#TheMuderessoftheGrunewald

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The Murderess of the Grunewald (24): Secret Whitsun Holiday on Rügen (13): Sharing Joy and Suffering (6f) - Jamie’s Story (IV)

“Tür” by Pexels

Previously

Monday night, Whitsun weekend 2020, three days after Claire's release from prison

                 "And? Was the lady a 'rock solid Scot'?"

         "Well, her ancestors, like our ancestors, fled through Sweden to Danzig after the Battle of Culloden and later moved westward. After World War I, they settled in Berlin. And later, just before the wall was built, they also fled to the western part of the city. There she was born and went to school."

          "How do you know that?"

          "Oh, Claire! Of course, Jenny had already learned all that, and of course, that was the topic at lunch the day I met her."

          Jamie was silent for a moment.

          "She studied ecotrophology and then met her husband Ronald at the annual meeting of a traditional Scottish History Association. Later, they opened a restaurant, which made good profits. He took care of the business and the bar, she took care of the kitchen and the guests. But the success made him careless. He got engaged, well, let's say it this way, with people in the wrong circles. Then he also started to drink and became violent to her and their son. Nevertheless, she stayed with him, probably because of the child. Ronald died in a fire when his restaurant burned down. It is not clear what caused the fire. But the police suspected that he had troubles with several people. Perhaps Russians, protection racketeering. It seems he had upset someone, very much - and someone literally lit the house over his head. On the evening of the fire, he was drunk and had gone to sleep in the back room of the restaurant. He died of smoke poisoning before the house collapsed on top of him. Luckily, she and the child were in the family home a few blocks away. Thank God, nothing happened to them.

“Bier” by viganhajdari

         "Uh!"

         Claire looked at Jamie in concern.

         Both reached for their teacups at the same time. Was it genuine thirst or a gesture of embarrassment? Neither of them would have been able to give an exact answer. When Claire set her cup down again, she asked:

         "And? Was the woman, now a widow, looking for a father for her child?"

         "I can’t tell you," Jamie replied, still holding his cup in both hands.

         "We didn’t talk about that at all. As far as I know, there was insurance for the fire damage and she was probably also paid the life insurance of her husband. She and her son seemed to be well provided for."

         Still, he rotated his teacup back and forth in both hands. Claire knew he had a hard time talking about the matter, so she tried not to pressure Jamie. It took a few moments, then he put his cup on the coffee table. His breathing was heavy, it seemed as if he wanted to suck all the oxygen that surrounded him into his lungs. Then he clapped his hands over his face, took another deep breath and gave himself a jerk.

         "It's so embarrassing, Claire! So embarrassing!"

         Claire put her right arm around his shoulders and hugged him tightly as if she felt the need to hold Jamie's body together.

         "Actually, it was a nice day ... I arrived at the estate for half an hour before lunch ... The kids loved it, they had been looking forward to this day ... and, of course, to the presents, I brought with me ... When it was time for lunch, Jenny introduced me to this rock solid Scottish woman. Of course, I knew right away that this was once again one of Jenny's coupling attempts."

         "Why ... why didn’t you leave immediately?"

         "Oh, Claire," he replied, looking at her with eyes that begged for understanding.

         "I was looking forward to this day. I was happy to see my nieces and nephews. I was happy to escape the hot and humid Berlin, which was suffering from the summer heat. For several weeks, I had represented a client in a case before the  District Court, which was subject-specific but also emotionally very difficult. All I wanted was to be with my family, enjoy nature, drink some beer with Ian, have a good conversation, I just wanted to relax. Besides, I thought that Jenny had learned her lesson after her last misunderstanding ... after all, the whole thing had ended in court."

