Strangers: A Novel(72)
I pick up the envelope and put it back into the book. “It depends on whether you trust me. Despite what happened with the knife, which I’m still unable to explain. Really. And for that reason, I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again, but I swear to you that I don’t want to hurt you. Not in my conscious mind.”
Erik rubs both his hands over his face. He’s pale, says nothing, and just nods.
I can’t let myself forget what he’s been through. Not just today, but in the past few days as well, when he looked after me almost around the clock. It’s only fair I take charge of things now.
And apart from that it feels good—it fits with the version of Joanna I’ve always considered myself to be.
“You sleep upstairs, in the bedroom, you can lock the door there. I’ll take my things and make up a bed on the couch.”
He halfheartedly tries to protest, but I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s the only sensible solution. That way nothing can happen.”
He’s not convinced, but his tiredness wins. “Don’t open the door to anybody, Jo, OK? And if you hear any noise outside, come upstairs right away.”
I promise him. I grab my things and get set up on the couch, trying to beat back the uneasy feeling that’s creeping up inside me.
What if Gabor didn’t believe that I’m spending the night at a friend’s place? What if he sends someone by here to check?
Sleep eludes me. Every sound in the house makes me nervous. I listen for steps outside, for cars passing by—are they slowing down or is it just my imagination?—and even to my own pulse.
It’s past two o’clock in the morning when I finally give up and turn on the television. I keep the volume so low that even I can barely hear it.
There are still special reports about the attack on Munich station, and now the government is speaking up. Security services are on high alert, is the general gist of it, so the population don’t need to be afraid of any follow-up attacks. The only different opinion is that of the chairman of a right-wing populist party, who claims to have seen this coming for a long time and says that Germany is already at war. In between, there are live reports from the station and the same material from this afternoon. It will probably go on like this for the whole night. By now I’ve looked at the images so often that they’re almost familiar. So familiar, that despite the horror in them, I manage to doze off.
* * *
It feels like I haven’t slept any more than three or four hours, but when I open my eyes it’s almost ten o’clock. The television is still on, showing new images of the destruction; this time the large station hall can be seen from the inside. I stare at the images for a few minutes, only now realizing what Erik must have gone through. And all of a sudden I realize what we have to do next.
We can’t just bury our heads in the sand. Erik is convinced that Gabor at least knew about the attack, even if he wasn’t involved in it. Bernhard’s call was practically an admission of conspiracy.
We can’t keep all that from the police.
Or I can’t, to be precise. Because Erik has to stay dead. Until we’re somewhere safe.
A few minutes later I knock on his door. I feel my heartbeat quicken as it stays silent on the other side. Could something terrible have happened up here while I was asleep downstairs?
I knock again. Harder. Louder.
“I’m awake.” His croaky voice says otherwise.
“I’m sorry I woke you, but we have to discuss what we’re going to do next. I’ll make us some coffee, OK?”
A quarter of an hour later we’re sitting in the kitchen, each of us with a steaming mug in front of us. I’ve turned off the television; who knows what the sight of the images might provoke in Erik. I need his complete attention and concentration now.
“We have to inform the police.” He opens his mouth to interrupt me, but then stops as I shake my head. “We can’t get to the bottom of this by ourselves, and if we just sit around and wait, it could cost us our lives. I don’t think Gabor will wait too long before attempting to get rid of us again. Or to get rid of me, to be more precise.”
Erik stirs his coffee; for a few seconds the clink of the spoon against the inside of the cup is the only sound I hear. Apart from a car engine outside. A diesel engine, idling. Not driving past.
In my mind I picture men in black sunglasses taking photos of the house; maybe one of them will get out and try to peer in through the blinds … Everything inside me wants to get up and quickly look outside, but that would be the stupidest, the worst thing I could do …
I’ve barely finished the thought by the time the driver of the car steps on the gas. The sound of the engine becomes quieter, before disappearing completely.
Erik still hasn’t said a word.
“I’ll speak to the police, given the circumstances.” The certainty of my voice surprises even me. “But it would be very helpful if you could give me all the details again. Every moment of doubt you had about Gabor and his people.”
* * *
I’ve made notes for my phone call to the station so I don’t forget anything. I’m guessing that the conversation will be recorded, so I have to sound convincing, particularly in terms of being worried about Erik.
“My fiancé was at Munich station yesterday at lunchtime,” I sob, when I finally get someone on the phone. “He hasn’t been in touch since, I can’t reach him, and no one knows what happened to him.…”