Entwined

Chapter 10

Torsen woke refreshed. The moment he got into his office, he pasted up his memos, his suggested schedule for the men. It was still only seven-thirty; he had brought in fresh rolls and was brewing coffee. He typed the past evening's reports furiously and distributed them around the station.

At eight-forty-five when the men began to trickle in to the locker rooms, they saw a large memo requesting all station personnel to convene in the main room for a briefing.

Torsen was placing his notebook and newly sharpened pencils on the incidents room's bare table when he overheard Rieckert laughing as he entered. "It's not just a dwarf, but a Jewish dwarf and..."

Torsen gestured for Rieckert to join him. He kept his voice low, his back to the main room. "I hear you make one more anti-Semitic remark, in the station, in the car, at any time you are wearing your uniform — you will be out, understand?"

Rieckert smiled, said that he was just joking.

"I don't care, I don't want to hear it, now sit down..."

Torsen handed out the day's schedule, and suggested that they should all review their on/off-duty periods. Anyone with any formal or reasonable complaint should leave a memo on Torsen's desk. He then discussed in detail his findings to date regarding the murder of Tommy Kellerman.

The meeting was interrupted by the switchboard operator, who slipped a note to Torsen. It was an urgent request to call his father's nursing home. Torsen telephoned, and the nurse informed him that his father was exceptionally lucid, and had asked to see him.

Torsen returned to the incidents room. "I will not, as listed, be on the first assignment; Rieckert and Clauss you take that, and I will join you at the Grand Hotel. Please stay there until I arrive." Torsen had made clear that they must all remain in contact with each other throughout the day to exchange information and discuss findings. He declined, however, to tell them where he was going. After his pep talk, a visit to his ailing father should perhaps not have taken precedence over the murder inquiry.

Nurse Freda, a pleasant dark-haired girl in her late twenties, was waiting for Torsen at the main reception. "He seemed very eager to speak to you."

"I appreciate your call, but I cannot stay long. I am involved in a very difficult case!"

He followed her plump rear end along a corridor, and into his father's ward. Nurse Freda turned, smiling. "He's been put by the windows today; it's more private, you can draw the curtain if you wish."

The old man looked very sprightly, with his hair slicked back; he had on a checkered dressing gown, and clean pajamas. A warm rug covered his frail knees, and his jaw looked less sunken: He was wearing his dentures.

"Took your time, took your time, Torsen. I don't know, only son and you never come to see your poor old father."

Torsen pulled the curtain, drew up a chair to sit next to him.

The old man crooked his finger for Torsen to come closer. "This is important, I woke up thinking about it and I've been worried stiff. Can't sleep for worrying. Then I had a word with Freda, and it clicked, just clicked."

"What did, Father?"

"You need a wife, you've got to settle down and have a couple of kids, you've got a good job, good pay, and a nice apartment — now Freda, she's not married, she's clever, she'll make you a good wife. She's got good, child-bearing hips."

Torsen flushed, afraid they would be overheard. "Father, right now I don't have a telephone."

"Why haven't you got a telephone? Did they take it out?"

Torsen sighed, they had had this conversation before. "No, remember when you moved in here, I was given a smaller apartment. The telephone has remained in the old apartment, I was not allowed to take it with me."

"How can you work without a telephone?"

"With great difficulty. I have requested one months ago, and today I left a memo in the director's office. Today, in fact, I have instigated many changes, some I am quite proud of."

The old man stared from the window, plucked at his rug a moment, then turned, frowning. "No telephone?"

Torsen checked his watch, then touched his father's hand. "I am in the middle of an investigation, I have to leave."

The old man sucked in his breath and turned around, leaning forward to see the row of beds. Then he sat back. "Dying is a long time in coming, eh?... There are many here, waiting and afraid."

Torsen held the frail hand. "Don't talk this way, I don't want to go away worrying about you."

