Other than Oberlander’s desk, which was illuminated by a bright lamp, the rest of the room was submerged in darkness. Each wall was hidden by a fully stacked bookshelf and there was only one small window, right beside the door. Although it was almost the middle of the day, its roller blinds were firmly down, as if Oberlander was afraid of seeing the sun. His sallow face, scrawny figure and bald head made him look like Count Orlok from the silent horror film, Nosferatu.
Nik had expected a high-tech lab, with computers, halogen lights and large magnifying glasses that would be able to identify each and every dash and flick. But instead, there was a bony man huddled over his desk in a chamber that hadn’t been aired since the turn of the millennium. Minute specks of dust danced around the lamp like a swarm of tiny moths and beside the lamp was a membership certificate from the Association for German Graphologists. Oberlander stood up, interrupting Nik’s quiet thoughts of drinking a cold weissbier in Munich’s English Garden. Already accustomed to the darkness, Nik had to blink hard to get his eyes to focus on the man.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,’ said the man in a scratchy voice that completely matched his appearance. ‘You are Herr . . . ?’
‘Pohl,’ answered Nik. ‘My um . . . acquaintance, Herr Kirchhof, told me to come and see you so you could help me with the two letters.’ Jon had reassured Nik that he’d not blackmailed Oberlander into helping, but had simply offered him good money.
‘Do you need a graphological analysis or a writer identification?’
‘Um, both?’ stuttered Nik, who had no idea what the difference was.
‘OK. Let’s start at the personality aspects.’ The man cleared his throat. ‘Frau Glosemeier is a very ambitious person.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Mostly from the consistent leaning to the right. She is intelligent. Determined. The kind of woman who listens to her head more than her emotions.’
‘OK,’ said Nik, hardly convinced.
‘Frau Rohe is different. A soft hand that’s adorned with round swirls which indicates a calm but persevering nature.’
Nik frowned. ‘Swirls?’
Oberlander pointed to the letter. ‘Here, you see the “n” looks like a “u”,’ he explained. ‘A lot of thought is put into this writing and there is a big focus on its shape.’
‘Ah.’
‘Graphology is more my hobby really,’ continued the man. ‘I’m actually a handwriting expert and write forensic assessments for the Munich Court.’ He cleared his throat again, as if trying to emphasise the importance of what he’d said. ‘When comparing handwriting, the composition of the strokes, the pressure applied and the level of saturation all play a role. The vertical extension, the size of the letters, as well as the contrast between the long and short elements are all important for the forensic report.’ He pointed to a microscope beside the table. ‘By analysing the writing with a stereoscopic microscope under reflected, transmitted and diffused light, you can recognise where pauses were taken as well as other nuances. A handwriting comparison can help determine whether or not the letters were written by the same person.’ He picked up the letters. ‘You gave me two letters and two handwritten documents for comparison. I can tell you for certain that the letters were not written by the same people who wrote the other documents.’
‘They do look very similar though,’ said Nik, thinking back to how even the CID officer in charge of the case had believed them.
‘Oh, yes. It’s fantastic work,’ said Oberlander. Nik sensed the admiration in his voice. ‘A handwriting expert less gifted than myself would have missed it. But the analysis under the microscope showed up significant differences.’
‘Were any pauses taken?’
Oberlander shook his head. ‘I couldn’t find any signs of pauses but the forger invested a lot of time and energy into the letter. If only it wasn’t part of a crime, I would have written to the person to express my praise.’
‘Is it possible that the writing is different because the women were under high levels of stress?’
‘No, not this type of difference,’ the man explained. ‘Obviously, someone’s handwriting changes when they are under strain but the differences we have here came about because it was a different person who wrote it.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Entirely,’ confirmed Oberlander. ‘Both farewell letters are fakes.’
‘We’ve got our link,’ Nik said as soon as Jon picked up the phone.
‘I didn’t even say hello, Nik.’
‘Yeah, but you were going to.’
