“Anna,” Magnus said. “Where are you?”

She saw Abel looking at her, but she couldn’t read his eyes. “Why?” she asked.

“Flute lesson,” Magnus answered shortly. He didn’t ask any questions.

“Shit,” Anna said.

“Just tell me where you are. I can come and get you. If we take the car, we can still make it in time.”

Abel’s eyes were still on her. “No,” she said. “I’ll come home. Now. Could you drive me from there? I’m going to be late, I know, but could you?”

“Hurry up,” Magnus said. “I’ll wait.”

Anna put her phone back in her pocket. “I totally forgot that I’ve got a flute lesson today,” she said. “My teacher will be waiting for me. I’ve gotta … I’ve gotta go …” She turned to Abel, helpless. “I don’t want to, I’d rather …”

“If you have to go, go,” Abel said. Marinke held the door open for her. Why didn’t he leave? Take his stupid folder and his smile … Why couldn’t he leave them alone, for just a minute?

Fuck off! She wanted to shout, very loudly, and use words she didn’t normally use. Fuck off, are you blind, blind like the white cat on the green ship? Don’t you see you’re interfering where you shouldn’t? Don’t you understand anything at all?

She reached out for Abel, but he stepped back like he had stepped back from Sören Marinke. “Go,” he said. “Your lesson’s more important.”

He didn’t shove her out the door exactly, but he drove her out, with the look in his eyes … and then, when Marinke had joined her in the hallway, he shut the door behind them. The last thing she saw was Micha shyly waving from behind him.

She climbed down the stairs, behind Marinke, without saying a word. It was as if they were one entity all of a sudden, an enemy entity that wasn’t welcome in Abel’s world. Her leaving was a betrayal, and she had seen it in Abel’s eyes: she’d spent half the day with him and Micha, then gotten a one-minute call and left them instantly. A plate of fresh pancakes was standing on a table somewhere, slowly turning cold.

On the ground floor, Mrs. Ketow’s door was slightly ajar. Anna ignored that and stepped outside behind Marinke. She had to hurry. She didn’t have time to talk. But she talked to him anyway.

“Do you really want to help?” she asked. “I mean … if you do … why don’t you just forget that Michelle Tannatek has disappeared?”

“Because that’s not an acceptable solution,” Marinke said. “You don’t believe that story about the call either, do you?”

Anna shrugged. “It’s not important what I believe,” she replied. “What’s important is that those two stay together, Micha and her brother.”

“I’ll try my best,” Marinke said seriously. “But to do that, I have to find out a few things.” He dug another card out of the pocket of his leather jacket and gave it to Anna. “Maybe you’ll feel like calling me. After you’ve thought about things for a while. Maybe there are some things you could explain to me.”

“Sounds like lines you picked from a cheap detective story,” Anna said as she got onto her bike.

Marinke laughed. “Unfortunately, it’s quite an expensive detective story. My job, I mean. Considering the workload. And … tell your friend that I’m not so easily intimidated. In my job, I’m often in contact with people who are much more dangerous. The bar where they shot Rainer Lierski … you know, the Admiral … I know all the regulars there … unfortunately.”

“Wait,” Anna said. “You knew Rainer Lierski?”

Marinke nodded. “Another client of ours. He disappeared into thin air for a while, but then reappeared, and there were problems right away. I can’t say I’m sad he’s gone.” For the first time, his smile was grim, not friendly. And for the first time, it seemed genuine. He brushed a snowflake from the sleeve of his suede jacket. “In the end, he probably picked a fight with the wrong person.”

“Or with the right one,” Anna said. She thought about Marinke’s remark while she pedaled as fast as she could down Wolgaster Street. She wondered whether she should help him. Whether she should call. Whether he might be helpful in spite of his too-friendly smile and his you-can-call-me-Sören attitude. If Abel had money, she thought, if he didn’t have to work nights, if he didn’t have to miss all those classes to be with Micha … wouldn’t everything be better? No, Abel said in her head. Keep out of this. All of you, keep out. We don’t want charity. Leave us alone. That’s final.

When she got home, Magnus was waiting in the car with the engine running and her flute and music on the passenger seat. She was late for her lesson. She couldn’t concentrate. She made a lot of mistakes. She fell asleep in the car on the way back, her head on her arms. She dreamed of Sören Marinke.

In her dream, he was sitting at a table in the Mittendrin, playing cards with Hennes and Bertil. Of course, this dream was utter nonsense. The minute Anna stepped through the doorway into it, she knew it was nonsense. Knaake stood behind the bar, watching the three players; at the very back of the room, on a long table, a coffin was open. Anna saw that it was filled with flowers, tiny white springtime stars. Anemones nestled between beech-tree leaves. It was like a scene in a kitschy Italian Mafia movie. Micha stood next to the coffin in her pink down jacket, hugging Mrs. Margaret. Anna craned her neck but couldn’t see the body. Rainer Lierski, she thought. Or was it someone else? Was it the body of a woman under the flowers and leaves? In a dream, anything is possible … She looked around. If everybody who played a role in this story was here … Wait, where was Abel?

“We’re back,” Magnus said, stroking her hair, and she jumped. “Anna, we’re home.” She blinked. He was still sitting behind the steering wheel; he didn’t move to get out of the car.

“Shouldn’t we go in?” Anna asked uneasily.

“No,” Magnus said. “I mean, yes, but in a minute. I’d like to know some things first.” He didn’t look at her; he was staring ahead. “Where were you? Were you where you’ve been spending more time lately? I’ve decided to ask as not asking gets me nowhere …”

“And if I don’t say anything now?”

“Anna, your mother’s worried.”

They sat quietly for a while. A long while. Then Anna got out. Magnus could have locked the car from the inside, forced her to answer, but he wouldn’t do that. She felt his eyes on her as she opened the door. “I’m going to bed,” she mumbled. “I had a late night last night. I’m too tired for supper.”

As she lay in bed, she remembered that her last history test was on Friday. She should have spent today studying. She searched for her notebook and took it back to bed with her. But the words kept running into each other … like wet ink, like water in an icy winter ocean, like the blueness of eyes that could be very cold if they wanted to be. If you have to go, go. Your lesson is more important. Go.

She gave up. She found Knaake’s number and called him. It was eight thirty; it should be okay to call a teacher at eight thirty, shouldn’t it? And definitely a lighthouse keeper …

“This is Anna,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m calling so late … I just wanted to … you have the telephone numbers of everyone in your intensive class, don’t you?”

“I should,” Knaake answered. He sounded tired, as if he’d had enough of his students for the day and had just sunk into an armchair. She heard music in the background. She knew the tune … she wondered from where. “I need Abel Tannatek’s number.”

“Excuse me?”

“His cell phone number. Do you have it?”

“I do, but … hold on … I’ll look … but I have to go upstairs.” The music grew more distant. “Why don’t you have his number? I mean, he’s your boyfriend, isn’t …”

“Jeez,” Anna said, sounding almost angry. “It seems like as of today I’m officially married to him or something. I mean, I don’t live in his pocket …”