"Oh, I'm not afraid, there are no ghosts to haunt me, but the dying here is hard for some. They have secrets, the past is their present, and they remember. You understand what I am saying? When you pass by their beds, look at their faces, you'll see. You can hide memories surrounded by the living, but not in here. Still, soon they will be all gone and then Germany can be free."

Torsen wondered what his father would think if he saw the packs of skinheads with their Nazi slogans. "I hope you are right."

The old man withdrew his hand sharply. "Of course I am. We have been culturally and politically emasculated by Hitler, devastated by the Allies, and isolated by the Soviets for more than half a century. Now it is our second chance. The city will be restored as the capital of reunified Germany. We are perfectly placed, Torsen, to become the West's link to the developing economies of the democratic East. You must marry, produce children, be prepared for the future."

The old man's face glowed.

"Father, I have to leave. I will come by this evening."

"What are you working on?"

Torsen told him about the murder of Kellerman, and the old man listened intently, nodding his head, muttering: "Interesting, yes, yes."

Torsen leaned close. "In fact, I was going to ask you something. Remember the way we used to discuss unsolved crimes?"

The old man nodded, rubbing his gums as if his teeth hurt.

"There was an old case, way back, maybe early sixties, late fifties, we nicknamed it the Wizard case... do you remember? The body was found midway in your jurisdiction and I think Dieter's — there may be no connection, it was..."

"How is Dieter?"

"He died, Father, ten years ago."

The old man frowned. Dieter was his brother-in-law, and for a moment he was confused; was his wife dead too?

"Father, can you remember the name of the victim in the Wizard case?"

"Dieter is dead? Are you sure?"

Torsen looked into the perplexed face, and gently patted his hand. "I'll come and see you later."

Torsen drew the curtain back, waved to Nurse Freda to indicate he was leaving. His father began singing softly to himself.

Torsen proceeded to walk down the aisle between the beds. He paused, watching Freda finish tending a patient, then he waited until she joined him.

"I wondered if perhaps, one evening we... if you are not on duty, and would like to join me, for a movie..."

Freda smiled. "Your father has been playing Cupid?"

While Torsen flushed, and fiddled with his tie, she laughed a delightful warm giggle and then asked him to wait one moment. She disappeared behind a screen with a bedpan.

Torsen stared at a skeleton-thin patient, plucking frantically at his blanket, his toothless jaw twitching uncontrollably, his eyes wide and staring as if at some unseen horror.

Torsen turned and hurried out, unable to look, too agitated to wait and arrange a date with Freda.

Rieckert was waiting in the hotel lobby. Torsen hurried to his side, apologized for his lateness, and then crossed to the reception desk to ask if they could go to the baron's suite.

The baron opened the doors himself, and pointedly looked at his wristwatch. Torsen apologized profusely as they entered the large drawing room. Rieckert gaped, staring at the chandelier, the marble fireplace — the room was larger than his entire apartment.

The baron had laid out his wife's and his own passports and visas on the central table; he then introduced them to Helen Masters, who proffered her own documents. Torsen leafed through each one, and then asked if they were enjoying their stay. The baron murmured that he was, and sat watching Torsen from a deep wing armchair.

Torsen noted that their papers were in order; then, standing, he opened his own notebook. "Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The baron shrugged, but looked at the clock on the mantel. Helen Masters interrupted to say they were late for an appointment. Torsen smiled, said it would take only a few moments. He looked to the baron, and asked whether the baroness was feeling better.

"She is, will you need to speak with her?"

Torsen coughed, feeling very uneasy, and he drew up a chair to the central table. "If it is not too much trouble. But if it is not convenient for her I can return at a later date!"

The baron strode toward the bedroom, he knocked and waited. Hilda came to the door. "Is the baroness dressed?"

Hilda murmured she would only be one moment, and the door was closed.

Torsen directed his first question to Helen Masters.

"You arrived by car on the evening in question, that is correct?"

"No, I think we came just before lunch."