‘You know, it’s hard to get away from you these days if you watch local news or read the newspaper.’
‘That little shit stole my money first. I was framed perfectly.’
‘I did warn you,’ said Jon. ‘Whoever’s got a CID agent and a pathologist on their payroll knows how to get rid of some annoying little investigator.’
‘Wish they’d just shot me in the head.’
‘Far too obvious,’ remarked Jon. ‘Then there would have been questions and an investigation all of its own. This way, they get you out the way and screw up your reputation at the same time. Even if your private investigation did uncover something that could be used to get the case reopened, nobody would trust it now, thanks to your little show.’
‘I’ve lost my badge, my gun and my limited computer access. They did a good job.’
‘We’ll still get on to the server with Tilo’s details. And if they close his account, we can just use a new profile I was able to set up thanks to all those permissions your ex-colleague had. It runs under admin’s radar, so no one can find out about it.’
‘Somebody must have noticed he’s missing,’ said Nik. ‘It’s been six days.’
‘Doesn’t take much. A forged doctor’s note to the employer and a message to the neighbours. Tilo didn’t have any family in Munich, so nobody’ll get suspicious before the end of the month. Then the letters will start piling up . . . and people will wonder why he hasn’t replied to their voicemails. But then nobody will find his body. An investigation will run for a while but they won’t find anything.’
‘It’s obvious from the fake letters that we’re dealing with professionals.’ Nik changed the subject. ‘The only fingerprints on the letters are from the victims and the recipients. I checked. The paper is normal printing paper without any special marks. And the pens are no help either. Just your typical ballpoint you can get at the supermarket.’
‘So, we’ve got more signs that point to a large-scale cover-up, but we still don’t know who’s behind it or why they’re even doing it.’
‘And the two people we know who are involved can’t help us because one is dead and the other’s missing.’
‘No matter how hard I look, I just can’t find any link between the victims. I’ve set up a web search that runs constantly and notifies me if anything new appears. But until now, there’s been nothing on their connection.’
‘We need a new suspect,’ decided Nik.
‘You’re not allowed in the station and forensics is out of bounds for you too. But you could try hanging out with some of the women’s friends.’
‘I’ll go back to The Palace.’
‘To Viola’s old work?’ asked Jon. ‘I thought you’d asked everyone.’
‘Yeah, the owner was very helpful but I remember something Tilo said before he tried to put a bullet in my head. He mentioned something about secret cameras.’
‘And what d’you hope to achieve?’
‘Everything suggests Viola’s last day at work was the day she disappeared. She wasn’t kidnapped from the bar but somebody was there that night and they’ve got something to do with the whole thing. Maybe I’ll find something on the videos.’
‘That kind of recording is illegal and you don’t work for the CID anymore. That owner’s never going to just give it to you.’
Nik smiled. ‘Then I’ll just have to use my charm.’
Normal
ly Nik didn’t mind the winter. Except when he was on a stake-out. It had stopped snowing but the thermometer was showing minus twelve. He’d been waiting in the freezing car for two hours but Peer Weise still hadn’t left the club apart from for a few minutes when he’d come out for a cigarette, which meant he still had to be inside. Nik hadn’t noticed a sofa bed anywhere when he was last there, so it was unlikely he was going to stay the night. The clock read 3.30 a.m. The Palace had been closed for half an hour and there wasn’t much to see, thanks to the night’s lack of clientele. Nik had taken three caffeine tablets to stay awake and he’d already started to feel the effects. First there was the headache and then came the uneasy restlessness that affected every part of his body. At one point he’d got out of the car and done push-ups on the frozen ground just to try and release some energy. And the three cigarettes he’d smoked had only eased things for a minute. His heartbeat had become irregular and his breaths were short.
