stopped talking when the coffee was served. “You’ve seen
our apartment. I’m sure you remember Philip’s study,” she asked Lina, 291
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while mixing the foamed milk and the espresso, without sugar. Lina
nodded again without saying anything. “That’s where he also slept.
Always. I told him the truth shortly before we moved in together: we would live together, go out together, raise our son together, but nothing else was going to go on. That meant that we both were absolutely free to enter other relationships. Of course he agreed. This arrangement brought him nothing but advantages. He got an apartment and a
girlfriend with a desirable pedigree, whom he could show off and who could smooth his upward climb. And he could have his fill of other
women, as long as he was discreet—which he was.”
“Weren’t you ever afraid he could use this situation against you; for example, that he could blackmail you? I mean, he probably knew that
you were a lesbian, didn’t he?” Lina asked.
Katja Ansmann shook her head. “He couldn’t be sure. I assume he
had his suspicions; he wasn’t stupid. But he had no proof. What could he have done? After all, there was Leon, testimony of our intimate relationship—once, at least. The finances were in order. He contributed
to the costs of running the household, but otherwise we used separate accounts. He didn’t have to tell me what he did with his money, and
my money always remained mine.” Or your father’s, Lina thought.
“How long were you going to keep up this facade?”
“Until it would no longer work, for some reason or other. Until
Leon was old enough to ask questions about separate bedrooms, for
example.”
Or until Philip had come to rely on her for money, Lina thought.
“What do you know about Inoware’s bankruptcy?” she asked.
Katja looked indignant. “Not much. Philip told me almost noth-
ing, except that Frank Jensen had made a fatal mistake and might even have engaged in industrial espionage.”
“And you never asked for details? I mean, you once worked as his
consultant. I’d have thought you would be interested in how Inoware
was doing.”
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“Of course I asked him, but he always just told the same story: it
was Frank Jensen’s fault, and that was the end of it for him.”
“It was you who helped him get the new job, wasn’t it?”
Katja Ansmann sighed. “Of course. That’s all I needed, for him
to hang around the house all day and live off me. It was shortly after Leon’s birth.”
Lina studied the woman. She not only seemed to know exactly
what she wanted, but also to have the courage to simply take it. Lina didn’t know whether to admire Katja Ansmann for her unusual relationship with Philip Birkner or to be repelled by the fact that she had more or less bought the man. In the final analysis, it didn’t matter what she thought as long as the two of them were content with the arrangement. “Did Herr Birkner ever express any doubts about Frank Jensen’s guilt?”
Katja Ansmann shook her head. “No. At least not to me.”
“Did he ever mention the name Daniel Vogler to you? I mean, in
connection with the bankruptcy of Inoware?”
More head shaking. “No. But again, Philip almost never talked
about it.” Another tiny smile appeared on her lips. “You shouldn’t forget that we didn’t have your average relationship. We easily discussed art, theater, or Hamburg politics, but avoided personal topics.”
No wonder, then, that she knew nothing of Birkner’s past, of the
murder of Julia Munz, or of his attending the same school as Daniel
Vogler.
“So you also didn’t know that Philip raped a classmate when he
was seventeen?” Lina watched Katja Ansmann carefully.
Katja turned pale. She put one hand over her mouth, and Lina
could see that she was truly shocked. “Excuse me?”
“During our first conversation you said that Philip had no ene-
mies, until you remembered his former employee, Frank Jensen.” Lina
was quiet for a moment. “Please consider the question again. Is it really 293
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impossible for you to imagine that your . . . domestic partner might have alienated people from time to time?”
Katja Ansmann closed her eyes. She raised her shoulders as if she
were cold and rubbed her arms, most likely unaware of the gesture.
Finally she nodded and looked at Lina. “Oh, yes, I can imagine it quite well. To me, Philip was always very charming and helpful—the perfect gentleman, an elegant old-school gentleman.” She laughed. “Even my mother was taken with him, and she’s a stickler for etiquette.”
Then she turned serious again. “But I suspect that he acted quite differently with people who were of