Entwined (46 page)

"If you won't help me then you leave the baron and me no choice but to go over your head at the bureau. I want to know whether your sister adopted a child, and I want to know the background of this child. I don't care, Frau Klapps, if the adoption was legal or illegal, all I am interested in is to try to help a woman who lives in a nightmare."

Lena stared into her empty coffee cup; a small muscle twitched at the side of her mouth.

"We all have our nightmares."

"No, no, we don't. Are you telling me that a sister, a sister you grew up with, didn't make contact with you when she returned to Berlin, that she didn't try to see you?"

Lena looked up, her eyes filled with hatred—whether for Helen or her sister, Helen couldn't tell. She banged the cup down on the table.

Helen was losing patience; she didn't mean her voice to rise but she couldn't help herself. "All I want is to know more of Rebecca's background, I am not interested in yours…"

Lena whipped round. "Please keep your voice down, I don't want my husband to hear you!"

She clasped her hands together. "No one has ever been interested in me. When we were children it was always Rosa this, Rosa that. She was the beautiful one, the clever one. She had everything, looks, brains…everything. And you know something else? She was always happy, always smiling, as though she had some secret, something filling her life. My father doted on her, worshiped her…she broke his heart."

Lena tightened her lips. Helen remained silent.

"She refused to listen to him. He pleaded with her to break off her relationship with David Goldberg, it was very embarrassing for him, for all of us. My father was a very well-respected scientist, with many connections, my brothers—" She lifted her hand to her forehead, as if unable to continue. She turned her back to Helen and faced the bookshelves. "When Mama died, I cooked and cleaned and waited hand and foot on him. But he wanted Rosa, always wanted Rosa. She made a fool of him, a fool of us all, but she refused to listen…and then, then she became pregnant."

Lena remained with her back to Helen, her arms wrapped around herself.

Helen had to know more. "You told me Rosa had an abortion, but I need to…"

"It was not an abortion."

Helen half rose to her feet: Rebecca was their daughter after all?

"My father and my brothers locked her in the house, and my father…he performed the operation himself, he sterilized her."

Helen sat back, shocked.

Lena's hand shook as she patted the coiled bun at the nape of her neck, but she looked defiantly at Helen. "Rebecca is not my sister's child."

Helen's face remained neutral, but she pressed her hands firmly against her thighs.

Lena moved closer, and stood in front of Helen. "I lied to you, I did see my sister again. She was working at the main refugee hospital with children picked up from the streets, from the camps, from everywhere. It was my job to keep a record of how many, of their names—that is if they knew their names. My father and my brothers were dead. I lived in the cellar, in the rubble of our old home, for years…and I hoped, hoped she would come back one day."

Lena repeated the same dismissive wave, as if she were shooing away a fly. "One day, smiling, she drew this child forward, she said…'This is my daughter, Lena, this is Rebecca.'

Helen stood up. "You have a record?…the child's last name?…the adoption papers?"

"There were no papers, no documents. The child couldn't even talk. She came from Birkenau."

Helen closed her eyes, and pressed her fingers to her eyelids. Suddenly she heard a loud banging, and her eyes flew open. Lena was hurling books from the bookshelf.

"She left me, she left her family, and all I have are these…these, and a broken-down man! Rosa was happy, she was always happy!"

Helen reached for her handbag and picked up her coat. Lena began to weep uncontrollably. "Why, why did you come here? Go away, leave us alone."

Helen asked gently if she could offer Lena a ride; Lena shook her head, wiping her face with her hands. "No, just go away."

One of the large medical books had fallen by the door to the living room. It was an old volume, and it had opened to a picture of a brain, with diagrams pointing to the front lobe.
The World of Hypnosis
.

Helen picked up the book. "Hypnosis? Frau Klapps, do you know if your sister was ever…" The book was snatched out of her hand before she could say another word. Lena held the book close to her chest.

"This was my father's, this was my father's book, go away…
Go away!
"

Helen left, the door slamming shut behind her. She ran down the steps to the waiting taxi.

