The Stronger Sex (30 page)

Manderscheidt whistled softly. “I knew it!”

I looked enquiringly at him.

He said, “I know that fellow! I just can't remember where from. Wait a minute…”

As the horses were brought to the starting gates, prancing, snorting and rearing, he said, “Got it! He works for Klofft! In his business. Some kind of office clerk. I saw him there when I went to see Pauly the manager.”

I had no time to think about the significance of this information; the starting gates sprang open and the horses raced out, thundering past us and finally going around the first bend. Manderscheidt followed them through a small pair of binoculars that he had taken out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

I thought I saw my sturdy choice Black Desire leading the field. Manderscheidt muttered through half-closed lips, “She's using the crop too much, wants to show what she can do.” As the horses disappeared from sight past trees and bushes, he grinned at me. “He'll probably come to grief on the bend before the final straight. Or stroll in last at walking pace.”

“You said that young man works for Klofft,” I said. “What does that mean?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, come on, Dr Zabel! Are you trying to take the mickey?” He glanced down at the threesome, who still had their heads together, and then looked back at me. “It means that the lovely Käthchen and Herr Schmickler, her investigator, have a mole in Klofft's firm!”

I said, “Roger!” Then I smiled. “Do you really think so?” When I saw the expression on his face changing, I added, “Forgive me, Herr Manderscheidt, but don't you think that's a little far-fetched? A mole planted in Klofft Valves? Sorry, but the Klofft works are no setting for a James Bond film!”

He said, “Forgive
me
, Dr Zabel, but I can see you have no idea of these things. Not a glimmering!” I took a deep breath to answer him back, but he didn't give me a chance. He said, “Didn't you ever come across the term
industrial
espionage
in your law books? Would it have occurred to you that Klofft has already thrown out a number of people employed in the business, people who tried to smuggle out production plans to foreign companies?”

I said, “My dear Herr Manderscheidt—”

He cut me short again. “And don't tell me that has nothing to do with his firing of Frau Fuchs. Don't you think the woman will do all she can to get back at old Klofft? And to that end will make use of any dirt she can dish on him in the works, past or present? You can see she's well able to wind a lad like that around her little finger and get him to do anything, however underhand.”

But as a faint thunder of hooves was heard, he turned away from me and raised his binoculars. The field, still almost closed, was racing around the final bend and into the straight. Black Desire was still in the lead, but two or three other horses were coming up beside him, jockeys bringing their whips down on the animals' sweating flanks. The tempo was increasing, the other horses seemed to be overtaking mine, but then the girl brought her own crop down once, but firmly, and the black colossus stretched his neck and got his nose over the finishing line in first place.

A roar of voices broke out. Manderscheidt said audibly, “Well, kiss my arse!” He turned to me, and was just saying, “Sorry, but…” and then interrupted himself. I saw why he had fallen silent. The new recruit to the Klofft business was shaking hands with Katharina and Henri Schmickler; they said goodbye, and the young man began going up the steps from the stands to the exits.

Manderscheidt said, “Sorry, Dr Zabel, but you'll have to take a taxi back after all. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He caught the eye of his theology student, who had risen and was looking around him rather uncertainly, jerked his thumb at himself and followed the mole out.

I stayed in the stands a little longer. There was another race to be seen, and several more loving kisses were exchanged by Frau Fuchs and her boyfriend, but then I felt bored, and I left the stands before the Hypo-Bank Grand Prix was announced. I strolled over to the paddock again, where the next set of strong-smelling, high-stepping horses were stalking around in a circle, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Probably feeding Black Desire an extra carrot or two. Or soaking in a hot bath to relax after her bone-shaking ride.

Finally it occurred to me that my horse had won, and I had money to collect. I went to the cash desk at the Tote, and a plump, black-haired woman whose fingers were covered with rings paid out six hundred euros. I was so overwhelmed that at first I walked around aimlessly on the wide expanse of the racecourse grounds, over turf, past hedges, through small groups of trees.