         Again he clapped his hands over his face and breathed audibly in and out.          "Please do not believe that it was easy for me to separate myself from my family. I ... I love them ... everyone ... including my sister ... You can not ... dis-sibling yourself  ... even ... if you sometimes would love to do that."          One more time he went silent for a moment. Claire could not see if he was just searching for the right words or if he needed time to gather his strength for the next step.          "No longer seeing my nieces and nephews ... to no longer seeing Jenny and Ian ... not going to Potsdam anymore ... where we spent so many happy years with my parents ... in the house, whose rooms are full of all the wonderful memories ... No, Claire ... even today it feels as if I had ripped out a part of my heart ... Potsdam, Claire, that was my home too!"          Claire's grip tightened on Jamie's shoulders. With her left hand, she pulled his face down to her and kissed him. Deep inside, his words had touched an area she had almost forgotten. Home.        

“Saint Peter & Saint Paul, Wantage” * Picture by Andrew Mathewson via WikiMediaCommons

         She too had had a home - once. The big house that lay on the unnamed branch of  Loks Lane, just beyond the Ford River, amid old, tall trees. Whenever she had walked this way to their home, alone or together with her parents, she had felt like she was in a fairyland. Built from the large, gray stones that were characteristic of this region of the country, in her childish imagination it looked more like a medieval castle than the residential house her parents had inherited from Papa’s parents. Looking back, the phrase ‘My home is my castle’ meant more than words to her. From their home, it took only a few minutes to get to Betjeman Millennium Park. And from there one reached the Church of St. Peter & St. Paul in just some more minutes. The massive 13th-century building, with its bright interior and stained-glass windows, had impressed Claire since she'd first consciously noticed it. Her earliest memories went back to a Christmas celebration in this church. She could still see it right up to the present: the big lights left and right next to the altar, the adults seated in their pews. And she could see herself sitting on the floor in front of the pews, busy playing with some toys. The choir sang the wonderful hymn of Gustav Holst In the bleak midwinter, which she had never forgotten and which she should forever associate with that feeling of home.

         Home, that was back then - back when her parents were still alive. But this home was lost. Like the memory of her parents, the memory of home was fading over the years. Today, Oxfordshire, Junction Loks Lane was just an address like any other.          

         The globetrotting life that she had led for so many years with her uncle Lambert had been exciting and interesting. But as much as her uncle loved her, Lambert Quentin Beauchamp could not really give her a home.         

         Then, years later, when she met Frank Randall, a certain hope sprang up in her heart: Together, they would start a family and create a home for themselves and their children. At last, she would get back what she had lost many years ago. And she had sworn herself, that she would do anything to make this new home for Frank and the children a place full of love, joy, and liveliness. They would be happy and enjoy life together. The joy she would see on her family's faces when they would be together in their home - this joy would give her the strength to do all the work that was required to run a large household. The love of her husband and the love of her children would compensate her for every sacrifice. She was convinced of that. But her hope had not been fulfilled. Worse, her hopes had turned exactly the opposite. Her dream had become a nightmare. Instead of living in a home filled with children's laughter, shared joy, and mutual love, she found herself in a cage. It was a golden cage, indeed. But it was tight and it cut her off from everything that makes a life worth living. And towards the end of her life with Frank, she had given up any hope that she would ever be happy again, that she would ever find a home. During the days she took pills to stay happy and awake and in the evenings she tried to fall asleep with the help of alcohol. Her life felt like a spiral that went only one way - down.         

         And when she was arrested the second time, her life seemed to have reached its endpoint. The only home she could expect until the end of her life was a 9-square-meter cell in a Berlin jail.          

         But then Jamie had entered the meeting room of the police department - and her life. And again there was a hope growing in her heart. But to this day, Claire had not allowed that hope to really take root in her heart. The fear of hoping for a home and then losing it before it had even become reality kept her firmly under control.

“Wohnzimmer” by JamesDeMers

         Jamie stood up suddenly and his movement tore Claire from her thoughts. He took a few steps to the fireplace, propping his arms against the mantelpiece. Then, all of a sudden, he pushed himself away and turned around jerkily.                  "He takes a warm-up."         

         The thought hit her hard, and inwardly she braced herself for the confession that would follow. His behavior had not escaped Bismarck. The dog had raised his head and was watching Jamie's movements attentively, while Adso was sleeping well-fed (and at peace with himself and the world) on one of the chairs at the dining table.          