The baron sighed. "We lunched in the hotel restaurant, then returned to the suite. Then we left at about three o'clock for Dr. Albert Franks's clinic. We visited with Dr. Franks, and then returned back here. We dined in the suite, and remained in the hotel all evening."

Helen nodded her head, as if to confirm part of the baron's statement. Torsen looked to her, and she hesitated a moment before saying, "I had dinner with Dr. Franks, but I returned here about ten-thirty, maybe a little later."

Torsen asked if on the way back she saw anyone in the street.

Helen laughed softly. "Well, yes, of course, I saw a number of people, the doorman, the taxi drivers, and..."

She looked to the baron. "Your chauffeur, we have forgotten about him. He returned to Paris and then flew to New York, but he would have left before early evening."

"On your return to the hotel did you see a tall man, about six feet, wearing a dark raincoat, and a shiny, perhaps leather, trilby hat?"

Helen shook her head. Torsen looked up from his notes. "Did you see anyone fitting that description at or near the hotel entrance on the night in question?"

"No, I did not."

"Did you see anyone fitting that description in the lobby of the hotel?"

Helen gave Louis a hooded smile. "No, I am sorry. Is this man suspected of the murder?"

Torsen continued writing. "I wish to talk to this man about a possible connection to the murder."

Helen asked: "Do you have any clues to his identity?"

Torsen closed his notebook. "No, we do not. I think that is all I need to ask."

"What was the time of the murder?" Helen inquired.

"Close to eleven or eleven-thirty. We know he was carrying a large bag and that his clothes would have been heavily bloodstained."

Helen asked how the victim was killed, listening intently as Torsen described the severity of the beating.

Helen wanted to know if the victim was with the circus. Torsen gave a small tight smile, wondering why she was so interested, but at the same time answering that the victim was not, as far as he had been able to ascertain, an employee of any circus.

The bedroom doors opened, and Torsen rose to his feet as the baroness, assisted by Hilda, walked into the room. The baron sprang to his feet, crossing to his wife, arms outstretched. "Sit down, come and sit down, the car is ordered."

Vebekka wore a pale fawn cashmere shawl fringed with sable, a fawn wool skirt, a heavy cream silk blouse, and a large brooch at her neck entwined with gold and diamonds. She also had on her large dark glasses. Her face was beautifully made up, her lips touched with pale gloss. She held her hand out to Torsen.

"I am sorry to inconvenience you, Baroness. I am Detective Chief Inspector Torsen Heinz, and this is Sergeant Rieckert."

The baroness's hand felt so frail, he did no more than touch her fingers. She smiled to Rieckert. Hilda helped her to sit, and brought her a glass of water. Torsen noticed how thin the baroness was, how her body trembled, her hands shaking visibly as she sipped the water. He found it disturbing not to be able to see her eyes.

"I need simply to verify your husband's account of the day you arrived in Berlin."

She sipped, paused, sipped again and Hilda took the glass.

"What day?"

The baron coughed. "The day we arrived from Paris, darling."

She nodded, and then looked to Torsen. "What did you ask me?"

"If you could just tell me what you did, during the afternoon, and evening."

She was hardly audible, speaking in a monotone, as she recalled arriving, having lunch, and then going to see the doctor. She reached for the glass again, and this time Hilda held it as she sipped.

"We dined in the suite, I was very tired after the journey."

Torsen placed his notebook in his pocket, gave a small nod to Rieckert as an indication they were leaving.

"Why are you here? Has something happened? Is something wrong?"

She half rose, looking to the baron. "Is it Sasha?"

The baron hurried to her side. "No, no, nothing wrong; something happened close to the hotel the night we arrived, and the Polizei have to question everyone who booked into the hotel from Paris."

Torsen noticed he spoke to her as if she were a child, leaning over toward her, touching her shoulder as if shielding her from harm: "There was a murder, everyone in the hotel is being questioned."

