The Girl in the Fog Page 25

  Vogel didn’t turn, didn’t even open his eyes. ‘All in good time, my dear.’

  ‘I kept my side of the bargain, now you have to keep yours.’

  ‘I will, don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not worried. But how do I know you’re not trying to screw me?’

  ‘Your editorial team received a page, you checked the authenticity.’

  ‘It was only a photocopy. Now I want the rest.’

  Lazily, Vogel opened his eyes, looking for Stella’s reflection in the mirror. She was understandably nervous. ‘But it did match Anna Lou Kastner’s handwriting.’

  ‘At least tell me what’s written in that fucking diary.’

  ‘Shameful secrets,’ Vogel said, with deliberate theatricality, hoping to play on her nerves.

  ‘Was Anna Lou having a relationship with an older man?’ Stella ventured, hoping to catch a hesitation that would confirm such a dark theory.

  ‘Whenever we speak on the phone or meet, you try to get me to reveal something. But I won’t say a word until I see the little red light on the camera.’

  ‘I have to know. I can’t allow you to conduct the game just as you please. It’s my show, I can’t be kept completely in the dark on the topic we’re talking about. Why did you want Martini to be here, too? What’s he got to do with Anna Lou’s diary?’

  He had nothing to do with it, but Vogel had no intention of telling her that. The diary had been only the pretext to obtain a joint interview. He already knew what he would do when they went on air. He would apologise to Martini on behalf of the police and would admit his own mistake, causing great embarrassment to his chiefs – the same bastards who had abandoned him. Maybe after his apology, the teacher would publicly forgive him. Persecutor and persecuted might even be able to embrace in tears – people always appreciated such scenes of reconciliation. Anna Lou’s diary would be the icing on the cake. Vogel would read the passage in which the girl wrote about Oliver and his name written on her forearm as a token of love. Who knows, maybe Stella’s editorial department would be able to trace the mysterious young man while they were on air. His testimony, live by telephone, might be the high point of the show.

  But Stella, who didn’t know his plans, was obviously getting restless. ‘I could put a stop to this thing whenever I want,’ she threatened. ‘No broadcast, no teacher. And I’ll put all the blame on you.’

  Vogel laughed. ‘He accepted immediately,’ he said, referring to Martini. ‘I’m surprised.’

  Stella smiled smugly. ‘I think he did it because he can’t wait to kick your arse on live television.’

  ‘Has he laid down any conditions?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  Vogel raised his hands in surrender. ‘Forget I said it, sorry.’

  Stella turned to the man with the briefcase and motioned him to come forward. ‘I want to introduce to you the lawyer who represents the interests of the network.’

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ Vogel said ironically.

  The man took a form from the briefcase and placed it on the table in front of Vogel. ‘I’d like you to sign a document guaranteeing that the diary is genuine and absolving us of any legal responsibility.’

  ‘A whole lot of big words to say something extremely simple.’

  ‘I respected my part of the bargain,’ Stella growled. ‘It wasn’t easy to convince Martini, I can assure you.’

  Vogel was pleased to hear that. It meant the teacher was still afraid of him. ‘I heard he’s writing a book about his story. Do you know yet what role he’s reserved for you in it? Are you the crusading correspondent or the unscrupulous reporter?’

  Stella walked around the chair and placed herself in front of him, so that he could look her full in the face. ‘Be careful. I don’t want any tricks.’

  ‘Apparently, freedom suits famous ex-convicts. I’d be curious to know how much money Levi has tapped you people for.’

  ‘That won’t be the topic of the interview, so don’t even think about bringing it up.’

  The lawyer again intervened. ‘To make sure that everything goes according to our agreement, the broadcast will go on air with a five-second time-lapse, to give us the possibility of cutting you off.’

  Vogel pretended to be shocked. He looked at Stella. ‘Don’t you trust me any more?’ he asked sarcastically.

  ‘I’ve never trusted you,’ she said, and left the dressing room.

