On Monday, just after noon, I picked up the ring. The people in the shop all offered their congratulations. After lunch, I was so keyed up I needed to relax and took a long walk. After getting home, I put through a call to police headquarters.

Someone else, possibly another detective, picked up. I told him who I was and asked for Detective Nessler.

“Detective Nessler is tied up,” the guy said a minute later. “She can't come to the phone right now.”

That evening I called Irmie at home. When she didn't answer, I assumed she was out, and left a message.