Entwined

Chapter 16

Vebekka's attack was unlike any Dr. Franks had witnessed. He was convinced it was not an epileptic seizure. He looked through her files and saw a report from a doctor dated 1979: "Periods of loss of consciousness... with serious convulsions. Epilepsy brain scan negative." Franks rechecked: The date of the attack coincided with the newspaper incident. He called Helen Masters.

She informed him that the newspapers were still in the package that had just arrived. Franks asked her to read the papers and look for clues, and call him first thing in the morning. Helen replaced the phone. Seeing Vebekka taken away looking so defenseless had upset her more than she liked to acknowledge, and yet she couldn't talk to Louis, he had asked her to leave him alone. The newspapers were in Louis's room; she would have to wait until morning.

She sat for a long time deep in thought, going over the meeting with Frau Klapps, and then she shook her head and went to her desk. Neatly written side by side on a piece of paper were Ulrich Goldberg's number in Philadelphia and Frau Klapps's office number in Berlin. Though it was very late, Helen Masters decided to dispense with proprieties and call Lena Klapps. The phone rang four times but no one answered. Helen decided that it would be best if she were to wait until morning.

She waited up, pacing the room and reading, until two o'clock in the morning. She decided then that the time difference would allow her to catch Ulrich Goldberg early in the evening. She excused herself for intruding, but explained that the baroness, Rebecca, his cousin's daughter, was very ill, and they needed to know as much about her background as possible to help her recover. Ulrich hesitated; he did not understand what assistance he could give.

"My cousin and I were not on friendly terms. It is a personal matter that I would rather not speak of with a stranger."

"Rebecca is very ill, Mr. Goldberg."

There was a long silence; then he told Helen that the rift was over religion. His cousin's wife, Rosa, had never converted to Judaism, and the couple made no attempt to bring up Rebecca as a Jew. This became a matter of bitter contention. Also, David Goldberg had achieved financial success, whereas Ulrich had failed. When he had asked David for help, it was offered only on condition that they accept Rosa into the family.

"Most likely you cannot understand what this would have meant, to me, to my wife and my sons. My wife is the daughter of a rabbi, and one of my sons was to be ordained. My cousin left me no option but to sever ties. It was a sad day..."

"Can you tell me about Rosa?"

Ulrich paused, and then said sharply, "She was very cold, aloof. Exceptionally intelligent, but deeply disturbed. She thought we were persecuting her husband when nothing could have been further from the truth. She was quite cruel to me and my wife about a small debt. For the last fifteen years of her life she was bedridden. I would say she was a deeply unhappy woman."

When Helen asked about Rebecca he took his time to answer. "They had a great deal of trouble with her in Canada, I was told, but she seemed to settle down in Philadelphia. All in all I've seen her maybe three or four times."

"Was she adopted?"

Ulrich Goldberg coughed, and asked her to repeat the question.

"Were you aware of the fact that Rosa Goldberg couldn't have children?"

"Yes, I guess."

"Then you knew Rebecca was adopted?"

"I was never told."

"Was it perhaps because she may have been adopted illegally?"

"As I already told you, we were not close and in Philadelphia we didn't see one another much. I was not privy to his affairs."

"Mr. Goldberg, I am very grateful to you for talking to me. If you think of anything which may be of help to my patient, please contact me. May I give you my number at the hotel?"

Helen gave him the information and then, almost as an afterthought, asked how well he knew Frau Lena Klapps. She was surprised to hear that he had never met her, he had traced her only via Rosa Muller's address book. The sole telephone number he found for her was at work, at the bureau of records. After the death of his cousin, he had wished to contact anyone who might know his cousin's heir. Not being in touch with Rebecca, he did not even know if she was still alive.

"My cousin left everything to Rebecca, and it was at his funeral that I last saw her. She refused to let me go into the house. At the funeral she spoke to no one. She left almost immediately after she was told she was the only beneficiary of David's will. We were disappointed, had a misguided hope that David would forget our differences... but he left everything to her. We knew he was rich, but the fortune was much larger than we could have guessed. Rebecca's husband's lawyers settled the sale of the house and business."

Helen hung up and began to pace the room once again. Louis had remarked on a number of occasions that Vebekka had inherited her father's estate. What he had never disclosed was that it was vast. If his lawyers had settled the estate, he had to know... Clearly he had lied about not knowing her true name. Helen found herself wondering whether Louis wanted to divorce Vebekka, or simply have her institutionalized so as to gain full access to her money — or had he access to it already?

Helen's mind reeled. She knew she had to speak to Lena Klapps, but now it was truly far too late to call her. She decided the best thing was to see her before Frau Klapps went to work.

Helen jumped when she heard a knock at her door. It was Louis, he said he couldn't sleep, and excused himself by saying he had seen her light was on. He was hesitant. "I feel in need of some company."

