Cüpper took two steps to the side, opened a drawer and pulled out a gun.
‘Out! Now!’ she screamed.
‘Jesus! Calm down!’ said Nik, raising his hands. She was holding a .22 Arminius HW 3. Easy to handle and small but each of its eight bullets could easily kill him. ‘Shooting a CID officer would be a really silly thing to do.’
‘I’m not going to shoot “a CID officer”. I’m going to shoot a man who managed to get into my house under false pretences and tried to rape me.’
Cüpper didn’t have a firearms licence, which meant she’d sourced the gun illegally. She probably hadn’t ever shot it. The table he was sitting at was made from simple safety glass. It wouldn’t offer any protection. And the couch and door were both too far away. The marble cooking island was his only chance. If he squeezed himself up tight against its drawers, Cüpper wouldn’t be able to shoot him. She was too small.
‘Please.’ Nik stood with his hands in the air. ‘Can we just calm down?’
‘No!’ she screamed, her face contorted with hatred.
‘The rape idea wouldn’t work. I never even shook your hand.’ Nik attempted to coax her into a conversation. He was still too far away to throw himself on to the floor and roll towards the cooking island. Cüpper would have ample time to shoot and it could be deadly. He needed to get closer.
‘So I wouldn’t be able to prove you raped me, but still, a brutal attack?’ And with that, she slammed her forehead against a wall cabinet. When she lifted her head, blood streamed down her eyebrows. But rather than grimacing in pain, Cüpper started to smile.
‘Last chance, Inspector Pohl. Leave!’
Realising what Nik was planning, Cüpper edged over to the cooking island. Now she had a clear line of fire.
‘OK.’ He walked to the door with his hands still in the air. He’d only ever been threatened with a gun three times in his life and each time had felt just as shit.
He made no sudden movements, opened the front door and went outside. He didn’t look back once. As he stood on the street he heard the door slam and blinds being rolled down.
There was no point pushing Cüpper any further, so he got in his car and drove home. He’d evaded death by the skin of his teeth for the second time in a week and he still had no idea why.
He’d reached yet another dead end. The more information he came across, the more bizarre the situation became. He needed help from the man who’d got him into this trouble in the first place.
The small loft space would have made an ideal little flat. All it needed was flooring to cover the concrete, some new windows and a lick of paint. But this place wasn’t meant for relaxing, it was Jon’s office. The plaster on the walls was cracking and electric cables had been clamped to the ceiling. Some underfloor heating would have warmed the room perfectly, but instead there were just two electric heaters, both attached to some kind of metal cage. Inside the cage were Jon’s four PCs and a Cray supercomputer. The Cray was one of the smaller models, but it was still exceedingly fast and perfect for hacking.
Since Tilo had tried to murder Nik, Jon had moved into this hideout and stepped up security. To this end he had installed two extra screens above the PCs, which he used to keep an eye on the area surrounding the loft and the front door. At the side hung a large red cord attached to two canisters full of an aluminium-based fire accelerant that sat on top of the Cray. If the canisters were ever to be ignited, the aluminium mixture would burn through the computer like acid, irretrievably destroying any data.
Some might call him paranoid, but the fact that a high-ranking CID agent was involved, and, it seemed, had no qualms about committing murder, meant there was every reason to be careful. Gaining unauthorised access into strangers’ computer systems was nothing compared to that. So until this case was solved, Jon had decided to hole up in his office, venturing out only to buy the bare essentials. There would be no pizza delivery and no meeting friends, not even Nik. His post would be delivered to a PO Box which he’d registered under a false name and he’d manage with the belongings he’d packed into a bag before he left. Money, a couple of sets of clean clothes and a fake ID were all he’d brought.
Jon’s phone beeped. He read the SMS. ‘Need a connection between Viola and Kathrin. Call me at 10 p.m.’ Jon set down his phone and laughed a little to himself. Never any unnecessary niceties with Nik. He always got right to the point.
Jon turned on his computer and started searching.
