‘I’m worried about you, Maria. Have you seen that doctor again?’
Maria shrugged. ‘I’ve an appointment this week. I hate it. And I’ve no idea if he’s doing any good. I don’t know if anything would do any good. Anyway, let’s change the subject…’ She gestured towards the large antique sideboard that sat against the living-room wall. ‘New?’ she asked.
Grueber sighed while still stroking her hair. ‘Yes… I bought it at the weekend.’ His tone made it clear that he was reluctant to change the subject. ‘I needed something for that wall.’
‘Looks expensive,’ said Maria. ‘Like everything…’ She swung her wine glass to indicate the room and the house generally.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Grueber.
‘What for?’
‘For being rich. You can’t choose the life you’re born into, you know. I didn’t ask to have wealthy parents any more than other people ask to be born into poverty.’
‘Doesn’t bother me…’ Maria said.
‘Doesn’t it? I make my own way, you know. I always have.’
Maria shrugged again. ‘Like I said, doesn’t bother me. It must be nice to have money.’ She took in the room. The decor was tasteful and clearly very expensive. Maria knew that Grueber owned this large two-floor apartment outright. It was the lower part of a massive villa in the Hochkamp area of Osdorf. She suspected that he also owned the other part of the house, which was rented out. On its own, the apartment represented a seriously valuable piece of real estate: Maria could only guess at the value of the villa as a whole. Hamburg was Germany’s richest city and Grueber’s parents, Maria knew, were rich even by Hamburg standards. What was more, Frank Grueber was their only child. He had once explained to Maria that his parents had all but given up hope of having a child. As a consequence, Grueber had grown up in a world where all he wanted was lavished on him. And now he stood to inherit a fortune and obviously already had considerable financial resources at his disposal. Why, Maria had often wondered, would you pick the career of a forensic scientist when you could choose to do anything you wanted?
‘Having money doesn’t guarantee you happiness,’ said Grueber.
‘That’s funny.’ Maria gave a small, bitter laugh. ‘Not having it guarantees un happiness…’ She found herself thinking again of Olga X, and Nadja, and the dreams they must have had of a new life in the West. For Olga, Grueber’s apartment would probably have been the embodiment of her dream; a little piece of which, in her naivety, she would have thought achievable through hard work in a German hotel or restaurant. Maria always imagined Olga’s background in the same way: a stereotype of a small village on a vast steppe, with hefty babushkas in black headscarves carrying huge, heavily laden baskets. And always she imagined a fresh-faced, smiling Olga gazing expectantly westwards. Maria knew that it was more likely that Olga had come from some grey, depressed post-communist metropolis, but still she couldn’t shake the cliche from her head.
‘You’re a good man, Frank,’ said Maria, smiling. ‘Do you know that? You’re kind, you’re gentle. A decent person. I don’t know why you bother with me with all of my hang-ups. Life would be so much simpler for you if you weren’t involved with me.’
‘Would it?’ said Grueber. ‘It’s my choice. And I’m happy with it.’
Maria looked at Grueber. She had known him for a year now. They had been involved for six months, yet they still had not had sex. She looked at his large blue eyes, his boyish face and the thick mop of black hair. She did want him. She put down her glass and leaned forward, cupping her hand behind his head and pulling him towards her. They kissed and she pushed her tongue into his mouth. He slipped his arm around her and she could feel the heat of his body on hers.
‘Let’s go to the bedroom,’ she said, standing up and leading him by the hand.
Maria undressed so quickly that she lost a button on her blouse. She didn’t want the moment to pass; she didn’t want this window of normality suddenly to slam shut. She lay on the bed and pulled him onto her. She hungered for him so much. Then she felt Grueber on top of her, pressing against her. She felt his body on hers and suddenly felt stifled, choking. A wave of nausea came over her and she wanted to scream at him to get off her, to stop touching her. She looked up at the gentle, boyishly handsome face of Frank Grueber and felt a deep, violent revulsion. Grueber saw that something was wrong and eased back. But Maria closed her eyes and pulled him towards her. Through her closed lids she imagined that another face looked down at her and the revulsion was gone.
Maria kept her eyes closed and, as Frank Grueber penetrated her, she kept her disgust at bay by bringing another face to mind: an angular and cruel face. A face that looked at her with loveless, cold, green eyes.
7.
Nine Days After the First Murder: Saturday, 27 August 2005.
8.30 p.m.: Neumuhlen, Hamburg
Susanne had not said anything directly, but Fabel could tell that she was not happy that he had not responded more enthusiastically to any of the apartments she had circled in red highlighter pen. He knew that it was partly because instead of seeing each advertised property as an opportunity to gain, to advance their relationship, he saw it in terms of loss. Loss of his independence. Loss of his own space. He had been so convinced that it was what he had wanted, but now that it had moved closer to happening Fabel felt a vague ache of uncertainty.
The other reason why he had failed to be more decisive about the apartments was that all his mental resources were devoted to trying to pry an opening into the Hamburg Hairdresser case; choosing a new apartment was simply falling off his radar.
Fabel’s uncertainty had deepened after spending the afternoon with his daughter Gabi. They had met in the city centre and Fabel had felt a suppressed panic as he watched his sixteen-year-old daughter approach. Gabi was growing up too fast and Fabel felt as if he had lost control of time; that there had been so much of his daughter’s life that he had missed out on.
They had spent their afternoon together shopping for fashions on Neuer Wall; something that only a year before would have been anathema to the tomboy Gabi. It also pained Fabel a little to see how much Gabi was beginning to look like her mother, Fabel’s ex-wife Renate. Lately she had taken to wearing her hair longer and the ghost of Renate’s red hair burned in its auburn. As he had watched her make her purchases, Fabel had found himself observing Gabi’s gestures, her mannerisms. Just as her hair held the ghost of Renate, Gabi’s movements carried echoes of Fabel’s mother and her smile and easy manner echoes of his brother. It made Fabel think of what Severts had said about how we are all much closer to our histories than we think.
After shopping, Fabel and Gabi had a coffee in the Alsterarkaden. The Rathausmarkt and all along the Alster was thronging with tourists. The Hamburg tourist office had recently announced that it had been the most successful year ever for tourism in the city, and Fabel and Gabi experienced the truth of the statement by having to wait ten minutes for a table. It took the waiter some time to clear the debris left by a family of Americans, then Fabel and Gabi were seated looking out at the Alsterfleet and the Rathausmarkt beyond. Fabel confided in Gabi about his dilemma.
‘If you don’t feel comfortable about moving in together, then you shouldn’t,’ she said.
‘But I suggested it. I pushed for it to start with.’
‘You’re clearly having doubts, Dad,’ Gabi habitually used the English word. ‘It’s too big a step to make unless you are absolutely sure. Maybe Susanne is not the one for you after all.’
Suddenly, Fabel felt awkward about discussing his love life with his daughter. He had, after all, once thought that Gabi’s mother was the ‘one for him’. ‘I thought you liked Susanne,’ he said.
‘I do. I really do. She’s perfect.’ Gabi paused and looked out over the Alsterfleet. ‘That’s the thing, Dad… she is perfect. She is beautiful, intelligent, she’s easy to get on with… she’s got a super-cool job… Like I said, perfect.’