The Stolen (24 page)

‘Wake up, you're home.'

Dazed, she looked over at him then the house.

‘Oh no… how late is it?'

‘I got here as fast as I could.'

‘Papa's going to kill me; will you come in to explain?'

Latcos switched the engine off and climbed out to join her in the stillness and searing fresh mountain air. They were halfway up the drive when the front door was flung open and Johanna came rushing out.

‘Where have you been? Your father went to the Platzspitz looking for you – we've been worried sick!' She stared at Latcos with open disgust. ‘Who's this gypsy scum?'

‘You can't talk to him like that, he's family!'

The housekeeper grabbed Liliane's arms. ‘Family? Have you gone completely mad? Has he touched you? Just tell me that? Has he molested you?'

‘Stop it! You don't understand anything! Stop it!'

At that moment Matthias appeared in the doorway, Helen's face peering over his shoulder. ‘Liliane, where the hell have you been? We were just about to ring the police.'

Liliane threw herself into his arms. ‘Papa, this man helped me!'

Latcos stepped into the light. ‘I brought her home – Keja knew she was in danger.'

‘Latcos! It's you, thank God. But Liliane should have come straight home from school – she has a curfew…'

‘You know this man?' the housekeeper interjected, amazed.

‘He says he's your half-brother, Papa!'

‘Half-brother?' Johanna repeated incredulously. Now Liliane seemed to notice Helen for the first time.

‘Papa, who is this woman?'

Helen held her hand out. ‘I'm Helen.'

Ignoring her, Liliane turned back to her father. ‘You never said you had a girlfriend.'

‘I'll explain later. Johanna, take Liliane in and make sure she goes straight to bed.'

‘I'm not a child!'

‘Go.'

The girl and the housekeeper hurried into the house while Matthias walked over to Latcos.

‘I apologise for my daughter's behaviour, Latcos.' He turned to Helen. ‘Helen, this is my brother Latcos.'

Helen stepped forward. ‘I am honoured.'

Latcos, surprised to hear Helen speak fluent Romanes, smiled. ‘As I am, sister.' Switching back to German, he turned to Matthias. ‘All women in the family are strong-willed. I apologise if I stepped into your territory, but Keja insisted she was in danger. She told me to go to her; they are connected – the grandmother and the granddaughter.'

‘What kind of danger?'

‘There's a man, a Frenchman. I think he wants to use her somehow, and not just for the obvious.'

‘Please, come into the house. I have some news.'

 

Latcos stood in front of the fire warming himself as Matthias entered from the kitchen holding three shot glasses, followed by Helen carrying a plate of
lebkuechi
cake.

‘Here – schnapps, it thaws out the bones.'

Latcos gulped it down gratefully.

‘It's been a bad winter.' Matthias leaned against the mantelpiece, watching the thin young gypsy, the sheepskin jerkin he wore damp along one side as if he'd been lying on the ground. ‘Liliane…' he began awkwardly but Latcos interjected.

‘She is intact, of that you can be sure. I interrupted before anything serious happened,' he explained solemnly.

Matthias stared at him. ‘Liliane intact?' He couldn't help smiling.

‘Matthias, your daughter's virginity is no laughing matter!' Latcos exclaimed, insulted.

‘He has a point there,' Helen added, trying not to grin herself.

‘Please don't be offended – I'm sure you did your best,' Matthias reassured the young gypsy. ‘I only wish she was a virgin, but her promiscuity is the least of my problems – it's the drugs I worry about.'

‘Keja could help with that; there are herbs – but you must keep her locked in the house, Matthias, otherwise you will never find a husband for such a wild ride. This is what I would do if she were my daughter. I have two, you know, and both of them are betrothed already.'

‘You have children? How old are you?'

‘Twenty-eight. I was married at fourteen. I have three children – two girls and a boy. It is our custom to marry early. But a daughter needs a mother.' Latcos glanced over at Helen. ‘Maybe you need a new wife?' he added cheekily. Helen blushed, while Matthias, a little uncomfortable, turned away.

It had been an extraordinarily long day. One of those days that seemed to span a year and not twenty-four hours – time had stretched into a whirlwind of psychological revelations that had only served to steel Matthias's resolve. Reading the physicist's expression, Latcos took his arm. ‘So, you have some news, we should talk – men's talk,' he said pointedly.

‘And I should go get some sleep; I have a class in the morning,' Helen said, taking the hint. ‘I think your daughter has had enough shocks in one night without waking up to me at your breakfast table. You two talk – I'll go call a cab.'

 

After she'd left Matthias stood with Latcos on the back porch as the gypsy had a smoke, their breath white plumes against the freezing air. ‘I went to get a visa to get into East Germany – they refused me,' he told Latcos softly. The young gypsy looked puzzled. ‘We'll need visas to go find my father. You can't just walk across the border into Soviet territory.'

Latcos grinned. ‘For the right price I can get us both visas. But better than that, I can find a route that will take us across the border and no one would know better. You are serious about finding this Nazi bastard?'

‘I made a pledge and I mean to keep it – besides, all men should meet their father, at least once, don't you think?' Matthias said, trying to cover his ambivalence with humour. Latcos was not deceived. He reached over and put his hand on Matthias's shoulder.

