the police really think his daughter might have anything to do with this man’s death.”
“Has nobody ever told you the police don’t give out such informa-
tion, especially not to relatives of those involved? Or are you just used to always getting what you want?”
“I have no idea what you’re alluding to, Lina. I just want to do you and my friend a favor. If I knew the woman wasn’t a suspect, I could give him a little hint, so he calms down.” He paused. “And doesn’t pull strings. He’s been very discreet so far.”
“And why did he tell you about it?”
“Because I’m his friend.”
She got nauseous from the way her father pronounced friend. She grimaced but pulled herself together and asked in the most matter-of-fact voice she could muster, “So how does your friend make his
money?”
Her father paused, then said, “He owns a long-established private
Hamburg bank. Fifth generation.” He fell silent again. “Only a handful of people know what I’m telling you now. I hope you realize how much I trust you.” Lina heard him draw a deep breath. “The Ansmann & Son 84
Dead Woods
Bank is on the brink of insolvency—though nothing’s final yet. They
suffered tremendous losses during the financial crisis and haven’t managed to recover so far. You understand, Johannes needs all his strength right now to save the family business. I’d like to take off a little pressure by telling him that he doesn’t have to worry about Katja.”
Lina’s thoughts were racing. Why had her father told her this
explosive piece of information? His claim that it was a sign he trusted her was a joke. She almost felt insulted that he thought she might fall for it. Maybe it wasn’t such confidential information; or possibly it wasn’t even true. But her father seemed to think that in exchange for it she would give him what he wanted: eliminating Katja Ansmann from
her list of suspects. It proved how little he knew his daughter because from now on, the dead man’s partner would be on top of that list, in red letters. Lina realized that her father was waiting for an answer.
“If Katja Ansmann is innocent, she has nothing to fear,” she said.
“That much you can tell your friend, in case he hasn’t figured it out on his own.”
“Oh, Lina, I really wish we could—”
“I don’t care what you wish.” She ended the call. It was quiet in the apartment and even the noises from outside were those of a tranquil
Sunday morning: the occasional car; soft music from the house next
door, the one in which a notorious early riser lived; a child’s chatter here and there; laughter. Lina got up and, naked, went into the bedroom.
Lutz had turned to his side and was snoring quietly. For a moment she considered slipping back into bed with him, but then decided against it. Her father’s call had been a mood killer. She was wide-awake now, and her thoughts were on the case.
So she took a long shower in her little bathroom next to the
kitchen. While warm water poured down on her body, she mulled
over the visit to Katja Ansmann’s apartment in Rothenbaum. Had
they been impolite? Absolutely not. At least Max wasn’t. And she herself had hardly said a word to the woman. In her present mellow,
85
Maria C. Poets
Sunday-morning mood, Lina was ready to admit that she might not
have viewed Frau Ansmann the way a detached investigator should
from the very start, but her father’s call had fueled her suspicion. She noticed that she was eager to go. After drying herself, she put on fresh clothes—three-quarter jeans and a T-shirt. She brewed coffee, heated milk for foaming, and finally went to the bedroom with two cups. She put them on the old suitcase that served as her nightstand, sat down on the edge of the bed, and stroked Lutz’s straggly hair. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead and, now that she was freshly showered, she was disagreeably affected by his smell, which told of a long evening in a bar, of sex and lust, and of falafel at one thirty in the morning. She couldn’t help but think of Max, who always looked as if he just came out of the shower, with clothes right from the cleaner—somewhat
sterile and distant, but he still touched her sometimes in a way nobody else ever had, with his voice, his gaze, and the way he tilted his head.
She quickly pushed the thought away.
Lutz squinted when the scent of coffee reached his nose. He turned