Nik sighed. ‘Listen, I’m a CID inspector, not a private detective. I’m sorry about your girlfriend, OK, but I’m off duty. So fuck off before I get rude.’ His gaze went back to the football again.
‘That day I spent down the station, I realised I wasn’t going to get anywhere the normal way. So, I’ve been reading up on you for the last few weeks.’ Jon reached for a pretzel. ‘The local press was a really helpful place to start. A police officer who beats up a public prosecutor in his office will always get my attention.’ He waved the pretzel around. ‘And so, I did a bit more research . . . and found out that that particular public prosecutor had actually dismissed a case that had meant a lot to you.’
‘All the evidence suggested the husband was the offender, even after he spewed out all that crap about her having a lover,’ said Nik. ‘A five-year-old could have seen that. Just because the wife’s body wasn’t found, doesn’t mean there wasn’t a crime. People don’t just disappear.’
Jon nodded. ‘The guy deserved the beating. And it made me want to find out more about you. So I hacked your home computer and went into all your private emails. Oh, and I also bribed one of your CID colleagues to get at your personnel file. And lastly, I put a transmitter on your car. Been following you around for quite a while now.’ Jon put the pretzel in his mouth. ‘The only thing I couldn’t crack was your phone,’ he said, crunching. ‘That thing’s so old even the latest computers don’t stand a chance.’
Any contentment Nik had felt as he’d drunk his first beer drained away. This nutter had admitted enough crimes to be thrown in jail.
‘Nikolaus Jeremiah Pohl.’ Jon shook his head. ‘I’d like to know how your parents decided on such eccentric names for you all those thirty-two years ago.’
Nik edged his right hand slowly towards his gun holster while his left hand continued to fiddle with the pretzel bowl, distracting Jon’s attention.
‘So, Jon, if you read my file, then you’ll know I’m a bit prone to random acts of violence. And that the other person usually leaves in a bit of a mess. The prosecutor wasn’t the only one.’
‘Exactly.’ Jon nodded. ‘I learned a lot from spying on your life. I learned that unlike most people, you can’t be blackmailed. Your life’s turned into such a pile of shit over the last couple of years that you’ve nothing left to care about. You don’t care about money, or your job, or any kind of success or recognition for that matter.’ Jon placed an iPad on the table. ‘And until about two days ago, I had nothing I could use to force you to work with me. But then I came across an email about a certain Jennifer Keuser and her son, Justin.’ He sighed dramatically and shook his head. ‘What a terrible situation those two are in. And the mum. Well, she could lose Justin if social services knew she was working illegally as a prostitute, couldn’t she?’
Nik tightened his grip on the gun.
‘Now, that’s not an easy thing to prove. I mean, she’d have to be caught in the act. So, I offered Jennifer a large sum to come and be nice to me in a hotel room.’ Jon tapped the screen. A film started. Jennifer was wearing a short skirt and a faux fur coat over a thin blouse. She had a lot of make-up on and her blonde hair fell freely over her shoulders. She was standing at the end of a bed covered with cheap, shiny-looking black sheets and on the wall behind it was a large mirror, equally as tacky.
‘Five hundred . . . for the one time?’ She was gnawing on a fingernail and having trouble balancing on her high shoes. She didn’t seem like a professional prostitute. More like someone just starting out, afraid of what was to come. It broke Nik’s heart to see her like that.
Jon came into the shot and handed her five hundred-euro notes, which she accepted with a smile and packed away into a small glittery handbag. But then, any sign of happiness disappeared as she raised her head and realised again why she was there.
Jon turned to the camera and smiled smugly, sending Nik a silent message. The video ended.
Nik had had enough. He pulled out the gun under the table and rammed it against Jon’s stomach. ‘If you don’t delete that video right now, I’ll put a hole in your guts.’
‘Ah, yes. This was the reaction I expected.’ Jon looked at his watch. ‘So, in two minutes, an email with this exact video will be sent to the police and to social services, along with Jennifer’s address. Now, if you wanted, I could stop the email from being sent. But say, for example, I was shot . . . or you didn’t do what I tell you, then Jennifer would be charged with illegal prostitution and her son would be sent off to live in a home.’
