The Alphabet Murders

by Lars Schutz

  They climbed out and approached the monk.

  ‘Markus, I can see that sharpie!’ roared the bearded monk. ‘If I see a single line on that bench!’

  When he saw them, his tense features relaxed. His cobalt-black beard and chin-length mane of hair made Timotheus look older than he probably really was. Rabea estimated him to be in his mid-forties.

  ‘Sorry, I’m under a bit of stress right now,’ he said, shaking hands. ‘We ended the lesson early and I have to make sure the children get off all right.’

  ‘No problem,’ replied Ichigawa, throwing a glance at the children that made it clear she would never be a mother or a housewife.

  Timotheus glanced at them both. ‘Isn’t Jan here? I thought he’d be dealing with the behavioural analysis.’

  Rabea raised her eyebrows. ‘You know Jan?’

  ‘Only a little. I knew his brother Gero better,’ explained the monk. ‘We were best friends. We got our hunting licences together.’

  For a moment Rabea held her breath, exchanging a look with Ichigawa.

  ‘Jan had to leave at short notice to take care of a personal matter,’ she explained, careful to give nothing away. ‘But I’ll do my best to be an adequate substitute.’

  ‘Hunting, eh?’ Ichigawa spoke with deliberate casualness. ‘Being a servant of the Lord seems a far cry from target practice.’

  ‘The road to repentance can be a long and stony one, if you’ll permit me such a hoary old Catholic platitude.’

  Rabea grinned inwardly. She had to hand it to Timotheus: for a man of the cloth, he had an unexpected degree of self-irony.

  ‘Brother Timotheus, who found the body – and when?’ she asked.

  ‘Please, call me Timo. The students do too.’ The monk winked at them. ‘No reason to be formal.’

  A school bus pulled up. With clear, strict instructions he shepherded his charges into the vehicle. Once the whole rabble – constantly on their mobile phones – had vanished onto the bus, his attention turned back to them.

  ‘One of our novices, Benedikt, found it this morning while he was out jogging. Right on the Nister.’

  ‘We’ll need to speak to him,’ said Ichigawa.

  ‘Of course.’ Sighing, he gestured for them to follow him. ‘Let’s get this over and done with.’

  They crossed a bridge so old it had probably been trodden by knights and dukes, then followed a path. There was a wonderful view over the radiantly white abbey, which looked like an ice palace in the snow.

  Timotheus turned to Rabea. ‘Tell me, how’s Jan doing?’ he asked. ‘I imagine it’s difficult for him being back. After everything that happened back then.’

  ‘He’s managing,’ she replied, deliberately concise. ‘Visited his family, briefly.’

  ‘I get it,’ said Timo. ‘What’s that line? “All happy families are alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”.’

  Rabea nearly tripped over a root.

  The monk caught her upper arm. His touch left an ice-cold prickle on her skin. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Your – knowledge of literature surprised me, that’s all.’

  51

  ‘I knew you’d be back.’ Katharina Grall manoeuvred the coffee cup onto the kitchen table and said with a smile, ‘And please don’t break this one. Otherwise I’ll soon be running out of cups.’

  ‘I promise,’ murmured Jan towards the table top.

  He shouldn’t have allowed himself that slip-up the last time he visited his sister-in-law. And he called himself a psychologist.

  Hardt lay on the route to Mainz. He’d wanted to get to Miriam as quickly as possible, but this geographical fact had thwarted his plans. He had to make a stop. Apologise. Clear the slate.

  ‘I don’t have much time, as I said,’ he explained, running his forefinger along the grain in the table. ‘But I did want to apologise. Gero’s death is still so incomprehensibly terrible. For us all.’

  His sister-in-law leant against the kitchen unit, her arms crossed over her chest. She rubbed her elbows, a clear sign of tension.

  ‘For me it isn’t, to be honest, not any more. Not for a long time,’ she said. ‘I wasted fewer tears on him than you might think.’

  He stared at her.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder whether you knew Gero at all.’ Her mouth narrowed. ‘He had a lover.’ Kathi stepped away from the countertop, her fists balled and her voice hard. ‘Some young idiot from Weidenhahn. Must have started about a year before the accident. She moved to Frankfurt later.’

