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.…”
The officer tries to calm me down, and I let him. After a few moments, I continue with a softer, more composed voice. “It was so strange yesterday. You know—I think Erik suspected that something wasn’t right. There were a few attempts on his life in the past few days. And looking at it in hindsight, it seems to me like his company could be involved in the attack. I also got this very strange call from one of his coworkers yesterday. He warned me, you know.”
“Really?” The officer is now listening attentively, but with caution as well. He probably gets ten people an hour calling him with some conspiracy theory. “Would you come to the station and go on record about your suspicions?”
I was afraid of that. “No. I’m sorry, I don’t want to leave the house right now. I don’t know if I’ll reach you alive.”
“Fine. Then we’ll send someone over to you. This afternoon around two; please make sure you’re available, on the phone as well.”
I give him the address and hang up.
* * *
The three hours until the scheduled arrival of the police feel like three days. Just before twelve, Ela calls, distraught, wanting to know if Erik has turned up yet, saying that she can’t find him on any of the lists—neither the survivors list nor the casualty list.
It hurts to have to lie to her, but if I want to keep Erik’s cover intact, there’s no other way. “No. No sign of him.” I whisper into the phone. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll come by.”
“No.” That was a little too quick. “Please don’t. I didn’t get a moment’s sleep the whole night and I just took a sleeping tablet. Maybe tomorrow, hopefully by then…” I didn’t finish the sentence, but Ela understands.
“Oh God, yes. Hopefully.” I can hear her hesitating, like she wants to say something else but doesn’t really know what. “You sound almost like you used to before. Like you care about Erik. So do you? Are you remembering?”
He is sitting opposite me, and looks up when he realizes I’m staring at him. Tries to smile.
“No,” I say. “Not even a little. But I’m still so terribly worried about him. And no, I don’t understand it either.”
We promise that we’ll contact each other right away if we find out anything about Erik, then Ela hangs up.
* * *
When the doorbell rings shortly after two, it almost takes superhuman effort for me to open the door. The two men I can see through the spy hole could just as easily be Gabor’s people. Dark pants, dark jacket. Only when one of them holds up their ID do I open the door.
We sit down in the living room. I wanted Erik to wait upstairs until the policemen are gone, but he insists on hearing as much of the conversation as possible. So he’s sitting in the pantry, and I hope there’s nothing in there that makes him sneeze.