What are they playing at? They've had plenty of time to fix it by now. He could only assume that the telephone masts had been damaged in the storm. Either that, or the high seas were affecting the underwater cables. Then, to his relief, he discovered a far simpler explanation. His instinct was to fix the problem and carry on, but then he was struck by a terrifying thought. The phone hadn't rung since Kai called two days ago. And the reason was obvious. Someone had disconnected it at the wall.
38
Isabell wasn't answering her phone, so Viktor decided to act. He couldn't sit at home all day waiting for her, Kai or Anna to call. It was time to take control.
It took him a few minutes to clear out the top drawer of the bureau in the hall. He was looking for a battered red notebook in which his father had compiled a directory of useful phone numbers. He read through the ‘A's, then turned to ‘G’ for ‘guesthouse’. He let it ring twenty-three times before he gave up.
He smiled wryly. What do the Marriott Marquis in Times Square and the Anchor on Parkum have in common?
He tried again, hoping that he had dialled the wrong number on his previous attempt. After a while the ringtone cut off of its own accord. No answer.
He stared out of the window. It was raining so heavily that he could barely see the long line of dark waves rolling in from the open water towards the beach.
Thumbing nervously through the notebook, he read through the entries under ‘H’.
This time he was in luck. Halberstaedt, unlike Trudi and Isabell, was prepared to take his call.
‘Good morning, Patrick. I'm terribly sorry for disturbing you at home. I've been thinking about the advice you gave me, and if the offer still stands, I'd appreciate your help.’
‘The advice I gave you,’ echoed Halberstaedt, puzzled. ‘I'm afraid I don't follow.’
‘Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't think twice about walking there myself, but what with the rain and everything, I was hoping you might pop next door and . . .’
‘And what?’
‘Tell Anna that I need to speak to her. It's urgent.’
‘Speak to who?’
‘Anna,’ said Viktor. ‘Anna Glass.’
‘Never heard of her.’
Viktor detected a low whistling in his right ear. It seemed to be getting louder.
‘Come on, Patrick, you said you knew she was dangerous as soon as she got off the boat. You accused her of killing my dog.’
‘You must be mistaken, Dr Larenz.’
‘Mistaken? I've lost count of the number of times you warned me about her. You insisted on keeping an eye on her. Remember what she did to Sindbad?’
‘But I haven't seen you all week – or Sindbad, for that matter. Are you sure you're all right?’
The noise was loud enough to be tinnitus. It had spread to his left ear.
‘Listen, Patrick, I don't know what the hell you're—’ Viktor stopped abruptly and listened to the voice in the background.
‘Is that her?’
‘Who?’
‘Anna. Is she there?’
‘Dr Larenz, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm on my own here, as usual.’
Viktor gripped the handset with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a lifebuoy.
‘But that's . . . I mean, it's not . . .’ He didn't know what to say. Then he had a sudden thought. ‘Hang on a moment.’
He ran back to the hall and picked up his dressing gown. To his relief, he found what he was looking for: the loaded gun. It was in the pocket where he had left it, proof that he wasn't going mad.
He ran back to the phone.
‘Listen, Patrick, I've had enough of this nonsense. I'm standing here with your pistol.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is that all you've got to say? Aren't you going to tell me what's going on?’ demanded Viktor, raising his voice to a shout.
‘Well I . . . The thing is, I . . .’ stuttered Halberstaedt.
Viktor heard the change in his voice and knew at once that someone was with him, telling him what to say.
‘All right, Patrick, I don't know what you're playing at, but I'm running out of time. I need to speak to Anna immediately. Tell her to meet me in her room at the Anchor in an hour. Come to think of it, you should probably join us. We may as well get things out in the open.’
He heard a sigh. Then the voice changed again. The mayor's nervous, almost grovelling tone was gone. ‘Don't be ridiculous, Dr Larenz,’ he snapped with unbearable arrogance. ‘Like I said, I don't know any Annas. And even if I did, you'd be wasting your time at the Anchor.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It's been closed for weeks. There's no one there, not even Trudi.’
The line went dead.
39
Searching for truth is like putting together a jigsaw without knowing how many pieces are in the box.
Viktor had begun by assembling a framework of questions. Now he was working from the outside in, which meant coming up with answers to impossible questions like:
Why was he feeling ill?
Who killed Sindbad?
What was the connection between Halberstaedt and Anna?
And:
Who was Anna Glass?
A single phone call could have answered the latter, but he didn't have time to make it. The phone rang just as he was reaching for the handset.
‘Who is she?’
At long last! He was so overcome with relief that he didn't know what to say.
‘Who is she, Viktor?’
‘Isabell!’ he exclaimed, finally finding his voice. He didn't know what to make of her aggressive tone. ‘I'm so pleased you phoned. Did you get my messages? They wouldn't put me through.’
‘Uh-huh, I bet you were desperate to speak to me!’
‘Yes, I spoke to the staff at reception. What's the matter? I couldn't make sense of your telegram. You sound angry with me.’
‘Ha!’ There was a furious silence, punctuated only by the crackling of the transatlantic line.