  Jan sipped his coffee. He could barely swallow. How many secrets had his brother been keeping?

  ‘I only found out after the accident. When I looked through his phone.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her?’

  Kathi shook her head. ‘After Gero’s death she took off.’

  ‘Sounds familiar.’

  There was a hesitant knock on the doorframe. ‘Mum?’

  Kathi turned around. ‘Ah, Maik. How long have you been standing there?’

  Jan’s nephew gestured vaguely. ‘Not long. Less than a minute.’

  Again, the young man’s appearance confused Jan. His resemblance to Gero was overwhelming. It was like staring straight through his face into the past.

  Maik handed his mother an envelope, whispering something into her ear.

  ‘Yeah, fine. It’s from the insurance company. We’ll go through it together in a minute,’ she replied.

  Her son blushed, his eyes flitting to Jan.

  Kathi put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Maik has similar problems to the ones you used to have. Concentration. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of, is it?’

  Maik simply nodded sullenly.

  ‘It’s all right. You can trust me. I’m part of the family.’ Jan forced a smile. It sounded so strange. Family. ‘Grades don’t tell you anything about intelligence. Don’t let it ruin your life.’

  The corner of Maik’s mouth twisted, just like with Gero.

  The sight made his heart jump. He should have spent more time with his nephew. He turned away and stood up. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to go.’

  ‘At least you didn’t knock over a cup this time.’ Kathi gave him a brief hug.

  A knock on the veranda door made them both jump. Stefan Schomar, her new partner, waved at them. Snowflakes clung to his outdoor jacket, and his cheeks were burning red.

  ‘One second.’ Kathi pulled back from Jan, sprinted across the living room and pushed open the door.

  ‘Sorry, forgot my key,’ Stefan greeted her, giving her a peck on the cheek.

  He seemed even more tired than the last time, like a soldier coming home after a hard-fought battle. His eyes, which seemed marked with a deep sorrow, fell on Jan.

  ‘Back again!’ The hint of a smile. ‘I’ve just been on one of the searches. The weather isn’t exactly helping.’

  ‘Don’t you have to work?’ asked Jan.

  ‘Took the day off. We can’t roll over our holiday at work, so I’m using them all up before it’s too late.’

  ‘Daaad!’

  There was a clatter on the hall stairs. A girl in purple pyjamas, curls flying, raced in and threw herself on Stefan. Jan guessed she must have just started school.

  ‘Princess Emilia! You’re still in your jim-jams!’ For the first time, Stefan’s voice sounded more relaxed.

  ‘She’s been playing Nintendo all morning,’ explained Kathi, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Oh? And? Did you beat the final boss?’

  Emilia shook her head. ‘You’ve got to help me.’

  ‘And what are you up to, big man?’ Stefan gave Maik a nudge, which prompted a halting smile.

  ‘Just driving into town. Mum wanted me to pick up a few things.’

  ‘Helps his mother, what a gentleman!’

  Despite Stefan’s false jollity, the chemistry between him and Maik was not the same as between him and his beloved daughter.

  Emilia was eyeing Jan, her head cocked. �
�And who are you?’

  ‘Oh, that’s—’ Kathi paused. She must have realised mid-sentence it wasn’t easy explaining his role to a child.

  Jan leapt in. ‘I’m Maik’s uncle – Jan.’

  He gave her his hand, which she hesitantly took. He shook it with comical exaggeration. ‘Wow, you have a really firm grip,’ he said, rubbing his fingers.

  Emilia giggled.

  ‘I think you need a coffee,’ said Kathi to Stefan.

  Stefan sat down at the table. ‘You got that right!’

  For a moment Jan absorbed this family idyll, although it was nothing but a performance – improvised am-dram; then he made his second escape attempt. He had to go to Miriam.

  ‘As I said, I’ve got to go.’

  Stefan threw out his arms. ‘Disgraceful! We keep missing each other by a hair’s breadth. Don’t forget – my invitation still stands.’

  Emilia was swinging around on her chair. ‘Will you show me your gun when the man’s gone?’