Helen smiled, and said she was glad that he had come in because she was anxious to read through the papers. Louis looked puzzled for a moment, and then remembered the package. "Oh. Yes, of course."

"I promised Dr. Franks I would look through them before tomorrow. We can do it together."

Helen followed Louis into his suite. He asked if she was hungry, and she realized that she was. "Yes, maybe a sandwich." Louis picked up the phone and asked room service to send up some seltzer water and chicken sandwiches, then he went to get the newspapers.

They sat at the large oval table. Louis took out five newspapers and chose The New York Times. "I was reading the first section, and Vebekka had the real-estate section. Helen?... Helen, did you hear me?"

Helen stared at him, her arms folded. "Why didn't you tell me? You've known all along she was Rebecca Goldberg! I just don't understand why you have lied to me!"

Louis looked for his glasses. Finding them, he slipped them out of their case. "Haven't we been through this?"

"No. Why did you never tell me Vebekka was an heiress?"

His eyes flashed angrily over the half glasses, but he spoke with detachment. "Perhaps, my dear, I did not think it was any of your business."

Helen was stunned. "Not my business? I see. Why am I here. Louis?"

He opened the paper. "Because at your suggestion, we brought Vebekka to Dr. Franks."

"And you didn't think it was important that I know her real identity? Louis. Ulrich Goldberg told me about the money, he said your lawyers settled the estate."

"They did, and very well. They have cared for my finances since I was a child."

The room service arrived and the seltzer water and sandwiches were placed on the table, but Louis continued to look through the paper, not acknowledging either the waiter or Helen as she poured his drink and put it by his elbow. She sat opposite him, and reached for the newspaper.

"it Vebekka is Institutionalized, will you have access to her fortune?"

Louis still did not raise his bead, "it's immaterial, there isn't much left. I presume the costs of keeping her in any kind of nursing establishment will eat into what little remains."

He continued turning the pages, muttering that he couldn't find anything that could possibly be of significance. His reluctance to look up and speak to her directly infuriated Helen. Suddenly, she reached over and snatched the paper from his bands. Louis tried to retrieve it, and in so doing knocked over the glass — it spilled over him and he sprang to his feet, snapping: "That was a bloody stupid childish thing to do!"

"Was it?... Was it?"

He stared at her coldly. "Yes, it was." He removed his glasses, picked up a napkin, and began to wipe oil Ins dressing gown.

Helen patted the table dry with a napkin. "I am trying to understand you. You knew all along Vebekka was the daughter of David and Rosa Goldberg, but you never told me, you simply stood by.is I kept making inquiries like an idiot. You wasted my time! Now I find out your wife inherited millions — another small fact you deliberately withheld."

Louis burst out in fury, "Leave me alone, just leave me alone!!" Helen watched in exasperation as he retreated into his bedroom.

She collected herself and started to gather the newspapers. The front page of the Times had fallen on the floor. Helen bent down and picked it up. It was wet and she dabbed at it with her napkin. Her eye fell on a small article at the bottom right-hand corner. ANGEL OF DEATH FOUND. Helen glanced over the single paragraph: Josef Mengele, the most wanted Nazi war criminal, had been found dead on a beach in Brazil...

Frenzied, Helen was looking through the other papers, scanning each page, when Louis returned, shamefaced.

"Helen, I'm sorry... You are right, perhaps we should talk."

She turned to him. "I think I've found it. Remember you told Franks how terrified she was of a dark angel? You said you heard her sobbing that night, just after the newspaper incident. Look at the bottom of the front page."

Louis took the stained paper in his hands. "What am I looking for?"

Helen leaned over his shoulder and pointed. "Angel of Death... Josef Mengele, it's mentioned in two papers, small paragraphs, but they seem to be a possible link to her screaming; to her nightmare of the dark angel!"

Louis read the articles while Helen paced up and down. "If she was adopted in Berlin, perhaps this is the connection. Louis, I am sure she was adopted..."

"I did not know she was adopted, believe me, I didn't know. Where is all this leading us? If you think there is a connection, what should I do?"

"Just be honest with me, trust me. You must trust me, because if you don't, then there is no point in my being here."

He took her hand in his and gave her a small bow. "I apologize. I am grateful to you. I don't really know how I would have coped without you."

His hesitancy was touching, he seemed so vulnerable. "I know what you're thinking, Helen. But my mother gives me a small allowance; everything is tied up in trust funds for my children. When Vebekka came into her money, it was a relief, it meant I could care for her and continue to live as I always had. My decision to have her institutionalized is in no way connected to her fortune — it's gone. In fact, I will be dependent on my sons for the upkeep of the chateau, the apartments."

"And your life, Louis? What about your life?"

