Chapter 14 #2
Oh, sweet Berend. He really is trying to connect with me and be a better detective.
De Haas is right to give him experience, but any dinner with me would still be a disappointment for him.
Something in me broke long ago. It cracked when my father died, and then split all the way when I received my first letter from Diavola.
There’s no room for love in a heart that can’t even hold itself together.
A figure is standing across the street, eyes hidden by a hat, handkerchief held not to his nose but his mouth. It’s the same man as before, I’m certain of it. He followed us here. Or…he’s waiting to see if the widow will come out.
Before I can call out to him, he turns and walks away. He’s surprisingly fast despite a shuffling, awkward gait.
“We’re following that man,” I say to Berend, setting off in pursuit.
“Don’t get too close. I want to see where he goes.
If he turns around, we’re just a couple on an evening stroll.
” I take his elbow and lead with a pace that is too fast for a couple enjoying the warm summer evening, but just fast enough to keep the strange man in sight.
“What do we do if he stops somewhere?”
“Then we note where he stops and speak to him, if we can.”
“And why are we following him?”
It warms me that Berend didn’t ask that question first. I think he’s only asking now to make certain he understands what’s expected of him, not because he doesn’t trust my instincts.
“He was at the house, earlier. Lurking across the street. It can’t be a coincidence that he’s outside the police headquarters now. He’s connected to this.”
“Could it be her brother?”
Berend might not have the stomach for this work, but he’s well on his way to having the mind for it. “That’s a good question. We should have Detective Goldstein look into the brother’s alibi again. It might not be as solid as he thinks it is.”
“So, we’re potentially trailing a murderer?” Berend pulls his elbow in a bit, an unconscious desire to move me closer.
“I have a pistol in my pocket and a knife in my boot.”
“Really?”
“If he’s our murderer, he’s not the first I’ve met.”
Berend doesn’t relax, though. He feels even tenser. “You shouldn’t have to do this.”
“I choose to do this.”
He nods, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “When you solve this—”
I’m glad he used “when” and not “if.” It lets me forgive him a little for his unnecessary protectiveness.
“When you solve this,” Berend repeats, “if you feel like I’ve been useful, I’d like—I know you have your team, I mean, your friends, I mean, your…What are you four?”
I laugh quietly, not letting the sound carry. Family, really. In all the senses of the word. Both the nurturing support and the quiet, inadvertent destruction. “We’re an investigative team.”
“If there’s room for another. I’ve asked de Haas, but he says it’s up to you.”
I think of Inge, taking over rooms of her house with obsessive research.
I think of Maher, so long separated from his home and family.
I think of Dávid, my best friend, staying by my side even after I broke his heart.
I wonder how my version of love has shaped and broken them, just as my father’s love did to me.
He never loved you, Diavola whispers, as always.
If everything goes as planned here, there will be no more need for this particular family. I can release them from the terrible burden they accepted before any of us truly understood what we were agreeing to.
No, that’s not true. I knew. I always knew.
But maybe we can still work together. Solve regular murders the way Dávid and Maher want to.
I hope so. I can’t picture a future without them, any more than I can picture a future where Diavola is gone and my father at last avenged.
Will I even want to continue as a forensic detective?
What else could I do with my life, if I was free from her?
This is all I know. It’s all I’m good at.
“It’s a lot of dead bodies.” I don’t say it unkindly, but Berend needs to have a clear idea of what he’s asking. I suppose he isn’t the only one with the protective instinct.
“I can get used to those.” His voice cracks just a little, a remnant of a youth that’s still closer than he’d like it to be.
“You shouldn’t have to.” With that, I don’t talk anymore. Neither does he. My mind is more on Diavola and the future than on the man we’re trailing. I expect him to turn off at any moment, but he follows the exact route our carriage did. Right back to the house of violence.
Diavola is forgotten as our target walks through the front door. He leaves it ajar, an invitation I wish we didn’t have to accept.
I let go of Berend’s arm and pull out my gun. “If we take the time to go back and get Goldstein, there’s no guarantee the man will still be here.”
Berend stands as tall as he can, pushing his shoulders back like a bird fluffing its plumage to appear bigger. “What do you need me to do?”
“Watch my back. We’re going in to talk to him.” I stride forward and knock on the door. It swings open more. “We’re with the München police. We have some questions for you.”
There’s no response. I step inside and wrinkle my nose.
The air inside was neutral earlier, but it’s sour and cloying now, like freshly turned compost. Whoever this man is, he reeks.
There’s a subtle glow emanating from the main bedroom at the end of the hall.
It’s not warm like a candle, and there’s no flickering.
But the house isn’t wired for electric lights.
“There,” Berend whispers unnecessarily; he wants to fill the oppressive silence with something. I don’t blame him. The wrongness that existed in the house earlier has amplified to a nearly unbearable degree. Everything in me tells me to step back outside.
I stalk down the hallway, gun first. Pausing at the entrance to the main bedroom, I check on Berend. He’s at my shoulder, ready. I step inside. “On behalf of the München police, I—”
The words die on my lips. The glow is emanating from the man, sitting up in bed. The quilt trails from his wide, wide mouth as he chews it with a rhythmic wet noise.
The Widow Schauerhammer isn’t a widow, after all.