Entwined (13 page)

Torsen was given a list of all the performers who might have known Kellerman. Kelm told him that the dead man's ex-wife, Ruda, a star performer, was still using the name Kellerman, although she had remarried long ago.

Torsen's head was reeling. He and his sergeant spent more than two hours in the little office, and the small room became so overheated that they could feel their socks and shoes drying out, along with the bottom of their trousers.

Finally, Torsen was helped into his raincoat and handed a layout of the trailers. The circus did not want any adverse publicity, because their biggest show of the season was to open in a few days' time. Kelm made it clear that if anyone from his company was involved in the incident he wanted it dealt with as quietly and as quickly as possible.

As he ushered them into the corridor, he said he was sure no one in the company was involved in the murder.

Torsen suggested that surely if many people detested Kellerman, perhaps one could have wanted to kill him. There was no reply, just a cold stare from Kelm, who smiled perfunctorily.

Torsen eased open the exit door and looked at the downpour. He swore, then hunched up his shoulders and stepped out. His sergeant followed, tucking his thick notepad into his pocket, along with the free posters and cards that had been pressed into his hands by Kelm for his children.

"Las Vegas, you see that poster on the high-wire act! How much do you think a setup like this costs?" Rieckert asked. He received no answer from Torsen. "That Kelm was pretty helpful, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, he was, wasn't he! It's called get off our backs, schmuck! We've got our work cut out for us."

A herd of horses was led past them, draped in protective covers, led on a single rein by a young sour-faced boy. Rieckert stared with open curiosity, and then looked at four equally sour-faced men wearing dark blue overalls. They carried pitchforks, and one promptly cleared away some horse dung as the others hurried on toward the practice arena. Rieckert's jaw dropped again as coming up behind him were five massive elephants. He shouted to ask Torsen if he had seen them. Torsen looked at him—it was exceptionally hard to miss five fully grown elephants.

The two men plodded through the mud, heading toward the main trailer park. Torsen had decided he would interview the ex-Mrs. Kellerman first. By the time he discovered they had been reading the trailer route upside down, his hair was dripping wet. After asking for directions from a number of scurrying figures with umbrellas and waterproof capes, they arrived at the Grimaldi trailer. Torsen dragged his shoes across the grids outside the glistening trailer and tapped on the door. Behind him Rieckert looked at the trailer with admiration, wondering how much it had cost. The door opened, and Torsen looked up.

"My name is Detective Chief Inspector Torsen Heinz, and this is Detective Sergeant Rieckert. May we come in?"

As Grimaldi stared, Torsen asked politely if Grimaldi spoke German, and received a curt nod of confirmation.

"We would like to speak to your wife—she was Mrs. Kellerman, yes?"

Grimaldi nodded, and then stepped aside. Torsen moved up the steps to enter.

Grimaldi gestured for the men to follow him. Torsen observed they were both six feet tall. Grimaldi was big, raw-boned, with very broad shoulders, whereas Torsen bordered on being skinny.

Grimaldi sat down on a thick cushioned bench seat and offered them coffee, but both men declined. The officers sat side by side on the padded bench seat opposite him.

"Ruda's feeding the cats, should be back shortly."

Rieckert took quick glances around the spacious room, while Torsen looked at the posters and photographs. He then turned to Grimaldi.

"I saw you, many years ago. I was just a kid, but I have never forgotten it, you were fabulous."

Grimaldi's dark eyes were suspicious. He hardly acknowledged the compliment, but turned in the direction of the posters. He pointed to Ruda's, and then looked back.

"This is Ruda, you see, Ruda Kellerman. She still uses his name. What's that little piece of shit done now?"

Torsen straightened. "He's been murdered. We are both from the Polizei. He was murdered in East Berlin sometime the night before last."

Grimaldi smiled, showing big even yellowish teeth, then he laughed out loud and slapped his trousers with his huge hand. "Well, you'll have a lot of contenders…he was a detestable creature, real vermin, somebody should have smothered him years ago. What was he doing in East Berlin?"

"We don't know, and as yet we have had no formal identification of the body, but we are led to believe it was Tommy Kellerman. Would you mind telling me where you were last night? I mean the night before last."

Grimaldi banged his chest. "Me?"

