Grave Intent by Alexander Hartung

you saying that things will eventually return to normal, that I’ll feel like myself again?”
    Kerima pulled off her glasses. “This incident will stay with you for the rest of your life. You’ll just learn to live with it.”
    “I thought time healed all wounds.”
    “It’s a nice thought, but unfortunately just that. Most scars are for life.” Kerima was biting her lower lip. Jan had the impression that she knew what she was talking about.
    She set down her card. “If you ever need to talk, call me. Doesn’t matter how late.” And with that, she left the conference room.
    Once Kerima was gone, Jan leaned back in his chair. He didn’t want to admit it, but he really did feel better. Maybe all this psycho hocus-pocus made some sense. He pocketed her card, stood, and went out to his car. It was time to go see about a killer.

    When Jan returned to the doctor’s office, Vanessa Ziegler was outside, loading a box of tchotchkes into her car—corny little figurines from vacations, decorative picture frames with fading photos. Jan noticed a deformed little plastic Eiffel Tower.
    Vanessa looked tired. Her eyes were red, her face devoid of makeup.
    “Good morning, Frau Ziegler,” Jan said.
    Vanessa turned to him and flashed a fake smile.
    “Do you have a moment to talk to me?” he said.
    She shrugged. “I’m unemployed. I have all the time in the world.”
    “It’s about a serious matter, unfortunately.”
    “More serious than the murder of Dr. Valburg?”
    Jan hated revealing unpleasant things about a murder victim, but he had to pursue every clue. “We found cocaine in his system.”
    Vanessa pursed her lips. Jan had expected a fit of fury or at least an outraged denial. But she only lowered her head in shame.
    “You have to understand,” she said, nearly whispering. “It all started when his wife was diagnosed with cancer, five years ago. Countless operations followed, X-rays, chemotherapy, the works. Annika saw the best doctors, but she couldn’t get rid of it. Dr. Valburg spent every free second with his wife, went on vacations with her when they had a break from treatments, and even bought a new house without stairs just to make her days easier. But nothing worked. Annika died sixteen months ago. And Dr. Valburg’s will to live died with her. If he hadn’t been a faithful Christian, I’m sure he would’ve committed suicide.”
    She paused, then continued. “His patients didn’t notice the change, but I knew him better. After work he’d go into his empty house and just vegetate. One evening, he seemed so out of it that I followed him and watched him from out in the yard. He took off his coat, sat on a chair, and stared at the empty wall. His eyes blinking were the only sign that he was still alive. After a while he buried his face in his hands and started to cry.”
    “Why is his house so empty?” Jan asked.
    Vanessa lifted her head. “What do you mean?”
    “He bought the house over a year ago, yet the moving boxes haven’t been unpacked, cabinets not put up, no ceiling fixtures installed.”
    “That had to do with his wife dying. He bought that house for Annika. They wanted to spend the rest of their lives together there. The house kept reminding him of her. To him, it wasn’t a home, it was a grave.”
    “So he turned to drugs.”
    “Dr. Valburg’s happiness was deeply intertwined with his wife’s. The cancer diagnosis threw him off course. The drugs helped him.”
    “Taking cocaine helped?”
    “Dr. Valburg was barely sleeping after the cancer diagnosis. Some mornings he could scarcely keep his eyes open. But after lunch break, he’d be full of pep and wide awake, as if he’d drunk too much coffee.”
    “And that’s how you knew he was doing cocaine?”
    “I nearly lost a brother to drugs,” Vanessa said. “I know the symptoms, unfortunately.”
    “What kind of symptoms?”
    “Most noticeable was how his productivity would change. In the mornings, I was scared that