‘So, you know the blonde woman, right?’ Nik began. ‘She’s the one whose throat I just slit down in the basement? Well, you probably know her game as well. Answer my questions, and all this will come to a painless end.’
Eberhard pursed his lips together in anger. ‘You’ve got no idea who you’re—’
Nik kicked him in the stomach. Eberhard hunched over with a guttural moan. He tried to catch a breath, but his body convulsed furiously. He rolled around on the floor until Nik pulled him up by his hair again.
‘Question one,’ Nik began. ‘Where is Viola Rohe?’ He was looking Eberhard straight in the eyes and could tell the man knew the name. Even so, for a moment it looked as though he was going to deny it, but then he bit his lip and looked down at the ground.
‘Dead,’ he finally said.
‘Did you kill her?’ Nik took a step backwards.
‘She could have had everything she wanted,’ Eberhard continued, his body still contorting. He squeezed his fists together, and in his eyes, Nik saw the monstrous insanity his mother had talked about: a rampant anger that made him forget anything else existed. He was capable of anything in that state. Cover-ups, torture, murder. ‘But she treated me like a stupid country bumpkin. Me! The heir to the Lossau House!’
‘Maybe you weren’t nice to her.’
‘I don’t have to be nice!’ he cried. ‘I’ve got money and power and I belong to the kind of society a common whore like Viola could never dream of.’
‘Sounds like true love,’ Nik said, disgusted. ‘And what? You went along to The Palace one night to prove yourself to her?’
‘Yes. And what does she do?’ said Eberhard. ‘She runs off. Like I had scabies.’
‘But thankfully, your employees were waiting outside for her.’
He giggled. ‘You should have seen her – the way she lay on the ground in the basement in her own piss. Her eyes stretched wide in fear, begging for her life.’ He closed his eyes and inhaled blissfully. ‘She would have promised me anything that night. Done absolutely anything for me. All her cool dismissiveness was gone. All her lies about some boyfriend who’d apparently promised to marry her. But it was too late for that.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What else could I do? A man has his honour after all.’
‘And where’s her body?’
‘Not far from here. A quiet place behind our family chapel with a stunning view of the countryside. Under the branches of a spruce.’ He clasped his hands and looked up, as though communicating with some greater power. ‘She wasn’t religious in any way, so she won’t miss a gravestone.’
‘And will I find Olga there as well?’
‘Worthless whore,’ Eberhard said, unaffected. ‘I roll up with a pile of notes and she can’t get in the car quick enough. Nice to look at but too weak for the big games.’
Nik shook his head at Lossau’s unapologetic evil. He’d met a lot of murderers before, and even the hardest hitmen had known they’d committed a crime. But for Eberhard, it seemed legitimate to go around killing people. There wasn’t a single sign of remorse and he had no notion of right and wrong. The textbook psychopath. But at least he was feeling chatty.
‘And Kathrin was . . .’ Nik carried on.
‘. . . a scheming little hussy,’ said Eberhard. ‘We really could have had something, Kathrin and I, but then one night she just upped and left. She was so close to getting away but Sara and her bloodhound tracked her down.’
‘So they smacked her on the head and threw her off the climbing rock.’
‘Well, that all went a bit tits-up really. It was that bloody walker with his headlamp. He turned up before Sara’s people had got to the mess at the foot of the crag. So in the end they decided it was better to wait and do a cover-up, even if it did cost us a lot of time and energy.’
‘And that’s why Sara put together the climbing gear in a rucksack . . . to make it look like an accident.’
‘Yeah, she was a clever girl, Sara.’ Eberhard shook his head with fake regret. ‘I’ll miss her.’
‘Well, you won’t where I’m about to send you.’
Eberhard chortled. ‘Come on, Herr Pohl. You can see how rich we are. And you’ve felt how powerful we are. Your friend Hübner was just small fry compared to the other people on our list. And you’re just a shitty pig, your colleagues don’t believe a word you say. There’s not a court in the world that would throw me in jail, no matter what you say.’