At 10 p.m. Nik’s phone rang.
‘So, I looked for connections between the two victims,’ Jon began. ‘The bad news is I couldn’t find a single link. Not even a Facebook like.’
‘And the good news?’
‘That I still had hope you’d find something.’
‘Nope. Everywhere I look I hit a brick wall. All these discrepancies, I’ve almost got myself believing it’s a conspiracy.’ Nik sat down on the couch and took a swig of beer. ‘The fact Viola’s file doesn’t mention a single thing about her boyfriend being a drug dealer could just be down to sheer laziness. But not the fact my ex-colleague tried to kill me because I was looking into the case. In all my days here I’ve never seen anything like that before. And Kathrin Glosemeier’s death is turning out to be just as messed up.’
‘Balthasar wrote to say she’d been murdered.’
‘Yeah, and he found serious shortcomings with the autopsy. I just went to see the pathologist who carried it out.’
‘Did she try to shoot you too?’
‘Yes,’ replied Nik.
‘Are you serious?’ Jon asked. ‘That was a joke!’
‘It was all pretty harmonious to start with but then as soon as I upped the pressure a bit, she whipped out a gun and said she’d tell the police I attempted to rape her if I didn’t leave immediately.’
‘This is insane!’ Jon blared. ‘What the hell would push a CID agent and a pathologist to do all this?’
‘If it wasn’t for the involvement of Tilo and Dr Cüpper, I’d be tempted to think we were looking at a serial murderer. But that would be the worst-case scenario from our point of view.’
‘Why?’
‘A serial killer has a plan and similar motives for all their murders, but their victims tend to be random and have nothing to do with the killer before they die. So, until you know the pattern or motive, there’s no point looking for a connection between the victims’ lives or their surroundings either.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘So, for example, the Woodward Corridor Killer raped and strangled at least eleven prostitutes in the 90s, apparently because he hated hookers. But it wasn’t until his pattern became clear that undercover officers were put out on the streets. It took them months before they finally caught the bastard.’
‘OK, so you try to find out what a serial killer’s motive is and when you know that, you can predict their next victim.’
‘Yes. But our first problem is the lack of connection between Viola and Kathrin. Both are women, they’re around the same age, and they look pretty similar. And that’s all we have. We also don’t know enough about how they were killed,’ added Nik. ‘Kathrin was hit and fell off a rock. Although the fall was probably just a cover-up. And we don’t even have a body for Viola. She might still be alive.’ Nik drank his beer. ‘The Son of Sam shot his victims or attacked them with a knife. The Freeway Killer strangled or stabbed his victims to death. It was committing a violent act that was important to them. They never went for poison or built a bomb or ran over their victims with a car. So in our case, we don’t have enough information to be able to recognise any patterns. And if we include Tilo and Dr Cüpper in the picture, then the whole thing completely blows up in our faces.’
‘Why?’
‘Serial killers are crazy loners. OK, so sometimes they work in twos, like the Lonely Hearts Killers, who looked for well-off single women in lonely hearts columns. But I’ve never come across any case where a CID agent and a pathologist have assisted a cover-up
.’
‘Before you ask, I’ve not found any link between Tilo and Dr Cüpper, or between them and the victims,’ said Jon. ‘All we have left is the conspiracy theory.’
‘On what?’ asked Nik. ‘Neither Viola nor Kathrin were hiding secrets from people. Neither had particularly remarkable jobs and neither was friends with any important people. Even if they were murdered, why is there so much effort being made to cover it up? Why would Tilo and Dr Cüpper risk their careers and be willing to murder to make me leave the investigation alone?’
‘I don’t know and the longer I think about it the more frustrated I get.’ Jon was silent for a moment.
‘Now would be a good time to tell me the truth about Viola,’ said Nik. ‘How did you know her?’
Jon sighed loudly. For a second, Nik thought he was going to fob him off with another excuse but then he started to speak.
