'I would like to know if-' 'Shhh.' The woman turned up a card. It was the picture of the Fool, colorfully dressed and carrying a satchel. The woman studied it a moment. 'There are many secrets for you to learn.' She turned up another tarot card. 'This is the Moon. You have desires you are uncertain about.' Diane hesitated and nodded.
'Does this involve a man?'
'Yes.' The old woman turned up the next card. 'This is the Lovers card.' Diane smiled. 'Is that a good omen?' 'We will see. The next three cards will tell us.' She turned over another card.
'The Hanged Man.' She frowned, paused, and turned up the next card. 'The Devil,' she muttered.
'Is that bad?' Diane asked lightly.
The gypsy fortune-teller did not answer.
Diane watched as the old woman turned up the next card. She shook her head. Her voice was eerily hollow. 'The Death card.' Diane got to her feet. 'I don't believe in any of this,' she said angrily.
The old woman looked up, and when she spoke, her voice was macabre. 'It does not matter what you believe. Death is all around you.
CHAPTER 3
Berlin, Germany
THE POLIZEIKOMMANDANT, OTTO Schiffer, two uniformed police officers, and the superintendent of the apartment building, Herr Karl Goetz, were staring at the naked, shriveled body lying at the bottom of the overflowing bathtub. A faint bruise circled her neck.
The Polizeikommandant held a finger under the dripping tap. Cold.' He sniffed at the empty liquor bottle on the side of the tub and turned to the building superintendent. 'Her name?' 'Sonja Verbrugge. Her husband is Franz Verbrugge. He is some kind of scientist.' 'She lived in this apartment with her husband?' 'Seven years. They were wonderful tenants. Always paid their rent on time. Never any trouble.
Everyone loved…' He realized what he was about to say and stopped. 'Did Frau Verbrugge have a job?' 'Yes, at the Cyberlin internet cafe, where people pay to use the computers for-' 'What led you to discover the body?' 'It was because of the cold water tap in the bathtub. I tried to fix it several times, but it would never turn completely off.' 'So?' 'So this morning the tenant in the apartment below complained about water dripping through his ceiling.
I came up here, knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, I opened it with my passkey.
I came into the bathroom and found…' His voice choked.
A detective came into the bathroom. 'No liquor bottles in the cabinets, just wine.' The Kommandant nodded. 'Right.' He pointed to the liquor bottle on the side of the tub. 'Have that tested for fingerprints.' 'Yes, sir.' The Kommandant turned to Karl Goetz. 'Do you know where Herr Verbrugge is?' 'No. I always see him in the morning, when he leaves for work, but-' He made a helpless gesture.
'You did not see him this morning?'
'No.' 'Do you know if Herr Verbrugge was planning to take a trip somewhere?' 'No, sir. I do not.' The Kommandant turned to the detective. 'Talk to the other tenants. Find out if Frau Verbrugge seemed depressed lately, or if she and her husband quarreled, and if she was a heavy drinker. Get all the information you can.' He looked at Karl Goetz. 'We will check on her husband. If you think of anything that might be helpful-' Karl Goetz said tentatively, 'I do not know whether this is helpful, but one of the tenants told me that an ambulance was parked in front of the building last night, and he asked if anyone was sick. By the time I went outside to see what was happening, the ambulance was gone. Does that help?' The Kommandant said, 'It will be looked into.' 'What-what about her-her body?' Karl Goetz asked nervously.
'The medical examiner is on his way. Empty the tub and throw a towel over her.'
CHAPTER 4
I'M AFRAID I have some bad news… killed last night… we found his body under a bridge…
For Diane Stevens, time had stopped. She wandered aimlessly through the large apartment filled with memories and thought: Its comfort has gone… its warmth has gone… without Richard, it is only a collection of cold bricks. It will never come alive again.
Diane sank onto the couch and closed her eyes. Richard, darling the day we were married, you asked what I would like as a gift. I told you I didn't want anything. But I do now. Come back to me. It doesn't matter if I can't see you. Just hold me in your arms. I'll know you 're here. I need to feel your touch once more. I want to feel you stroking my breast… I want to imagine that I can hear your voice saying that I make the best paella in the world… I want to hear your voice asking me to stop pulling the bedcovers ojfyou… I want to hear you telling me that you love me. She tried to stop the sudden flow of tears, but it was impossible.
FROM THE TIME Diane realized that Richard was dead, she spent the next several days locked away in their darkened apartment, refusing to answer the telephone or the door. She was like a wounded animal, hiding. She wanted to be alone with her pain.
Richard, there were so many times I wanted to say 'I love you,' so that you would say 'I love you, too.' But I didn't want to sound needy. I was a fool. Now I'm needy.
Finally, when the constant ringing of the telephone and the incessant sound of the doorbell would not stop, Diane opened the door.
Carolyn Ter, one of Diane's closest friends, stood there. She looked at Diane and said, 'You look like hell.' Her voice softened. 'Everyone's been trying to reach you, honey. We've all been worried sick.' 'I'm sorry, Carolyn, but I just can't-' Carolyn took Diane in her arms. 'I know. But there are a lot of friends who want to see you.' Diane shook her head. 'No. It's im-' 'Diane, Richard's life is over, but yours isn't. Don't shut out the people who love you. I'll start making calls.'
FRIENDS OF DIANE and Richard began telephoning and coming to the apartment, and Diane found herself listening to the endless litany of the cliches of death:
'Think of it this way, Diane. Richard is at peace…' 'God called him, darling…' 'I know Richard is in heaven, shining down on you…' 'He's passed over to a better place…' 'He's joined the angels…' Diane wanted to scream.
THE STREAM OF visitors seemed endless. Paul Deacon, the owner of the art gallery that displayed Diane's work, came to the apartment. He put his arms around Diane and said, 'I've been trying to reach you, but-' 'I know.' 'I'm so sad about Richard. He was a rare gentleman. But, Diane, you can't shut yourself away like this. People are waiting to see more of your beautiful work.' 'I can't. It's not important anymore, Paul. Nothing is. I'm through.' She could not be persuaded.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, when the doorbell rang, Diane reluctantly went to the door.
She looked through the peephole, and there seemed to be a small crowd outside.