‘I’m not talking about jail,’ said Nik, kicking Eberhard in the kneecap with the heel of his boot. He put all his strength into the kick, all the anger that had been building up until this point, and it felt good when he heard the bone crack. Eberhard rolled madly around the floor, holding his leg and screaming. Nik picked up the whisky decanter and poured the contents over Eberhard’s face and clothes before setting the bottle down on the floor. He stood on a chair and started to shake the bookshelf. Books started falling out. He kept on shaking until the screws in the wall came loose and slammed the shelf on top of Eberhard. It was only covering his leg but that was enough for what Nik had planned. Eberhard heaved fiercely trying to get out from underneath while Nik took a candle from the candelabra. He took his time, watching Eberhard’s futile attempts to push the shelf off and listening impassively as the man screamed in pain and fear, begging for his life. This must have been how the women had spent their last moments, so it was only fair that Eberhard endured the same thing.
Nik turned to him with the burning candle in his hand. ‘This is for Viola, Kathrin and Olga.’ And with that, Nik put the flame down to Eberhard’s wet clothes.
It must have been an excruciating death. Eberhard had continued to scream even as his flaming clothes engulfed him and only when the books around him ignited did his cries finally subside. By the time the fire service got here, the whole wing would be up in flames meaning Nik didn’t have to worry about cleaning up traces in the library. Nik picked up his jacket, which Scarface had taken off him earlier, and went along the hall. It was slowly filling up with smoke. On the way to the door, he went past paintings of Eberhard’s father, who’d died eight years earlier. Nik also caught a glimpse of a small photo frame standing on a mantelpiece. Two steps later, it occurred to him who he’d seen in the photo. He turned around and grabbed the frame.
‘My God,’ he said, looking at the photo.
There was a small chapel one hundred metres west of the house. The fire brigade wouldn’t take long to arrive but it was long enough for him to climb over the wall and disappear through the woods. Behind the chapel was a clearing surrounded by birch trees with branches that were bent under the weight of the snow. In the middle of the clearing stood a lonely spruce, just like Eberhard had said. The tree was out of place among all the other deciduous trees, but its bare branches were also battling against the heavy white load. Nik walked over to a shed behind the chapel, where he found a pickaxe and a shovel propped against the wall, as if waiting for the next victim. He took them back to the clearing and started to clear the snow underneath the spruce. He quickly found an area that looked different from the rest, about two metres long and one metre wide: a clear sign that somebody was buried underneath. Nik took the pickaxe and loosened the frozen layer of earth. He then took the shovel and started to dig centimetre by centimetre.
Nik heard the sirens approaching but he kept shovelling until he’d exposed the body. He carefully pulled down the zip on the body bag and knelt beside it. He placed his hand on the woman’s cheek, slowly and gently, as if she was still alive.
‘He’s dead, Viola,’ Nik whispered. ‘You can be at peace now.’
Nik could see Jon’s bandaged shoulder through his white T-shirt and a saline solution was flowing into his veins through a catheter in the crook of his arm. The monitor was off and the evening news was playing on a TV that hung on the wall. In front of Jon was a tray with a dry piece of bread and a slightly suspect slice of red ham. Jon hadn’t touched it and wasn’t planning to. Beside the tray was a closed
laptop. Jon opened his eyes drowsily and turned to Nik.
‘Hi, Nik,’ he said. His voice was weak. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here. Thought I’d covered my traces pretty well.’
‘Konrad Zuse?’ Nik picked up the slice of dry bread. ‘You could’ve given a bit more thought to your pseudonym, Herr Computer Whizz.’
‘It was good enough for the hospital.’
‘Yep, a fake ID will get you far.’ Nik took a bite of bread. ‘Our blonde friend didn’t expect that one.’