‘I met Viola at a university event. I was fascinated by her from the moment I saw her. By her intelligence, her enthusiasm and her will of steel. When she talked, everybody listened to her and when she didn’t, her presence just seemed to fill the room. You couldn’t escape her. She was literally radiant.’
‘Was there something between you?’
‘We were just friends. Good friends. Not the kind of friends who saw each other every evening. But when we did see each other we’d completely lose track of time and I was always sad when we said goodbye.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I remember the last time we met. Down at the Chinese Tower. We sat on a bench, drinking beer and watching the kids on the carousel. And then suddenly it started raining. We’d been chatting so much we hadn’t seen the dark clouds. The other guests ran under the wooden roof of the tower or under the trees, but Viola put down her bottle, closed her eyes and raised up her hands to the sky like a shaman. Removed from the world. Just completely captivated by the rain.’ He sighed. ‘So, now you know. What next?’
‘I need to see Cüpper again. She’s the only thing that can help us crack this secret about Kathrin’s death. But this time I need to meet her in a safe place. Getting done for attempted rape now would be the end of me. The only way I’ll get to speak to her next time is by going to her work. I’m CID, so I can turn up without an appointment. Hopefully, there’s far less chance she has a gun in her desk and she won’t be able to accuse me of attempted rape.’
‘Be careful, Nik,’ warned Jon. ‘With Tilo’s death and the visit to Cüpper, you’re on their radar now. Whoever “they” are. And if they can get a top CID officer and a pathologist on their side, then they’ve obviously got what it takes to keep you silent. And they won’t stop there.’
Nik was pleased he was on the late shift. It meant he didn’t have to get up early and could work on the case during the day. He was in an infuriating position. The only evidence he had that the case needed to be reopened had been uncovered via an illegal exhumation. An anonymous tip-off would make no difference and the discrepancies in the files wouldn’t be enough to get a second investigation started.
The traffic wasn’t on Nik’s side, but he finally made it to the Institute for Forensic Medicine, not far from Nussbaumpark. He checked the time. It was already past ten. Even if the pathologist was a late riser, she should definitely be at work by now. Deciding against driving into the LMU grounds, he parked his car on a side street and walked the last couple of hundred metres. To Nik, the outside of the forensics building looked more like an office block. It was painted completely in white, had large windows and was surrounded by a grass verge with four concrete benches. A set of steps led up to a nondescript glass entrance area.
Nik had only been able to find Dr Cüpper’s telephone number and department online. The rooms at the Forensics Institute stored highly confidential files, and security had to be accordingly tight. Even with his CID badge, getting into the building would prove a challenge. But he had to try. He walked past the public waiting area and rang a doorbell. A female employee answered and asked to see his ID.
Two locked doors and a brisk walk down a corridor later, he arrived at Cüpper’s door and, without stopping to knock, he walked in.
Inside the room, two desks stood opposite each other. One of them was clean and tidy with just a small cactus and a trophy on it. The other was covered with books, files and notes. A young man lifted his head from behind the pile and blinked, as if Nik had interrupted him mid-thought.
‘Yes?’ he said, visibly confused. He inspected Nik over the top of his glasses, scrunching up his nose and munching at something like a little rabbit. He had a coffee stain on his white lab coat and short, shiny fingernails. It was clear from the state of his nails and the bitter smell of Stop ’n’ Grow in the room that biting his nails was an issue. A pennant with a white D on a red background hung on the wall. Nik recognised it as the Dynamo Dresden football team’s flag, which confirmed his suspicion that the man had spoken with a light Saxon accent.
‘Inspector Pohl.’ Nik showed his badge. ‘I urgently need to speak to Dr Cüpper.’
‘Beate isn’t here today,’ answered the man.
‘I see. And you are?’
‘Dr Uwe Ettel.’ The doctor stood and shook Nik’s hand. ‘I’ve been Beate’s colleague for two years now.’
‘And where is Dr Cüpper?’
‘I got an email from her this morning saying she’s got a terrible cold and wouldn’t be coming to work.’