  After about ten minutes, a production assistant came in to collect Vogel and lead him to the studio. He put on his jacket and gave himself a last glance in the mirror. Go on, old man, he told himself. Show them who you are.

  The assistant, equipped with headphones and clipboard, escorted Vogel along a corridor. Then she opened a fire door and they entered a large dark space. The studio reserved for Stella’s show was huge. They walked along the back of the set, with the assistant constantly moving forward and every now and again saying something into the microphone placed under her headphones. ‘The guest is arriving,’ she announced to the control booth.

  As they walked, Vogel could hear the murmur of the audience. Stella had assured him that the spectators had been selected in a survey and that they were strictly divided between those who thought he was innocent and those who thought he was guilty, because they didn’t want there to be any claque in favour of either him or Martini. Vogel had taken the reassurance on trust, because in reality he didn’t care: very soon, he and the teacher would be on the same side.

  They came to an area reserved for the guests, and the assistant handed him over to a technician who started arranging the radio microphone on his tie. As he got him to pass a wire under his jacket, he said, ‘Even though we’re not on air yet, from now on they can hear every word of yours in the control booth.’

  Vogel nodded to show that he had understood. It was a ritual precaution, because guests were often overheard making comments they shouldn’t. Vogel, though, was far too experienced to take that risk.

  ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be starting soon,’ said the man who was there to warm up the studio audience. His voice was amplified. A few people clapped and there was a bit of laughter.

  Despite the fact that the topic of the evening was a dead girl’s diary, the audience were excited. The idea of being seen on television transformed people, Vogel thought. They wouldn’t be famous, or rich, but their lives would change all the same. They would be able to boast that they had been part of the show, in however insignificant a role. Anything to appear on that damned screen.

  ‘May we remind you not to comment out loud on what happens, and to applaud only when indicated by our assistant,’ the warm-up man concluded. More applause.

  As the make-up girl made a last-minute adjustment to his foundation, Vogel turned distractedly towards the gap in the set through which guests were led into the studio. It was as if the lights stopped at the edge of the set. Behind the scenes, a pleasant semi-darkness reigned.

  In that border between light and darkness stood Martini.

  He hadn’t noticed Vogel and, with the curiosity of a child, was peering through the gap at what was going on in the studio. He was only a few metres away, close enough for Vogel to see that he had almost recovered from his ordeal. The bruises on his face had disappeared – either that or the make-up girl had done an excellent job. And the plaster had gone from his right arm. He still needed a stick to move, but he had also regained weight and no longer looked like a skeleton.

  It was his general appearance, though, that had changed radically compared with the past.

  His clothes were quite different. No more corduroy jackets and fustian trousers, and he had finally bid farewell to his worn old pair of Clarks. Now he was wearing a lead-grey suit, clearly made to measure. And he had chosen an elegant red tie. In Vogel’s opinion, it suited him. The fact that, when it came down to it, Martini looked just like him made him feel proud. I took you to the dark side of the light. Because even the light had one. Not
everybody could see it. Vogel had built his own fortune on that talent. He also noticed the expensive watch that Martini was wearing on his left wrist. Your life has changed, my friend, you should thank me for having pursued you.

  It was then that the teacher made a small, almost insignificant gesture. He adjusted the cuff of his shirt, perhaps because he wasn’t used to wearing cufflinks. In doing so, he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket by a few centimetres, partly uncovering his forearm.

  Vogel noticed a detail he found hard to make sense of at first. Something secret, something only he and Anna Lou could know. Because the girl had written about it in her diary and Vogel had read it.

  So what was that circular mark doing on Martini’s arm?

  The little O – O for Oliver – written in biro.

  23 December

  The day of the disappearance

  She wanted to stay at home to decorate the tree.

  But on Monday at 5.15 there was the children’s catechism class and she had agreed to teach the youngest group. Her brothers were too old now to be part of it, which was why they could spend the afternoon arranging coloured balls and silvery festoons on the branches. This year above all, Anna Lou was particularly keen to do that. It was partly because she suspected it would be her last chance. Her mother had already started to say strange things on the subject. Things like: ‘Jesus didn’t have a Christmas tree.’