"I still have my allowance, and I can sell the polo stable. It will break my heart, but if it comes to that, then so be it... I think it is time we went to bed, if you will excuse me..."

He slipped his arm around her shoulder. "Good night, Helen." He gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

She walked toward her bedroom, not even turning as she said: "Good night, Louis."

She was certain that one could be very easily drawn into a life of luxury, of Rolls-Royces, of fabulous restaurants, flowers and expensive gifts. Louis was a very handsome man, his light, almost careless kiss made her all the more aware of how much she was attracted to him, and how easy it would be to take their relationship one step further. Helen knew he had mistresses, but she also knew that such a life was not for her. Suddenly she faced her own loneliness. She had always justified being alone, thinking to herself it was her choice; she even considered herself a very private person.

"You are so private, Helen, that no one even knows you exist!"

She said the words out loud, to her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and returned to her bedroom — everything was neat and tidy, the bed cover was turned down in anticipation. She lay for a long while staring up at the ceiling. It was time she returned to Paris. She had given enough of her time, and with very little thanks. But then she remembered Vebekka. It had been at her instigation that Vebekka had come to Berlin. Helen was too deeply involved to extricate herself. But from now on she would distance herself from Louis.

Helen left the hotel very early the next morning. She did not wake Louis, but left a note saying she would meet him at Dr. Franks's and to be sure he took the newspapers to the clinic.

Helen looked along the taxi stand and saw the chatty driver who had taken them to Charlottenburg. He was dozing in his Mercedes. She tapped the window, and got in beside him.

"Same address?"

"Yes, the same! Frau Klapps, I want to get there before she leaves for work."

"No problem, there's no traffic at this hour."

Inspector Heinz was at his desk by seven-thirty and began to plow through the vast amount of paperwork. He worked on until eight-thirty, then opened the morning paper. There was a large article on the front page with a picture, MAMA MAGDA DEAD. He read the piece, turned to the next page, and then flicked back. Now there was a coincidence: He had seen Ruda Kellerman entering Mama's club on the same night Mama Magda had died. He scribbled a note on his ever-ready pad and continued to read, checking on the time because he wanted to be at the records bureau when it opened at nine.

Rieckert came in with a black eye and a Band-Aid on his cheek. Torsen looked at him, and asked what kind of trouble he had run into. Reickert sat down. "Acting on your orders, sir, we tried to disband the hookers working off from the trailers. We warned them and told them to move their trailers. Out of nowhere, four big bastards jumped out, armed with iron bars, and they bloody beat us up. Kruger is in the hospital.,

"Did you make any arrests?"

"You must be joking. We hardly made it into the local station's courtyard. We radioed them to open the gates for us. The bastards chased us, were on our tail for miles, their car was a hell of a lot faster than ours: a big four-door Mercedes! When we got there they banged and hammered on the gates. Have you heard about the damage they did?"

"This is madness, are you telling me the pimps chased... chased the patrol car?"

"Yeah!.. overtook us twice, it was a near miss, one got me through the window — I had to have a stitch, cut my head open!"

"Could you recognize them?"

Rieckert sat bolt upright. "I'm not going back there, they'd bloody kill me. They're huge, muscle guys!"

Torsen's attention returned to his desk. He looked down at the paper. "There will be war out there. Mama Magda's died, last night. Most of those trailers are hers, so God knows what's going to happen!"

Rieckert leafed through the newspaper. "She must have been worth millions, I'm surprised nobody bumped her off before."

"It was a heart attack, she was over eighty... and the size of an elephant."

Reickert made himself more comfortable on the seat. "They open tonight, will you be using your ticket?"

"Excuse me?"

"The circus, they gave us free tickets, remember? They open the big show tonight."

"I'd forgotten... yes, yes, I think I will use my two."

Reickert left for the kitchen and Torsen called the nursing home and asked to speak to Nurse Freda.

"I have tickets for the circus... tonight, I'm sorry it's short notice, but I was wondering... if you aren't on duty, if you would care to..."

Freda giggled that she would love it. She acted so pleased that Torsen blushed with embarrassment. They arranged to meet at seven.

Torsen issued his orders for the day, and said if he was needed he could be found at the records bureau. He left, taking one of the few patrol cars in good condition.

Tommy Kellerman was buried by a rabbi from the Oranienburger Tor area. His body was taken to a run-down quarter where Eastern Jews lived. No one attended his burial. The plain black coffin was taken from the morgue before sundown, as Ruda Kellerman had requested. The costs were forwarded to the station, and Torsen planned to pass them on to Ruda Kellerman, care of the circus.