Nik analysed the man’s gestures and facial expressions. The handshake suggested he was right handed. If he’d been lying about Cüpper, he would have looked up to the right. But he didn’t. He just kept looking at Nik without blinking any quicker or rubbing his eyes. He seemed calm and spoke at a normal pace.
‘Maybe I can help you?’ asked Ettel.
‘It’s about an autopsy performed by Dr Cüpper. Do you ever assist her?’
Ettel shook his head. ‘We’re very low on staff, so we usually use hospital physicians or the LMU emergency doctors.’
No delays in his answer. No evasive phrases and a direct manner. There was nothing to suggest he was lying, so he probably wasn’t involved.
‘I only have a death certificate and an LMU pathology report for the case. Do you usually take other notes?’
‘We record any ideas or facts as we work,’ explained Ettel. ‘We wear a microphone on our lapels so we can use our hands for the examination.’
‘Are these recordings saved?’
Ettel nodded. ‘On the forensics server.’
‘And the information on these recordings . . . Is all of it transferred to the death certificate and report?’
‘Well . . . the recordings are of course more detailed and include assumptions that are often rejected further down the line,’ explained the pathologist. ‘We see our work as the last service to our patients, so we go about it very carefully and write down any deciding factors.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nik. Ettel had said all he could and the fewer people who knew of his investigation, the better. ‘I’ll be in touch again at the end of the week. Maybe Dr Cüpper will be better by then.’
Nik fought off his urge to swear out loud. He’d hoped he could avoid visiting Cüpper again at her home. But at least this time he’d be prepared for the gun in the drawer. He hoped Ettel wasn’t also involved, because if he was, he’d be able to warn Cüpper before Nik arrived at her house.
The traffic going out of the city wasn’t nearly as heavy, so thanks to this and Nik’s complete disregard for the speed limit, he was at the pathologist’s house in fifteen minutes.
Nothing much had changed since yesterday. The garage was still closed and the only difference was that the roller blinds at the front of the house had been rolled back up. Nik went to the front door and rang the bell, knocking loudly at the same time.
‘Frau Cüpper!’ he called. ‘Munich CID. Please open the door.’ He knocked again, even louder, and left his finger on the bell but nobody came to the door.
Nik went to the nearest window and looked into
the kitchen. The vegetable peelings and crockery had been cleared away but other than that, the room was in the same state as it had been yesterday. But no sign of Beate Cüpper. Nik went around the house, past a herb bed and into a grassy garden. Thankfully the garden was surrounded by high hedges, so Nik was able to creep about without being seen by any nosy neighbours.
It was just as neat and orderly as the inside of the house. The herbs in the bed had been meticulously planted and exceptionally well looked after. The little fountain in the middle hadn’t sprouted any moss and the perfectly positioned stone slabs on the patio were clinically clean. Not a single blade of grass would pop up between those slabs in the summer. Next to the patio was a small spiral staircase which led to a balcony on the first floor.
He went up the stairs and peered through a full-length bedroom window. To his surprise, the bedroom was nowhere near the pathologist’s pedantic standards. All the cupboard doors were wide open and clothes had been flung across the floor. The bed was unmade and the light in the bathroom was still on.
Dr Cüpper was gone. She’d probably guessed Nik would come back looking for her. Nik was wondering how he could organise an official search for her car when his phone rang. It was Danilo.
‘What is it?’ asked Nik impatiently.
‘I’m used to you fucking things up at work but I never knew you were such an arsehole in your free time as well.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come to the station, Nik. You’re in deep shit,’ said Danilo. He sounded exasperated. ‘And come in the back door.’
Nik was used to colleagues talking about him and it was normal for conversations to stop and for heads to look away when he walked past. But when he walked into the station today something was different. Everybody was staring at him like he was Charles Manson, not Nik Pohl, the fucked-up Munich CID officer. The entire team from the early shift was clustered around the coffee machine but before anybody had time to make a comment, Naumann had already dragged Nik into his office.
Broken Glass Page 9