Melanie Raabe - The Trap

When Lenzen notices me, he turns and gives me a friendly smile.

“Should I go back out?” I ask. I try to sound lighthearted, but I can hear that I’ve failed.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte says guiltily. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all right,” I reply. “But I don’t think I’ll be needing you anymore today, Charlotte. How about taking the rest of the day off?”

If Charlotte is aware that I’m trying to get rid of her, she ignores it.

“Shouldn’t I go and check on Bukowski first?” she asks.

“Who’s Bukowski?” Lenzen intervenes. My heart seizes up.

“He’s Frau Conrads’s dog,” Charlotte blurts out before I can reply. “Such a cutie, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Lenzen purses his lips with interest. I could cry. Lenzen shouldn’t be in the same room as Charlotte and he shouldn’t know anything about Bukowski. In this appalling moment, I know I was wrong to think I had nothing to lose. There are still things that I am fond of. I have a great deal to protect, and therefore to lose. The monster knows that.

Lenzen smiles. The menace in his smile is meant only for me.

I suddenly feel dizzy. I focus on getting back to my chair without tripping or falling. Luckily, Lenzen isn’t paying attention to me at this moment.

“Are you done?” he asks the photographer, who appears in the doorway just as Charlotte is leaving. She maneuvers her way past him, laughing.

“Nearly. I’d like to shoot another couple of photos during the interview itself, if that’s all right with you, Frau Conrads.”

“No problem.”

I grip the edge of the table. I must calm down. Maybe I should eat something. I let go, satisfy myself that my legs will bear my weight again, and stagger over to the serving trolley. I help myself to a wrap and bite into it.

“Please, have something to eat too,” I say, turning to Lenzen and the photographer. “Otherwise I’ll be left with all this.”

“I won’t wait to be asked twice,” the photographer replies, taking a jar filled with lentil salad.

To my immense relief, Lenzen also gets up and heads to the serving trolley. I hold my breath as he takes a chicken wrap and begins to eat. I do my best not to stare at him, but I can see a smidgen of coronation sauce clinging to his upper lip. I see him lick it off; I see him finish the wrap. I watch in suspense while Lenzen wipes his fingers on a napkin and then finally, as he’s sauntering coolly back to the table, passes the napkin over his mouth.

I can’t believe it. Is it really that easy? I sit down. Lenzen looks at me. We’re sitting face-to-face like finalists at a chess tournament. Lenzen’s smile has vanished.

14

JONAS

Sophie was calm and collected; a less astute observer would hardly have noticed the strain she was under. But Jonas saw her jaw clench whenever Antonia Bug asked her a question.

He looked away. He felt sorry for her. He always tried to see the events through the eyes of the witnesses and the images were often harder to shake off than he would have liked. Without shedding a tear, Sophie had once again given a precise and detailed account of how she had found her sister murdered in her flat. Only the way her knuckles had stood out white under the skin of her clenched fists had betrayed how tense she really was. Jonas was struggling to see her as merely another witness called back for questioning — as a murder witness, not the woman who’d sat on his front steps and, with a few phrases, a few glances, a smile and half a cigarette, dispelled the feeling of alienation that had been plaguing him for so long. A witness, he told himself. Nothing more.

Antonia Bug had been about to ask another question, but Sophie got in first.

“There’s one more thing,” she said. “Of course, I don’t know whether it’s important.”

“Everything is important,” said Jonas.

“I went to see Friederike Kamps yesterday — my sister’s best friend. She told me that Britta had been planning to leave Munich.”

“So?” asked Bug.

“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “It seems odd to me. Britta loved Munich. She didn’t want to leave. When she graduated a year ago, she was offered a great job in Paris, but turned it down because she didn’t want to move to another city.”

Sophie hesitated.

“As I said, I don’t know whether it’s important. But maybe there’s a connection. Maybe Britta wanted to leave Munich because she felt threatened.”

“Did your sister ever mention feeling threatened?” Jonas asked.

“No! Never! I’ve told you that a thousand times,” Sophie snapped.

“And yet you believe…” Bug said. Sophie interrupted her.

“Listen! I’m clutching at straws here. As far as I know, everything was fine with Britta.”

“And you were very close to each other, you said?” Bug asked.

Sophie suppressed a sigh. Jonas sensed that her patience was wearing thin.

“Yes,” was all she said.

“What were you doing at your sister’s at that time of night?” Bug asked.

“Nothing in particular. I’d had a stupid argument with my fiancé and wanted to talk to Britta.”

“What was the argument about?” Bug asked.

Jonas saw Sophie shift on her chair — a preliminary to that uneasy wriggling which he had so often observed when the awkward questions went on too long. He cast a glance at his colleague. Bug was like a pit bull when it came to interrogations.

“I don’t see what that has to do with my sister’s murder,” Sophie replied.

“Please answer my question,” Antonia Bug said calmly.

“Listen, I’ve given you a description of the man who ran out of my sister’s flat. Shouldn’t that be of more interest to you than the ups and downs of my relationship?”

“Of course,” said Bug, noncommittal. “Just a few more questions. What time did you arrive at your sister’s?”

“I’ve already been through all this,” Sophie said and got up. “I’m going to my parents’ now. There’s a lot to do — clear out Britta’s flat and…”

She left the sentence hanging.

‘We’re not finished yet,” Bug protested, but Sophie ignored her and picked up the bunch of keys from the chair beside her.

“Please let me know if you hear anything,” she said to Jonas. “Please.”

She looked him in the eye one last time, then she was gone.

Antonia Bug stared at Jonas.

“If you hear anything?” she echoed. “What’s that supposed to mean? Since when have we been service providers for witnesses?”

Jonas shrugged. His young colleague didn’t know that the witness had only recently been standing at his front door — or rather, sitting on his front steps. Thank goodness she didn’t. If anyone suspected that he’d been talking to a witness about the investigation, he’d be in serious trouble.

“You don’t believe her, do you?” Bug asked.

“Of course I believe her,” Jonas replied. “And so do you, even if you don’t like her.”

Bug snorted. “You’re right, Herr Weber,” she said. “I don’t like her.”

Jonas looked at her and smiled. Sometimes she really got on his nerves, but he liked her bluntness. Bug had only been on the team for a few months, but her drive and gutsiness had almost immediately made her irreplaceable.

“Isn’t it time we were on first-name terms?” he asked. Antonia Bug’s face lit up.

“Toni,” she said.

“Jonas.”

She made a big deal of shaking hands with him, as if to clinch the matter.

“Well,” she said, looking at the clock, “we need to be going next door. Team meeting.”

“All right,” said Jonas. “You go on ahead; I’ll join you in a second. I’m just going out to have a smoke.”