Vebekka had slept soundly, and had even eaten some breakfast. She found herself in a small, white-walled room, with an old iron bed frame painted white. The chest of drawers was also white, but a bowl of flowers provided some color. At the center of the door there was a keyhole, but no handle on the inside. A white tiled bathroom was off the room, but it had no door and no mirror. There was no telephone.

Dr. Franks drew up the only chair in the room.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine. Do I have to stay in this room?"

"Only for a little while, then we'll go into my study. You remember you were there yesterday?"

She nodded. Franks told her that her husband had called and he would be in after breakfast. If she felt like it she could have a bath and get dressed. If she needed help, all she had to do was ring the bell by her bed, and Maja would be with her in no time.

She put her head back and said: "They should never have brought me here, it's very closed in, I feel it..."

Franks cocked his head, and held her hand. "Feel what?"

"I don't know, a presence. I've felt it before, but not this close."

Franks threaded his fingers through her long perfect slim hands. "Maybe we will find out what this presence is, make it vanish."

She gave him a sad smile. "They've sent me away this time, haven't they? Ah well... I suppose it had to come."

"You are not away, Vebekka, you are here, in my clinic, until we sort things out. You do want me to help you, don't you?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't think anyone can help, I hoped He came closer to her. "I want more than hope, my dear. I want what you want, I want you to get well, I want you to help yourself, and for you to help me help you... okay?"

He returned to his office and picked up his notes, carefully transcribed from the day before. He had underlined two passages:

These were Vebekka's own words, describing what her mother had done and had told her to do. Franks was sure that the key Vebekka's mother had told her to throw away was at the root of her problems. He was so engrossed in thought that he hadn't noticed right away that his phone was blinking. The baron had arrived, bringing the newspapers. He told the receptionist to show the baron in, a little irritated he was so early.

Frau Klapps opened the front door while eating a piece of toast. She was about to slam the door in Helen's face, but Helen put her foot across the threshold.

"I know this is an intrusion, but I have to speak to you. Please, I won't take more than a few moments."

Lena turned and walked into the hall, pulling the door open. She led Helen into the living room.

"I have to leave for the bus in fifteen minutes!"

"I understand. I'd be happy to give you a lift to the bureau in my taxi."

Lena walked out of the room and returned carrying a cup of coffee, but did not offer Helen one. She stood with her back to the large bookcase.

"I told you everything I know. I don't see how I can assist you any further."

"You have worked at the records bureau for many years? Is that correct?"

Lena nodded. She picked at a stain on her skirt with her fingernail, the same gray pleated shirt she had worn on Helen's previous visit. She sat in the typist chair, looked to Helen as if to say, "You may continue."

"I have checked the hospitals for any record of your sister. You mentioned that she worked at one of the large hospitals just after the war, when she came back to Berlin. They all referred me to the records bureau. You head the bureau, don't you?"

Lena continued sipping her coffee. When Helen asked her just how long she had worked in the bureau, she swiveled slightly in the seat.

"You have no right to pry into my affairs, Miss whatever-your-name-is. I have told you all I know. Now please I would like you to leave."

"If you won't help me then you leave the baron and me no choice but to go over your head at the bureau. I want to know whether your sister adopted a child, and I want to know the background of this child. I don't care, Frau Klapps, if the adoption was legal or illegal, all I am interested in is to try to help a woman who lives in a nightmare."

Lena stared into her empty coffee cup; a small muscle twitched at the side of her mouth.

"We all have our nightmares."

"No, no, we don't. Are you telling me that a sister, a sister you grew up with, didn't make contact with you when she returned to Berlin, that she didn't try to see you?"

Lena looked up, her eyes filled with hatred — whether for Helen or her sister, Helen couldn't tell. She banged the cup down on the table.

Helen was losing patience; she didn't mean her voice to rise but she couldn't help herself. "All I want is to know more of Rebecca's background, I am not interested in yours..."

Lena whipped round. "Please keep your voice down, I don't want my husband to hear you!"

She clasped her hands together. "No one has ever been interested in me. When we were children it was always Rosa this, Rosa that. She was the beautiful one, the clever one. She had everything, looks, brains... everything. And you know something else? She was always happy, always smiling, as though she had some secret, something filling her life. My father doted on her, worshiped her... she broke his heart."

Lena tightened her lips. Helen remained silent.

"She refused to listen to him. He pleaded with her to break off her relationship with David Goldberg, it was very embarrassing for him, for all of us. My father was a very well-respected scientist, with many connections, my brothers—" She lifted her hand to her forehead, as if unable to continue. She turned her back to Helen and faced the bookshelves. "When Mama died, I cooked and cleaned and waited hand and foot on him. But he wanted Rosa, always wanted Rosa. She made a fool of him, a fool of us all, but she refused to listen... and then, then she became pregnant."

Lena remained with her back to Helen, her arms wrapped around herself.