"Is this true?" the baroness asked, and looked concerned to her husband. "But why? Why have we to be questioned? I don't understand, did I do something wrong?"

The baron patted his wife's hand, gently telling her they were asking all the guests in the hotel the same questions.

"You didn't happen to see anyone — perhaps while you were looking out of the window down to the street — at about eleven o'clock, a tall man wearing a shiny hat, carrying a suitcase?"

The baroness seemed unable to understand what he was talking about. She stared at her husband. "I didn't do anything did I? I was in the suite, I never left the suite."

Torsen shook Helen's hand and thanked her. He gave a small bow to the baron. His sergeant was already holding open the door. As they waited for the elevator, Rieckert whispered to Torsen, "She's a sicko. That doctor, Albert Franks, he's a famous shrink! Deals with crazies, hypnotizes them. That's what they must be here for. She's a sicko."

As Rieckert went to collect their patrol car, Torsen waited on the whitewashed steps. He saw the line of taxis waiting for hire, and recognized the driver from the previous night. He crossed over to his Mercedes.

The driver jumped out, started to open the rear door.

"No, no, I just wanted to ask you to spread the word around for me, ask if anyone saw a tall man, wearing a shiny trilby hat, dark raincoat, boots, carrying a bag, on the night the dwarf was murdered."

The driver stopped him with an outstretched hand. "I know the night, we've all been talking about it. But I never saw anyone fitting that description, sir!"

Torsen persisted. "You ever pick up Ruda Kellerman? The lion tamer? Her husband is Luis Grimaldi?"

The driver nodded his head vigorously. "Yeah, picked her up from this hotel, yesterday, took her back to the West, to the circus."

Rieckert drew up in the patrol car, giving an unnecessary blast of the horn. Torsen and Rieckert drove off as the driver went from cab to cab asking if any of them had seen or given a ride to a tall man in a big trilby, with high boots — the killer! As he went from driver to driver his description became more melodramatic... scarred face, huge hands covered in blood. One cab driver did recall driving Ruda Kellerman from the hotel, but then remembered it was after the murder, so he didn't mention it, nor the fact that he had seen her standing on the opposite side of the road, looking up at the hotel windows. He didn't think it was important.

Ruda was feeling a lot happier, the act had run smoothly, the animals seemed to be getting used to the new plinths. She saw to the feeds, checked that the cages were clean and the straw changed, and then, still in her working clothes, went to Tina's trailer. She rapped on the door and waited.

A big blonde with a gap between her front teeth inched open the trailer door.

"Is Tina in?"

"She doesn't want to see anyone, she's been very sick!"

Ruda stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Tell her it's me, will you?"

After a moment the girl returned, said Tina's room was at the end of the trailer. The girl went out as Ruda went inside.

The trailer was small and cramped. Girls' costumes and underwear littered the small dining area. Ruda stepped over the discarded clothes and pushed open the small bedroom door. Tina was huddled in a bunk bed, her face puffy from crying. She wore a flowered cotton nightdress.

Ruda hitched up her pants. "You seen him?"

"No... I can't face him. What did he say?"

Ruda shrugged. "Nothing much. Actually, he sort of suggested I come by, check on you. If you want, I can fix you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry, Oh God!" She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. "It was disgusting, I mean, I dunno why I let you."

Ruda began to tap her boot. "Look, I didn't come here to talk about last night. I just want to tell you something. He will never leave me, Tina, and I will never divorce him. He's old, sweetheart, he's an old man, he's washed up, and without me he's fucked."

Tina stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. "I don't want to hear any more — just get out, leave me alone."

Ruda leaned forward and pressed Tina's stomach. "How far gone are you?"

Tina backed away, her hands moving protectively over her belly. "Three and a half months."

"You're lucky... they don't like terminating after four months."

Tina gasped. "What did you say?"

Ruda smirked. "You heard me, now stop playing games and listen—"

"I don't want to listen to you — you are evil, you are sick. Get out — get out!!"

