Page 16 of Lost Room Lawyer (Room #4)

“The author? The Birds’ Song of Laughter . Of course. I’ve read it. It was a great book. If I remember correctly, she won a few awards.”

“Nicola Rossi is a man.”

“Oh, really? How do you know that?”

“Because Nico Simeon appears to be Nicola Rossi.”

It was always amusing to see Viktoria’s face contort in surprise as she looked at me with astonishment. “What? Really?”

“Doesn’t the book have an author photo?” I asked with interest.

“There was never a photo of Rossi. She … I mean … He hasn’t shown up at any awards ceremonies either.” Viktoria brushed a brown lock from her forehead with her forearm—her hands were still wet from washing the plates. “And Rossi is really Leo’s son? But … The book is so old! And the boy…”

“He wasn’t even eighteen when it was published.”

Viktoria’s eyes widened, and she stared at me in disbelief.

“What?” I asked.

“Uh … You’d better go down to the reading room and look for the book on the shelf.”

“Okay.”

I had no idea what she was aiming for, but I went without asking any more questions. If we had the book in the house, then I could read it.

Fortunately, my obsession with order had rubbed off on Viktoria as well, since she had actually organized her little library by author’s name. I found the book right away, but I couldn’t believe what I was holding.

A hefty volume with a pastel green cover featuring a crane and the logo of a renowned publishing house. A sticker was half torn off; it was one of those that said “Bestseller” on it. I went back to the kitchen and placed the book on the counter.

“Goodness, this thing weighs four pounds!”

“I know!” Viktoria exclaimed excitedly. “You certainly don’t write something like this quickly.”

As I turned the book over to read the blurb, my eyes fell on another piece of information: Winner of the German Book Prize.

I knew the kid was a genius, but that he had published such a tome at eighteen and won that award …

“This is 1,000 pages!”

“Yes,” Viktoria said, laughing. “The boy really had a lot to say. Oh man, now I want to meet him. Definitely! Let’s … We could all go out for dinner together. It would be a chance to see Leo again.”

A sharp pang hit my stomach, as if someone had stabbed me.

Then dizziness came, and I subtly held onto the back of a chair.

“Meet?” I cleared my throat, as my voice had failed me.

I straightened my shoulders, composed myself, and turned to Viktoria.

“Let me guess. You want to ask Nico for an autograph.”

“Of course! I love this book! Even more now!”

I couldn’t even blame Viktoria. What I was holding was honored with the most important German Book Prize. “I wonder why Leo never mentioned this in his praise?”

Viktoria finished with the dishwasher and dried her hands on a kitchen towel. “Yes, kind of strange. Does he even know about it?”

I laughed. “I certainly hope so.”

“Maybe you should check with your mentor first before we set up a dinner for the four of us.”

“Yes,” I replied, lost in thought, as I leafed through the book in disbelief. “Good idea.”

My thoughts turned to Nico, and I wondered how close his relationship with his father was.

As he had said, he was very close with his mother.

But when he talked about the differences between him and his father, there was that distant look on his face that I hadn’t been able to interpret until now.

There was a mix of sadness, melancholy, and a mute anger.

Could it be related to his self-harming behavior?

None of it added up. He came across as a confident, cheerful, and almost radiant man.

Two sides of the same coin , I reminded myself.

“Oh no … It’s gotten worse again.”

Only when Viktoria took my hands did I realize what she meant. Yes, they were dry, with some bloody cracks in places, and the skin felt tight when I clenched my fists.

“It’s not that bad,” I replied cautiously, pulling away from her expert grasp.

“You’re working too much.” She opened a drawer and handed me a tube of hand cream.

“You’re not a psychologist,” I said in a sing-song voice; my way of staying cool and putting her in her place without starting an argument.

“Just use it.” Viktoria pushed the tube closer. “It contains tocopherol acetate, glycyrrhetinic acid, and glycerin. It heals wounds. And you can’t dispute my expertise on that.”

Just her touch triggered the urge to wash my hands again. “I need a shower,” I said, taking the tube. “I feel so dirty after the long drive. Thanks.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to talk to a psychologist.”

“Vicky, please. We’ve been over this. I don’t need a psychologist.”

“This can’t go on. It’s bordering on self-harm.”

“I’m just washing my hands!”

Viktoria widened her eyes. “Yes. Until they bleed.”

There was a moment of silence. I was too tired for this discussion. And with Viktoria’s face scrunched up and her sad look, she had also said everything she needed to for today.

“Can I still take a shower?” I asked wearily.

Nodding, she frowned guiltily. She cared about me, and I couldn’t, nor should I, hold that against her. So, I went to her, gently stroked her lush brown curls, and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks for caring about me, but it’s all okay. It’s just the dry air.”

“Alright,” she said with a touch of indulgence. “By the way, I’m on shift starting tomorrow. They’ve scheduled me for two surgeries because Peter is sick.”

“Are your parents here?” I asked cautiously. “I have this hearing on Friday. I can’t possibly take tomorrow off.”

“Yes, it’s no problem, they said.”

“Good, I … I’ll go take a shower then. And thanks for the cream.”