Helen had to know more. "You told me Rosa had an abortion, but I need to..."

"It was not an abortion."

Helen half rose to her feet: Rebecca was their daughter after all?

"My father and my brothers locked her in the house, and my father... he performed the operation himself, he sterilized her."

Helen sat back, shocked.

Lena's hand shook as she patted the coiled bun at the nape of her neck, but she looked defiantly at Helen. "Rebecca is not my sister's child."

Helen's face remained neutral, but she pressed her hands firmly against her thighs.

Lena moved closer, and stood in front of Helen. "I lied to you, I did see my sister again. She was working at the main refugee hospital with children picked up from the streets, from the camps, from everywhere. It was my job to keep a record of how many, of their names — that is if they knew their names. My father and my brothers were dead. I lived in the cellar, in the rubble of our old home, for years... and I hoped, hoped she would come back one day."

Lena repeated the same dismissive wave, as if she were shooing away a fly. "One day, smiling, she drew this child forward, she said... 'This is my daughter, Lena, this is Rebecca.'

Helen stood up. "You have a record?... the child's last name?... the adoption papers?"

"There were no papers, no documents. The child couldn't even talk. She came from Birkenau."

Helen closed her eyes, and pressed her fingers to her eyelids. Suddenly she heard a loud banging, and her eyes flew open. Lena was hurling books from the bookshelf.

"She left me, she left her family, and all I have are these... these, and a broken-down man! Rosa was happy, she was always happy!"

Helen reached for her handbag and picked up her coat. Lena began to weep uncontrollably. "Why, why did you come here? Go away, leave us alone."

Helen asked gently if she could offer Lena a ride; Lena shook her head, wiping her face with her hands. "No, just go away."

One of the large medical books had fallen by the door to the living room. It was an old volume, and it had opened to a picture of a brain, with diagrams pointing to the front lobe. The World of Hypnosis.

Helen picked up the book. "Hypnosis? Frau Klapps, do you know if your sister was ever..." The book was snatched out of her hand before she could say another word. Lena held the book close to her chest.

"This was my father's, this was my father's book, go away... Go away!"

Helen left, the door slamming shut behind her. She ran down the steps to the waiting taxi.

Ruda was in high spirits, singing in the shower. She washed her hair and tied a big towel around it. She called out to Luis that she would be only a moment longer. He shouted back that coffee was on the table, he was going over to check the meat delivery truck, it had just arrived.

She whistled as she sat down to breakfast, fresh rolls and black coffee; the newspaper lay folded on the table with a large bunch of flowers. Luis had printed a card with "Congratulations!" scrawled across it; she smiled and poured herself a cup. She bit into the bread and opened the paper — then slammed it onto the table: MAMA MAGDA DEAD.

Ruda read the article, and then leaned on her elbows, staring at the fat woman's face. Then she laughed, it was very fortuitous. With Kellerman dead, it was as though luck were suddenly on her side. She had a contract with Ringling Bros., the show was to open that night, and she was feeling good. Even Luis had remained sober and seemed as pleased at her success as she was.

She finished her breakfast, then took a pair of scissors and cut out the article. Folding it neatly, she got up and went into her bedroom. She pulled up the stool, and stood on it to find her black box. She felt around the cupboard and took it out, putting it down on her dressing table. She bent down to fold back the carpet and get the tiny key. When she straightened up, her eyes fixed on the old box. She turned it around, and saw the scratches on the hinges, the indentation where Grimaldi had tried to force it open. She had replaced the lock after Tommy Kellerman had broken it, now Luis had done the same. It could be no one else. Luis.

She unlocked the box and knew immediately that the contents had been touched. Her heart hammered inside her chest as she took out the small ribboned pile of clippings. She slipped the new cutting under the ribbon, then relocked the box. She felt as if the contents were burning into her hand... the memories began, like scars opening, bleeding...

Inspector Heinz checked his watch, it was after nine. He asked the receptionist again if he could go into the records room, and she apologized. Frau Klapps was never late, and she was sure she would have called in if she was not coming. She suggested Torsen have a cup of coffee somewhere. Torsen scribbled a note asking for both records to be ready for him, together with any record of a marriage license between T. Kellerman and a woman of the same name, Ruda.

Torsen headed for Mama Magda's; he wanted to know who was taking over the club and to discuss the problem of the influx of prostitutes.

Eric was checking over an order for flowers while examining swatches of fabric for redecorating the club.

Torsen pushed through the beaded curtain, getting one string caught in his lapel. Eric looked up fleetingly, then returned to his color charts.

"I am Chief Inspector Torsen Heinz from the East Berlin sector."

Eric turned and sighed. "Not another one... the police have already been here this morning, and last night there were more police than customers. What do you want?"