Ruda cocked her head to one side, kicked the bedroom door closed. "I am here to help you, you stupid little bitch. I can help you, I can give you names, good people you can trust, they'll take care of it."

"I want my baby! I want my baby."

Ruda shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, that's up to you... but I am going to make you an offer. Now listen to me. I am going to give you fifteen thousand dollars — dollars, Tina! You can leave Berlin, go back to wherever you came from, you can have the baby, abort it — whatever you want, but..."

"I don't want your money."

Ruda dug into her pockets. "It's the best offer you'll have, sweetheart — fifteen thousand dollars, in cash, but the deal is you leave before twelve. If you hang around, the money goes down every hour, so you got until twelve o'clock noon, Tina, think about it. I'll be in my trailer, okay?"

Ruda half opened the bedroom door, then hesitated, swinging the door backward and forward slightly.

"You know, I am doing you a big favor. I was married to an old man once, as old as Luis, decrepit, senile, pawing at me. You turn the offer down Tina, and I guarantee your life will be a misery. He's a failure, he's washed up, and you wouldn't last a season with any act he tried to get together. He's scared, Tina, he'll never go into the ring again — everything he's promised, all the lies, are just an old man's dreams."

Tina sat hugging her knees, rocking backward and forward. Big tears trickled down her cheeks. She cringed as Ruda stepped toward her, looked up, almost expecting to be slapped. Instead, Ruda gently brushed the girl's wet cheeks with her thumbs. "Take a good look around this hovel. Now, imagine a cradle, a little baby bawling and clutching at you, needing you, and your body all bloated, your face blotchy. You want to bring it up here? Get rid of it, walk away. It won't hurt."

Tina turned her face away. "I want my baby."

Ruda swallowed. Tina surprised her. "Then go home, Tina. Take the fifteen thousand and get out!" Ruda was almost out of the door.

"Make it twenty." Tina tried hard to meet Ruda's eyes, but they frightened her. She bowed her head, but quickly looked up again when she heard the big deep laugh.

"You're going to be okay, sweetheart. And you know something — I like you. It's a deal."

Ruda whistled as she threaded her way between the trailers. When she reached her own, she eased off her big boots, stacking them outside. She looked up; the rain clouds were lifting. She let herself in silently, and eased open drawers as she collected the money, counting it. She slipped it into an envelope. She heard Luis stirring.

"Hi, how you feeling?"

He needed a shave, his eyes were red-rimmed. She gave a quick look at the bottle — it was a quarter full — and she crossed to him, pulling up the blanket.

"Sleep it off, then I'll fix you something to eat, eh? Rehearsal went well, they are calming down, getting used to the plinths. You were right, you said they'd work out okay."

"That's good," he mumbled. "Do you want a chimp? Lazars got a chimp."

She cocked her head to one side, handed him the bottle. "Here, is this what you want?"

He moaned, said he didn't want a drink, but he took the bottle anyway. She walked out and left him, ran a shower for herself, and began to undress.

The bottle fell from his hand, he stared at the ceiling, one arm across his face. In his drink-befuddled mind, he kept on seeing the fear on Tina's face, her wretched submissiveness. But worse, he couldn't forget the way Ruda had looked at him, because she had looked at him in exactly the same way as when she had ridden on Mamon's back — daring him, mocking him. He tried to sit up, but the room began to spin, he couldn't get on his feet, couldn't stand. He sank back, then reached for the bottle. He held it by the neck, unable to focus.

He yelled: "Rudaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Ruda!"

Ruda held the bottle out for him. He eased himself up, and stared at her. "Thank you."

Ruda was soaping herself when she heard the light tap on the door. She smiled, peeked around the shower curtain, it was almost twelve! She wrapped herself in a towel, was about to call out when she heard the main trailer door opening.

Tina walked into the trailer. It was dark, the blind drawn, she stood in the doorway, unable to adjust to the darkness.