‘And what if I don’t believe you and put a bullet in your stomach anyway?’ Nik leaned threateningly over the table.
‘Oh, well, then you could wait two minutes and check your own email ’cause I copied you in as well. I suppose then you’ll know if I was lying or not.’ Ignoring Nik’s furious expression, Jon turned to look at the TV screen. ‘Never did understand the fascination with football.’ He waved over to the bartender. ‘Another beer?’ he asked Nik.
‘What is wrong with you?’
‘Oh, I’m just desperate and well prepared.’
Nik closed his hand around the gun so tightly the handle squeaked against his palm. Every inch of his body was telling him to thrash the smug smile from the man’s face but there was something so persuasively self-assured about the guy. He was either the perfect poker player or he really was going to send off that email.
Jon’s watch beeped. ‘One minute, and then you’ll know if I’m bluffing. Question is, are you prepared to risk it?’
Nik’s breath came hard and fast as his mind whirled with possibilities. Was he telling the truth? And why had he chosen Nik? There were better police officers in Munich. Jon clearly had money, so why not just hire a private detective? What could make somebody so desperate they’d blackmail a CID inspector?
‘Thirty seconds.’
Nik’s finger was shaking. His rage was boiling. But the risk was too great. He had to restrain himself. Even if there was only the tiniest chance Jon’s threat was real.
‘OK,’ Nik said, putting the gun back in its holster.
Jon picked up the tablet and opened an email program. His fingers flew across the virtual keyboard. ‘Good decision,’ he said as the watch beeped for a second time.
Almost panting, Nik grabbed the new beer that the barmaid had brought over. ‘How can I be sure you’ve actually deleted the video and that all of this is over?’
‘You can’t be sure, Nik,’ answered Jon. ‘I can call you Nik now, can’t I? Now that we’re business partners.’
Nik groaned with frustration.
‘But you should know, I’m not actually interested in ruining random people’s lives just for the sake of it. Quite the opposite. I can be quite generous. Help me with the case and I’ll leave you alone.’
‘It’s more a question of whether I’ll let you go.’
Jon laughed. ‘Oh . . . we’re gonna work well together.’ He turned the tablet to face Nik. ‘So, shall we get started?’
Danilo was already sitting at his computer checking emails when Nik got to the office the next morning. He was wearing beige chinos, a white shirt and dark brown leather shoes. He had short, perfectly coiffed, curly black hair and he was wearing a crisp aftershave. His desk was tidy and the few files on it lay in neat piles beside a pencil organiser holding three pens. A cup of coffee stood on a coaster and his phone sat in a holder in the shape of a sun lounger. He briefly glanced over as Nik slumped down into the chair opposite him and shook his head. Nik had barely slept after his encounter with Jon and had only just been able to drag himself out of bed. Showering or brushing his teeth had been out of the question. It was obvious he’d been wearing his jeans for a week and his laces, still undone, were stuffed down the sides of his boots. His shirt was the only clean piece of clothing, albeit unironed.
‘You’re early,’ said Danilo, remarking on Nik’s lateness.
‘Oh, hi, Danilo. Almost didn’t recognise you there,’ said Nik, feigning s
urprise. ‘Your head’s always so far up our boss’s arse these days, I thought your face would be much darker.’ Nik picked up a cup from his desk and threw the rest of yesterday’s coffee in his mouth. His colleague shivered. Nik pushed the mound of files on his desk around until he finally found his keyboard and started up his computer.
The door from the adjoining office opened. ‘Danilo! Nik! In my office,’ a man shouted. ‘There’s work.’
‘Up! Up!’ Nik said quietly to Danilo. ‘There’s a good boy.’ Nik walked right past his boss’s office towards the break room.
‘I need a coffee. So how ’bout you warm my seat for me?’
Nik liked his boss even less than his partner, so he took his time getting a coffee and enjoying another toilet visit before eventually knocking on his boss’s door, slurping on his coffee. He put his cup on a pile of files on the desk and fell back into a chair, yawning.