Torsen asked if there was some place they could talk privately. Eric led him into Magda's office. It smelled of stale tobacco, as did the entire club. Eric perched himself on Magda's cushions and Torsen sat on the chair opposite the untidy desk.

"I would like to talk with you, since you are taking over the clubs. We must try and stop prostitution from getting out of hand. I believe Magda controls the..."

"Did. I am her principal beneficiary, Inspector, I was her husband, so let's get down to business — how much do you want?"

Torsen frowned. "I am issuing a warning, I am not here to be bribed, it is against the law. You were not attempting to..."

Eric screwed up his face, trying to recollect if he had ever seen this one with his hand out. He sat back and listened as Torsen said that four of his officers had been attacked and chased. Eric interrupted him.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow, you say your men were chased?"

Torsen elaborated. His men had been chased by four men in a high-powered Mercedes; the license plate was being checked. He was there simply to warn the new management that he would not allow such things to continue.

Eric pretended to be greatly concerned, and agreed that he would personally look into the girls and the pimps he knew that were working in the West.

Torsen was about to leave when he remembered to offer his condolences. Eric murmured his thanks with downcast eyes, and then regaled Torsen with the details — how he had been sitting exactly where the inspector was when she keeled over...

"It was a strange night, there was this woman Magda insisted she knew, and the woman insisted she didn't know her. I think it was this woman's fault she had a heart attack, Magda really got agitated about her, screaming and carrying on, as only Magda could do "

Torsen rose to his feet, hand outstretched. Eric jumped up.

"Ruda, that was her name... shot out of here, and Magda hit the roof, wanted her boys to grab her, you know the way Magda was, but I'd never seen that woman before."

Torsen hesitated. "Ruda Kellerman?"

Eric shrugged. "Don't ask me, but she put Magda in one hell of a mood... eh, I shouldn't grumble — she's dead, and I don't mind telling you, telling anybody, I've waited a long time for that to happen."

Eric continued talking as he led Torsen out of the club. Torsen headed up the stairs and back to his car.

Eric returned to the bar, and snapped his fingers at the barmaid.

"Get me Klaus, I need to know who we've got working over in the eastern sector, how many girls et cetera. Do you think this plum color would look good on the wall?"

Not waiting for a reply, he returned to the office to order the fabric. It was a coincidence that Torsen had been sitting barely two feet away from the carving knife which had sliced through Jeczawitz's arm.

Torsen waited as Lena put down the file disks for the rest of the J's. She then handed him two more files on Kellerman.

"Thank you, this is very kind of you!"

She nodded, but walked out without saying a word. Torsen followed her with his eyes, and then turned his attention to the files. Perhaps she had had a bad morning.

Two hours later, his back aching from straining forward to see the screen, Torsen got lucky. He found the registration of the marriage license between Rudi Jeczawitz and a Ruda Braun. Stamped across Ruda's name was no documentation available. She had signed her name with a strange childish scrawl.

He was even luckier with Thomas Kellerman and his wife, also Ruda Braun. He took copies of both licenses and matched the handwriting. Ruda Braun's signature was identical to Ruda Jeczawitz's. His heart was pounding in his chest as he looked from one document to the other. He gathered the papers to put them into his briefcase. As he did so, he realized his newspaper was tucked inside; he was about to throw it away when he looked again at the MAMA MAGDA DEAD. The first line of the article now leaped out at him. "Last night one of the most well-known women of West Berlin's red light district, the infamous Magda Braun, know as Mama Magda..."

Torsen's head was spinning thinking of all the coincidences as he made his way back to the station. He was sure he had enough evidence to interrupt his director's holiday and ask for permission to arrange a warrant for the arrest of Ruda Kellerman.

As usual, the station was virtually empty, most of the officers having taken off for lunch. He had to wait five minutes before they opened the yard gates to let him drive in. Once in his office he began to lay out all the evidence he had accumulated to date. He had to make sure he didn't commit any errors. Ruda Kellerman was now an American citizen — and a famous performer. This would be his first arrest for murder, he could not afford to make a mistake. He ran his fingers through his hair, flicked through his streams of notes, and then tapped with his pencil. He should have commandeered the boots. He still didn't know if they were Grimaldi's or Ruda's, or if they were in this together. He swore, checked his watch; it was almost one o'clock. He needed to get a search warrant.

His phone rang, he snatched it up. It was the manager from the Grand Hotel, who wanted to discuss the nightly invasion of prostitutes outside the hotel entrance; they even walked into the foyer of the hotel! Torsen said he would send someone over straightaway. He was then caught up in endless phone calls: There were more burglaries from tourists' cars than they could deal with, but the backlog of work would, Heinz knew, eventually be finished. The rabbi called, asking when he would be paid for Kellerman's funeral. Torsen diverted the calls to the operator, and then told her that he had to go to the circus.

