“As you know, my family went through World War two in Germany. My great-grand parents on my mother’s side lived in the North east area of Germany, well…it was Germany, it’s now part of Poland,” he leaned back from the dining table, his gaze off into the distance beyond his wife. “She had been working as a secretary of an industrial company that made gears and things at the end of the war. The last day she had that job was a fateful day. When she left for home the word the Russians were heading her way, Germany as it was, under the Fuhrer was coming to an end and the Allies were invading the country,” Kunst’s voice got low, just above a whisper, “and by the time she got home, her family had evacuated already, deciding to leave her behind.”
“Oh my god,” she said as he briefly lapsed into silence. “I guess they all had to get out of there quickly.”
He nodded, “Yes, it all happened very fast according to my mother who was a teenager at the time. Her husband, daughter, my mother, and her brother left, heading west. He didn’t want to, but he knew she’d want him to save them. There were rumors the Russians were executing Germans, not putting them into POW camps. Fighting back tears, he finally told my mother there was no other choice.”
“That must have been difficult and heartbreaking,” she replied. “It didn’t end well, did it?”
“Nein, she died from Typhoid in a camp in Siberia. The Red Cross gave them the news and he got the records from the camp. The Red Cross insisted the Russians release the survivors. The war had ended and they were civilians with no ties to the Nazi’s.”
“I am so sorry, Siggy. I can only imagine how hard it would have been,” she sat down next to him at the table, placing her hand on his shoulder, “It’s a terrible family legacy. I can understand why you may have some grudges. You should express your emotions, Siggy, it isn’t good to keep them all bottled up, especially with me. I am your wife. I want to share in your pain.”
He nodded as he wiped the tear that threatened to bring more. “Ja, we don’t like to talk about it. Maybe we should but guilt confides us to its silent sadness. It is a cloud over the family.”
“Are there any pictures of her?”
“Ja, one,” he replied, “in a family album we don’t usually take out.”
“My poor darling,” she leaned against his shoulder and he laid his head on hers.
“It’s a long time ago,” he replied, “but, it’s shameful, but seeing the Russians…I don’t know…it…brings it all up again.”
She turned toward him and placed her forehead against his and wiped the other tear with her thumb. “You have reason to be angry at those who captured her. Do you want me to be honest?”
“Of course,” he replied, looking into her eyes, gleaming with the overhead light. He always appreciated the truth, even if it hurt, but he steadied himself.
“It was a war, and a brutal one, a lot of bad things happened,” she straightened herself and held his hand. “Now you have a job to do, capturing the one who murdered this young lady who had nothing to do with it. I know you, Siggy. We’ve been married for thirty-two years, since we were babies, and you fight for justice, even if it is difficult.”
“I am doing my job,” he replied, a glimmer of a smile sat on his mouth. “it’s just bringing up…emotions.” He found an empty spot in his mind to hang out in for a moment. He pursed his lips tight and patted her hand. “You’re right. I need to focus on justice for the victim.”
Kunst tossed in bed for a while before he could get settled. He slept deep before the dreams started. The pale face of the victim, lifeless. He heard his name being called deep within his mind. “Oma,” he called out as he slept, waking his wife.
The sound of his alarm jarred him awake. He blinked, unable to see straight. He was alone in bed. Light streamed through the window, dust particles sparkled in the beams. The edges of the windows outside were frosted with ice. He pulled himself out of bed, his joints feeling their age. He limped to the bathroom for a shower. Sleep deprivation weighed on his movements. He took out a suit and dressed before heading down stairs. His cell phone rang as he entered the kitchen.
“Kunst,” he answered gruffly. He recognized the phone number as Detective Grange.
“Good morning, sir,” the voice said.
“What do you have for me?”
“We have the best friend here waiting for you and we found the boyfriend – ex-boyfriend,” Grange said, correcting himself. Kunst had the phone propped on his shoulder and ear while he put his watch on. He could hear the background of the precinct on the line. “I have a team heading to his location and will be bringing him in. He has a warrant out already, so he will be arrested for that…at least.”