"Want a drink?"

He was stretched out on the bench seat, his fly undone, his shirt hanging out. Tina edged further into the room as he held out the bottle. "Have a drink?"

Tina took a step back, whispered his name, and then in a half sob repeated it. She had somehow not expected him to be there.

"Chimp, got a three-month-old chimp, called Boris... Boris!" He laughed, and continued to drink; he didn't even seem to realize she was in the room.

She jumped when she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and Ruda drew her close.

"Look at him, take a good look, Tina."

Tina squeezed past Ruda into the tiny corridor by the front door. "I did love him. I did."

Ruda pressed the envelope into her hand. "I know. I know you did, but you know as well as I do, it would never have worked out."

Tina fingered the thick envelope. "Because you would never have given us a chance. I'll take your money, Ruda, not for me but for my baby — Luis's baby."

The young girl's eyes stared at Ruda. This time she didn't look away. "We agreed twenty, don't make me count it. You said twenty."

Ruda smiled, touched Tina's cheek with her hand. "Don't push your luck, little girl. I have done only what I had to. It's called survival. You got off lightly, now get out of my sight before I kick you out."

Tina let herself out. Ruda shut the door fast, even faster than she had intended, because right outside the trailer she could see the wretched little inspector. She swore under her breath. Why had she been so foolish? She should have just smiled at him. She took a deep breath and waited. Was he coming to see her?

Torsen and his sergeant were looking at the pair of large boots outside the Grimaldi trailer. They had steel tips! Torsen gave Rieckert a few instructions, which he had to repeat, since Rieckert was distracted by the pretty girl who had just left the trailer. Then Torsen tapped on the trailer door.

Ruda inched open the door and smiled.

Torsen gave her a small bow. "Mrs. Grimaldi, could I please speak to you for one moment — oh! are those your husband's boots outside?"

Ruda hesitated, and then drew her gown tighter around herself. "Yes, why, do you want to borrow them?"

"No, no. May I come in?"

"I'm afraid he cannot see you right now, he's indisposed."

Torsen cocked his head to one side. "It is you I wished to speak to, Mrs. Grimaldi!"

Ruda shrugged her shoulders and stepped back from the doorway. She gestured to her husband, still sprawled out, and then suggested they go into her bedroom. She tossed the duvet over the unmade bed.

"What is it this time?"

Torsen remained in the doorway. "It is with reference to your husband."

"He won't be able to talk sensibly for hours, maybe days. He's drunk."

"No, it is about Mr. Kellerman. You see, when I questioned you, both here and at the city morgue, I asked about the dead man's left wrist. You said you had no knowledge of a tattoo, and you repeated that at the morgue. I have subsequently discovered that the dead man was a survivor of Auschwitz, and the tattoo was his camp identification number. So you must have known what the tattoo was when I asked you. Now I ask you, why? Why did you lie to me, Mrs. Grimaldi?"

Ruda sat for a moment, her head bowed, and then slowly began to roll up her left sleeve, carefully folding back the satin, inch by inch, until her arm was bare. She looked at Torsen.

"Is this a good enough reason for not talking about it?"

She turned over her wrist, her palm upward, displaying a jagged row of dark blue numbers: 124666. Her voice was very low, husky. "When they reached two hundred thousand they began again — did you know that? They were confident that by that time there would be no confusion, no two inmates carrying the same number. You know why? Because they would already be dead."

Torsen swallowed. He had never met a Holocaust survivor face to face. He had to cough to enable himself to speak.

"I am so sorry."

She stared at him, carefully pushing the sleeve down to cover the tattoo. Her eyes bore into his face. In great embarrassment he stuttered that she must have been very young.

"I was three years old, Inspector. Is there anything else you want to know?"

Torsen shook his head, mumbled his thanks and apologies, and said he would let himself out. He hurried to the patrol car, where Rieckert grinned at him.