"Yes, I heard you and Rieckert have free tickets!"

"I'm going on business, I'll be using the patrol car, contact me directly if need be. Have you got someone to take over from you?"

"We've got three candidates, but this is a very old board, you have to have experience..."

"I want someone on that switchboard day and night, is that understood?"

The receiver was slammed down and Torsen stared at his phone; he hadn't had any lunch and it was already two o'clock. He picked up the rabbi's bill; he would use it as an excuse to talk to Ruda Kellerman, and then ask if he could take the boots. If he waited around for a search warrant, it could take hours.

Grimaldi was looking for Ruda, he'd not seen her since breakfast. She was late for feeding time; since she always fed the cats herself, he was worried that something had happened to her. When he saw the inspector making his way around the puddles, he hurried toward him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I was just coming to see you, or your wife. I have the bill for Kellerman's funeral costs; you recall she said she would pay it."

Grimaldi shrugged. "I don't know where she is, but come on inside."

Torsen stepped into the trailer, wiping his feet on the grid, noticing the boots weren't there. He sat on the bench turning his cap around and around, as Grimaldi opened the rabbi's envelope. He examined the bill briefly, and delved into his pockets. "I'll pay you — cash all right?"

The inspector nodded. Grimaldi counted the notes, folded them, and handed them over. "Not much for a life, huh?"

Torsen opened his top pocket, asked if Grimaldi required a receipt. He shook his head, and then crossed to the window, lifting up the blind. "This isn't like her, she's never late for feeding, I wonder where the hell she has gone."

Torsen tried to sound nonchalant, but he flushed. "Perhaps she went to Mama Magda's funeral."

Grimaldi stared. "Who the hell is she?"

Torsen explained, embarrassed at his attempt to be a sly investigator. "She was a famous West Berlin madam; she died last night at her club, Mama's... I believe your wife was there."

"What are you talking about?"

"She was at Mama Magda's — I was told about nine, nine-thirty."

"Bullshit! She was in the ring, we had a dress rehearsal. You got the wrong girl!"

Torsen pointed to the newspaper on the table. "It was in the papers this morning, Mama Magda... photograph."

Grimaldi snatched the paper and opened it. "I've never heard of her, and why do you think Ruda was there?"

Grimaldi looked at the paper, but the article had been cut out. He said nothing, tossed the paper back onto the table.

Torsen was extremely nervous, the big man scared the life out of him. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I'm sorry to inconvenience you."

Grimaldi sniffed, and rubbed his nose. "She's never late!"

"Do you have a leather trilby, or a similar hat — a shiny black hat?"

Grimaldi turned. "Do I have a what?"

Torsen stuttered slightly as he repeated his question. Grimaldi shook his head. "No, I never wear a hat."

"Does your wife?"

"What? Wear a hat? No, no."

Torsen explained why he had asked, that the suspect in the Kellerman murder wore a shiny black hat. Possibly it was Keller-man's own hat, worn as a disguise.

Grimaldi sat on the opposite bunk, his legs so long they almost touched Torsen's feet. "So you think I had something to do with Kellerman's death? Is that why you're here?"

Torsen swallowed, wished he'd brought someone with him. "I am just following a line of inquiry... an unidentified man was seen leaving Kellerman's hotel."

Grimaldi nodded, his dark eyes boring into Torsen. "So why do you want to know if Ruda's got a trilby?"

Torsen tugged at his tie. "Our witness could be mistaken. Perhaps the person leaving, er, the man with the hat, was in fact a woman."

Grimaldi leaned forward and reached out to hold Torsen's knee, His huge hand covered the entire knee, and he gripped tightly.

"You suspect Ruda? I told you, she was here with me all night, I told you that, and I don't like these insinuations."

Torsen waited until Grimaldi released his kneecap.

"We also have a good impression of a boot, or the heel of a boot. Would it be possible for me to... to check the... if I could look at your boots, and your wife's boots?"

Grimaldi stood up, towering above Torsen. "The only boot you will see is mine — as it kicks your ass out of my trailer, understand? Get out! Out! Fuck off out of here!"

Torsen stood up, closed his notebook and stuffed it into his pocket. "I just need to check your boots for elimination purposes. If I am required to return with a warrant, then I shall do so."

Grimaldi loomed closer, his voice quiet. "Get out... come back with your warrant and you'll fucking eat it — get out."

Torsen slipped down the steps as the door slammed shut so fast behind him it pushed him forward. He returned to his patrol car, his legs like jelly. Next time he would get a warrant, but he'd send Rieckert in for the boots.

Grimaldi went over to the meat trailer. All the trays were ready, Mike and the other young hands were finishing the preparation of the meat. Grimaldi leaned against the chopping board. "She still not shown up?"