‘Darling,’ said Viktor nervously, ‘why don't you tell me what's wrong?’
‘Don't call me darling! Not after what happened yesterday!’
Viktor was beginning to lose his temper. He held the receiver to his other ear. ‘Perhaps you could stop yelling and tell me what I've done.’
‘Fine, if you're going to play games, I'll have to spell it out. Let's start with a simple question: what's the name of your little tart?’
Viktor laughed out loud. He could literally feel a tenton weight being lifted from his shoulders. So that was why Isabell was angry: she thought he was having an affair.
‘Don't laugh like a little kid. And don't treat me like an idiot.’
‘But that's not . . . Isabell, please! You know I'd never cheat on you. Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘I specifically asked you not to treat me like an idiot. Tell me who she is!’
‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ said Viktor, angry again.
‘I'm talking about her, the woman who picked up the phone when I called the house yesterday.’
Viktor blinked in confusion, still trying to process what she was saying. ‘Yesterday?’
‘Yes, yesterday! Half past two in the afternoon if you must know.’
Anna. She was here in the afternoon. But she couldn't have. . .
Viktor's mind was racing. For a moment he experienced a sensation of giddiness as if he were disembarking from a long-haul flight.
‘How long have you been seeing her? All those lines you fed me about needing space, needing time to reflect. You're despicable; pretending to work on an interview when really you were using our daughter's memory to cover up your sordid affair!’
I was watching Anna the whole time. The whole time except. . .
The phone rang in the kitchen. She was meddling with my tea.
The memory of Anna in the sitting room returned to him like a boomerang, taking him by surprise. He sat d
own abruptly.
But I only left her for a second. . .
‘Anna.’
‘I see, Anna. And her surname?’
‘What?’
He hadn't realized that he had spoken out loud.
‘Listen, Isabell, you've got it all wrong. She's not my mistress.’
Oh God, I sound like a cheating husband who's sleeping with his secretary. Don't worry, it's not what it looks like.
‘Anna is a patient.’
‘You're sleeping with a patient?’ Isabell was becoming hysterical.
‘Good heavens, no! Our relationship is strictly professional.’
‘Strictly professional?’ More loud, mocking laughter. ‘Of course it is! In that case, perhaps you'd like to explain what she's doing in our house! You're not seeing patients anymore, remember? And what would a patient be doing on Parkum? For Christ's sake, Viktor, this is so humiliating. I'm going to hang up.’
‘Please, Isabell, I can see why you're angry, but give me a chance to explain. I'm begging you.’
Silence. The ear-splitting siren of a New York ambulance echoed across the Atlantic Ocean.
‘If I knew what was going on here, I'd tell you. But you've got to believe me: I'm not sleeping with the woman who spoke to you on the phone. All I can tell you for certain is that I'd never cheat on you, never. You'll have to trust me because I can't explain the rest. Five days ago there was a knock on the door and a woman calling herself Anna Glass asked for a consultation. She said she was a children's writer suffering from schizophrenic delusions. I don't know how she tracked me down and I don't know where she is now, but her condition sounded so unusual, so intriguing that I agreed to give her therapy. She was supposed to leave Parkum four days ago but she's trapped on the island because of the storm.’
‘Interesting story. You've got quite an imagination,’ snapped Isabell.
‘It's not a story, it's the truth! She had no right to answer the phone. I popped into the kitchen and I guess she must have picked it up without me knowing.’
‘It didn't ring.’
‘Pardon?’
‘She got to the phone before it rang. She must have been waiting for someone to call.’
Viktor felt as if someone was pulling a rug from under his feet. There was something strange about Anna Glass; something he couldn't begin to fathom.
‘Isabell, I don't get it either. The strangest things have been happening since she arrived. I fell ill, someone attacked me, and I think Anna knows what happened to Josy.’
‘What?’
‘She knows something about Josy. I've been trying to contact you for days. I wanted to tell you that we might have a lead. Kai's on the case again. And someone withdrew all our savings. I thought you might be able to help me, but I couldn't get hold of you, and then this morning I got your telegram.’
‘I've been trying to contact you. That's why I sent a telegram.’
The phone was disconnected.
‘I know. Someone disconnected the phone.’
‘Please, Viktor, don't insult my intelligence. A woman appears out of nowhere, she tells you a story about our daughter, she waits by our phone, says something she shouldn't, and disconnects the call. Is that honestly the best you can do? A story about a drunken one-night stand would have been more convincing!’
Viktor didn't hear the last sentence. An alarm bell had sounded halfway through Isabell's tirade. Said something she shouldn't?
‘What did she say to you?’
‘At least she had the decency not to lie. She said you were in the shower.’
‘But I wasn't! I was in the kitchen, talking to Kai. Then I told her to leave,’ protested Viktor. He was on the verge of hysteria and he shouted the next sentence at the top of his voice. ‘I barely know the woman: she's a patient!’
‘She seems to know you pretty well.’
‘What's that supposed to mean?’
‘She called you by your pet name. The name your mother gave you, the name you supposedly hate so much that you've never told anyone apart from me!’
‘Diddy?’