Torsen nodded. "We will have to ask everyone at the circus if they've seen him. Did you, by any chance?"

"Me?"

Rieckert's jaw dropped slightly; he had never come across anyone as large as Grimaldi. The man appeared to be built like an ox, his hands twice the size of any normal man's.

Grimaldi leaned back and then looked at Torsen Heinz. "You serious? Night before last? Oh, yes. I was here, all night, ask my wife—she couldn't sleep because of my snoring. As to Kellerman, let me think, I've not seen the creep for maybe five, no, more, I thought he was in jail, last saw him—must be eight to ten years ago."

"You have recently been in Paris? Was he working with you then?"

Grimaldi shrugged his massive shoulders. "No one would employ him, he stole an entire week's wages, from…can't remember, but no circus would touch him. Besides, he was in jail! I think he got extra time for beating up some inmate, that's what I heard."

The door opened, and Ruda walked in. She leaned against the door frame, looking first to Grimaldi, and then to the two men.

"Kellerman's been murdered," Grimaldi said.

Ruda eased off her boots. "What do we do, throw a party?"

Grimaldi grinned, and introduced Torsen Heinz and Rieckert. Ruda shook the officers' hands as they both stood up to greet her. To Torsen, Ruda's hand felt like a man's—rough, callused. She was almost as tall as he was, but judging by the handshake, a hell of a lot stronger. They made quite a pair, Mr. and Mrs. Grimaldi.

"Is this true?" she asked.

Torsen nodded. He had never seen such a total absence of emotion. Kellerman had, after all, once been this woman's husband.

"Would you mind if I asked you some questions, Mrs. Keller—Grimaldi?"

Ruda placed her boots by the door. "Ask what you need to know! Is there coffee on, Luis?"

Grimaldi eased himself out of his seat, went into the kitchen and poured his wife coffee, again asking if either of the men would care for some. They both replied that they would, and he banged around getting the mugs.

Ruda sat on the seat vacated by her husband, rubbing her hair with a towel. Torsen rested his elbows on his knees. "When did you last see him?"

She closed her eyes and leaned back. "That's a tough one, let me think…Luis? When did he come to the winter quarters, was it six, eight years ago?—I can't think!"

Grimaldi put down the mugs of thick black coffee. He didn't offer any milk, but a large bowl of brown sugar.

As the two policemen spooned in their sugar, Ruda and Grimaldi exchanged a few words about one of the cats. Ruda was worried she was off her food; if it continued she'd change her feed, maybe put her back on meat and stop the meal. They seemed totally unconcerned about Kellerman.

"Do you have a photograph?"

Ruda looked at Torsen and raised her eyebrow. "Of the cats?"

"No, of Kellerman."

"You must be joking. Do you think I would want a reminder that I was ever in any way connected to that piece of shit! No, I do not have a photograph."

Torsen sipped his coffee. It was odd that neither had asked how Kellerman had died. When asked where she had been at the time of the murder, Ruda lit a cigarette and rubbed her nose.

"The night before last, shit, I dunno. Last night I was here working the act until after twelve."

"No, the night before."

Ruda thought for a moment, then frowned. "Guess I was here, worked the routines, then had supper over at the canteen, then came to bed. What time did I come in, Luis?"

Grimaldi took a picture of himself from the wall. He handed it to Torsen. "That was the last time I played Berlin. You said you saw my act, more than fifteen years ago…"

Ruda interrupted. "It would be more than fifteen, let me see "

Ruda looked over the wall of photographs, and Torsen put his mug down. They were both discussing the exact time they were last in Berlin! Ruda suddenly turned to face him. "You're sure it is Tommy Kellerman? I think he's still in prison."

Torsen stood up, straightened his sodden trousers, the creases no longer in existence.

"We would be sure if you would be so helpful as to identify him. May we ask for your cooperation?"

Ruda hesitated. "Don't they have fingerprints for that kind of thing? Contact the prison—I don't want to see him, dead or alive. Get someone else, there's many around the camp that knew him."

"But you were his wife."

Ruda stared hard at Torsen. "Yes, I was his wife, but I am not now, and I haven't been for a very long time."

"For me to cable America, and wait for prints, could take a considerable time."

