Arrhythmia Read online

  It was maddening.

  An hour later, my cell phone beeped and announced a text message.

  Sweet dreams.

  Oh yes, I would at least have those tonight! If I could fall asleep at all, that is.

  Chapter 18

  My Monday began uneventfully with cornflakes and coffee on the balcony. I was tired and confused because, just as I had feared, I hadn’t slept a wink. One question had kept me up:

  What to do with Desiderio?

  I had no idea. All I knew was that every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. And that was not a good sign. Such symptoms famously belonged to just one phenomenon, didn’t they?

  No, it couldn’t be that, because of a few kind gestures, I could have fall . . .

  Certainly not! Just a second, what was the name of that one syndrome, again? No, I couldn’t blame it on that. That happened between a kidnapper and a victim, something else entirely.

  I made up my mind to consult Wikipedia about my particular case later in hopes of finding established treatment methods.

  Two tablets after a light meal every six hours and you are cured!

  Maybe I was going completely crazy . . .

  On the street below, something caught my attention. A police cruiser pulled up slowly and stopped across from my building. Curious, I craned my neck and peered over the banister. Police presence in our usually quiet neighborhood was absolutely not the norm. Just as I was asking myself which of my neighbors could possibly have committed a crime, Niederhuber climbed out of the cruiser and looked around.

  Oh God, the criminal neighbor was me.

  For a while, I remained quietly at my observation post and waited. But when the officer joyfully set his sights on number 36a, my building, I stood up and leaned over the railing.

  “Good morning, Mr. Niederhuber!” I called out to him. He was so startled that he jumped a little. I hoped my greeting hadn’t jeopardized any covert operation . . .

  Niederhuber took a few steps back, lifted his head, and looked up at me.

  “Oh, Ms. Berger! Good morning to you! You are the very person I’m looking for.”

  So my fears were confirmed, although the “Ms.” soothed my embarrassment quite a bit. He would hardly address a drug dealer like that, would he? My neighbors must have been on pins and needles.

  “Our appointment was at two, wasn’t it?” I called down.

  “That’s right, but the sketch artist from Passau arrived earlier than expected and I’ve come to pick you up.”

  Pick me up in a police cruiser?!

  “Uh, I just need a moment! Then I’ll head right over to the station on my own.”

  Niederhuber generously waved my answer aside. “No, no, I’ll wait. Then you’ll get a police escort, so to speak, hee-hee!”

  “Ah,” I answered stiffly. I quickly retreated into my apartment to prevent Niederhuber from seeing the lack of enthusiasm on my face.

  Crap, now all of my neighbors would think I was being arrested! I hoped that at least they’d also see me being returned later, lest the rumor started circulating that the Berger woman was in the big house!

  I quickly changed my clothes and, despite the summer temperatures, dug out a cap from my closet to pull low over my face. Sunglasses, scarf, and voilà, I looked like an embarrassed criminal on the way to court.

  Shit.

  I resigned myself to my fate and ran downstairs to meet Niederhuber, who was waiting gleefully.

  “Do you mind if I sit in front? I get carsick in the back,” I asked as I passed him and stood by the passenger door.

  “All right, just this once,” Mr. Niederhuber said sweetly. “Good thing you’re not being arrested, because in that case, you would have sit in the back, wouldn’t you? Hee-hee.”

  “Yes . . . hee-hee.”

  As I got in, I could clearly see the way old Peeping Tom Kaltenberger almost dropped his binoculars.

  The average citizen doesn’t usually have the opportunity to ride in a police cruiser, so the experience did turn out to be pretty interesting. Most interesting of all were the strained faces of the pedestrians who, at the sight of a police car, began behaving as though they had something gruesome to hide and woodenly acted in a deliberately nonchalant fashion. All of Wollbach appeared to be guarding a horrible secret. When I told Niederhuber about my observation, he laughed.

  “The ones who don’t get nervous are usually the ones who have something to hide,” he informed me.

  Somehow, that sounded logical.

  At least I was relieved about the fact that the presence of police always made me nervous. Apparently it meant that I had a totally clear conscience.

  Officer Niederhuber was a cheerful man and told me a total of three police jokes during our short trip. Although I didn’t find any of them especially funny, I laughed politely and the man in the uniform was happy. I found him quite likable, that Niederhuber. It seemed policemen were normal humans after all.

  Once we arrived at the station, I was treated like a star. Virtually everyone knew my name, and all those present wanted to gawk at the victim of such a sensational crime for such a small town. I was given coffee, Coke, a sandwich, and a total of three Snickers bars, all by different police officers. I began to fear that I might have to give autographs unless I put a stop to it. It was all a little gruesome.

  Mr. Schmitt, the sketch artist, was the only one in the bunch who knew how to behave professionally. His job had him dealing with real crimes on a daily basis, and the inappropriate excitement of his small-town colleagues clearly got on his nerves.

  When the fourth Snickers bar was delivered, he pounded on the table in disgust.

