The Girl in the Fog Read online

  ‘The truth,’ Leman said without hesitation.

  ‘Are you after a scoop or what?’

  ‘You’re too clever, my friend. I’m just a simple woman.’

  The devil’s most foolish sin is vanity, Vogel told himself, thinking again about Martini’s words and his own situation. Maybe he had indeed committed the sin of vanity, and now he would be punished.

  ‘If I wanted what you’re offering me now, I’d have gone to a network and sold them that diary for a lot of money.’

  She was right. How stupid he had been not to think of it. But if she didn’t want either fame or money, then what was she after? ‘I promise you, if there’s anything in here that’ll make it possible to reopen the investigation and extend it to the other six missing girls, I won’t hesitate for a moment.’ He made it sound like a solemn promise.

  ‘This is the last opportunity to catch the man in the fog,’ Leman said. ‘I’m sure you won’t waste it.’

  Clearly, she had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

  The steel tables and chairs in the visiting room were bolted to the floor. The ceiling was low and voices echoed unpleasantly, making it almost impossible to talk. But right now, apart from four warders silently observing the scene from a distance, the only people in the room were Loris Martini and Attorney Levi.

  Even though he had only been in prison for a few days, Martini looked exhausted. ‘I’m very popular here. They’re keeping me in solitary, but at night I can still hear the other prisoners threatening me from their cells. They can’t get their hands on me, but they do everything they can to keep me awake.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the governor, or have you moved.’

  ‘Better not. I’d rather not make more enemies. It’s already difficult enough being a star.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘One of the warders implied it’s better if I don’t touch the food from the prison kitchen. I think even the warders despise me and he only said it to scare me. Well, he did scare me, because since then I’ve been living on crackers.’

  Levi was doing his best to encourage his client, but seemed seriously worried for him. ‘You can’t go on like this, you have to eat, you have to keep your strength up. Otherwise you’ll never stand the stress of the trial.’

  ‘Do you have any idea when it’ll start?’

  ‘They’re talking about a month, maybe a bit longer. The prosecution has enough evidence, but we’re getting ready to refute it point by point.’

  ‘How will I manage without money?’

  Levi spoke in a low voice so as not to be overheard by the warders. ‘That’s why I arranged for you to meet Stella Honer. It was stupid of you not to accept her offer.’

  ‘So are you giving up on me?’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense. I still think we have a chance. The case against you rests on the DNA evidence. If we can demolish it, the whole thing collapses. I’ve already found a geneticist who’ll repeat all the compatibility tests on the bloodstains.’

  Martini didn’t seem convinced. ‘I was told you’ve been a guest on TV, talking about me and my case.’

  It sounded like an accusation, but Levi didn’t seem to take it badly. ‘It’s important for people to hear your version. You can’t be there, so I have to do it.’

  Martini couldn’t find fault with that. When it came down to it, Levi was getting his payment in the form of publicity. So it was fine to use his case for that. ‘Have you heard from my family? How are my wife and daughter?’

  ‘They’re fine, but as long as you’re in solitary they can’t visit you.’

  They wouldn’t have visited me anyway, Martini thought.

  ‘You’ll see, when we get to the trial we’ll refute the charges and the truth will come out.’

  *

  After leaving Beatrice Leman’s house, Vogel had driven aimlessly all afternoon, using only secondary roads that led up into the mountains. He needed to think, to clear his mind. He had planned to leave Avechot days earlier, instead of which he was stuck here, forced to do something he had never done and was not sure he could do.

  Investigate.

  The man in the fog had screwed up his plans. And now he was watching him, safe in his white blanket, and laughing at him.

  Anna Lou’s supposed diary was on the seat next to him. Vogel hadn’t opened it yet because he wasn’t convinced it was the right move. First he had to weigh up the pros and the cons. Maybe the solution was to throw it away or burn it and forget everything. Maybe the man in the fog had no intention of making another appearance, maybe he only wanted to scare him. Maybe. But would that be enough for him? He must have planned this, too, Vogel told himself. That was why he hadn’t yet destroyed the evidence that could exonerate Martini. The thought had even flashed through his mind that he could use the diary to take credit for the teacher’s release, but then someone might wonder, hypothetically, if he hadn’t falsified the results in this case as he had done with Derg. The suspicion could put an end to his career. It didn’t even occur to him that an innocent man was in prison. That wasn’t any concern of his, not any more. If anything, he was scared that the man in the fog really had decided to resume his activities after thirty years. In that case, it would be events that gave the lie to Vogel, because after Anna Lou he would surely strike again. Another girl with red hair and freckles. Someone’s daughter. But this, too, was of no importance to Vogel. He had to think of himself first. It wasn’t cynicism, it was a matter of survival.

  Outside, the sun had already started its inexorable descent into darkness.

  After driving around for almost three hours, it was the fuel gauge that forced Vogel to stop. He parked in the open space by the mine’s decantation basins. He got out and sniffed the dust-laden air. In front of him, a series of mounds of fluorite. In the dark, the mineral gave off a greenish glow, like an aurora borealis. There wasn’t a soul about. Vogel went closer, opened his flies and started to urinate. As he emptied his bladder, he felt something like a series of small taps on his shoulder. Obviously, it was his imagination, but it felt as if someone was trying to attract his attention.