‘I enjoyed reading the papers the last couple of days,’ said Jon, changing the subject. ‘After the graves were found, Agathe Lossau was arrested in front of the Munich aristocracy. And her son Eberhard apparently died tragically in a fire.’
‘I saw that. Only heir to the family.’ Nik shook his head. ‘Terrible. Absolutely terrible.’
‘A harrowing chain of events. First buried under a bookshelf and then the books caught fire.’
‘Just wasn’t Eberhard’s day at all.’
‘No. And his mother wasn’t having a good day either. Might be tricky having to account for all those dead bodies on her estate.’ Jon reached for a glass of water and took a sip. ‘Jesus, we knew the guy we were looking for was insane, but I never expected sixteen bodies to turn up.’
‘Now, don’t give Eberhard all the credit,’ said Nik. ‘Some of those bodies had been lying there for eighty years. It’ll be months before it’s all processed. But at least the cursed Lossau family disease has finally been put to an end. The last male heir is history.’
‘And that was their explanation for everything?’ asked Jon. ‘Viola had to die because the men in the family were sick?’
‘Not entirely.’ Nik took out the picture frame from a pocket.
‘My God,’ said Jon, looking at the photo. It was a young Eberhard and his twin sister on a beach somewhere. The two were unmistakably similar, but even more obvious were the similarities between his twin and the women he killed.
‘That’s Eberhard’s sister, Zita. Here it looks like Lossau was totally in awe of her. And one day she went missing. Just left a letter saying she was never coming back. Her parents hired a private detective and used their contacts at the police but no one ever heard from her again. To this day nobody knows where she is, or if she’s even alive.’
‘So Eberhard just wanted to replace his sister. As soon as he saw a woman who looked like her, he wanted to have her.’
Nik nodded. ‘And if she didn’t play along, he would get very angry and kill her.’
Jon closed his eyes. ‘So many wasted lives,’ he mumbled. ‘How d’you know all this? I sat for days searching for stuff on the Lossaus but never found anything on Zita.’
‘A fake CID badge can come in handy sometimes,’ Nik said. ‘After Eberhard was found and Agathe had been arrested, the villagers started gossiping. You wouldn’t believe the stories their ex-servants will tell you after three beers at The Crown Tavern.’ He took another bite of bread. ‘So I brought it all to the attention of some ecstatic journalists, who mumbled something about “headlines for weeks”. And while Agathe Lossau’s been stewing in custody, the tabloids finally ruined her reputation.’ Nik looked at the floor. ‘I’m sorry, Jon. I hoped I’d find Viola alive.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Jon smiled sadly. ‘I knew something had happened to her but not knowing what was tearing me apart. At least I can mourn her now.’
The two men sat in silence for a while, each deep in their own thoughts. Two nurses were discussing a patient at the door, a machine beeped and a bed rattled past the room.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ asked Jon. ‘Your suspension still hasn’t been lifted.’
‘At the moment I’m helping a neighbour move house.’ Nik smiled. ‘An uncle of Jennifer’s, who she never really knew, died and left her a small terraced house not far from Perlacher Forest. Along with enough money to send Justin to some special school.’
‘Well . . .’ said Jon, ‘sometimes good things do happen to good people.’
‘I’ve never seen the two of them this happy. The first load of furniture is already over there and tomorrow we’ll start with the boxes.’
‘It might be a good idea to get to bed and catch up on some sleep then, eh?’ Jon suggested.
‘I’d rather wait here till you’re feeling better,’ said Nik. ‘And then I can beat the shit out of you for forcing me to work a case that lost me my job and almost got me killed . . . four times!’
‘Oh, come on. I’m more scared of the senior citizen with Parkinson’s in room twelve than I am of you,’ Jon said dismissively. ‘And anyway, our blonde friend already tried and got nowhere.’ He pointed to his shoulder.
‘Any deeper and the bullet would’ve hit your heart.’