  When she did that, it always meant that there would be a change in their routine.

  Like the fast day when the family didn’t touch food for twenty-four hours, only water. And then there was the day of silence – ‘the speech fast,’ Maria Kastner called it. Every now and again, she would make a new rule or establish that such and such a thing had to be done in a different way. And then she would talk about it in the assembly hall and try to convince the other parents. They always agreed with her. Anna Lou liked the brotherhood, but she couldn’t understand why certain kinds of behaviour were wrong. For example, she couldn’t see anything wrong in wearing red in church or in drinking Coca-Cola. She couldn’t remember reading anything about that in the Scriptures. And yet, as far as all the others were concerned, it seemed to be really important to act in a particular way, as if the Lord were constantly judging them and silently deciding, even from the slightest things, whether or not they were worthy of being considered his children.

  Anna Lou was certain that even the thing about the Christmas tree would end up the same way. Luckily, her father had intervened, saying that ‘children still need certain things’. Usually, he was submissive and would give in to his wife in the end. But for this year at least, he had held his ground. And Anna Lou was happy that at least one habit from her childhood had been saved, however briefly, from change.

  ‘Darling, hurry up or you’ll be late!’ Maria yelled at her from the foot of the stairs. Anna Lou did as she was told, because her mother didn’t like to keep Jesus waiting. She had already put on her grey tracksuit and trainers, all that was missing was the white down jacket. She still had to pack her satchel. She put in the catechism books, the Bible and her secret diary. It was quite a while since she had last updated the other one, she thought. Ever since she had discovered that her mother liked to search surreptitiously in her things, she had decided to keep two. Not because the other one was used for lying: she always wrote the truth in it. It was just that she avoided putting what she felt in it. Feelings were things you could only tell yourself. And besides, she wanted to protect Maria, who worried a lot about her children. She didn’t want her mother to think that she was sad, but nor did she want her to think she was too happy. Because in their home, even happiness had to be rationed. If there was too much of it, it was quite likely to be the hand of the devil. ‘Why else is Satan always smiling?’ Maria would say. Jesus, the Virgin Mary and the Saints never smiled in the sacred images.

  ‘Anna Lou!’

  ‘I’m coming!’ She stuffed into her ears the earphones from the MP3 player her grandmother had given her for her birthday and ran down the stairs.

  On the floor below, Maria was waiting for her, leaning with one arm on the banister, the other crooked at her side, making her look like a teapot. ‘What music are you listening to, darling?’

  She had been expecting the question and held out one of the earphones. ‘It’s a nursery rhyme I found and wanted to teach the catechism class. It’s about children and kittens.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like it has much connection with the Gospel,’ Maria objected.

  Anna Lou smiled. ‘I want them to learn the psalms by heart, but to give them practice I have to begin with simple things.’

  Her mother looked at her dubiously, but there was nothing she could say to that. Instead, she moved her wrist so that the bead bracelet Anna Lou had made for her jangled. It was an affectionate gesture, meaning that they were connected. ‘It’s cold outside, cover up well.’

  Anna Lou kissed her on the cheek and left the house.

  *

  When she closed the door behind her, she shivered. Her mother was right, it was freezing out. God alone knew if it would snow for Christmas. It would be wonderful if it did. She zipped up her down jacket and walked along the drive to the street, then along the pavement in the direction of the church. She would have liked to make confession. Ever since she had broken with Priscilla because of Mattia, she had felt a little guilty. She had even erased Priscilla’s number from her mobile. She knew she ought to make it up with her friend, but she still couldn’t get over how she had treated that poor boy. Deep down, what had he done that was so bad? She had realised that he might have a crush on her. She hadn’t encouraged him, but nor could she ignore him. Priscilla didn’t understand: as far as she was concerned, boys had only one thing on their minds. She would have liked to tell her about Oliver, and about what she felt even though she barely knew him, but she wasn’t sure Priscilla would understand. Maybe she would even laugh at such childish feelings. But Anna Lou needed him. She needed him so that she could daydream. That was why she had written his initial on her arm. She didn’t want to lose something that, when it came down to it, was hers, and hers alone.

