Melanie Raabe - The Trap

“Yes,” I say, “a very good relationship.”

I swallow. No emotion now — no pain. Keep going.

“Do you consider yourself to be a good father?” I ask. His hand goes to his temple; it’s definitely a pattern.

“Um…yes,” says Lenzen.

A weak point. Good. I hope he’s wondering what I’m driving at with all these questions. I hope it’s making him nervous. Nervousness is good. He needn’t know that I’m not driving at anything; that my only aim is to disconcert him.

“Do you draw inspiration from real-life events?” he asks.

“Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.”

“And in your latest book?” As if he didn’t know.

“Yes.”

Time to hit below the belt.

“Have you ever raped a woman?” I ask. Lenzen frowns and gives me a shocked look.

“What’s all this about?” he asks. “I don’t know if I like your mind games, Frau Conrads.”

He looks genuinely aghast. I feel tempted to applaud.

“Just say no,” I say.

“No,” he says.

The angry furrow between his eyebrows is still there. Silence.

“What’s your dog called again?” Lenzen asks at last.

“That’s your question?” I ask in surprise.

“No, it slipped my mind, that’s all,” he says.

Is it supposed to be a threat? Has he started talking about my dog because he can imagine how much I love the creature and how unbearable it would be to me if anything were to happen to it?

“Bukowski,” I say and am about to start on my next question when Charlotte appears in the door.

I jump because I had quite forgotten she was still here.

“Sorry to bother you again,” she says, “but if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I think I will be getting on my way now.”

“That’s fine, Charlotte,” I say. “You go home.”

“By the way, there’s supposed to be a storm this evening. Remember to close all the windows before you go to bed.”

“All right,” I say. “Thanks.”

The thought that I am about to be left alone in the house with Lenzen is not an agreeable one. But even less agreeable is the way his dangerous eyes are turned on Charlotte. She goes up to Lenzen, her hand held out. He rises politely.

“It was a real pleasure to meet you,” says Charlotte, brushing a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear. She blushes.

Lenzen smiles noncommittally, sits down and turns to me again. Once more I see him through Charlotte’s eyes: his composure, his charisma. People like that have a talent for getting away with almost anything.

“Maybe see you around,” Charlotte says.

Lenzen only smiles. I realize that he’s not flirting with her — she’s the only one flirting. He’s barely taking any notice of her; all his attention is on me. Charlotte hangs around a moment longer in the dining room, like a woman who’s been stood up, while Lenzen’s eyes are on me again. She gives me a quick nod, then she’s gone.

I draw a deep breath.

“Your assistant and I had a little chat earlier on, and found out by chance that we live only a few streets away from one another,” Lenzen explains casually. “Funny that we’ve never met in Munich before. But you know how it is — once you know someone, you’re always bumping into them.” He grins at me, gets up, grabs a wrap from the caterers’ serving trolley, bites into it, chews. Advantage.

His threat is clear to me. He has realized that I am fond of Charlotte. And he has told me that it is not remotely in my power to keep him away from her.

19

JONAS

He could feel himself losing control, growing irrational, but couldn’t do anything about it. He had no business being here. What was he doing, calling in on the witness?

During the night, something had shifted in the atmosphere over the city. The light was different. The leaves on the trees had not yet started to change color, but he had sensed, as he walked through the streets, that summer was coming to an end, autumn on its way.

Jonas parked the car, got out, rang the bell. The buzzer sounded. He stepped into the hall and began to walk up to the fourth floor. Sophie was waiting for him at the door.

“It’s you!” was all she said when she recognized him.

“Please tell me they’ve caught him!”

Jonas swallowed. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sophie would assume there had been developments in the investigations.

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why? More questions?”

“Not really,” Jonas replied. “May I come in?”

Sophie ran her hand through her hair, hesitating for a moment.

“Of course,” she said. “Please. I’ve made coffee.”

Jonas followed her along a hallway cluttered with cardboard boxes.

“Are you moving?”

“No,” Sophie said tersely, “my fiancé’s moving out.” Then she snorted and corrected herself.

“My ex-fiancé.”

Jonas didn’t know what to say, so said nothing.

“Would you like to sit down?” Sophie indicated one of her kitchen chairs.

“I’d rather stand,” Jonas said. “Thanks.”

He looked about him at the big, light, high-ceilinged room: whitewashed walls, a few framed reproductions — Egon Schiele, he thought, but wasn’t sure. A solitary orchid stood on the windowsill, an empty coffee cup beside it. The dishwasher was on; there was something comforting about its gentle drone.

“Milk and sugar?” Sophie asked.

“Just milk, please,”

Sophie opened a carton of milk and pulled a face.

“Shit,” she said. “It’s off.”

Furious, she emptied it into the sink.

“Damn!” She turned away from Jonas, put her hands on her hips as if to steady herself, and grimaced, struggling to hold back the tears.

“I don’t mind it black,” said Jonas. “The caffeine’s what counts.”

Sophie forced a smile, poured Jonas a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

“Thanks.”

Jonas took a sip and went over to the big window where a radiant blue sky was flaunting itself.

“Wonderful view you have here,” he said.

“Yes.”

Sophie went to stand beside him. They were silent for a while.

“Sometimes I think I’ll stay in here forever,” Sophie said. “Not go out anymore. Stockpile a few years’ worth of groceries and never set foot outside again.”

“Sounds tempting,” Jonas replied with a smile.

“Doesn’t it?” Sophie said. She gave a wry chuckle, then grew serious again. She turned back to look at the sky.

“Do you know what kind they are?” she asked, as two darting birds shot past the windows, making breakneck maneuvers to dodge the roof of the house opposite.

“They’re swifts,” said Jonas. “They spend all their life in the air. They live and mate and even sleep on the wing.”

“Hm.”

Jonas watched Sophie as she looked out at the swifts, a smile on her face. She had split up with her fiancé. What did that mean? He took a sip of coffee.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve come?” Sophie eventually asked, turning to him.

“Yes,” said Jonas, “of course.” He cleared his throat. “There’s one thing I’d like to say first. I completely understand what you’re going through at the moment. Really I do. But you’ve got to stop carrying out investigations on your own.”

Sophie looked at him as if he’d slapped her in the face. Belligerence flashed in her eyes.

“What makes you think I’m carrying out my own investigations?” she asked.

Jonas fought down a sigh.

“People have complained,” he said.

Sophie frowned, put her hands on her hips.

“Oh yes?” she said. “Who?”

“Sophie, I’m telling you this for your own sake. You’ve got to stop. You’re not only hindering the investigation, you might even be putting yourself at risk.”