He was playing with the new phone Jon had given him when Weise finally came out of the back door. His clothes were just as smart as the last time, but instead of his assistant, Nowara, he was unfortunately with one of the bull-necked bouncers. Nik sighed. He was slowly starting to appreciate the meaning of bad karma. But compared with everything he’d been through recently, this was merely a ripple in his turbulent and unpredictable life. Nik waited until the two men were walking past the car and got out. The bouncer was wearing a thick winter jacket, big enough to use as a child’s tent, and a bulletproof vest was sticking out of his sports bag. While waiting in the car, Nik had noticed some old floorboards that had been dumped on the pavement. He went over to the pile and grabbed one, about the length of his arm, and smashed it into the bouncer’s kidneys. His jacket provided little protection and he fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Nik was going to need silence for the next couple of minutes so he rammed the plank into the man’s chin as he tried to get off the ground.
Weise put his hands in the air and looked at Nik, terrified. ‘I saw you on the TV.’ His voice was trembling. ‘D’you want money?’ He took out a wad of notes and threw them in front of Nik.
‘Take it. Just, please, don’t hit me.’
‘Wow. For a man from the club scene, you’re pretty easy to scare.’ Nik put down the piece of wood and stepped over the unconscious bouncer. ‘But I don’t want money. I just want the video footage from the nightclub.’
‘We only record the entrance.’
‘Herr Weise,’ Nik said with a smile, ‘I know there are cameras inside the club.’ The man looked about slyly, trying to locate an escape route. ‘The good news is that the CID won’t hear about any of it because I’m suspended. But the bad news is I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose and still have access to all the CID material I’m banned from using.’ He took a step towards Weise. ‘And don’t bother trying to run away,’ Nik warned him. ‘I’ve always been an excellent sprinter.’
‘I’ll give you whatever you want if you just leave me alone,’ said Weise desperately. ‘I’ve got nothing to do with all that stuff.’
Nik punched the man on the chin, sending him staggering to the ground. ‘Now, that was the first lie. I’ll forgive you, this time.’ Nik pulled the man back up on his feet. ‘But I really wouldn’t recommend doing it a second time.’
‘What have I done?’ Weise asked, wincing in pain.
‘Let me summarise the night we first met.’ Nik started pushing the man towards the club’s back door. ‘I came into your office, introduced myself as a CID officer and asked about Viola Rohe. Apart from one shit-scared barman, not a single person could tell me anything about her. And then, just a few hours later, that very barman is attacked by a high-ranking CID officer and tied up right beside me, all because he wanted to tell me something about Viola.’ He gave Weise a push. ‘What a coincidence, eh?’
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ the man tried to defend himself. ‘Your colleague Hübner had been to see me. He’d left his number and told me to call him if anybody came and asked about Viola, otherwise he’d give orders for the biggest drugs raid I’d ever seen.’
‘When was that?’
‘About a week after Viola went missing.’
‘And you didn’t find it a bit odd?’
‘I just thought Viola had got herself involved in something and she was being investigated.’
‘And when did you tell Hübner I’d been to see you?’
‘As soon as you left my office.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘He told me to get my people to watch you and let him know if anything looked suspicious.’
‘Like my second chat with Finn the barman?’
‘Yes,’ said Weise.
Nik pushed him to the ground for a second time. ‘You know, two hours later Hübner put a bullet in Finn’s head.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ Weise seemed surprised. ‘When Finn didn’t show up for work the next day, I just thought he’d been arrested.’
Tilo had probably made everything sound like an official investigation that nobody was allowed to know about.
‘I really liked that guy,’ said Weise, brushing the slush off his suit. He seemed genuine enough.
‘Well, if you want Finn’s murderer to be punished, you need to tell me everything you know about Viola.’
‘I already have,’ explained Weise. ‘Viola was a reliable employee and I never had a single problem with her. I never asked Hübner what he wanted with her and I never noticed anything strange about her. I also asked my assistant why Viola wasn’t at work but she couldn’t tell me anything.’