‘Yeah, I’ll admit . . . After Lossau’s people raided my hideout I was a little bit panicky, but you wouldn’t believe how fast you can run when your life depends on it. If it wasn’t for the injury, I would have made it to my second hideout but the well-meaning woman who picked me up off the pavement wasn’t having any of it and drove me to hospital.’
‘Which might well be the reason you’re still alive.’
‘Very true,’ remarked Jon. ‘But it was a bit annoying having to explain the gunshot wound to the police.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll tell you that story another time.’ He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. ‘Think I’ll take a little nap.’ Seconds later, he’d fallen asleep. His breathing was regular and apart from the large bandage on his shoulder he seemed pretty much unscathed. A little bit paler than normal, perhaps, but smiling. It seemed like he’d found some peace.
Nik stood up and raised his hand. ‘G’night, buddy.’ Then he left the room.
Epilogue
‘Looks like spring got here just in time for your birthday.’ Nik closed his eyes and lifted his head to the sun. Even this high up, the snow had melted. The first shoots were showing and leaves were starting to appear on the bare branches.
‘It was always nice weather on my birthday.’ Mira smelled the flowers in Nik’s hand. ‘Oh, I love daffodils,’ she said softly. ‘Lovely of you to remember.’ Mira stood up from the bench and stretched out her arms, as if trying to soak up every last ray of sun.
‘I’ve even got a second surprise for you.’ Nik pulled out the locket from under his shirt and opened it. It was empty.
‘What did you do with the cyanide?’ asked Mira.
‘Got rid of it safely.’
‘That’s the best present you could ever give me,’ she said cheerily. ‘And how are you getting by until your suspension is finished?’
‘Let’s just say Jon . . . got the taste again. After getting out of hospital, he logged into the CID database and looked up unresolved cases similar to Viola’s. He offered me the job of private detective. It’s better money than the CID, no bosses and lots of freedom.’
‘That’s gonna lead you back to Rachel’s case, you know that?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘That case almost got you killed, Nik.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ve got a team these days,’ explained Nik. ‘Jon has money and can hack into anything and although I might need a bit of time to get used to Balthasar’s strange ways, he’s still better company than Danilo.’ He smiled at Mira. ‘And anyway, I won’t get to Rachel’s case for a while. I’ll need weeks to get through the first massive load of files Jon’s already sent me.’
‘Well, look after yourself,’ Mira said gently.
‘I will.’
‘Don’t let me keep you . . . Your phone hasn’t stopped beeping for the last hour. Jon must have stumbled across something.’
Nik stood up from the bench. ‘He can wait another minute.’ Nik went over to the grave and laid the flowers in front of the light marble stone. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands to say a prayer. Carved in black on the marble, beside an angel, were the words ‘Mira Pohl. Beloved Daughter and Sister’.
ACKNO
WLEDGMENTS
Thank you to all the people who have helped and supported me for so many years. Andreas, without your feedback it would be impossible for me to publish any book. To Franz and the entire Apub Team, thank you for looking after me so brilliantly. And finally, Dominic, thank you for putting your faith in me.
Any success is a shared one.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © Oliver Bendig, 2014
Alexander Hartung was born in 1970 in Mannheim, Germany. He began writing while he was studying for a degree in economics and soon discovered a passion for crime fiction. He topped the Kindle Bestseller List with his Jan Tommen series and now, with Broken Glass, he introduces us to Nik Pohl, the Munich detective at the centre of a gripping new investigation series. Alexander lives in his hometown of Mannheim with his wife and son.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Photo © Fiona Beaton, 2019
Originally from Dundee, Scotland, Fiona Beaton received her degree in Translation and Interpreting with Spanish and German from Heriot-Watt University in 2007. After initially working for media monitoring companies and an investment bank, Fiona began pursuing texts of a more creative nature, where she could combine her linguistic skills with her interest in literature, film and theatre. She currently lives in Hamburg, Germany.
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