‘You are a brave man. So maybe we are related after all! We can leave in two days' time – they say the roads will be cleared of snow by then, and it will take a day to get the visas.'

Matthias looked up at the mountains, the moon painting the peaks with a white-blue light. It was exactly the same panorama he stared out over every night – except now it wasn't. He'd changed, changed irrevocably. The rest of his life could wait, suspended, but this new urgency and sense of purpose would not. He couldn't remember feeling more alive. More present.

‘Good, two days it is.'

 

 

The receptionist at the brothel, an ex-security guard who'd been fired from his last job for drinking, hadn't even looked up from the football game he was watching on a small black-and-white TV set behind the desk when the slim brunette slipped past carrying a duffel bag, her pale face scrubbed clean of make-up and her long black hair scraped tightly into a pony tail. It had been a quiet day, with just a few clients in and most of those were regulars who knew their own way down the narrow battered stairs that led to the basement apartment which doubled as a brothel. It was a good half an hour later, just after Munich scored the winning goal that he had a nagging sensation that something might be wrong – he'd seemed to remember from behind the beer-induced fog that now clouded his mind that one of the regulars – a heavy-set middle-aged man who he'd always thought might be either a retired soldier or a cop – had disappeared down those stairs a good hour earlier and he couldn't remember him coming back up them.

He glanced over at the switchboard – a set of lines that led into all the individual rooms – twenty of them in total. There was a discreet panic button the girls could hit if they wanted and this in turn would light up a small red light on the board. None of the red lights were showing – maybe the man had just decided to go in for a double session, the receptionist concluded. Pulling the entry book towards him, he ticked two hours beside the room the regular had booked. Room nineteen. Satisfied, he settled back down into his chair to watch the commentary on the match.

‘Gert!'

He swung round. Kalyna, a pretty Ukrainian dressed in a mini, stilettos and a tight sweater with large shoulder pads that made her look more Amazonian than sexy, leaned against the desk.

‘Has Celine's regular been in yet? I was meant to meet him fifteen minutes ago but the bus was late.'

Gert got to his feet, levering his heavy body up by his hands.

‘Funny, I thought he got in over an hour ago…' He peered back at the book. Perhaps he'd made a mistake. ‘Room nineteen?'

Irritated, Kalyna flicked back her long blonde locks with her hand, the glitter nail polish catching the light like glistening flint. ‘
Mein Gott
, Gert, you really have to get your act together; you're meant to be security for us.'

‘Keep your hair on.' He scanned the book. ‘Here he is, eight p.m…'

‘Gert, that was two hours ago! So what has he been doing for two hours?'

‘Isn't he in with Celine?'

‘Celine took the evening off, dumb-dumb, that's why I'm here!'

They both looked at each other. Sighing, Gert reached under the desk and pulled out from a box a sawn-off shotgun he always kept there more for appearance than function; the barrel had been jammed over a year ago and it had no cartridges actually packed into it. Still the shotgun made him feel safer and had some sway with the girls, who always seemed to treat him with a little more respect on the few occasions he'd actually brought it out. Nevertheless, as he stepped from behind the desk he wished he'd drunk one less beer.

The door of room nineteen was slightly ajar, the light spilling out onto the cracked lino floor.

‘You go in first – I'll be right behind you,' Gert told Kalyna in a low voice. He was squeamish about sexual matters, something he'd managed to conceal from the girls, who had always mistaken his lack of curiosity as professional detachment.

She pushed the door open.

‘Hello?' she asked in a slightly nervous voice. It was only when she moved towards the bed, and saw the cloudy bulging eyes and the bluish tinge to Klauser's face that she began screaming.

Behind her Gert whistled.
Jesus,
what a mess,
he told himself.

 

 

After Latcos left Matthias was just about to go up to bed when he remembered the tape recorder was still sitting on his desk. He was about to lock it away when there was a knock on the door. Johanna, in her dressing gown and nightdress, stood in the doorway.

‘I forgot to tell you, Herr von Holindt, Inspector Klauser rang this afternoon. He just said to tell you he'd phoned. I would have remembered but what with the drama with Liliane…'

‘That's okay, Johanna, it's been an exhausting day for all of us.'

‘Sir, if you don't mind me asking… that young… that young man. He isn't really a relative of yours, is he? It just can't be possible that a…'

‘Gypsy? Is that the word you're looking for?'

‘That such a man can be related to the family.'

‘Actually, Johanna, I have strong evidence that he
is
my half-brother.'

The housekeeper stared at him, disapproval pursing her lips.

‘But your family is one of the great families of Switzerland?'

He ignored the comment. ‘Johanna, anything you hear within these four walls stays within these four walls. I cannot explain now, but I will. Until then I must ask for your complete discretion – Liliane's happiness depends on it.'

It was the best appeal he could have made. Wide-eyed, she nodded. ‘Matthias, you can trust me. Good night, sir.' It was the first time she'd ever used his Christian name.

He waited until her footsteps had receded down the corridor then pressed the
PLAY
button. Christoph's voice rang out:

‘
You don't know who you're dealing with, Matthias. This is not some equation you can just unravel. And I cannot protect you if you try.
'