‘OK, enough of the obvious bullshit,’ said Nik. ‘Were there any rumours going around about Viola? Did she ever hang about with shady people from the club? And when I say shady, I don’t mean pickpockets. I mean people involved in drug dealing or money laundering. Serious stuff.’
Weise shook his head. ‘It was just a bar job for Viola. She never chatted to anyone and always ignored any flirting. I don’t think she spoke to a single punter for more than five minutes.’ Weise unlocked the back door and took Nik into his office. He started the computer. ‘Which time frame do you want?’
‘The missing persons announcement went out on 26 October. Viola had already been missing for three days by that point. Her last day at work was the 22nd into the 23rd. So I need that whole week and one week later.’
Weise nodded.
‘Why d’you make the recordings?’
The club owner took a USB stick from his desk drawer and started copying over all the footage.
‘There’ve been more pickpockets recently. And vodka’s been going at double the pace even though sales have stayed the same. I reckon one of the staff’s stealing it.’
Nik sat on a chair and kept his eyes on the entrance. Ten minutes later, he was going back to his car. It was time to find out what had happened on Viola’s last day at work. But before anything else, Nik needed to go home and sleep.
Chapter 7
The reporters had thankfully got fed up of the cold and gone home the night before, so Nik could get into his flat unseen and watch the videos of the nightclub.
There were three cameras in The Palace. The first one recorded the entrance, just as Weise had said. The footage, however, wasn’t deleted the next day. The second camera was near the toilets. That’s why Finn had been so nervous. It mostly recorded the dance floor and then a bit of the toilet entrance. The third camera was above the bar and focused mostly on the staff side. The customers could only be seen at the edge of the shot.
Nik let all the videos play simultaneously and at eight times their original speed. He tried to remember the faces and sometimes stopped the videos to take stills of the regulars he’d spoken to. Viola worked Fridays and Saturdays in the club and only appeared on a couple of Sundays. The young woman who normally did the shift wasn’t there, so Viola had apparently covered for her.
The club was always busy at the weekend. The dance floor would fill up and
people would push at the bar. It took a lot of effort from staff to collect empty glasses and working behind the bar was stressful. From the looks of things, they barely had time to breathe. Viola was constantly making drinks, handing out drinks or washing out Finn’s blender. Her long hair was tied back in two plaits. She always wore a short skirt and a tight top, both of which accentuated her figure perfectly. She was attractive in a refined way. Not at all cheap. And men were continually trying to start a conversation with her. She mostly just smiled, thanked the men for the generous tips and politely accepted a business card which she’d then subtly toss in the bin at the next possible opportunity. For her, it was just a job and definitely not something she planned on doing for the rest of her life.
After midnight, the strain would start taking its toll. She’d slow down and sometimes pause for a moment. But other than a toilet trip, there were no breaks and the crowds didn’t start to dwindle until around 2.30 a.m. Soon after that the staff would stop serving and begin preparing the bar for the next day. The lights would go up, the glasses would all be put through the machine and the fridges would be stocked. The last customer would normally leave the club around 3.30 a.m. Finally, the lights were switched off and it would stay dark until the cleaning team came in the next day at lunch time.
Once Nik had an idea of what a typical day looked like at The Palace, he started looking for things that seemed out of the ordinary. First of all, he focused on Viola. He noticed two pushy admirers who tried their luck more than once. The first was a hipster with a long shapely beard and muscular, tattooed arms. He showed off his well-trained body with a tight-fitting vest. The videos didn’t have any sound, so Nik couldn’t catch any names. Not that sound would have made any difference with all the pounding music in the background. The hipster reminded Nik of a friend from school, so he decided to call him Christoph. He watched Christoph, imagining he might be the perpetrator, but despite his intimidating appearance, he was harmless. He just liked to play the big, generous guy, letting champagne flow all around him while slithering his way into conversations with women. He was at The Palace for three nights and on each of those nights he went home with a different girl. And each girl was more attractive than Viola. If you’re judging attractiveness by cup size, that is.
Broken Glass Page 11