"I did it, took a shoe box, one of the performers gave it to me. I filled it with mud, then pressed the boot down hard, we've got two good clear prints. I took the right and the left because I wasn't sure which heel we got the original print from."

Torsen started the engine.

"Left, it was the left heel, and they're Grimaldi's boots."

The car splashed through the mud and potholes and onto the freeway. Rieckert opened his notebook.

"I got samples of sawdust from the cages, from all over the place, got it all in plastic bags as they told me. So, what did she say? Why did she lie?"

Torsen stared ahead. After a moment, he said, "She had a reason for not wanting to remember. One I accepted."

Ruda carried her boots to the incinerator, the one used for the rubbish left after a show. She checked the grid. The fire was low, it wouldn't really get going until after the performance, but she tossed them inside anyhow, and waited by the open door to see them ignite. They took a long time, the leather was tough and hard. Gradually they began to smolder and to give off a heavy odor. She slammed the oven closed.

For many years she had controlled the flow of images, fought them, but the smells... they were the worst, they would sneak up on her, and they were stronger because they were unexpected, more difficult to repress; the pictures they conjured up were more powerful, more horrific.

Ruda walked blindly, her hands clenched, taking short sharp breaths. She made her way to the cages as if by instinct, until she arrived at Mamon's. He sprang to his feet, swinging his head from side to side, and she clung to the bars, gripping them so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Ma'angel... Ma'angel!"

Mamon's tongue licked her through the bars, rough and hard. She closed her eyes, comforted by his affectionate, heavy-bellied growl, and she answered him with a part howl, part scream of release, as the pictures faded.

Vebekka was calm on her way to the doctor's. She was seated between Helen and Louis, holding their hands.

She clung to Louis as they went into the reception, where Maja greeted Vebekka warmly. Dr. Franks, wearing a green cardigan and an old pair of gray flannel trousers, sauntered in, kissed Vebekka, and suggested they talk in his sitting room.

"Sit where you will, my dear, and Helen, Baron — if you wish to stay with us, do. We are only going to have a friendly talk..."

Helen touched Louis' arm; she knew Dr. Franks wanted them to sit in the adjoining room and watch through the glass. Vebekka seemed a little afraid when they left, but then sat down.

"And how are you?" Franks asked softly.

"A little better, still weak and thirsty. I keep on drinking as you asked."

"Good, good." He drew up a chair, and then he went to get a stool. "Now, let me get you some iced water, would you like a cigarette?"

Vebekka started to relax. He would not offer her a cigarette if he were going to hypnotize her, would he? She opened her case and he clicked open his lighter. She bent her head, inhaled and leaned back. Franks settled himself in his chair and propped his feet up.

"Tell me," he said quietly, "if you were to describe, in one word, how you feel mostly, what word would it be?"

She let the smoke drift from her mouth, and then cocked her head. "One word?... Mmmmmmmmmmmm — that is very difficult."

The room fell silent, Franks sitting with his arms folded over his chest, Vebekka cupping her chin in her hand.

She flicked the ash from her cigarette. "One word?" she asked again. He nodded.

She continued to smoke pensively for a while, then she sipped some iced water and put down the glass.

"Can you think of a word, Vebekka?"

She turned her face away from Franks and sighed.

"Longing."

He repeated the word, and then smiled. "That is very interesting, nobody has ever said that to me before... longing."

"I long for... always I feel I am longing for..."

His voice was gentle and persuasive: "What, Vebekka, what are you always longing for?"

"I don't know."

The clock was ticking. She could hear a soft voice telling her not to be afraid, that she had nothing to fear, and that perhaps she would like to lie down and rest for a while.

Helen and the baron saw Vebekka smiling and smoking, and then saw Franks help her lie down on the couch. He took a soft blanket and covered her. Her eyes were wide open.

Franks now flicked on the intercom connecting the two rooms, and looked to the two-way mirror. "She is under, I am going to begin now," he said.