  The diary was calling him from the car seat. You can’t ignore me, it seemed to be saying.

  When he had finished, Vogel went back to the car. He sat down and picked up the diary. He looked at it as if it were a relic. Then, driven by a sudden impulse, he grabbed the little heart-shaped padlock and pulled at it until it snapped. He felt cold and hot and nervous.

  He opened the page at random and immediately recognised Anna Lou Kastner’s handwriting.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered. Then he started reading. The hope was to find something that led to Loris Martini – something that proved that he, and not the man in the fog, was indeed the killer of the missing girl. Obviously, it wasn’t plausible that he could have sent the diary to Beatrice Leman. But it had been sent on the very day of Anna Lou’s disappearance, so whoever had done it hadn’t been trying to exonerate Martini, who at the time wasn’t even a suspect. No, there had to be another meaning to it.

  It was a signature.

  That was why Vogel didn’t find anything in it to connect Anna Lou to Martini. The secret she had been trying jealously to guard in her diary was something else entirely.

  11 August: Met a really nice boy at the seaside. I only talked to him a couple of times, I think he wanted to kiss me. But he didn’t. God knows if I’ll see him again next year. His name is Oliver. What a nice name! I’ve decided that every day I’ll write his initial in biro on my left arm, the arm nearest the heart. And I’ll do it all winter, until I see him again next year. It’ll be my secret, like a token that we’ll meet again.

  Vogel quickly leafed through the other pages. There were more passages referring to the mysterious Oliver, the object of Anna Lou’s innocent fantasies, of desires that would never be realised.

  ‘Oliver,’ Vogel said to himself, thinking again of the initial that was now imprinted on the arm of Anna Lou Kastner’s body. A little O drawn in pen, which was rotti
ng away just as she was, and which nobody would ever discover.

  Her secret died with her.

  But there was something else in the diary. Vogel didn’t immediately notice the little sheet of paper that had slid out from between the pages. He picked it up later from the mat under the seat. He opened it and read it, realising as he did so that it wasn’t the girl who had slipped it in there.

  The new clue in the hunt was a map.

  22 January

  Thirty days after the disappearance

  He had spent a sleepless night.

  The map was on the bedside table. Vogel had lain there the whole time staring up at the ceiling, motionless, the quilt pulled up to his chin. The questions and doubts that piled into his head were stopping him from thinking. A new game had begun, and he couldn’t afford not to play it. The man in the fog wouldn’t allow that. That was why there was only one thing to do.

  Keep going.

  Even though Vogel feared that the ending the monster had planned wouldn’t be pleasant for him. For the first time in his career, he was afraid of the truth.

  At about five, he decided he’d had enough of the hotel room. He had no choice now but to act. Only if he anticipated events would he be able to save himself. So he threw off the cocoon of blankets in which he had taken refuge and got out of bed. Before dressing, he checked his service Beretta, the one he’d been carrying with him for years to keep up appearances. He had actually never fired a shot except at the rifle range, and he doubted he still could. Just as he didn’t know if he could maintain the weapon in working order – in fact, he usually entrusted the task to some subordinate. When he picked up the pistol, it struck him as heavier than he remembered, but it was anxiety that was transforming the texture of things. He made sure that the magazine was full and that the barrel moved smoothly. But his hand was shaking. Calm down, he told himself. He dressed, although not in one of his usual elegant suits. He chose a dark sweater, casual trousers and the most comfortable shoes he had. Finally, he put on his coat and went out.

  Almost all the reporters had abandoned Avechot. A couple of TV crews had stayed behind to cover the last stages of the case, but the correspondents had changed. The big names had gone. Still, Vogel harboured the fear that some trainee in search of a scoop that would gain him or her a promotion might notice his flight. So he was very cautious as he left the built-up area. He kept checking the rear-view mirror to make sure nobody was following him. As he drove, he clutched the map with one hand, trying to figure out where he was going.

  In the middle of the map was a dot with a red X next to it. To help him find his way, he had bought a compass the previous evening in a shop selling mountaineering equipment. He tried not to think about what he would find. The place was situated to the north-west, in a relatively accessible area that had actually been gone over several times by the search teams, even quite recently. So why hadn’t they noticed anything? The operation had been badly carried out, Vogel told himself. Nobody had really been concerned about finding Anna Lou Kastner. And it was all his fault. He should have supervised things, instead of entrusting every specifically operational decision to the young and inexperienced Borghi, leaving himself free to court the media.

  A red dawn was peering out from behind the tops of the mountains and starting to invade the valley like a river of blood. Vogel was near the spot indicated, but from here on the woods began. He was obliged to abandon his car and continue on foot with a torch. The ground sloped slightly and his shoes slid on the blanket of leaves covering the soil. He clutched the branches to stay on his feet. The tangle was so thick that a bramble lightly scratched his temple. Vogel didn’t even notice. Every now and again, he would stop to check the map and the compass. He had to be quick, before the sun came up. He was terrified that someone might see him.