         "The day went well and the party was nice. There were also some old friends from Jenny’s and my school days. After lunch, I joined some of them and avoided being alone with that woman. After coffee, Ian and I went for a ride with the older kids and after dinner, the whole company split up into groups. I joined Ian and the other men. They had made themselves comfortable in the garden with good cigars and old whiskey, while the women brought the children to bed and then sat together on the terrace with a glass of wine. Shortly after 10 pm I said goodbye and went to my room to sleep. I didn’t drink that much, but I didn’t want to drive that Sunday night. The next morning I had to be in Berlin. There were appointments scheduled with clients. So I said goodbye and everything seemed to be o.k."         

         Jamie had walked around the room without looking at her. Now he was back in front of the couch. Claire looked at him. Then she held out her right hand. He took it and she gently pulled him down.         

         "And what happened then?"         

         The words came softly out of her mouth, almost hesitantly. Claire herself was astonished when she heard them.         

         "I was in my room for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was Jenny - or Ian. So I called 'Come in!' And suddenly the rock-solid Scottish woman in her nightgown stood in front of my bed and started to undress! I told her to stop it. But she refused and said something about loneliness and that she was sorry for me. We could comfort each other in our loneliness."         

         Jamie shuddered, then fell silent for a moment.         

         "Can you imagine that?"  

         He took a deep breath, but only to relieve more of his anger.

         “How should I call that? Mercy sex?!”       

         Claire was startled by the sudden volume he spoke with. It seemed as if he wanted to jump up every moment. The vein, that run from his hairline to the root of his nose and which only became visible when he was trying hard, thinking hard, or when he was angry (and the latter was probably the case right now), was noticeably swollen. But Claire held his hands tight.         

         "What did you do?" she asked in a whisper.         

         "I opened the door and asked her to leave. But she didn’t want to, she tried to argue. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her over the threshold. Then I closed the door and locked it. I started to dress and packed my travel bag. She stood in front of my door for a few minutes. Then she probably realized that I wouldn’t take her offer and she went to her room. Sometime later, I sneaked out of the room and down the stairs. In the hall, I met Jenny. She had gotten a glass of water from the kitchen ... " 

“Eingang” by Tama66

         Jamie paused. Claire held her breath.        

         "Jenny asked what I was doing with my travel bag in the hall and I told her that I would leave and never come back. She looked at me as if she did not know what had happened. She ... she played the ignorance in person! As if this woman had dared to come to my room if Jenny hadn’t encouraged her! I ... I was so angry, Claire! So angry!"

         "I understand you, Jamie," she whispered.

         Once again she put her arm around his shoulders.

         "I dropped the bag to the ground, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. It broke out of me like lava from Mount Etna. I shouted at her and told her that she had made a brothel out of our parents' house and that I would never forgive her for that. I took my bag and slammed the door behind me ... Then ... I drove to ... Kartzow Palace."

“Schloss Kartzow” by  Axel Hindemith [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)] via WikiMediaCommons         

          Jamie took a deep breath and Claire began stroking his back reassuringly with her right hand.

          "Katzow Palace was once a Prussian manor house. Today it is a hotel. The drive home would have taken only about 45 minutes, but I was so upset ... so upset ...  I didn’t want to risk an accident. I knew that at Kartzow they have a 24-hour reception ... so ... I  got a room and then stayed there."

          He lowered his head and said nothing.

          "And since then there's been silence between you and Jenny," Clair noted in a tone so calm she was once more surprised. Looking at Jamie now, she noticed that his eyes were filling with tears.

          "Yes, since then I have not seen Jenny or the kids. Only with Ian do I meet every now and then when he's in Berlin for business. We stay in contact via email and he provides me with pictures of my nephews and nieces ... Oh, Claire! They've grown so much these four years, I don’t even know if they would recognize me at all ... "

          Claire wished she could say something that would be a real comfort to Jamie right now. But everything she could think of seemed trivial, superficial, meaningless. She knew what it felt like to lose one's family. She knew what it felt to be torn away from home. And she knew that nothing could be a substitute for this singular place called home. Except maybe - a new home. Could she give him this new home? She didn’t know, and if she was honest, she had to admit that there was this little space in her heart that was hosting a big doubt.

