Within the hour, Tayte was standing outside a pair of high wrought-iron gates in Munich’s well-to-do residential suburb of Grünwald, which was to the south of the city centre. It was a green, parkland area on the right bank of the river Isar, which the taxi driver had informed him was the most expensive municipality in Germany. It was populated with lavish mansion houses and was home to the rich and the prominent, which Tayte thought suited Johann Langner’s obvious success very well.
The early afternoon sun felt hot on Tayte’s back as he strode up to the gates and gazed along the driveway, to the house he could only just glimpse through the low branches of the trees that partially obscured his view. He stepped up to the intercom, reached out his index finger to press the button, and then he hesitated, considering that he could be on the brink of discovering a truth he had spent the last twenty-five years of his life looking for.
‘Are you ready for this, JT?’ he asked himself.
He thought back to his visit with Langner at the hospital again, and he was reminded of something else Langner had said. ‘Are you completely sure you want to find out?’ he’d asked Tayte. ‘Wherever it may lead? Whatever the repercussions?’
Tayte took a deep breath and straightened his back. ‘Hell, yes,’ he said under his breath. Then he extended his arm to the intercom and pressed the call button. ‘Hello, it’s Jefferson Tayte,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘I don’t have an appointment, but I really need to speak to Johann Langner.’ After a brief pause, and with a note of desperation, he added, ‘Please.’
Tayte withdrew from the intercom and waited. When nothing happened he stepped closer again, pressed the button and said, ‘I believe Johann Langner is my paternal grandfather. I just want to talk—to confirm things.’
There was still no response, and Tayte began to wonder whether there was anyone home. As his desperation deepened, he pressed the button a third time and said, ‘I know Ingrid Keller is your daughter, Mr Langner. Mrs Keller, that means we could be family.’
Tayte doubted whether Keller had a soft side, but he figured if she did, and if she was listening, that ought to do it. After another thirty seconds passed in silence it was clear to him that he was either wrong, or no one was listening. He stepped away from the gates, turning his back on the house, and gave a frustrated sigh. He thought over all the research, all the discoveries he and Jean had made, and he felt sure he had to be right about Ava Bauer and the child. He turned back to the gates, and this time he almost sprinted up to the intercom.
‘I know about Karl Schr?der,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘He’s my father.’ He let go of the call button and in a softer voice, just for himself, he added, ‘I know he is.’
When nothing happened, Tayte stepped away again. He began to walk back to the road, thinking to sit there and wait for someone to either go in or come out, but as he did so he heard a click and a whir, and he wheeled around to the see the gates begin to open. There was no sound from the intercom, but he took it as a clear sign that his last words had reached someone inside. Now he was being invited in.
Not having his briefcase with him felt odd to Tayte. He missed it, although, as he hadn’t been allowed to copy any of the records he’d seen at the Munich Standesamt, it didn’t really matter that he didn’t have it with him now. Just the same, he still didn’t feel himself without it. The hand he usually carried it in felt awkward and somehow surplus to requirements, so he thrust it into his pocket and tried to forget about it. He hoped Johann Langner didn’t have cause to ask him to prove any of what he’d just spoken into the intercom, because all he had was the list of names he’d scribbled down, and he didn’t imagine that would carry much weight if it came to it.
But being right would, Tayte thought, and he supposed he was only being invited into Langner’s home now because he was.
Partway along the drive, Tayte saw a man he recognised from his first day in Munich. It was Christoph, wearing the same grey suit he’d been wearing when he’d collected Tayte and Jean from the airport. He conveyed little warmth as they met, the limited familiarity between them seeming to curry no favour. Christoph’s only words were, ‘Please follow me,’ which Tayte duly did, thinking the man polite and efficient, if rather more conservative with his words than Tayte would have liked under the circumstances.