Mike said nobody had seen her, but the cats were getting hungry. Grimaldi glanced at his watch, said to leave it another half hour. Then he looked at Mike.

"Eh, where did you say you put my hat?"

Mike chopped away, not looking up. "Mrs. Grimaldi took it from me, I dunno know where it is."

Grimaldi stood at the open door, cracked his knuckles. "You ever meet that little dwarf, the one that got murdered?"

Mike flushed slightly, because he knew that Mrs. Grimaldi had been married to that dwarf. He covered his embarrassment by carrying the trays out to the waiting trolley. "No, I never saw him."

"I think I did," said another voice.

Mike jumped down, not hearing the other young hand who was running water into buckets. Grimaldi turned, easing the door half closed.

"What did you say?"

The boy turned off the taps. "Day we arrived, I think it was him, I dunno, but he came in here, well, came to the steps, asked for Ruda, she was out by the cages."

Grimaldi leaned on the chopping table. "You told anyone this?"

The boy started to fill another bucket. "Nope, nobody's asked me!" He turned back to Grimaldi.

"I saw him later talking to Ruda, so I presumed she must have said he was hanging around here. Have they caught the bloke that did it, then?"

Grimaldi rubbed the boy's shoulder with his hand. "Yeah, they got the bloke, so don't open your mouth, we don't want those fuckers nosing around here any more than they need to... okay?"

The boy nodded, and Grimaldi went out. "I'll see if I can find that bloody woman."

Grimaldi walked through the alley between the cages, and then he stopped. She had lied, Kellerman had not only been to the circus, but he had talked to her! He shrugged it off; maybe she just didn't want anyone to know she had been married to him. He thought about the hat, and then his heart began to pound. He remembered seeing her in the meat trailer, the night of Kellerman's murder... she had been covered in blood, it was all over her shirt and trousers. Shit! He remembered asking why she wasn't wearing one of the rubber aprons... He stopped again, dear God, he had been so drunk that night he wouldn't have known if she was in the trailer or not!

Grimaldi ran back, slammed the door behind him, and went into Ruda's bedroom. He opened the wardrobe, searching for the shirt, trying to remember what clothes she had worn that night, but gave up, he couldn't remember. He rubbed his head. What did that little prick want to check their boots for?

The sound was half moan, half sob, but low, quiet, it unnerved him. He looked around, heard it again. He inched open the small shower door; she was naked, curled up in the corner of the shower, her arms covering her head, as if she were hiding or burying herself.

"Oh, sweetheart... baby."

He had to pry her arms away from her head, her face was stricken, terrified. She whispered, "No... please... no more, please no more... red, blue, red, red, red... blue, green..."

Grimaldi didn't know what to do, she didn't seem to recognize him, see him. Her voice was like a child's. He couldn't understand what she was saying. Some sort of list of colors, the plinths? Then he heard distinctly:

"My sister, I want my sister, my sister, please... no more..."

He took a big bath towel, gently wrapped it around her, talked quietly, softly, but she refused to move. He tucked the towel around her and closed the door. The cats needed to eat if there was to be a show, their routine had to be maintained. He went back to the trolley, and for the first time in years he fed the cats. They were very suspicious, snarling and swiping at him, but they were hungry and the food was their priority... except for Mamon.

If Grimaldi even went near the bars, Mamon went crazy. He couldn't get within arm's length of the cage to throw in the meat. Grimaldi swore and cursed him, then got a pitchfork and shoved the meat through the bars. Mamon clawed at the fork, his jaws opened in a rage of growls and he lashed out with his paws. He didn't want the meat, he never even went near it, but prowled up and down, up and down, until Grimaldi gave up trying and returned to the trailer.

She was in exactly the same position, curled up, hiding now beneath the bath towel. He knelt down, talked to her, keeping his voice low, encouraging her to come out. He was talking to her as if she were one of the cats. "Come on out, that's a good girl, good girl, give me your hand... I'm not going to hurt you, that's a good girl."

Slowly, inch by inch she moved toward him, crawling, retracting, and he kept on talking, until she allowed him to put his arms around her. Then he carried her like a baby to the bed, held her in his arms and began to rock her gently backward and forward.

"It's all right, I'm here... everything's all right, I'm here."

He wanted to weep, he had never seen her like this.

"Sister, I want my sssssister..."

She felt heavy in his arms as he continued to rock her, and then he eased the towel from her face; she was sleeping. He was afraid to put her down in case he woke her; he held her as he would the child he had always wanted, sat with her in his arms, and said it over and over.

"I love you, I love you, love you..."

Then he saw the box on her dressing table, saw beneath the old ribbon the newspaper clipping, "Angel of Death," and he whispered, "Dear God, what did they do to you? What did they do to you, my baby?"