‘Nice of you to visit, Nik.’ Heinrich Naumann was the aged version of Danilo. Proper, always well dressed and fond of talking, but as far as Nik was concerned, he rarely said anything worth paying attention to. He got his hair cut once a week and coloured on a regular basis. He’d sometimes come to work with a swollen forehead, which Nik put down to Botox. Today he was wearing his gold wedding ring. Not a daily guarantee with Naumann. But the light-blonde hairs on his coat told Nik exactly what his boss had been up to the night before. His wife was a brunette. Nik didn’t know whether Naumann had a lover or went to a prostitute, but he did know that a young and ambitious female police officer from the other team had hair exactly the same colour and length as the strands currently sticking to his coat. She was the kind of woman who’d be bold enough to start a relationship with a superior thirty years her senior.
There were numerous photos on Naumann’s desk: one of him with the Lord Mayor of Munich, one with a Brazilian football player who’d enjoyed the best time of his career at Bayern, and one with a skiing star from Garmisch. Naumann was a master when it came to networking. He courted the right people, willingly accepted orders from above and had no qualms about locking people up just to meet targets. Thankfully, he’d finally given up threatening Nik with sanctions for being disobedient. Instead, he’d managed to sideline him by only giving him cases with very little public exposure. In fact, the cases he got these days barely even made it into the local press.
‘Attack on a petrol station.’ Naumann let a thin pile of files fall on his desk and Danilo grabbed them instantly. At best, Nik’s driving could be described as reckless, so his partner wanted him nowhere near the wheel today. But Danilo’s enthusiasm suited Nik perfectly, as it meant he could catch up on some much-needed sleep in the car.
Naumann started summarising the case while Nik examined the contents of his coffee cup. After Danilo had asked all the necessary questions, Nik stood up and shuffled his way towards the toilet. ‘I need five minutes,’ he said, ‘then we can go.’ As Danilo started packing his things, Nik slipped past the toilets into an empty office. He closed the door behind him, took out his phone and dialled a number.
A tired voice picked up after the third ring. ‘Tilo Hübner.’
‘Hi, Tilo. It’s Nik.’
‘Mate, d’you not know what time it is?’
‘Just before six.’
Tilo groaned. ‘I’m normally not up before seven.’
‘Sorry . . . but we’re about to head out to a job and I didn’t know when I’d get another chance to call.’
‘What is it this time? You been done for assault? Call the chief of police’s assistant an impotent son of a bitch again?’
‘I’m working on a case and I need to get hold of a file that might help me with it.’
Tilo hesitated. ‘You do still work for the CID, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Nik said. ‘But my permissions got cut – too much poking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted, so I’d never get my hands on it.’
‘Yeah, I heard about that.’ Somewhere in the background Nik could hear the grinding of a coffee machine.
‘It’s nothing important,’ continued Nik. ‘The case has actually already been closed. It’s about a woman called Viola Rohe.’
Tilo didn’t answer. The line crackled.
‘You still there?’ asked Nik.
‘Yeah . . . sorry. Just yawning,’ he replied. ‘What was the name again?’
‘Viola Rohe,’ Nik repeated. ‘Can you remember the case?’
‘No, don’t think so,’ answered Tilo. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, she disappeared and her parents reported her missing. At first it was thought she’d been kidnapped or perhaps murdered, but a few days into the investigation, her parents got a letter from her saying she was fine, but never coming home.’
‘And what’s so strange about that?’
‘Nothing,’ Nik lied. ‘I just want to check something.’
Tilo sighed. ‘I’ll help you out where I can but your antics almost got you suspended last time. One more offence and you’ll be kicked out the service. Then your life really will be screwed. No pension. And the state you’re in, you’ll be lucky to land a job guarding empty building sites in the winter.’ Tilo took a sip of coffee. ‘Plus, if this goes to shit, you’ll drag me down with you and that would really mess things up for me at Major Crimes.’
‘I know,’ Nik said, trying to play things down. ‘I’ll owe you a second round.’