  As soon as she turned the corner at the end of the block, she slowed down.

  A car was parked at the kerb. At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Why was that man holding an animal cage? And why was he looking around? What was he looking for? Then the man turned and she thought she recognised him. She had seen him in school, he was a teacher. But not of her class. His name was … Martini. That’s right. He taught literature.

  ‘Hi.’ He had seen her, too, and was greeting her with a smile. ‘Have you by any chance seen a stray cat around here?’

  ‘What kind of cat?’ Anna Lou asked, keeping her distance.

  ‘About this big.’ He mimed the size. ‘Ginger and brown, with mottled fur.’

  ‘Yes, I have seen him. He’s been wandering around here for days.’ She had even given him something to eat and put one of her bracelets round his neck. But she didn’t want to give him a name yet because she was afraid his owner would appear at any moment and claim him. He looked too well cared for to be just a stray.

  ‘Will you help me to look for him?’

  ‘Oh, but I have to go. I have a meeting in church.’

  ‘Please,’ the man insisted. ‘He’s my daughter’s cat, she’s desperate.’

  She would have liked to tell him that, outside the house, her mother didn’t think she should talk to people who weren’t in the brotherhood. It wasn’t very convenient, although unlike all the other things she wasn’t allowed to do, Anna Lou did think this prohibition was sensible. But the man had a daughter, maybe a little girl who’d been crying for days because she had lost her best friend. So she decided she could trust him. ‘What’s the name of the cat?’

  ‘Derg,’ he replied immediately.

  What a strange name, she thought. But she went closer all the same.

  ‘Thank you so much for helping.
What’s your name?’

  ‘Anna Lou.’

  ‘Well, Anna Lou, I’ll try calling him, and while I do that, you hold the cage.’ The man held the cage out to her. ‘As soon as he appears, I’ll force him to come towards you and you catch him in this.’

  Anna Lou wasn’t quite sure how it worked. ‘He looked docile to me. Maybe it’s easier to catch him with your bare hands.’

  ‘Derg hates travelling in a car and, if I don’t put him in the cage, I don’t know how I’d get him home.’

  So Anna Lou took the cage from the man and turned. ‘The other time, I saw him in the neighbours’ garden,’ she said, pointing to the place. The last thing she saw was a hand covering her mouth with a handkerchief. She didn’t scream, because she didn’t know what was happening. The sudden constriction of her nasal passages instinctively forced her to take a deep breath. The air was bitter, it smelled of medicine. Her eyes glazed over, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

  ‘I want to be honest with you … At least about this.’

  Where is the man’s voice coming from? Do I know him? It seems to be coming from a long way away. And what’s that little light? It looks like a gas lamp, the kind you use when you go camping. Daddy has one like that in his garage.

  ‘I know you’re wondering where you are and what’s happening. Let’s begin with the first question. We’re in an old abandoned hotel. The second question’s a bit more complicated …’

  I don’t have my clothes on. Why? First I was sitting, now I’m lying down. It’s uncomfortable here. Where’s up and where’s down? I don’t know. I feel as if I’m looking into a crystal. And who’s the shadow dancing around me?

  ‘The cat’s name isn’t Derg. Actually, the cat’s dead. His body’s in my four-by-four. Believe me, I don’t want to scare you, but it’s only right that you should know. I had to kill him because I don’t want anybody to find him. They’ll find his hair and his DNA when they search my car. Because they have to suspect me right up until the end, otherwise my plan will never work out … Anyway, as I was saying: Derg isn’t the name of a cat, it’s the name of a person. And when I discovered his story a few months ago, I realised how lucky he’d been. Of course, he had to pay a price for his luck. He had a stroke, but when you think about it, he also got a new life … And that’s how I got the idea.’