         They sat in silence for a while. Jamie had his head against her shoulder and Claire had begun to gently run her hands through his hair, massaging his head. When she looked at her watch, she saw that it was nearly one o'clock at night.

        "Jamie?" she asked softly.

        "Hmm?"

        "I am very grateful that you have told me these things."

        He looked at her and nodded.

        "Let's go to bed now."

        Once again he only nodded. Then they got up, extinguished the light and went up, followed by Bismarck and Adso.

        That night, Claire was laying awake a long time. Jamie had fallen asleep relatively quickly and, as so often, lay on his back with hands folded over his chest. As she looked at Jamie's face, lit by the moonlight, she wondered if this man who had suffered so much did not deserve a better wife than the one she could ever be.

Thank you for reading. Next time, read: “The Murderess from the Grunewald (25): Secret Whitsun Holiday on Rügen (14): Sharing Joy and Sorrow (6g) - Jamie’s Story (V)”

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess from the Grunewald (2): Dr. med. Claire Beauchamp, client

(”Abend” by tookapic)

Previous (chapter 1)

      While Claire enjoyed her first proper bath after six months, Jamie sat on the sofa and stroked Adso, who sat down again on his lap. Together, they waited for the dinner to be delivered. He chuckled as he thought of the little banter with Claire. They would have other things to discuss, heavyweight topics. It was important that these questions be clarified. But not today. Today he wished nothing more than to celebrate her regained freedom with Claire. The months of uncertainty, worry and fear had settled on her like an increasingly heavy, impenetrable fog. From the first day he had met her, he had been able to watch it.  

Six months ago

        It was a cloudy and slightly frosty Monday morning in November 2020. Jamie was already in the car, heading to the office when the picture of Tessa Lüttgenjohann, his secretary, showed up on the screen of his smartphone. He picked up the call and set the device to "Speaker".

        "Good morning, Tessa!"

        "Good morning, Mr. Fraser," came the friendly voice of a young woman from the speaker. 

        Tessa Lüttgenjohann was born in the city of Cologne 28 years ago. She had moved to Berlin, where at the age of 24 she was hired by “Fraser, Gowan & Coll.” She was a young, attractive woman with a beautiful face. Her slim, tall figure was crowned by a head of blond curls. Tessa was also intelligent and highly attentive. More than once “Fraser, Gowan & Coll.” had won a case because she had found important information that was overlooked by the court, the prosecutors or even the lawyers. Tessa was known for her good manners and her work ethics. She really was a hard worker. All in all, she was the best secretary one could wish for. Respected inside and outside of “Fraser, Gowan & Coll.”, she most likely was the best payed secretary in the capital. But in spite of all her qualities, she did not have that special something that could have sparked the fire in Jamie’s heart, which was necessary for him to love a woman. 

        "What's going on, Tessa?"

        "Where are you?"

        "On my way to the office, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

        "Can you park somewhere?"

        "I'll try, just a moment."

        Jamie looked around, turned right, and drove into a side street where he parked his car on the right.

        "So, what 's the matter?"

        "We received an urgent phone call from the British Embassy earlier this morning, a woman, a ... Dr. Claire Beauchamp, a doctor at the Charité, was arrested at her home in Charlottenburg at 5:30 pm. She is suspected of having killed her husband, a Frank Randall, professor at Humboldt University. She was  taken to the State Criminal Police Office, Division K11 and is to be interrogated there. The British Embassy asks us to provide legal assistance. "

        "Is she British? The name sounds more French."

        "She probably has French ancestors, but she has dual citizenship, she has a British and since January 2018 also a German passport."

        "Can not someone else from our office take care this case?"