  Instantly Jan’s mind shifted up a few gears. ‘What gun?’

  ‘Oh, she saw me taking my shotgun out on the search this morning. I promised her she could take a closer look later.’

  Kathi was open-mouthed. ‘She’s four!’

  ‘I was only going to explain how it works.’ Stefan shrugged. He hid his hands underneath the table, but Jan could see they were shaking.

  ‘What were you planning? To shoot the killer?’ Kathi nearly raised her voice, but then seemed to remember Jan’s presence.

  ‘I was worried about my safety!’ Stefan kept his eyes lowered.

  ‘Why didn’t you bring it back?’ enquired Jan.

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘When you came in just now – you didn’t have a gun with you.’

  ‘One of the other volunteers didn’t think it was a good idea having it with me. We left it in the village hall. I forgot it there.’

  You don’t forget a gun that easily, thought Jan, but he left the words unspoken.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s getting to be a habit, constantly asking questions like that.’

  ‘No worries.’ Stefan took his first gulp of coffee. ‘You could probably do with some holiday too, eh?’

  ‘That’ll have to wait.’

  As he left, he clapped Maik on the shoulder. ‘We’ll have to meet up once all this is over.’

  Surprise glimmered in the young man’s eyes. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said in his listless voice.

  Jan winked at him. Perhaps he could be a good uncle yet.

  52

  For a long time, I used to go to bed early. Sometimes I closed my eyes almost before the candle was put out, so quickly I had no time to think: ‘I’m going to sleep now.’

  Ichigawa’s eyes rested on the note, which was pinned to one of the oak trees. ‘The beginning of a novel. Of course. I’m starting to feel like I’m in a book club.’

  In Search of Lost Time, breathed Rabea. ‘Proust. At first, I thought the quotations were connected to the victims, but now I’m beginning to think they’re chosen at random.’

  ‘But a serial killer would want to express himself. Communicate with us. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not about the content, but the writing. About positioning himself. Our killer tattooed letters on his victims – he’s more interested in the act of writing itself.’

  One of Rabea’s hobby horses during her training at the Bern ViCLAS Centre had been to leave well-trodden paths. To think laterally. A skill she’d praised during her first conversation with Jan: ‘I’m also able to think out of the box.’

  Jan had simply laughed. ‘Outside every box there’s just a bigger box.’

  At this moment, however, her mentality was paying off. Giving her a self-confidence that rushed ever-stronger through her body.

  She and Ichigawa turned again towards the crime scene on the riverbank. The Nister was almost completely frozen over, gurgling faintly like a hibernating animal.

  Tape separated one section of the river – an arena of death. The coroner, Diana Harreiter, was kneeling over the dead man like a sorrowing clown. Even at a distance Rabea could see the deep red ‘E’ on the back of the corpse, the lines as shaky as though drawn by a child.

  ‘Could you tell me the dead man’s name?’ asked Harreiter as they approached.

  Ichigawa crouched down beside her. ‘Does it make a difference to you?’

  ‘I always like to know the names of the people whose chests I’m about to saw open.’ Today, small Death Star earrings were hanging from her earlobes. ‘Dr Michael H. Ehrberg,’ said Rabea, putting an end to the squabble. ‘Brother Timotheus knew him. He was a literary scholar, an expert in biblical mysticism and Christian superstitions. He was supposed to be taking a break here in Marienstatt.’

  ‘A longer one than planned,’ remarked Ichigawa unemotionally.

  Rabea stared at her.

  Ichigawa merely shrugged. ‘Dr Ehrberg is part of my job. And I don’t let emotions get tangled up with work.’

  Rabea felt like rolling her eyes.

  The scholar’s face had been in the river, the head and neck bloated. His hair hung in soaked, bloody hanks. An oval laceration yawned on the back of his head.

  The skin on the rest of his body was grey and puffy. His limbs were scrawny, almost those of an insect. The irreverent thought of Gollum from Lord of the Rings popped into Rabea’s head.

  ‘Was he beaten to death or did he drown?’ asked Ichigawa.

