The entry hall was wide and empty except for a wardrobe and an
old chest of drawers. Lina opened the dresser. It was used for storing shoes. When she checked the sizes, she found that Leon was a size 26, Katja a 41, and Philip a 44. Katja owned at least six pairs of pumps in different colors and nothing heavier than a pair of suede boots with heels. There was nothing that one would wear for traipsing through the woods and muddy undergrowth. Lina closed the dresser and turned
to the wardrobe. Handbags, jackets, and shawls—all of top quality.
Katja’s perfume lingered in her jackets. Philip’s jacket emanated the scent of a manly aftershave. Next to the living room was the child’s room. Lina looked in quickly: toys on the floor, a child’s bed, shelves with picture books and more toys, a wardrobe, and a dresser. The window in Leon’s room looked out onto a leafy backyard. The kitchen was next to the child’s room. Shiny surfaces, all in lacquered burgundy or stainless steel. Everything brightly polished, expensive design, upscale appliances. Beside the espresso machine stood leftovers from last night: pasta with a red sauce on two plates, one of them a child’s plate. Who had eaten with the boy? Philip or Katja? Or the sitter? There were
three used coffee cups and a wineglass. A narrow door led from the
kitchen to a balcony with the same view of the backyard as from Leon’s room. Lina opened the door to the pantry. Not much there: Italian
antipasti, Italian espresso, Spanish olives. Lina had not seen the names 10
Dead Woods
or packaging in her supermarket. Probably from gourmet foodstores.
There were tons of those around here.
The room next to the kitchen was furnished like a home office,
with a desk, a chair, a computer, and shelves with folders and technical books on computer science and programming languages. In front of
the window stood a pullout couch and a little table. A squash racket hung on the wall. A film of dust indicated that it hadn’t been used in a while. In a bookcase that divided the room were a few worn paper-backs, a stereo system from B&O—like the one in the living room—
and a flatscreen TV. Was it an office that could also serve as a guest room or a refuge when there were quarrels and stress?
The bedroom was on the other side of the hallway. The window
overlooked another backyard, a gloomy one, with some ivy as ground-
cover. A king-size bed, little tables without drawers on the left and right, a wardrobe the size of a minibus. The linen had the fresh scent of laundry softeners. It made Lina sneeze. A large print of Kandinsky’s Lyrical hung on a wall. When Lina had first seen the painting, what she saw was a puking rat, not the jockey it was meant to represent. Things are not always what they first seem to be.
There were marble tiles in the bathroom, and the furnishings came
from Villeroy&Boch. A few splashes of toothpaste were visible on the mirror and a large fluffy towel lay on the floor.
Lina could hear the boy’s whining in the living room, faint at
first, and then increasingly loud. She went back in. The parquet floor squeaked a little under her feet.
“You better leave now,” Katja Ansmann was saying as Lina entered.
“As you can see, the child’s getting restless.”
Lina wanted to say something, but Max had already gotten up.
“Of course, we understand,” he replied. “Are you sure you can
manage by yourself? Do you have a girlfriend whom you could call?”
Katja Ansmann nodded and led them to the door. “Thank you. I’ll
be all right.”
11
Maria C. Poets
Back in the car, Lina reached for her paper cup of coffee. It was
lukewarm now, of course. She took a sip and grimaced. She rolled her neck and it creaked with each rotation. Max looked at her. “Too much gymnastics?”
Lina grimaced once more. She had finally gone kickboxing again
last night, which Max belittled as gymnastics. She sighed. “When I was young, I used to be able to tolerate more.”
Max laughed. “Don’t act as if you’re ancient. Twenty-nine’s just
barely adult.” She looked even younger, maybe early twenties. “So,
what do you think?”
“It doesn’t look like she was very moved by the news.”
Max didn’t say anything. He had heard people scream when they
were told, or cry quietly, or collapse without a sound. Some sat there as if they were frozen, while others made coffee as if an old acquaintance had come for a visit, someone they hadn’t seen