        "Mr Gowan is at the local court at Lichtenberg all day, defending the tennis coach who has evaded millions of taxes. Mr. Hombach is at the local court in Potsdam as legal counsel of one of the victims of the migrant trafficking case. Mr. Vill has an appointment at the local court in Köpenick, extortion in the rocker milieu. Mr. Sturmfels must go to the district court, hearing for detention ... "

        "O.k., I understand, it sticks to me."

        "I know, Mr. Fraser, that you do not like to work for the British Embassy ..."

        "It's alright Tessa, call the police and tell them that I'll be there in 20 minutes. I hope the client is smart enough to keep her mouth shut until then."

        "I'll do, see you later Mr. Fraser."  

        Fifteen minutes later James Fraser steered his BMW M5 to a parking lot in front of the State Criminal Police Office, a modern gray building he hated since he first saw it years ago. He picked up his briefcase, locked the car and hurried up the stairs to the lobby. He took the elevator, which brought him to the department K11. A secretary at the reception desk reported him to the interrogator. Shortly thereafter, a small, fat man with gray hair and a gray beard appeared and introduced himself as 'Chief Inspector Günther Foos'. James Fraser was not a man who judged people by their appearance or an indefinable 'gut feeling'. But with this man, he immediately felt an inner dislike and his over the years acquired knowledge of the human nature urged him to heightened vigilance.

  (”Fenster” by StockSnap)        

         He asked for a private interview with his client and was immediately led to the interrogation room where Claire Beauchamp was waiting. When he entered, she stood at the window with her back to the door. She was wearing black jeans and a white pullover. Her head was barely recognizable under the mass of dark curls. The sound of the door had ripped her from her thoughts and she had turned abruptly.

         "My Goodness!" was all James Fraser could think of when he saw her. All the trouble that he had had to take over this case had vanished immediately. Somehow, he was even glad that none of the other lawyers had been able to take over this case.

        "Good morning, Mrs. Beauchamp, I am James Fraser of 'Fraser, Gowan and colleagues'. The British Embassy has asked me to provide you with legal assistance. You can choose another lawyer if you wish, but there will probably be a review of the detention order today ... "

        As he reached out to greet her, he uttered his salutation without really paying attention to the words. All his attention was focused solely on the face of the young woman standing opposite him. Her grace and charisma captivated him more and more and from moment to moment as his brain ran its own program. He would do everything in his power to save this woman from the prison. Whether she was guilty or not. Any way and every means would be right for him. And when she was free again, he would court her. He would win her over. He would make her his wife and give her the life and happiness she deserved. He would make her the mother of his children - she and no one else. His father was right: The day he would look into the face of the love of his life, he would know it was her. Today he had looked into that face. It was her. She was the missing part of his soul. He know that he know that he know that he know.

        "Mr. Fraser? Mr. Fraser!"

        The words came slowly and mistily to his ears.

        "Um, yes?"

        "Could I ... get my hand back?"

        She smiled and he felt an unreal lightness. He smiled back to her.

        "My hand, Mr. Fraser?"

        "Hand? Which hand?" He thought. Then he looked down at his hand, which still held Claire's hand.

        "Oh, I'm sorry, I ... I was a little bit in thought."

        Reluctantly, he released her hand.

        "We should sit down and discuss your case, Mrs. Beauchamp."

        She nodded and sat down at the table in the middle of the room where a number of chairs stood. Claire had not missed the lawyer's reaction, neither was she surprised. It had happened often that men looked admiringly at her. But what surprised her was her own reaction. She could not remember how many handsome, attractive men she had encountered in her life. But one thing she knew: none of these men had left such an immediate and deep impression as this giant, who had suddenly stepped through the door of this gray room and introduced himself as her lawyer.  With his read curly hair, the red designer stubble, his big hands and his sharp nose, he looked like a Viking who had escaped a time long forgotten. When he looked into her eyes, she felt as if the sun was rising - after a night of unending darkness. She was startled to discover how quickly and intensely she absorbed the small details of his face: the birthmark on the left cheek, the perfectly curved wings of his nose, the vein that ran vertically over his forehead to the nasal root. The urge to touch his face was almost irresistible. And those eyes! She could have looked endlessly into those blue eyes. But then she felt her right hand and noticed that he was still shaking it.