♦ ♦ ♦

Ruda was in high spirits, singing in the shower. She washed her hair and tied a big towel around it. She called out to Luis that she would be only a moment longer. He shouted back that coffee was on the table, he was going over to check the meat delivery truck, it had just arrived.

She whistled as she sat down to breakfast, fresh rolls and black coffee; the newspaper lay folded on the table with a large bunch of flowers. Luis had printed a card with "Congratulations!" scrawled across it; she smiled and poured herself a cup. She bit into the bread and opened the paper—then slammed it onto the table:
MAMA MAGDA DEAD.

Ruda read the article, and then leaned on her elbows, staring at the fat woman's face. Then she laughed, it was very fortuitous. With Kellerman dead, it was as though luck were suddenly on her side. She had a contract with Ringling Bros., the show was to open that night, and she was feeling good. Even Luis had remained sober and seemed as pleased at her success as she was.

She finished her breakfast, then took a pair of scissors and cut out the article. Folding it neatly, she got up and went into her bedroom. She pulled up the stool, and stood on it to find her black box. She felt around the cupboard and took it out, putting it down on her dressing table. She bent down to fold back the carpet and get the tiny key. When she straightened up, her eyes fixed on the old box. She turned it around, and saw the scratches on the hinges, the indentation where Grimaldi had tried to force it open. She had replaced the lock after Tommy Kellerman had broken it, now Luis had done the same. It could be no one else. Luis.

She unlocked the box and knew immediately that the contents had been touched. Her heart hammered inside her chest as she took out the small ribboned pile of clippings. She slipped the new cutting under the ribbon, then relocked the box. She felt as if the contents were burning into her hand…the memories began, like scars opening, bleeding…

♦ ♦ ♦

Inspector Heinz checked his watch, it was after nine. He asked the receptionist again if he could go into the records room, and she apologized. Frau Klapps was never late, and she was sure she would have called in if she was not coming. She suggested Torsen have a cup of coffee somewhere. Torsen scribbled a note asking for both records to be ready for him, together with any record of a marriage license between T. Kellerman and a woman of the same name, Ruda.

Torsen headed for Mama Magda's; he wanted to know who was taking over the club and to discuss the problem of the influx of prostitutes.

Eric was checking over an order for flowers while examining swatches of fabric for redecorating the club.

Torsen pushed through the beaded curtain, getting one string caught in his lapel. Eric looked up fleetingly, then returned to his color charts.

"I am Chief Inspector Torsen Heinz from the East Berlin sector."

Eric turned and sighed. "Not another one…the police have already been here this morning, and last night there were more police than customers. What do you want?"

Torsen asked if there was some place they could talk privately. Eric led him into Magda's office. It smelled of stale tobacco, as did the entire club. Eric perched himself on Magda's cushions and Torsen sat on the chair opposite the untidy desk.

"I would like to talk with you, since you are taking over the clubs. We must try and stop prostitution from getting out of hand. I believe Magda controls the…"

"Did. I am her principal beneficiary, Inspector, I was her husband, so let's get down to business—how much do you want?"

Torsen frowned. "I am issuing a warning, I am not here to be bribed, it is against the law. You were not attempting to…"

Eric screwed up his face, trying to recollect if he had ever seen this one with his hand out. He sat back and listened as Torsen said that four of his officers had been attacked and chased. Eric interrupted him.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow, you say your men were chased?"

Torsen elaborated. His men had been chased by four men in a high-powered Mercedes; the license plate was being checked. He was there simply to warn the new management that he would not allow such things to continue.

Eric pretended to be greatly concerned, and agreed that he would personally look into the girls and the pimps he knew that were working in the West.

Torsen was about to leave when he remembered to offer his condolences. Eric murmured his thanks with downcast eyes, and then regaled Torsen with the details—how he had been sitting exactly where the inspector was when she keeled over…

"It was a strange night, there was this woman Magda insisted she knew, and the woman insisted she didn't know her. I think it was this woman's fault she had a heart attack, Magda really got agitated about her, screaming and carrying on, as only Magda could do "

Torsen rose to his feet, hand outstretched. Eric jumped up.

