Free The Man from Berlin by Luke McCallin

surprised to find him there. She held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed. ‘I mean that Marija liked men. Men with power, authority. She liked older men. She had a lot of them. I could not… did not try… to keep track of them. I cannot say I liked her behaviour. But… Marija was strong-willed. What I liked and wanted stopped being important to her a long time ago. I mean, she lived by herself, out there in Ilidža, instead of here with me. How many good Bosnian girls do that to their mothers? She always said she was a “modern” girl. She wanted her own place. Her father indulged her.’ Just for a moment her eyes strayed to the photos on the piano. ‘He always did. He gave her his father’s house, the one in Ilidža. And when we divorced, he moved out there withher.’
    She looked at the two of them. ‘Understand, I love her.’ Her voice hitched as she caught herself, swallowed, and then it seemed that a conscious refusal to talk of her love for her daughter in the past crept over her face. ‘But she was complicated. She could be close at times. She was distant more often.’ She looked far away. ‘Especially since Vjeko – my husband – passed away. Distant. But always dutiful,’ she said, her hand passing over the folder and its letters, cards, and snapshots from faraway countries. ‘She was her father’s daughter. More than she was ever mine.’
    Reinhardt, who knew something of complicated family relationships, especially with children, said nothing. He felt a stab of embarrassment for Vukić but screwed it down tight. Vukić seemed to realise she might have said too much of the wrong thing and breathed in deeply, her back straightening. Padelin cleared his throat, but she had not finished talking.
    â€˜You know, lots of people liked Marija. Lots of people liked being with her. But I also think there were people who did not like her. What she was. What she did.’ She looked directly at Reinhardt as she talked. ‘You know, she was not afraid to say what some said was the truth about our situation – that is, the situation of Croats – before the war. But she was not afraid to say some things about women, and what some could and should say about what women did with their lives.’
    Reinhardt thought Padelin looked uncomfortable with this, although whether it was the extra detail about an icon he had admired from afar or the talk about disloyalty towards the Party was not clear. He made a valiant effort to bring the conversation back to the case. ‘Mrs Vukić, what can you tell us about the guests your daughterhad?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ she said, shortly. ‘I don’t know who she might have entertained. But just be sure,’ she said, again focusing on Reinhardt, ‘just be sure that when you look for whoever did this, you look close to home, not just far from it. Those who would hold her highest are those who would drop her furthest.’ She sat back, an expression of satisfaction on her face.
    Padelin looked even more uncomfortable with that, to the extent that Reinhardt stepped in for him. ‘What do these friends of hersdo?’
    â€˜I’m afraid I really don’t know.’ Her eyes were far away again, the shock catching up with her. There seemed to be little more they could do here, now. Reinhardt leaned forward to place his saucer on the table and froze as Vukić began talking again.
    â€˜My husband called her feisty,’ she said, in little more than a whisper. ‘Independent-minded. Very political. Very… involved with the Party. And she liked having a good time. Parties. Dancing. Drinking. Smoking. The men.’ Her cup rattled slightly in her hand, but she did not seem to notice.
    â€˜Mrs Vukić,’ said Padelin. ‘Did your daughter have any ad­dictions?’
    Vukić seemed to rouse herself. ‘No. Heavens, no,’ she gushed,