Mrs. Kunst sat at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand, and half-eaten toast on her plate. She was scrolling through her phone and looked up as he focused on his own phone call. He poured himself a cup of coffee in a to-go cup.
“I must go, schatz,” he said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. She took it in her usual stride. They both looked forward to his retirement. She sat deep in thought, listening for the sound of the front door closing before she opened her text messages.
He slid behind the wheel of his car and made his way to the precinct. His mind was busy on the case details he remembered. He mentally listed the information he required. Traffic was heavy through the city because a large number of visitors had been gathering, preparing for the events that weren’t too far away. He had to swerve once to avoid a pedestrian. Pulling into the parking garage, he parked in his spot by the elevator to the third floor. His office looked out over the city and the snow-filled mountains beyond. Grange followed him.
“So is the best friend still waiting?” Kunst asked him. “I wonder what she has to say…”
“Yes, she’s been very patient actually,” he replied. “She’s been given coffee and water. We offered her food, but she turned it down.”
“Ja, let’s not keep her waiting any more,” Kunst said, putting down his to-go mug on his desk.
Grange followed behind, files in his hand, had to run to keep up behind Kunst who didn’t pay attention. He opened the door to the interview room, the smell of cold coffee drifting. The room felt cold, both in temperature and ambiance, the colors in the range of beiges and grays. Only a table and four chairs sat in the middle, a tape recorder on the edge. A camera recorded everything from behind the detectives, high up on the beige wall.
On one of the metal chairs, Anya Morozova waited, her arms tightly crossed in front of her, the long-sleeves of her jacket hiding an athletic build. The Russian team emblem was emblazoned on her zip-up jacket and Kunst saw the edges of the same emblem on the snug shirt beneath. Her legs, covered in lycra, were violently shaking beneath the table. She pulled herself forward and shifted her feet beneath the chair legs. She had an aura of anxiety, either from fear or too many cups of coffee.
Both Kunst and Grange sat in chairs opposite of her facing the window, simple white blinds were open, and the sight of cars on the fly-over wasn’t too far away. Grange looked at Kunst, finding his countenance graying slightly.
“We are so sorry for making you wait for so long, Ms…” he looked down at his notes for a moment, forgetting the name, “Morozova.”
“Is no problem,” her ice blue eyes were tinged with red. She held a tissue between her long bony fingers. She had her pale blond hair pulled back off her heart-shaped face, her high-cheekbones were sharp and held a youthful softness despite the years. Kunst noticed the small scar over her eyebrow. She blew her nose in a strange gentle manner Kunst hadn’t expected to come from her. It had been just a feeling he had.
“I am happy to help and I needed to see you without the others. She’s my best friend,” she replied, eyes wide and pleading. “…was my best friend.” She sniffed and fought back tears.
Grange slid the box of tissues toward her and she thanked him with a sad smile.
“Do you have something specific you need to tell us then?” Kunst looked down at his notes, waiting while she cleared her throat.
She sniffled into a new kleenex. “I just wanted to give you my version. Before the gossips tell you. It was the night before she was…” her voice trailed and she dabbed her eyes. They both looked at her, one with a slight glare, one with soft, sympathetic eyes.
“We are sorry for the loss of your friend,” Grange said, his eyes seeming to curve themselves into a frown like his mouth.
“Thank you so much,” she replied, straightening herself up and sticking out her chin, “but, I am sure you’ve been told that the night before she was found on the lift we had an argument.”
Kunst looked at her and nodded. “Yes, some said they heard you arguing. What was that about?” Kunst scribbled a note and showed it to Grange who nodded nonchalantly and gazed back at Anya, her gaze went from Grange to Kunst and back.
“It was nothing,” her accent thickened slightly with urgency, “only a disagreement ‘bout training schedule. She hadn’t been as focused as usual. I needed her head in ze game. If you want to accuse anyone, you must question her boyfriend.”
“He is on our list, don’t worry,” Kunst replied.
“I overheard them arguing the night before. He was screaming and throwing things…” she trailed off, her eyes grew wide.
Thank you for telling us.”
The door opened in a whirl of wind, a brusk voice said, “You two are needed…now.”
To be continued….
Copyright © Rachel D. Knepp.
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods—without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.
