The Sinner (51 page)

She'd been sitting beside him in the car for a good half-hour.
Grovian had spent the first few minutes trying to prepare her for the coming confrontation. He'd told her where they were going
and why. By arrangement with the district attorney, the examining
magistrate, Professor Burthe and Eberhard Brauning, he had
rehearsed her at least three times.

It wouldn't have been in the least worthwhile under normal
circumstances, but circumstances were anything but normal. Even
Professor Burthe was of the opinion - and had convinced the DA
and the examining magistrate - that only a crack of the whip
could induce her to point a finger and say: "This was the man who
treated my head injury."

Being the chief, Grovian needed no whip. She had heard him out
in silence. She had even nodded when he asked if she'd understood
it all and would do him this favour, considering the time and effort
he'd expended on finding the medical man in question.

A consultant neurologist and brain surgeon who headed his own
private clinic: Professor Johannes Frankenberg!

He should have withheld the name from her. It wasn't hard
to follow her train of thought. If Frankie had been the Saviour,
Johannes Frankenberg must logically be God the Father. As such,
he must often have stood beside her bed at a stage when she was
not yet fully conscious: the Almighty, who had performed a miracle
upon her - a miracle in the truest sense - by patching up her
shattered skull and transforming it into a serviceable head once
more. How often he must have bent over her, shining a little torch
on her motionless eyelids and saying: "My son wasn't to blame for
this disaster." Perhaps he'd felt it his duty to send her on her way
to eternity with that thought in mind. He couldn't have expected
her to pull through.

Helene Brauning had pointed out that one could never tell
exactly how much a comatose patient takes in.

And Cora Bender had said: "I'll gladly do you a favour, but
I don't know if I can. What shall I say to him? My God, don't
you understand? He was so kind to me, and I killed his only son.
Frankie hadn't done me any harm."

That had been two days ago. Professor Burthe's immediate
reaction to his proposal had been less than favourable, and it had taken a long conversation to convince him. Grovian had laid his
cards on the table. They didn't amount to much, but Cora Bender
had supplied a detailed personal description. Even Professor Burthe
had to concede that it couldn't have sprung from her imagination,
so he'd permitted Grovian another brief interview with her.

He still remembered vividly how startled she'd been when he
came in, how she'd stared at his neck and trembled. She didn't
calm down until he'd told her twice why he was there. "I'd like to
make a trip with you in the next few days, Frau Bender. Just the two
of us. To Frankfurt."

She'd understood two days ago, but when he'd picked her up
half an hour before ... She was staring straight ahead. He tried
once more. "Well, Fran Bender, as I already said, you won't have to
speak to Herr Frankenberg. Just a quick look at him, then we leave.
And then you'll tell me if

She reacted at last. "Can't we talk about something else?" she
broke in, looking tormented. "I'll do it. I'll look at him when we get
there, but we aren't there yet. I don't want to have to think about
it till then."

Her speech was slightly slurred. He felt pretty sure they'd given
her some kind of medication before they handed her over. He only
hoped she wouldn't fall asleep. Talking was a good way of staying
awake, but they didn't have to talk about Frankenberg.

"What would you prefer to talk about?"

"I don't know. My head feels like a bucketful of water."

"I know a cure for that."

There was no hurry. They didn't have to be there before one
o'clock, which was when Johannes Frankenberg could spare
them a few minutes. Grovian had fixed the appointment without
mentioning that he wouldn't be alone. A coffee break would do
her good.

Soon afterwards he pulled into a service area and sat her down
at a window table in the cafe. She went on pouring sugar into her
cup from a dispenser until lie gripped her wrist. "You'd better not
stir that - it'll be undrinkable. You don't take sugar normally, or
am I wrong?"

She shook her head and stared out of the window Her face
looked even paler in profile. "I'd like to ask you something."

"Go ahead," he said.

She drew a deep breath and took a sip of coffee. "That girl,"
she began hesitantly. "You told me that a girl's remains had been
found near a military training area. Do you know what happened
to them?"

"They were buried, I assume."

"I thought as much. Do you know where?"

"No, but I can find out - if you're interested."

"I am, very. I'd appreciate it if you could find out and tell me."
He merely nodded, speculating on the reasons for her request.
The true reason escaped him, however. Although Eberhard
Brauning hadn't grasped what death certificate and what strange
girl she'd been alluding to, he had naturally kept his promise.
Grovian still assumed that Magdalena Rosch had died on 16
August - of cardiac and renal failure.

She picked up her cup again and put it to her lips, but her
hand shook so violently, she spilled some coffee on the table. She
replaced the cup on its saucer with a clatter. "I can't do this. It
can't be right. Work it out for yourself. We didn't drive as far as
this. We were in Hamburg, not Frankfurt - I saw the signs on the
autobahn. We must turn back. He was such a nice man. Perhaps
he really did find me beside the road. I may have walked a long
way."

"I don't think you were capable of walking, Fran Bender."

"Oh, you!" She made a dismissive gesture. "Lies are all you ever
believe. No one has told you the truth, take it from me." She turned
away again and gazed out of the window in silence for several
seconds. Still with her head averted, she asked: "What would
happen to me if I confessed to a second murder? That would make
two. What would I get?"

"For the confession, nothing," he told her. "You'd have to produce
another dead body."

She stared into her coffee cup, then raised it to her lips again.
Although her hand was still trembling, she managed a sip without spilling any. Having replaced the cup, she said: "You already have
one: the girl on Luneburg Heath."

She gave a fleeting smile. "I killed her. It was me." When he
made no comment, she added: "That's a confession. I want you to
treat it as such."