  “Jesus Christ, that’s enough, now!” he bellowed. “I’m sure Ms. Berger isn’t going to starve. And if you looky-loos would allow us to work in peace, we might actually finish one of these days.”

  The young officer gingerly set the chocolate on the table and slunk out of the room.

  “Thanks,” I said with a grin and pushed a chocolate bar toward Mr. Schmitt.

  Once we had peace and quiet, I could devote myself completely to the description of the perpetrator. I was impressed by the way Mr. Schmitt translated my words into images on the paper, step by step. Again and again, he made corrections according to my directions, so it was actually not long before Snake Tattoo was glowering at me. The officer had even gotten the dimensions of the tattoo on the neck exactly right. The sketch was so lifelike that it made me shudder.

  “Yes, that’s him,” I confirmed quietly and swallowed hard.

  Schmitt put the sketch aside and looked at me with empathy. “Believe me, Ms. Berger, although it may not look like it at the moment, my overeager colleagues out there are all very good officers, and they’ll do everything in their power to find the perpetrator and take him off the street.”

  “OK.” I gave him a brave smile.

  “Have you been offered psychological care?”

  In all the excitement, they must have forgotten that.

  “That’s not necessary,” I said, because I didn’t want to seem needy. “I have some wonderful friends who are standing by me, day and night.”

  One friend in particular . . .

  He scrutinized me gravely and then nodded. “If you’re sure. I wish you all the best, Ms. Berger. If you think of anything else, we can make corrections to the sketch any time.”

  We said good-bye and Niederhuber once more took me under his wing. In the end, I did have to give my autograph, but since it was only to sign the neatly typed version of my statement, I did it willingly.

  Bearing a sandwich and three chocolate bars, I climbed back into the cruiser and was chauffeured home. On the way, I had to listen to more police jokes, and one of them was even funny. Niederhuber promised to get in touch the moment the investigation came up with anything. I reminded him t
hat I had a telephone and that he need not stop by in person. He obviously missed the hint and explained to me that it was no problem at all since the gas was paid for by the taxpayers, hee-hee. Then he released me to speed away on government fuel.

  I paused for a few moments outside my apartment building to let my neighbors know that I had not been arrested but was back home, safe and sound.

  I waved to Kaltenberger with my sandwich.

  I’d been home no more than half an hour when the next upheaval announced itself. Vera stormed into my apartment with a resounding cry of “bedside visit!” and led in two walking gift shops. These turned out to be Sebastian and Frank, each laden with flowers, chocolates, and balloons.

  My quiet Monday just kept getting more stressful.

  “You guys are completely crazy,” I groaned, faced with all the kind but useless presents.

  This was followed by a dramatic greeting. I was warmly embraced and showered with expressions of sympathy and bewilderment. It felt as if I had risen from the dead or something.

  Frank, especially, was beside himself. He paced up and down, repeating again and again, “What an asshole!” or “If I ever get ahold of him!” At some point, Vera shouted at him to be quiet and sit down, which he finally did, thank goodness.

  He sat right next to me, even though there was plenty of space, and made a face that suggested he’d never again leave my side. He reminded me a little of a failed guard dog with a guilty conscience.

  “I’m fine. Really,” I reassured him for the thousandth time. “I went to the police today and had a composite sketch done. The investigation is in full swing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have taken you,” said Vera, sounding insulted.

  “Well, Niederhuber beat you to it. He picked me up in his cruiser.”

  “No!”

  “Yeah. It was really embarrassing.”

  Sebastian giggled. “Did you at least have to sit in the back?”

  “Hardly! The local cops were falling all over themselves to meet a real live crime victim. Holy shit, they went crazy. I even got a sandwich.”

  “What, a real police sandwich?” Sebastian asked with amusement.

  “Yes. It’s on the kitchen table if you don’t believe me.”

  He really did toddle off to the kitchen to see for himself. A surprised “huh!” was heard by all.

  “Go ahead and eat it if you want,” I called with a chuckle.

  Sebastian didn’t need to be invited twice and returned chewing contentedly. Vera shook her head. “Good grief, that man is going to eat me out of house and home.”

  Frank finally managed to take off his tragedy mask and smile. “You should have it stipulated in your prenup that you’ll cook a certain amount of food for him. We wouldn’t want dear Sebastian here to blow up like a balloon after the wedding.”

  “Hey!” said Sebastian with a full mouth. “Mind your own business!”

  We all laughed and began a lighthearted discussion about marriage and its perils. It felt good to think about something other than the attack or Desiderio.

  My friends stayed until late in the evening. To prevent Sebastian from losing weight, we plundered my refrigerator and created something vaguely resembling an Asian noodle dish. It was filling and didn’t taste bad, and no one complained. Vera promised that she would go shopping for me the following day, since such a poorly stocked fridge was ridiculous. She had already taken up the role of nurturing wife. I thought the idea was great, as it spared me having to promenade through town with my black eye and have people give me stupid looks. We ended up opening a bottle of wine to celebrate my resurrection. One turned into three after Frank quickly ran down to the gas station to replenish our supply. My visitors finally left me with flushed cheeks and a sort of permanent grin.