"Ruda, that was her name…shot out of here, and Magda hit the roof, wanted her boys to grab her, you know the way Magda was, but I'd never seen that woman before."

Torsen hesitated. "Ruda Kellerman?"

Eric shrugged. "Don't ask me, but she put Magda in one hell of a mood…eh, I shouldn't grumble—she's dead, and I don't mind telling you, telling anybody, I've waited a long time for that to happen."

Eric continued talking as he led Torsen out of the club. Torsen headed up the stairs and back to his car.

Eric returned to the bar, and snapped his fingers at the barmaid.

"Get me Klaus, I need to know who we've got working over in the eastern sector, how many girls et cetera. Do you think this plum color would look good on the wall?"

Not waiting for a reply, he returned to the office to order the fabric. It was a coincidence that Torsen had been sitting barely two feet away from the carving knife which had sliced through Jeczawitz's arm.

♦ ♦ ♦

Torsen waited as Lena put down the file disks for the rest of the J's. She then handed him two more files on Kellerman.

"Thank you, this is very kind of you!"

She nodded, but walked out without saying a word. Torsen followed her with his eyes, and then turned his attention to the files. Perhaps she had had a bad morning.

Two hours later, his back aching from straining forward to see the screen, Torsen got lucky. He found the registration of the marriage license between Rudi Jeczawitz and a Ruda Braun. Stamped across Ruda's name was no documentation available. She had signed her name with a strange childish scrawl.

He was even luckier with Thomas Kellerman and his wife, also Ruda Braun. He took copies of both licenses and matched the handwriting. Ruda Braun's signature was identical to Ruda Jeczawitz's. His heart was pounding in his chest as he looked from one document to the other. He gathered the papers to put them into his briefcase. As he did so, he realized his newspaper was tucked inside; he was about to throw it away when he looked again at the
MAMA MAGDA DEAD
. The first line of the article now leaped out at him. "Last night one of the most well-known women of West Berlin's red light district, the infamous Magda Braun, know as Mama Magda…"

Torsen's head was spinning thinking of all the coincidences as he made his way back to the station. He was sure he had enough evidence to interrupt his director's holiday and ask for permission to arrange a warrant for the arrest of Ruda Kellerman.

As usual, the station was virtually empty, most of the officers having taken off for lunch. He had to wait five minutes before they opened the yard gates to let him drive in. Once in his office he began to lay out all the evidence he had accumulated to date. He had to make sure he didn't commit any errors. Ruda Kellerman was now an American citizen—and a famous performer. This would be his first arrest for murder, he could not afford to make a mistake. He ran his fingers through his hair, flicked through his streams of notes, and then tapped with his pencil. He should have commandeered the boots. He still didn't know if they were Grimaldi's or Ruda's, or if they were in this together. He swore, checked his watch; it was almost one o'clock. He needed to get a search warrant.

His phone rang, he snatched it up. It was the manager from the Grand Hotel, who wanted to discuss the nightly invasion of prostitutes outside the hotel entrance; they even walked into the foyer of the hotel! Torsen said he would send someone over straightaway. He was then caught up in endless phone calls: There were more burglaries from tourists' cars than they could deal with, but the backlog of work would, Heinz knew, eventually be finished. The rabbi called, asking when he would be paid for Kellerman's funeral. Torsen diverted the calls to the operator, and then told her that he had to go to the circus.

"Yes, I heard you and Rieckert have free tickets!"

"I'm going on business, I'll be using the patrol car, contact me directly if need be. Have you got someone to take over from you?"

"We've got three candidates, but this is a very old board, you have to have experience…"

"I want someone on that switchboard day and night, is that understood?"

The receiver was slammed down and Torsen stared at his phone; he hadn't had any lunch and it was already two o'clock. He picked up the rabbi's bill; he would use it as an excuse to talk to Ruda Kellerman, and then ask if he could take the boots. If he waited around for a search warrant, it could take hours.