He nodded. "Then I'll need more details."

"I know I lied to you about Magdalena's birthday. I drove back
to the Aladdin when she was asleep, but Johnny wasn't there any
more, just the girl Tiger had been dancing with. She told me the
two of them had gone on somewhere. Johnny had said it wasn't
worth waiting for an inhibited prick-teaser. That made me so mad
I freaked out, but I remained friendly. I asked her if she'd care to
come somewhere else with me. Then I drove her to the heath,
where I punched and kicked her to death. I jumped on her chest
with both feet and broke her ribs. When she was dead I undressed
her so it would look as if some men had done it. I threw her clothes
away on the return trip. We'd better go back now, then you can
take this all down."

"We aren't going back, Frau Bender," he said firmly. "Your
statement can be taken down later. An hour or two won't matter,
not after five years."

Her lips twitched as they had on the night he first questioned her,
when he still thought she was putting on an act. "But I don't want
to go there," she said. "I really can't. He'll ask me why I did it, but
my lawyer says I mustn't mention the Saviour. And then he'll say
he should have let me die. It would have been better if he had, but
he saved my life."

Grovian reached across the table and took her hands. He held
them tight - tugged at them until she finally brought herself to
look at him. "Listen to me, Frau Bender. Professor Frankenberg
saved your life, which was praiseworthy of him. But before he
could save it someone must have endangered it, and he didn't want
that someone to go to prison. He wouldn't have done such a thing
for a stranger. Concentrate on that, just that. Have I made myself
clear?" When she nodded he released her hands.

"But I'll have to go to prison for killing that girl?"

"Yes, of course."

`And not just for a year or two?"

"No, it was premeditated murder. That would mean a life
sentence."

He paid for the coffee, took her arm and led her back to the
car. She seemed to be easier in her mind. While they drove on she
told him about her life with Gereon. Three years in a soap bubble.
Soap bubbles burst easily. Still, her son was in good hands with his
grandparents, she felt sure.

They got there with almost an hour in hand. He pulled up in
the car park outside the clinic, a handsome two-storey building in
dazzling white stucco. He was hoping for some sign of recognition,
but none came. "If it really happened the way she says," the
DA had said, "they probably doped her before taking her to the
station. But none of this can be proved, unfortunately, even if she
recognizes Professor Frankenberg. We would need a confession on
his part, and you'd better not count on that."

She sat there for some minutes, shoulders hunched uneasily,
peering out of the car window Then she insisted on his taking
down her confession to the girl's wanton murder. Just to be on the
safe side, she said. You never could tell. She mightn't feel up to it
later on, and she'd sooner get it over.

He humoured her by scribbling a few lines in his notebook and
getting her to sign them. She sat back.

"How much time do we have?"

`Almost an hour."

"Could we stretch our legs a little?"

The car park was enclosed by shrubs, the clinic itself by mature
trees. "It looks so peaceful," she said.

He opened the passenger door and locked the car behind them,
then strolled towards the clinic with her. Frankenberg's private
residence, which was situated behind it, was still out of sight, but
he knew from his previous visit that it was built in the same style.

Grovian didn't feel like stretching his legs. He shepherded her
slowly towards the house, eager to get it over and done with. She
was saying something - like a child whistling in the dark, it seemed to him, and he knew so well how she must be feeling: guilty through
and through.

His own feelings he strove to ignore. He couldn't help her, nor
could Brauning or the district attorney. They might find a thousand
plausible reasons for Georg Frankenberg's death, but nothing could
unburden her of Magdalena's death. Burthe could try to explain to
her that it had been an accident or a mercy killing.

Grovian had grasped that he'd been wrong and fathomed what
she'd tried to tell him about the manner of Magdalena's death. He
even realized whose skeletal remains had been discovered on the
heath in August five years earlier. But jumping on her chest with
both feet? What nonsense! She must have exerted a little too much
pressure with her hand while masturbating her and hankering for
Johnny, that was all.

And her father, who loved her above all else, had kept his mouth
shut. Her crazy mother didn't understand, and the neighbour
wasn't allowed in the house any more. The body had lain upstairs
for a few months until Margret decided to act at last. She'd dumped
the remains on the heath and procured the death certificate. It was
as simple as that.

The front door of the private residence was approached by three
steps. He climbed them ahead of her and rang the bell. Moments later
the door opened. Ayoung woman neatly attired in a white coat looked
at him enquiringly and cast a dubious glance at his companion.

"May I help you?"

He produced his warrant card. "We've an appointment with
Professor Frankenberg at one. I'm afraid we're a little early."

No matter, she said, they could wait in the drawing room.
Grovian led the way across the entrance hall. Cora followed, her
apprehensive expression and hunched shoulders seeming to suggest
that an executioner's block awaited her in the middle of the drawing
room. But there was just a sofa and, beside it, an enormous parlour
palm whose outspread fronds resembled the spokes of an umbrella.
Above the sofa hung an abstract painting in a plain frame. Grovian
had been shown into another room on his first visit, so he was seeing
it for the first time.

She headed straight for it and came to a halt in front of the sofa.
Her face registered a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. She
looked down at the floor, then up at the wall beside the sofa.

"It can't be," she said in a low voice. "The stairs have been
blocked up." She made a helpless gesture that encompassed the
whole room. "They've rebuilt the place." She pointed to the
opposite wall. "That's where we were standing, Johnny and me.
I was feeling bad because Magdalena ..." She broke off in mid
sentence, shuddering and gagging. Then, haltingly, she went on.