  That night, I slept like a log.

  Chapter 19

  Of course, Vera kept her promise and lugged two huge bags full of provisions to my apartment the following afternoon.

  “Who’s supposed to eat all that?” I asked with astonishment as I tried to stow everything in my compact kitchen.

  “You, of course. Who else?”

  “No idea. Maybe that crazy Duggar family with, like, twenty kids? There’d definitely be enough.”

  “Baloney.” She heaved the second bag onto the countertop and looked at me. “By the way, you look terrible.”

  “Thanks a lot. And why are you my best friend, again?”

  She shrugged. “Because I always tell you the truth.”

  “I see.”

  She was right and I knew it. I looked awful. The shiner had taken on a dark violet hue and had spread across the side of my face. Though I knew this was the normal healing process of a hematoma, the thing still looked like crap.

  We accomplished the logistical feat of cramming all the groceries into my modest cabinets. We had to fall back on the cutlery drawer for a few cans of ravioli, but we were both OK with that.

  “Is there anything new?” asked Vera over a well-earned cup of coffee.

  “Not really. Frank is calling every couple of hours from work and wants to know how I am, but that’s about all that’s happened since yesterday.”

  That was no exaggeration. Frank had called every two hours. I’d come close to turning my phone off.

  “Oh dear,” Vera said.

  “Yes, it’s pretty annoying.”

  She took a sip and tried again. “And apart from that? No calls?” She paused meaningfully. “No wild canoodling with the good doctor?”

  Yeah, sure . . .

  “You’re dumb,” I mocked her.

  Vera cackled. “Judging by your red ears, I’m right on target. So, let’s hear it, warrior princess!”

  “It’s ‘little warrioress.’ At least get it right.”

  I knew my friend would never leave me in peace unless I spilled the beans, so I gave her a businesslike account of Desiderio’s visit with the pizza.

  “Man, that’s just too sweet,” she said. “And since then? Have you been in touch with him?”

  “No.”

  Vera took a very deep breath and flashed her eyes at me angrily.

  “Lena, you really are insane! You have an absolute dreamboat running after you and you can’t get over your silly fear!”

  I was so surprised by her harsh tone that all I could do was to look at her, wide eyed.

  “Don’t you look at me like that, Ms. Berger!” Vera continued. “I can’t just stand by anymore while you waste your life. To hell with your past; focus on your future! And don’t tell me that you don’t like that Italian, because I can tell by your red cheeks—well, only one of them is red, but never mind—that that’s not true. You like him and he likes you, and what is so complicated about that, for chrissake?”

  She was huffing as if she’d run a race. I stared into my cup mirthlessly. Was that how it was? Was I wasting my life because I insisted on protecting my heart?

  Probably.

  But was Desiderio the right one to get me to leave my cocoon?

  At the very least, he was the only one who’d even gotten me to think about it. There was simply no denying the emotional turmoil he left me in.

  “I think you’re right,” I slowly admitted.

  “I sure am,” Vera declared in a milder tone.

  “Fine, but what should I do?”

  “Jeez, Lena! How did you handle all your amorous escapades before, huh?”

  “But this is completely different!”

  “Right, but basically it’s the same. The only difference is that you’re not going to send him packing the next day. Just be sexy and self-confident and let things run their course.” She briefly looked at my purple face. “OK, so the sexy part will have to wait, but otherwise there’s nothing standing in your way, is there?”

  Oh y
es, there were three things standing in my way.

  Me, myself, and I.

  And they proved to be a considerable barrier.

  I needed four whole days to overcome the first obstacle.

  Ninety-six hours passed before I was finally able to approach Desiderio.

  After no fewer than 5,760 minutes, I sat in the rocking chair on my balcony, typed a text, and sent it:

  Hi, how’s work?

  The stuff of romantic legend. I should be so proud.

  It had taken me a mere 345,600 seconds to bring myself to write to him, and then all I could manage was trivialities.

  Damn.

  I angrily threw the phone on the table and leaned back. It was too late now. My message was making its way through the chaos of the cellular network and landing on Desiderio’s phone at this precise moment. I was sure he would open the message and laugh his head off at my idiocy.

  I got up, got myself something to drink, sat back down, and stared at my phone. It remained unimpressed and silent.

  Damn.

  For a while, I nervously drummed my fingers on the table. Then I checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently put it on mute. No, everything was fine. A text message would be announced with the usual beep. Maybe it was broken?

  Or maybe Desiderio just didn’t know how to respond to such a stupid message.

  Another possibility was that he was busy and simply hadn’t read the message yet.

  What could he be busy with? Another woman???

  OK, now I was hallucinating. I cautioned myself to calm down and forced myself to go into the living room to read a little.

  When my phone beeped a while later, I almost killed myself getting to it.

  A text message!

  From Vera.

  Man, that twit owed me a new big toe, because, in my haste, I’d banged mine really badly on the door to the balcony. It hurt like hell, though I figured that, in my present condition, one injury more or less didn’t much matter.