After a while I began to feel I had company. I looked back, and saw two young men whom I had noticed before. They were following me.

I got close to other members of the public as soon as possible, and then went back to the taxi rank. Had the two men been watching me when I collected my winnings?

Only in the taxi did another idea occur to me. Had Herbert Klofft hired the couple to teach the randy young dog who was after his wife a lesson? Rough him up a bit, for instance?

31

When I got home the light on my answering machine was blinking. I had my hand stretched out to listen to the taped message when I suddenly stopped. Who would this be?

Nonsense, I thought. Frauke, who else? Had spending time on her own already palled on her?

Nonsense again. But who?

Cilly.

Of course.

It troubled her to think she had rejected me so harshly. She was sorry almost as soon as I left. She had been afraid that she'd alienated me for ever. That I would never again put my hand on her bare knee, her thigh, close my fingers on her knee. Hadn't she made me feel repelled by such intimacy?

I thought about it for a while, but I did not feel repelled. Her thigh had been warm, firm and smooth. I had felt the life in it under my fingers, and in my memory I still did.

I listened to the message. The tape had recorded neither Frauke nor Cilly; it was the voice of Herbert Klofft. Although I didn't recognize it at once. He gave his name in more of a croak than words. “Klofft here, Herbert Klofft.” He laughed. “Only old Klofft here.”

He laughed again, seemed to choke, coughed with difficulty, blew his nose noisily, apparently into a handkerchief, finally got out, faintly, “Sorry, Dr Zabel.” He took a deep breath. “Good morning, Dr Zabel. Herbert Klofft here.” He laughed again, but obviously with more caution. “Well, you'll have noticed that by now.”

After a few stertorous breaths, he said carefully, “I wondered how you are. Better than me, I hope.” He laughed. “Me, I'm feeling bloody awful.” A moment's silence. Then he said, “Oh, nonsense, don't you believe it. Listen to my wife instead. She's always saying no one can believe a word I say.”

He cleared his throat noisily again. Then he said, “Well, you did say maybe we could play chess again before the hearing. It was just an idea.” He cleared his throat again. “How about this morning, for instance? Seems like a good opportunity.” He laughed, nearly fell into another coughing fit. After a moment he said, “All quiet here.
Not a soul in the place but me. My wife has gone out, Olga has left. There won't be anyone else coming, we'd be undisturbed.”

He said nothing for a moment, as though expecting an answer. Suddenly he said, “Well, like I said, it was just an idea.” He paused again, and then said, “Have a good day, lawyer.” He seemed about to put the phone down, but then he added, “And a nice weekend.”

Damn. Of course it was my own fault. I hadn't said no when he asked if we could play chess again some time. I could have said, “I don't know, but I rather think not. You see, Hochkeppel has been unloading so much work on me that I hardly get to sleep, let alone take any time off. What? Oh, well, I wouldn't call him a slave-driver. But he certainly keeps one's nose to the grindstone.”

However, I hadn't said that. So I could hardly be surprised that after a week he was taking me up on the chess idea. Embarrassing for me, but entirely understandable.

And he really did not sound well. Was that cough a new symptom of his progressive illness? Did he feel it eating away at him, affecting his brain and his muscles? Cilly out, Olga not there either. And not another soul likely to call?

Was he sitting there alone in his armchair at the open balcony door? Had fear overcome him in his house, where it was silent as the grave? Panic in the face of Death gently holding out a bony hand to him?

Damn it. Bloody hell. I didn't want to go out there. Bury myself in that house beside him. Watch the spasmodic twitching of his muscles. Be there when he pissed in his trousers, what else? Was I to clean him up and dry him because there was no one else looking after him?

I deleted the message and called Frauke's number.

No answer.

I sat down on the sofa and stared ahead of me. After a while I let my head drop back on the upholstery.