        Jamie opened his briefcase and took out some papers. One of these he presented to Claire.  

        "This is a power of attorney, please enter your full name and sign below, only then I can defend you."

        Claire's eyes fell on the letterhead: "Dr. James A.M.M. Fraser - Specialist Lawyer for Criminal Law." Then she filled out the form, signed it and gave it back to him.

        "Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, born October 20th, 1988 in Banbury / Oxfordshire, Great Britain, living in Berlin, Candestraße 17" he read in a low voice. Then he put the paper in his briefcase and took out a pink document.

        "This, Mrs. Beauchamp, is your arrest warrant. You were arrested because you are accused of having killed your husband, Franklin Wolverton Randall, on March 3rd, 2019, at you joint villa in Berlin-Grunewald, Köbelstraße 5. The following motives for murder are given: your husband's marital infidelity and your hatred resulting from this, the desire to gain the assets of your husband as well as his life insurance. It states, that the main characteristics for murder - perfidiousness, avarice and cruelty - have been fulfilled."

        Jamie paused for a moment. Then he looked directly at her.

        "Does this accusation correspond to the truth?"

        "No! I said it last March, I did not kill my husband. All the charges are constructed. I have nothing to do with Frank's death. I found him injured at the foot of the stairs and immediately called the ambulance. I, ... I am a doctor, Mr. Fraser! it is my vocation to help people, to heal them, not to kill them!"

        She looked at him desperately and her expression made him believe that she was telling the truth.

        “We can’t do much today. I will now call the chief superintendent and tell him that you will not testify. That is your right. You have the 'privilege to refuse to give evidence'. Then you will be brought before a custodial judge. I will accompany you. The custodial judge will once again read the arrest warrant to you and ask you if you want to make a statement. You will answer 'no'. Please answer only questions about your personal data – name, age, place of birth, address, occupation. Nothing more! Do not do answer any questions about the case. Do you understand that?"

        "Yes."

        Claire nodded.

        "The judge will then confirm the detention and fill out a detention request. Then you will be taken to a detention center by the police. I think they will take you to the Women's Detention Center in Berlin-Moabit. I'll visit you there as soon as I can. We have to prepare your trial. Maybe the police or the public prosecutor's office will asks if you do not want to make a statement, maybe you will be granted any kind of relief or you are promised that a statement will speed up the trial. If that happens, do not tell them anything and just refer everyone directly to me. Maybe that some fellow prisoner is trying to interrogate you. Prisoners often question other prisoners and then sell their information to the prosecutor's office to shorten their term or to get any benefits. Don't get involved in such a conversation. Do you promise me that?"

        "Yes. Yes, I do."

        "Well, before we go now, a few more questions: Should I inform someone about your imprisonment, maybe relatives?"

        "No, there is nobody there."

        "Really nobody?"

        "No. My parents died in a car accident when I was five years old, I had no siblings, and from then on I was placed under the supervision of my only uncle, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp. He was an archaeologist and a historian. The last years of his life he worked at Oxford University. There I met my former husband, Frank. He was also a historian. After my uncle died we moved to Boston for a few years, and six years ago he followed a call to Berlin, where he worked at the Humboldt-University. His parents are dead too and he also had no siblings, but there is a cousin named Alex. He lives in London and came here for the memorial service. Alex later prepared the funeral. He came to Berlin and together we brought Frank's urn to Oxford. The funeral took place there. But I have no close contact to Alex."

        "So there is no one to inform or for whom I should apply for a visit request? No friends?."

        “Oh, of course, there's Mrs. Fritz. She's my neighbor, and she has a key to my house as well. So please let her know that she feeds my cat, Adso. And then please inform Dr. Joseph Abernathy. He's a cardiac surgeon at the Charité. He and his wife Gail are my best friends. After Frank's death he gave me a job in his department and I'm sure he'll be worried about me."