  He came out into a small clearing. According to the map, he was close to the red X. If his career, his very life, hadn’t been in the balance, it would have seemed like a joke. But, when it came down to it, it was. The man in the fog was making fun of him. All right, let’s see what you’ve prepared for me, you arsehole.

  He swept the ground with the beam of his torch, but couldn’t see anything unusual. It was only when he aimed the light upwards that he noticed something. Someone had placed a box of biscuits on a branch. The Derg case, he thought immediately. Apparently, the man in the fog knew his weak points well. Vogel could even appreciate the irony of the reference to the Mutilator and the falsified evidence.

  And he also knew where he had to dig.

  He knelt at the foot of the tree, put on a pair of rubber gloves and cleared the ground of dead leaves. Then he started to move the damp earth, unconcerned about dirtying his clothes. He had no intention of going too far down, because if the body of Anna Lou Kastner was there, he didn’t want to see it. He just needed confirmation. But after digging only a few centimetres, he already felt something. There in front of his eyes was part of an opaque piece of plastic. Vogel hesitated a moment, then grabbed it and pulled with all his might.

  Out came the whole of the plastic. It was wrapped around something and hermetically sealed with insulating tape to preserve the contents.

  He turned it over, trying to figure out what it could be. He shook it close to his ear and it produced a familiar sound, something like a child’s rattle. Whatever the gift of the man in the fog was, it didn’t seem like part of a human body. Let’s have done with this, he told himself, anger now replacing his fear. He set about unwrapping the package. It took him quite a while to remove the plastic, which had been put on with great care. When he recognised the object, though, his worst fears materialised, making his throat tighten. This time, there was no irony.

  The gift the man in the fog had intended for Vogel – the TV policeman – was a videocassette.

  Solitary sharpened the senses. He had discovered that in his days of solitude. He wasn’t allowed to read the newspapers or watch television, and his quartz watch had been taken from him. But from the smell that came from the kitchens he was able to guess when they were starting to make the meals, that way he knew that breakfast, lunch or dinner hour was approaching. The cell was an embryo, everything that entered it remained imprisoned – just like him. Now even the noises of the prison were familiar to him. He heard the clinking of the keys with which the warder who guarded the automatic gate in the corridor was equipped and that way he knew that the night shift had ended and that the night warder would be handing over to his morning colleague. It must have been around six.

  His vision of what was happening outside was hampered by the heavy iron door, but from the light that filtered onto the ground through the crack it was possible to understand a lot of things. When he saw shadows cross the light, he knew someone would soon be entering the cell. He drew himself up and waited for the key to turn completely in the lock. Then the door opened and two figures appeared against the light.

  Two warders he had never seen before.

  ‘Take your things,’ one of them said.

  ‘Why, where are we going?’

  Neither of them answered. Martini did as he was told. He picked up the brown woollen blanket, the mess tin and the spoon that were the gift of the prison, as well as the bar of soap and the little bottles of shampoo and aftershave that he had acquired from the commissary and which, right now, constituted his only property. Then he followed the officers.

  Martini assumed that they wanted simply to move him to a different cell, instead of which they walked along the entire corridor of the solitary section, as far as the gate. And there – the first oddity – there was no one on guard. Another couple of corridors, then they took a lift and went down a couple of floors. All of this without encountering a soul – the second oddity. The warders couldn’t all have simultaneously abandoned their positions. In addition, there was a strange silence coming from the cells. Usually, at this hour the prisoners were already on their feet and making a great commotion, demanding their breakfast. Martini
thought again about the night he had just spent. Nobody had kept him awake with screams or threats. The third oddity.

  They came to a security entrance and when Martini saw on the wall a sign saying BLOCK F, he realised they were about to enter the section for common prisoners and took fright. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I’m a special prisoner, I have to stay in solitary. It was an order of the judge.’

  The two of them ignored him and pushed him in front of them.

  Martini felt a sudden sense of terror. ‘Did you hear me? You can’t put me with the others.’ His voice was shaking. The warders ignored his complaints. They grabbed him energetically by the arms.

  They came to the door of a cell. One of the warders opened it, while the other said to Martini, ‘You’ll be here for a while, then we’ll come back for you.’

  Martini took a step forward, then hesitated. It was dark beyond the doorway and he couldn’t see who or what was inside.

  ‘Go on, go in,’ the warder exhorted him in a reassuring tone.

  A fleeting thought passed through Martini’s mind. He was convinced that these men hated him, like everyone else in the prison. But why should they hurt him? Unlike the prisoners, they were obliged to respect the law. So he decided to trust them and went in. The door closed behind him and he waited without moving for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Then he heard noises around him – little sounds, rustling.

  Solitary sharpened the senses. He realised he wasn’t alone.

  When the first punch hit him in the face, Martini immediately lost his balance. The objects he was holding in his hands fell to the floor together with him. He was overwhelmed by a series of blows and kicks that came from every direction. He tried to shield himself with his arms, but couldn’t evade the blows. He tasted blood, felt the burning of the cuts on his face. His ribs cracked and he couldn’t breathe. But after a moment, he didn’t feel anything any more. He was only a mass of flesh struggling pointlessly on the floor.