"If there's no one else…" Ruda said, obviously put out.

"Thank you. Thank you for your time, I may have to question you again. Oh yes, one more thing, the tattoo. Kellerman had a tattoo on his left arm, could you tell me what it was like?"

Grimaldi laughed. "Probably gave the size of his prick, he was so proud of it. Don't look at me, I never let the creep within two feet of me. Ask her, she was—as you so rightly say—married to him!"

Ruda looked to the thick carpet, her stocking feet digging into the pile. "A tattoo? He might have had it done in prison, he didn't have one when I knew him."

Torsen shook their hands again, and again felt how strong her grip was. "Maybe he was looking for work, ask at the main administration office," Ruda suggested.

Torsen smiled his thanks, and just as he opened the door, Grimaldi asked how Kellerman had been murdered. Torsen dragged on his raincoat. "Some kind of hammer, multiple blows to his head."

Grimaldi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ah well! Poor little sod had it coming to him."

Torsen said tersely that no one had to be subjected to such a horrifying death. He then smiled coldly at Ruda, and asked if she would accompany them when he was finished taking statements from the rest of the people he needed to speak to.

Ruda was tight-lipped, asking how long it would take—with the show due to open shortly she had very little time.

Torsen said he would be through as fast as he could, perhaps in two hours, if it was convenient. He did not wait for a reply.

When the officers left, Grimaldi leaned back, then lifted his feet up to rest on the bunk seat. "Maybe he left some dough to you in his will!"

"Yeah, the only thing he's left is a nasty smell and a string of debts. He can get someone else to ID him, I'm not going."

"But you were his wife…"

She swiped him with the towel. "You knew him, you identify him. It'll give you something to do."

"Ah, but I didn't know him as well as you, sweetheart, you can't get out of that."

Ruda sat down, pushing his feet aside. "I can't do it, Luis—don't make me, don't let them make me see him."

Grimaldi cocked his head to one side. "Why not, he's dead. You telling me it's affecting you? I thought you detested his guts."

"I do, I did, but I don't want to see him."

Grimaldi pinched her cheek. "You use his name, sweetheart! Serves you right!"

Ruda swung out at him, this time with the flat of her hand. She hit hard, and he gripped her wrist, shoving her roughly aside. "Give me one good reason why I should do anything for you."

"Fuck you!"

Ruda punched him, and Grimaldi swung back, landing a hard, open-handed slap on her face. She kicked him, he slapped her again, and this time she didn't fight back—her face twisted like a child's and he drew her to him. "Okay okay…I'll take you, I'll go with you!"

He began to smooth back her hair from her face, massage the throbbing scars at her temples. Her body felt strong as a man's in his arms. For her to be vulnerable like this was rare. He held her closer.

"Ruda, Ruda, why do we torment each other the way we do?"

"Just be with me, Luis, just stay with me, I don't want to go by myself," she whispered.

"Stay with you, huh? Until the next time you want something?"

As soon as he said it he wished he hadn't. Ruda backed away from him, her fists clenched. He threw up his hands in a gesture of impotence.

"We have to get divorced, Ruda, you know it. I can't live like this anymore, we're at each other's throats."

"I don't want to talk about that, not now."

"Because of that shit Kellerman? Jesus Christ, Ruda, who gives a fuck if he's alive or dead? What concerns me is us, we have to settle our future. I'm through Ruda, through standing around waiting to be at your beck and call."

"You can't have the act!"

Grimaldi clenched his hands. Like two fighters they faced each other.

"Fine, you want it, then we arrange a financial settlement. Simple as that, Ruda."

He saw the way her face changed, the way her dark eyes stared at and through him. Her voice was as dark as her eyes.

"Every penny I have earned has been put back into the act. You want out—then you go, take your stupid little whore. Take her and fuck off."

Grimaldi smirked. "Takes one to know one."

She went for him like a man, punching and kicking. Soon they were slugging each other. Crockery smashed, pictures crashed off the walls, and they fought until they both lay sprawled, panting, on the floor. She still punched him, blows that hurt like hell.

"Take your clothes and get out! Without me you'd have nothing, without me you'd be a drunken bum!"

She spat at him, and he staggered to his feet. He began to open the overhead lockers, throwing her belongings at her.