  ‘When I raised his head, I noticed there was water in his lungs,’ replied Harreiter. ‘The blow to the back of the head must have put him out of action, but the cause of death was drowning.’

  ‘Time of death?’

  ‘Judging by the discolouration and blanching, I’d say around two in the morning. And there’s no indication he was moved. The victim must have got here under his own steam – either because he was forced to or of his own accord.’

  Rabea surveyed the body, which lay before her on the icy gravel bank. Had he met the killer here? Had he known him? If so, how?

  Ichigawa patted Harreiter on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, that’s a big help.’ She turned to Rabea. ‘Let’s go and see our monk again, shall we?’

  Brother Timotheus didn’t notice them until they were standing right in front of him. His hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his habit, his head bowed in humility, he resembled a Renaissance statue of some martyr.

  ‘Apologies for my obvious question but was there anybody at the monastery who had differences with Dr Ehrberg?’ murmured Ichigawa, suddenly an entirely different person. As though she’d put on a mask.

  ‘I can’t remember any quarrels,’ said Timotheus from underneath his beard. ‘Although – there was a rumour among the brothers that he was homosexual.’

  Ichigawa tilted her head. ‘What’s your opinion of his work? Christian superstitions. I suppose a topic like that has to be treated with kid gloves?’

  Rabea’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. It was all-too apparent that the team leader was zeroing in on the Cistercian. She too found the monk’s behaviour suspicious, but she could hear Jan’s voice echoing through her brain, warning her not to jump to conclusions.

  ‘Ehrberg’s area of research was controversial, true.’ Timotheus cleared his throat. ‘These days the Church is criticised on all sides, attacked, undermined from within its own ranks. We don’t need somebody else coming along to take apart our holiest of holies – the word of God – piece by piece.’

  Ichigawa’s expression had darkened with every word. She gave a chilly smile. ‘Timo, would you have any objection to continuing this conversation in your cell?’

  53

  The Virgin Mary, holding a sceptre and the Baby Jesus, gazed balefully down at Rabea as she followed the others through the monastery gate. She wasn’t particularly religious, but magnificent sacred architecture like the baroque staircase always prompted in her a certain degree of awe.

  Timotheus greeted t
wo of his brothers, who observed the group in wide-eyed silence, and led them up the branching staircase to the monks’ retreat. A world normally barred to outsiders.

  ‘I don’t know exactly what you want to know from me,’ said Timotheus as they walked down the corridor, their footsteps echoing. ‘Or what you think you’ll find in my cell. But I have nothing to hide, so please—’

  He paused outside a plain oak door and pushed it open. It wasn’t locked. Nor was there much to steal inside the cell: a simple bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a few books, a glasses case, and the obligatory wooden cross on the wall. It smelled like freshly laundered bedding and a vague purity.

  Ichigawa stepped inside without waiting to be asked and sat down on the only chair. Her gaze swept across the books arrayed on the desk. ‘You really are well-versed in world literature.’

  Timotheus sat down on the bed. ‘For me there are more books than just the Holy Scripture.’

  Anita tapped the wardrobe. ‘May I?’

  ‘If you must.’

  Rabea’s interest was elsewhere. ‘When was the last time you saw Jan?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ asked Ichigawa, peering through the contents of the wardrobe.

  ‘If you literally mean seeing, then the last time was the day before yesterday, in the newspaper. I scarcely recognised him. The years have left quite a mark.’

  There was genuine concern in the Cistercian’s voice, making Rabea even more doubtful he was capable of violence.

  ‘Frau Wyler! Look at this!’ Ichigawa stepped away from the wardrobe.

  Rabea came to stand beside her. Ichigawa had put on latex gloves and was now crouching down.

  ‘The wardrobe has a false floor.’

  There was a tiny hole in the far-right corner of the wooden panel. Ichigawa poked her finger inside and pulled it back to reveal a cavity the width of a hand. Inside was a Stone Age Nokia.

  ‘Nothing to hide, eh?’ said Ichigawa triumphantly.

  Even behind the thick beard, it was obvious the monk had blanched.

  Picking up the phone, Ichigawa switched it on. ‘Can you tell us what we’ll find on here?’