Someone had once told me he thought that position must be very comfortable, very relaxing, because all you saw was the white ceiling above your face, but he, unfortunately, couldn't tolerate it. Sometimes he very soon felt dizzy looking up like that, and it was no use closing his eyes because then he felt sick. So much for relaxing, he had to raise his head again quickly. Was it Hochkeppel? No, even if he had allowed himself to adopt such an informal position, he wouldn't tell me about it.

Hochkeppel's wife? Yes, it must have been her, that plump, friendly hostess. She had told me at some social occasion, maybe the lawyers' ball. She had asked me how I coped with stress, in court but also in Hochkeppel's chambers. There was probably plenty of it there, if she knew her husband.

I had said that it wasn't too bad, I managed pretty well, and as if she were hard of hearing and I had confirmed her suspicion, she had told me this anti-stress method which, unfortunately, she couldn't use herself because of the dizziness. But as a young person, she had added, I probably never had a dizzy fit, and I could try out that way of relaxing.

How old would she be? Sixty-five, perhaps. Or older. If Hochkeppel was a year younger than Klofft, then she could be seventy like Cilly.

And suddenly I remembered Herr Manderscheidt's story of the randy young dog. Did Klofft want me to go to his house for a showdown? And would he, as soon as I had said yes, get a hit squad ready to teach me a lesson – on the way back, probably, because he'd want to give me a piece of his mind first?

Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. The man was finished, suffering badly in his isolation. And he might even be dying. Even if he were to suspect there had been something in the offing between his wife and me, even if he had intended to revenge himself on me for it – there could be no question of that now. That phone call had been a cry for help!

In the next few minutes I might have had doubts of my interpretation again and tried another version, perhaps the teaching-me-a-lesson theory, but I didn't get around to it because the phone rang. It was Frauke.

She seemed to be in a bad mood. She let fly at once, asking me what I really wanted and whether I was feeling claustrophobic or what? No, I said, quite the contrary, but it had obviously seemed to
her
too cramped in my apartment. What did I mean? Well, she was out and about all the time today, or had she just not wanted to answer the phone?

Oh, this was ridiculous! She had gone round the corner to the Café Krämer because she felt like eating something sweet. But it had been terrible, a café like that open on a Saturday afternoon, full of old ladies with shopping bags, all dolled up but sweaty, and the cake hadn't been anything to write home about either, she'd left half of it.

I said well, perhaps I could offer her something better. She said she couldn't wait to hear what. I asked if I could invite her to the Etoile for dinner this evening.

After a moment she asked, “Do you mean the restaurant?”

“Yes, of course. This evening.”

She asked if I'd won the lottery. I said, “No, but I did win on a horse at the races.” She asked if I had been drinking since first thing this morning, and I told her the story of Herr Manderscheidt and the rather shady atmosphere, and his theological student with the high voice, but mainly I told her about Black Desire and the girl who was expected to press the horse too hard, but instead she'd won me six hundred euros.

Frauke's temper improved considerably, and when I collected her in the evening she was wearing a little black dress I hadn't seen before, very plain and simple, very elegant, and the necklace I'd given her for Christmas. She wasn't quite so plain and simple when it came to choosing
from the menu and deciding what to drink; we began with a glass of champagne, she suggested a bottle of Côtes du Rhône costing nearly ninety euros with the main course, my monkfish was relatively inexpensive, but in the end my bill came to a good two hundred euros.

However, the evening was worth the money. Frauke was in a very good mood now, she talked amusingly, and I had some trouble in not letting myself in firmly for taking her to the races the next day, Sunday. I left the car where I'd parked it and we took a taxi back to my place.

On Sunday morning we were still reading the papers when the telephone rang.

32

It was Klofft. His croaking voice came over the line so explosively that it startled me, and I held the phone a little way from my ear. Frauke looked up from her paper. I said, “Good morning, Herr Klofft. I got your call yesterday, but it was too late to ring back. I wasn't home until the evening.”

Frauke looked down at her paper again. She doesn't like lies, so she obviously wanted to avoid even the appearance of participating in what I was up to with my client. I said, “I couldn't have come anyway, I was otherwise occupied.”