The Trap Read Online Free PDF Page A

had the feeling that Andrea Brandt didn’t believe me. For a while, I even had the impression that she thought I was the murderer, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.
    Now I have to explain to Andrea Brandt that I have recognised Anna’s murderer in a respected reporter I’ve seen on a news broadcast twelve years after the event. And that I can’t possibly go to the police station to make the statement because the very thought of setting foot outside makes me feel sick…
    No. If I want the man to be called to account, I’ll have to do it myself.

6
    It sometimes happens that I look in the mirror and don’t recognise myself. I’m standing in the bathroom, contemplating my reflection—something I haven’t done for a long time. Of course, I look in the mirror every morning and evening when I clean my teeth and wash my face. But, on the whole, I don’t really look. Today is different.
    D-Day. The journalist I’ve invited to interview me in my house will be in his car, on his way. Any minute now, he’ll come up the drive. He will get out, walk to the front door, and ring the bell.
    I am prepared. I have been studying him. I know what I’ll see when he’s sitting opposite me. But what will he see? I stare at myself—at my eyes and nose, at my mouth, cheeks and ears, and then at my eyes again. I am surprised at my outward appearance: so that’s what I look like—that’s me, is it?
    The sound of the doorbell makes me jump. I run through the plan in my head one last time, then I throw back my shoulders and head for the front door. My heartbeat is so loud that it reverberates all through the house, making the windowpanes rattle. I breathe in and out one last time. Then I open the door.
    For years, the monster has pursued me even in my dreams. Now he’s standing before me, holding out his hand. I suppress the impulse to run away screaming—to go berserk. I must not hesitate, I must not tremble. I will look him in the eye. I will speak loud and clear. That’s what I’ve made up my mind to do; that’s what I’ve prepared myself for. The moment has come, and now that it’s here, it seems almost unreal. I press his hand. I smile and say, ‘Please, come in.’ I do not hesitate, I do not tremble. I look him in the eye and my voice is strong; it sounds loud and clear. I know the monster can’t do me any harm. The whole world knows he’s here—my publishing house, his editorial department… Even if we were alone, he couldn’t do me any harm. He won’t do me any harm. He’s not stupid.
    And yet… It’s a tremendous effort for me to turn my back on him and lead the way into the house. I’ve decided the dining room is where the interview will take place. It wasn’t a strategic decision but an intuitive one. Charlotte, my assistant, comes into the room, takes his coat, busies herself, bustles about, chatters, offers drinks, exudes charm—all the things I pay her for. None of this is any more than a job for her. She has no idea what’s really going on, but her presence reassures me.
    I try to appear relaxed and not to stare at him or size him up. He’s tall, with a few streaks of grey running through his short, dark hair. But the most remarkable thing about him is his alert grey eyes, which take in the room with a single glance. He walks across to the dining table, so big it could be used for a conference. He puts his bag on the first chair he comes to, opens it up and glances inside. He’s making sure he has everything with him.
    Charlotte brings in bottles of water and glasses. I go over to the table where I’ve laid out a few copies of my latest novel, in which I describe the murder of my sister. He and I know it’s not a work of fiction but an indictment. I take a bottle and pour myself a glass of water. My hands are steady.
    The monster looks the same as on television. His name is Victor Lenzen.
    ‘This is a beautiful house,’ says Lenzen, wandering to the window. He glances at the edge of the