Sorry by Zoran Drvenkar Page A

summary of the situation, nothing more. He was a colleague of Jens Haneff, he said, and the company wanted to apologize to the widow for the fact that her husband died on a business trip.
    “He lured us with a sob story,” Frauke said. “Plane crash, widow, guilt.”
    “I don’t get it,” says Kris. “What does he want from us?”
    “I don’t care what the guy wants,” says Wolf. “Let’s get out of here.”
    Kris nods as if he understands, then takes out his phone.
    “What are you doing?” Frauke asks.
    “Calling him,” Kris replies, holding the folder out to her. “Lars Meybach was kind enough to leave us his cell phone number.”
KRIS
    I T’S RINGING AT the other end. Kris switches the phone from one ear to the other. His mouth is dry, and he feels cold sweat under his armpits. After the fourth ring the call is answered.
    “Problems?”
    “No problems,” says Kris, “just a question. What’s this all about?”
    “Ah, that sounds like Kris Marrer, the big brother. I’m very glad we have the chance to speak to each other. I bet you’re the driving force behind the agency.”
    “There’s four of us—”
    “Yes, but one of you must be the brains behind the operation. Four heads never think alike, one head must be in charge.”
    Kris says nothing.
    “I cleaned her up,” Meybach goes on. “All that blood and saliva would have destroyed the picture. And cleanliness has always been important to her. I didn’t want to break with tradition. Did you get a good look at her? You can look everywhere, but the answer is always right in front of your eyes. If you look long enough you see everything. Stupidly, people never look properly. But if you really do look, you’ll be amazed at how you could have overlooked the truth.”
    Kris has no idea what the guy’s talking about.
    “What have we got to do with it?” he asks.
    Meybach tells him what they have to do with it. He says it once and repeats it a second time as if Kris had learning difficulties. Kris has to grip his phone harder so that it doesn’t slip from his sweaty hand. At last he hears a click; Meybach has put the phone down. Kris has to force himself to keep holding his phone to his ear. He knows that if he brings it down now he will hurl it to the floor.
Wolf did the right thing when he thumped the wall
. For a whole minute Kris goes on looking out of the window as if Meybach were still on the other end. He doesn’t want to turn round.
    How can I tell them?
    Kris gulps, switches his phone off, and turns round. They don’t ask, they just look at him.
    “He says we should do our job.”
    Wolf wipes his mouth and turns away. Tamara frowns as if she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Frauke is the only one who reacts.
    “Forget it, you can leave me out of this,” she says and runs out of the kitchen. Her footsteps echo down the corridor, then the door slams behind her.
    No one expected that.
    “What exactly did he say!” Tamara asks. “Kris, damn it, what exactly did he say?”
    “He says we’re to apologize for him,” Kris replies, pointing over her shoulder, “to her.”
    They look at him as if he has just walked into the room. He wishes Frauke was still there. Tamara shrinks back into the wall behind her, while Wolf just stands there opening and closing his injured hand as if he had a cramp.
    “Say that again,” he says to Kris.
    “We’re to apologize to her. For him. He wants us to take on the apology. He wants a recording. Hence the digital recorder. He says he took us on so that we’ll …”
    Kris falls silent.
    “So that we’ll what?” Wolf presses.
    “Take his guilt from him.”
    “But … but that’s not how it works,” says Tamara.
    “Tell me about it,” says Kris.
    Wolf presses the balls of his hands against his eyes. The scarf around his hand looks ridiculous. He reminds Kris of football fans who walk bellowing through the streets on the weekend.
    “It’s
my
commission,” says Wolf, lowering his