        Jamie, who had written down everything in a little black notebook, nodded.

        "Okay, I'll do that when we get past the review of the detention order. Any questions? "

        "Not at the moment - except, how do I pay you?"

        "Don't worry about that for now, we'll settle that later, are you ready?"

        "Yes."

        "Good, then let’s go."

        Clair got up, but then had to stop and hold onto the table for a moment. Jamie jumped up and hurried over to prevent her from falling. She looked exhausted and he feared she might collapse.

        "Do you need a doctor, Mrs. Beauchamp?"

        "No, it's okay, thank you."

        He nevertheless held her for a moment longer, looked at her and said:

        "I know that might not be comforting to you now, but I promise you that we will do anything to prove your innocence."

        "Thank you, Dr. Fraser, I'm grateful you took my case."

(JVA Berlin-Moabit by G.Elser [CC BY 3.0; https://creativecommons.org / licenses / by / 3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons)

        The review of the detention order took place as Jamie had expected it. The police handcuffed Claire and then drove her with a prisoner transport to the Moabit district court. Jamie followed in his car. In court they were already expected. The custodial judge, a young guy with black curly hair and glasses, read the arrest warrant and questioned Claire. She answered all questions about her personal data, but otherwise refused to say anything more. "Excellent," Jamie thought, "she fully understood what to do." He had no doubts about Claire's intelligence, but too often he had seen how clients in front of a judge forgot all the advice he had given them. As he had expected, the judge ordered further pre-trial detention. The reason given was danger of flight. Claire had to hand over her two passports and then the judge issued a transfer request. Jamie could talk to Claire for a moment private, then she was put back in the transport vehicle, which took her to the prison.

        It was nearly noon when Jamie was back in his car. He paused for a moment before starting the car. He took a deep breath, folded his hands and closed his eyes. Then he spoke a short prayer in Gaelic, which he had learned from his mother. The thought of knowing that wonderful, delicate woman behind the thick walls of the prison almost drove him out of his mind. A few minutes later, he threaded his car into the traffic flow of the German capital. Some time later, when he parked his car in front of Claire's house, he dialed Tessa Lüttgenjohann's number.

        "Fraser, Gowan & Coll. You're talking to Mrs. Lüttgenjohann."

        "Hello Tessa, it's me."

        "Hello Mr. Fraser, what can I do for you?"

        "Please try to get the number and address of a Dr. Joseph Abernathy. He works as a cardiac surgeon at the Charité, and if they appeal to privacy, leave my mobile number and tell him to call me as soon as possible."

        "Anything else?"

        "Yes, prepare a file named 'Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp' and ..."

´       "Oh, does that mean we have the mandate?"

        "Yes, please also inform the British Embassy that Mrs. Beauchamp is our client from today on."

        "I'll do that, and to which lawyer will you assign the case?"

        "No one, I’ll take care of her case, personally."

        Tessa Lüttgenjohann was silent in surprise.

        "Tessa?"

        "Yes, Mr. Fraser?"

        "Put the file on my desk, I'll need it tomorrow morning."

        "As you wish, Mr. Fraser."

        "Good. Thank you!"

        Moments later, Jamie drove the car into the driveway to Claire's house. He got out, locked the car and walked slowly to the house on the left. Already at the entrance to the property he saw the large wrought-iron sign with the words "Fam. Fritz" at the wall of the house. He went to the door and rang the bell. A young woman with short blond hair opened. He introduced himself as a lawyer to Dr. Claire Beauchamp and asked to speak to Mrs. Fritz. The young woman explained that Ms. Fritz, her grandmother, had been hospitalized that morning because of a broken leg. When asked who was going to take care of Mrs. Beauchamp's cat, the young woman turned to a key board, took out a key-chain with a large silver 'C' hanging from it, and handed it to Jamie, saying: "You'll probably have to do that by yourself, Dr. Fraser."

Chapter 3