‘That's right! And you know what, Diddy? You can go to hell!’
With that, she slammed down the phone. A single monotonous tone sounded from the handset.
40
Never before had Viktor felt so trapped, so hunted as he was feeling now. Anna had invaded every aspect of his life. She wasn't the first to cross the line and harass him at home, but usually there was a clear, although by no means rational, explanation as to why a patient should take an interest in his personal affairs. In Anna's case, the threat was veiled and inscrutable. He couldn't understand what she wanted from him or why she was using a false name – the name of a student who had been poisoned. Why had she lied to him and to Isabell? And, more importantly, what did she know about Josy?
Viktor had a feeling that he was missing something. The events of the past five days were undoubtedly linked. Everything that had happened was part of a strategy whose goal would become apparent if he could figure out where each episode belonged in the chain. He hadn't succeeded so far.
Mercifully, he seemed to be recovering from his illness, probably because it was twenty-four hours since his last cup of tea.
He took a long shower and pulled on some clothes.
I suppose I should do some washing, he thought as he picked up yesterday's jeans. He turned out the pockets and threw away the mountain of used tissues. A slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Even as he stooped down, he knew exactly what it was: the note that had dropped out of Anna's wallet several days earlier. In his panic, he had scooped it up, stuffed it into his pocket and forgotten about it. The tiny rectangle of folded paper reminded him of a love note passed between teenagers at school. He didn't know what he expected it to say, but it was profoundly disappointing. Written across the note was a series of digits. For all he knew, it could be anything: the code for a safety deposit box, an account number, an Internet password, or more probably, a phone number.
A phone number!
He hurried downstairs as fast as he could and picked up the phone in the kitchen. Slowly, he dialled the number and prepared himself to hang up as soon as someone answered. He only wanted to find out their name.
41
‘Dr Larenz, what a relief!’
Viktor was so surprised to be greeted by name that he didn't hang up. He hadn't reckoned with the person on the other end knowing who he was. Apart from anything else, his old-fashioned analogue phone wasn't compatible with caller ID. Whose number had he called? How had the person on the other end of the line known that it was him? And why had they been waiting for him to call?
‘What is it?’ he asked, trying to give away as little as possible. He didn't want to confirm his identity just yet.
‘I didn't want to bother you, not after what you've been through, but I'm afraid it's rather urgent.’
The voice sounded oddly familiar.
‘I thought I should tell you before it got out of hand.’
Professor van Druisen! Viktor finally recognized his friend and mentor's voice. But what was his number doing in Anna's wallet?
‘Van Druisen! Is something the matter?’
‘Didn't you get my email?’
Email? Viktor hadn't logged on for days. His inbox would be overflowing by now. There were bound to be several messages from Bunte: he had missed the deadline for the interview.
‘No, I haven't had time to check my mail. Is there a problem?’
‘I had a break-in about a week ago.’
‘A break-in? I'm sorry to hear it, Professor, but I don't see what it's got to do with me.’
‘It wasn't an ordinary burglary. Very little was taken, which makes it more disturbing. Only one cabinet was broken into. I'm missing a single file.’
‘Patient notes?’
‘Yes, but the question is, whose? It was the cabinet where I archived the files that I inherited from your practice. It seems to me that someone might be ta
rgeting one of your former patients.’
‘But if you don't know whose file is missing, how can you be sure that it's missing at all?’
‘A binder was found in the corridor. Whoever took it was cunning enough to rip off the labels. All the documents are missing and there's no way of telling whose notes were inside.’
Viktor closed his eyes as if to shut down his other senses and focus his attention on what he had heard. Why would anyone want to steal a set of ancient case notes? Who would break into a psychiatrist's office to get their hands on an archived file? It seemed to Viktor that there was only one person who fitted the bill. He opened his eyes.
‘Listen carefully, Professor. I'm going to ask you something important. Does the name Anna Glass mean anything to you?’
‘Oh God, so you know.’
‘Know what?’
‘About Anna . . . I mean, I thought you . . .’
Viktor had never heard the distinguished professor fumbling over his words.
‘You thought what?’
‘I thought . . . Hang on, you're the one who mentioned her first.’
‘Anna. Anna Glass. Did you send her to see me? Did you give her my address?’
‘She didn't come to you, did she? Oh Lord.’
‘She turned up on Parkum. Maybe you could tell me what's going on.’
‘I said this would happen, I always knew it was a mistake. I should never have agreed to it.’ There was a desperate edge to van Druisen's voice. It almost sounded as if he were whimpering.
‘With respect, Professor, I'd like to know what's going on.’
‘My dear Larenz, you're in danger.’
Viktor gripped the receiver like a tennis player on the baseline, bracing himself to return the serve.
‘What kind of danger?’
‘Anna Glass was a patient of mine. I would never have taken her on if she hadn't been recommended by a friend.’
‘She's schizophrenic, isn't she?’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It's a ploy of hers.’
‘So there's nothing wrong with her?’
‘On the contrary, she's extremely disturbed. She claims to be schizophrenic, but she's not. That's her pathology, so to speak.’