‘It’d be a third actually,’ interrupted Tilo.
‘And this will be the last time I bother you . . . for the time being.’
‘Define “for the time being”.’
‘The next two weeks.’
Tilo laughed. ‘At least you’re honest.’
‘It’s a small case that nobody’s working on.’
‘You know, it’s actually because I’m your friend that I shouldn’t be supporting your solo efforts.’
‘You know me, Tilo. I won’t give up till I’ve got those papers.’
‘Fine,’ said Tilo reluctantly. ‘But only on the condition that you keep me up to date with everything. Last time you ruined ten months of drug squad surveillance because you lifted their informant right before a deal.’
‘The guy had a suitcase full of money.’ Nik tried to justify his actions.
‘That was part of the case!’
‘OK,’ Nik relented. ‘I’ll give you daily reports.’
‘I’ll see what I can find and throw copies of anything in your letterbox after work.’
‘You’re the best.’
‘I know,’ said Tilo before hanging up.
Nik had only just left the room when Danilo came walking towards him along the corridor. ‘You constipated or what?’
Nik raised his middle finger and walked past him. He picked up a camera bag from his desk and headed towards the car park. The petrol station was waiting.
Jon looked at the two photos on his computer screen. On the left, there was Nik as a young police officer at his swearing-in ceremony, and on the right, a picture of him from last week going into the sports bar. They could have been two different people.
Nik Pohl. A quick-tempered, often uncontrollable man who had come off the rails. This was evident from his appearance: his unkempt hair, unshaven face and constantly crumpled clothes. In his worn-out boots and tattered old leather jacket, Nik looked more like a homeless person than a CID investigator. This was a man who had given up; a man who went through life with no fear of death because ultimately, for him, death couldn’t be any worse than his current existence.
Any signs of the enthusiastic police officer he used to be had disappeared. Yet, when Jon had threatened to put Jennifer in danger, he’d seen the rage in Nik’s eyes. Signs of the alpha male, willing to fight fearlessly for the people he loves. If only Nik would make a bit more effort to dress appropriately or to stop contradicting his seniors, his life would be a lot easier. But despite the blows that fate had thrown his way, Nik still wasn’t broken. And this was what made him the perfect man
for the job. Jon just needed to evoke the spirit of the younger Nik Pohl, the spirit of the man in the first photo, who would go to any lengths to solve a case and whose belief in justice was unassailable.
It hadn’t been easy for Jon to trick Jennifer and treat her like a prostitute. But she was Nik’s only weakness. He had seen her desperation. Being forced to earn money that way just so she could keep her child. What he hadn’t told Nik was that he hadn’t actually had sex with Jennifer and that he’d given Jennifer twice the money they’d agreed upon in the video. Her eyes had shone with happiness when she hugged him goodbye, knowing she wouldn’t have to sell herself again for a while.
And Jon still felt cheap when he thought about how he had acted at the sports bar. But it was the only way. He needed Nik to kick things off and then, when he was sure everything was going to plan, he could get on with things on his own. No more threats, no more blackmailing.
Jon needed Nik, otherwise he’d never find out what had happened to Viola.
Morning rush hour was getting underway as Nik and Danilo left the police station. Nik hoped this would make the journey longer and allow him to sleep. But no such luck. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the memory of Jon and his obscure request, so the twenty-minute drive proved anything but relaxing.
When they finally arrived, the entrance to the petrol station was blocked by a police car. Danilo parked up beside it and got out. An old man with a bulging beer belly and a terrible haircut was waiting in the sales area, surprisingly composed. He was the manager of the petrol station and immediately began telling his version of events. While Danilo got a detailed description, Nik went to talk to a police constable who was standing at a table going through his notes.
‘So, what happened?’
‘At 5.31 a.m. a single male threatened the manager with a gun and forced him to open the cash register.’ The patrol officer was a young man with shaved hair and a thin goatee beard. He flicked through his small notebook while simultaneously describing the incident. ‘Six hundred and forty euros missing,’ he concluded.
Broken Glass Page 2