“Okay,” said Anna.
They talked late into the night—or, rather, she talked. She was a traitor. She knew she was a traitor. It was none of Magnus and Linda’s business how Abel and Micha lived. But suddenly, it was as if a dam had broken, a dam behind which more tears lay, a flood of tears, a flood of stammered, drowned words and half descriptions.
Linda made sandwiches so the tears had something on which to fall. Magnus put the whiskey aside and opened a bottle of white wine instead.
And in the end, he said, “Anna?”
“Yes?” Anna asked.
“What do you want us to do?” He looked at her, earnestly; it was an important question. “Tell us what you want us to do … to help. I am a very critical person. I’m not sure if I approve of this, but in love … you might think this is a stupid remark … but in love, there is no criticism. In love, there is no rationality. I’ll give you money if you need it. I will make calls on his behalf. Tell me what we should do.”
“I don’t know,” Anna said. “If I knew, everything would be easy. He won’t take money—he says he doesn’t want charity. He doesn’t want anyone to interfere. On some days, he acts like he doesn’t even know me. And after today … I …”
“Please, don’t start crying again,” Linda said gently, gently rubbing Anna’s back. “Everything will turn out all right.”
On Saturday, the body of a man was found under the sand and snow on the beach in Eldena. In the pocket of his leather jacket, there was a wallet with a driver’s license identifying him as Sören Marinke. He had been forty-four years old. His woolen sweater and the sheepskin lining of his jacket were stiff with frozen blood. Shot in the neck, the radio announcer reported.
“ANNA?”
She blinked, opening her eyes slowly. The rays of sunlight coming in through the window were reflected by the flute sitting on the music stand and fell to the floor like glass splinters. The hands of the old-fashioned clock on the edge of the bookshelf showed ten to four.
She had lifted her cell phone to her ear … still half-asleep … she must have nodded off reading.
The radio was talking to itself in a low voice. If one subtracted the half hour she’d been sleeping with her head on the desk, and if one assumed she’d gotten up at about seven o’clock, then she’d heard the news of Sören Marinke’s death eight times at this point. The story had grown details, like blossoms, since then, but only a few: a man walking his dog had found Marinke in the morning, or rather the dog had found him, and Anna had instantly wondered the color of the dog. Was it silver-gray? With golden eyes? Surely not … Later, the announcer said that the body had been there for quite some time, maybe a day, covered by sand and snow. It was completely frozen by the time it was found … obviously, it was impossible for a body to freeze totally in just a few hours …
“Anna?”
Eight times, she had calculated; eight times, she’d held her breath; and eight times, she’d breathed again, relieved. For eight times, she’d come to the conclusion that Abel couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with Marinke’s death. His alibi for all of yesterday was Anna herself. And the day before, Thursday, he had been to the island of Rügen with Micha. If they had really been there, that is. If …
“Anna, are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I think I am,” she said, but her voice sounded far away. “I was … thinking … must have fallen asleep over my books. I’ve spent the whole day working out a stupid study schedule …”
No, she thought. No, that’s not true. I spent the whole day not calling you. For, of course, it was him. Abel.
“Anna,” he said, for the fourth time, as if there was nothing more to say, now that she’d finally answered. Nothing but her name. As if he’d just called to make sure she existed. She got up from her chair and went over to the window with the cell phone, her name ringing in her ears like an echo.
“Abel,” she said, “I’m going to mark this day in my calendar with a red pen.”
He was silent, sending something like a question mark through the line. “You never call me,” she said. “Usually it’s me who calls you.”
“Did you hear the news?” Abel asked, ignoring her remark.
He was right, she thought, this was no time for flirting.
“Yes,” she answered. “Your social worker is dead. A wolf bit him to death and buried him under the sand on the beach in Eldena.”
“No,” Abel said, with a pained tone in his voice. “No, he didn’t. The wolf wasn’t there. They’ve been here, Anna. Police. They … they visited … everyone whose cases … whose cases were on Marinke’s desk. It seems there were quite a few people not happy with his interference … Thursday. Looks like he died on Thursday, but they weren’t sure, or else they didn’t want to tell me they were sure. It’s all a mess … about the time of death … because of the cold …”
“You’ve got an alibi,” Anna said. “For Thursday. You were on Rügen.”
“An alibi, oh yeah,” Abel murmured. “That’s right. A wonderful alibi. A six-year-old girl. They will be back, believe me. They need a culprit. And I’m … I’m connected to both Rainer and Marinke. Everything fits.”
“But you didn’t shoot Marinke …”
“Do you think it was me?”
She hesitated; then she said, “The bus drivers, Abel! Didn’t you go by bus to Rügen? And the conductor in the train, too … I mean, they’re older than six.”
“I hope so.” He laughed.
“Can’t you find out how to contact these people?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, maybe. Maybe it’s possible. It’ll take a lot of calls, though. Tomorrow is Monday.”
And now, he’ll put the phone down, Anna thought, and I’ll sit here alone, again, with my books and my radio and the slightly varying radio news reports of Marinke’s death.
“Actually I called because …” Abel said and stopped. Anna heard Micha say something in the background, impatiently, as if she wanted to have the phone.
“Because we thought it might be nice to meet for a cup of hot chocolate again, in that café near the beach,” Abel said. “I mean, if you’re free.”
No, she thought. No, I’m not free. I don’t have time. I have finals in front of me, and a discussion with Linda behind me. A discussion in which she asked me—absolutely rightly—if it is smart to pursue a relationship in which one of the parties just has to open his mouth for the other party to come running.
“Give it to me!” Micha said breathlessly. “Anna, listen! I had this idea … it works like this: you bring your flute … for, you see, Abel told me the rest of the story—I mean, the part I missed because I was asleep—and we tried to wake up the dog after those two policemen had left … we tried all day long, but the dog just won’t wake up. He’s breathing, lying on the deck and breathing, and that’s all … and so, I thought, you know, if you play the flute, really nicely and everything, isn’t it possible that it will wake him up? In a fairy tale, that could happen, don’t you think? And we could cook dinner together … we have spaghetti, you know, and …”
“One thing at a time,” Anna said, smiling. “I’m on my way.”
“Are you calling it a day, study-wise?” Linda asked, peeling onions, wiping her hands on a blue apron. Anna nodded and hugged her. “I might be out late,” she said.
Linda took a corner of the apron and wiped away a tear that might have come from peeling onions. “Okay, honey, I hope not too late.”
“Wait,” Magnus said. She was half out the door already. “Here. If you stay for dinner … one usually brings something if one’s invited to dinner at someone else’s place.”
He held a bottle of red wine in his outstretched hand, a bottle of good wine, wine so old it was about to turn to vinegar. Valuable wine. Anna shook her head. Magnus stuffed the bottle into her backpack and nodded.