by Lars Schutz
‘Frau Grall, please calm down, we’ll explain everything. But please come back into the house,’ said the female officer, a freckled woman in her mid-forties with a blonde ponytail.
Her colleague turned to Jan: ‘Herr Grall, please get into Frau Ichigawa’s car with Chief Superintendent Stüter. The SWAT team has instructed nobody be outside the vehicles during the operation.’
‘Understood,’ said Jan, grinding his teeth.
The two officers got Kathi back into her house, where they were supposed to support the family. Jan jogged over to Ichigawa’s car and climbed inside. Rarely had he been so happy to see Stüter.
‘Dammit, Grall, what’s wrong with your phone!’ snapped the Chief Superintendent, flinging an arm around his shoulders.
‘It broke on Wolfstein. All I could salvage was this.’ He slid next to Stüter on the back seat and showed him the SIM card. At the wheel sat Anita, the SWAT team leader in the passenger seat. ‘What’s going on? I was sure Stefan Schomar was the killer. But now I’m wondering something much more disturbing—’
‘You’re right,’ said Anita tonelessly. ‘Maik applied to the literacy course led by Frau Ekiz. He slipped through the net first time round because we only looked at the participants. Not all the people who were interested. He also had a part-time job at the wildlife park. He’s connected to you. Everything points to him.’
Jan pounded his head against the driver’s seat.
So, it was true. Maik was the Alphabet Killer. Would things have turned out differently if Gero had been alive?
The urge to kill wasn’t inborn. It was formed through outside influence. Maybe it wasn’t just his brother who’d died in that car, but all of Maik’s victims as well.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what this must be like for you,’ said Stüter.
‘You have no idea—’
‘It’s not your fault,’ said the Chief Superintendent with genuine sympathy. ‘Don’t think that. Nobody can know what’s going on in the head of a kid like him.’
‘I just want to know why he did it. Normally it would be down to me and Rabea to figure it out for you, but right now I’m as clueless as anybody else.’
The operations leader interrupted them. It was Eller again, the man with the blue eyes. From the Zanetti operation. ‘We’re going in now. And like I said before: no matter what happens, stay in the vehicle.’
Without waiting for an answer, Eller swung himself out of the Audi and flicked down the visor of his helmet.
Jan hadn’t been listening. ‘How does this all fit together? The letter symbolism and the end-game, me as the final victim. If he’s functionally illiterate, then the reason can be reduced to one word: hatred.’ He paused to let his reasoning sink in. ‘This series of murders is an attack on everything Maik hates about his life: on the people who have always excluded him and claimed words as their own. Against letters themselves. And against me, of course. Some kind of event – a trigger – must have released all this pent-up hatred, this frustration.’
‘Whatever set this in motion, let’s hope we find Tugba and your floozy in one piece inside that barn.’ Stüter pressed his face against the glass. Despite his choice of words, there was real concern in his voice.
The safety of the kidnapping victims had top priority. Jan watched as Eller signalled to his men with a few curt gestures to surround the barn. So far it looked utterly deserted: no light behind the smeared windows, no noise, nothing. It seemed as empty as ever.
‘Main and side doors secured,’ crackled Eller’s voice across the radio. ‘Ready to enter.’
A SWAT officer kicked open the barn door, while the colleague behind him hurled in a smoke grenade. Bellowing. An ear-splitting bang. Tinnitus. The flash of light was so bright it seared their retinas.
The silence that followed was as abrupt as the assault. The whistling in Jan’s ears drowned out everything, even the heavy thudding of his heart. Smoke rose from inside the barn, but otherwise there was nothing to be seen.
‘What’s happening in there?’ murmured Stüter.
Jan grabbed the radio. ‘Eller, please report. Do you have visual contact with the target?’
As though in response, there was a sudden cacophony of shouts from inside the barn.
‘Police! Drop your weapon!’
‘Give up! Let the woman go!’
Jan balled his fists. Tamara. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. He flung the radio into Stüter’s lap, then stood up and opened the door of the car.
‘Grall, what are you doing?’ Stüter tried to grab his arm, but Jan tore himself free.
His legs guided him across the gravel as though remote-controlled, heading straight for the barn. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. Kathi was watching him from the kitchen window of her house, her expression frozen. The female officer placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away from the window.
‘Where are you going?’ yelled Anita after him. ‘The object isn’t secured!’
He ignored her, increasing his pace and disappearing into the smoky half-darkness of the barn.
A bulky SWAT officer was posted at the entrance; he blocked Jan’s path.
The shouting in the workshop continued.
‘Hey, didn’t we tell you to stay out of the way?’
‘I want to know what’s happening.’ Jan threw his whole bodyweight against the officer, barging him aside. ‘Where is she? Tamara! Tamara, where are you?’
The smoke from the grenade was burning his eyes. He blinked. He could see nothing but outlines. He staggered on.
The SWAT officer grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, his grip as pitiless as a vice. Jan gave a rattling gasp. He swung his fists behind him, but merely brushed the man’s hips.
‘Tannheim, who’ve you got there?’ came Eller’s voice from the depths of the barn. As it had during the Zanetti operation, his voice sounded calm. As though all of this were simply an exercise.
‘That analyst!’ bellowed the officer.
‘Fine, let him go!’ Eller gave a long sigh. ‘Herr Grall, please come over here. You can help us.’
Reluctantly the officer loosened his grip. Jan entered the barn. Gradually the smoke was dissipating. He could see the silhouettes of four SWAT officers. Machine guns at the ready, they were surrounding someone in the middle of the barn.
Maik was holding a woman in front of him. It was Tugba, not Tamara. Her jet-black hair hung over her face in greasy hanks. She was barefoot, wearing nothing but a stained sweatshirt and tattered jeans. Her body was covered in wounds, and her chest rose and fell shallowly. Her eyelids fluttered as though she were in a fever dream. Maik looked like a different person. This wasn’t the boy he’d met a few days earlier. His dark blonde hair, previously carefully gelled, was now sticking out in all directions. His whole body trembled, even more than Tugba’s. He had a motorbike chain around her throat. It was his eyes, however, that were most changed. If they had reminded Jan of his brother during his first visit, they now seemed completely alien. Something glinted in them that was beyond all reason. Yet that wasn’t what worried Jan most. It was that Maik had hidden it from him so well.
Maik fixed his eyes on Jan. ‘I’m taking the letters back, Uncle!’ he said, jerking the chain taut. Tugba was so weak she barely reacted. Only a pitiful choking sound escaped her cracked lips.
‘Maik, listen to me!’ Jan stepped forwards. He was now at the same height as the barrels of the machine guns.
‘Don’t take another step, Grall,’ whispered Eller.
In his days as a police psychologist he’d been in similar situations. Yet this was different. In other cases, it had been about creating a relationship with the killer. Now his relationship with Maik was his biggest problem.
‘Tugba’s sister is waiting for her. It’s time she went home,’ he began. ‘And your mum’s in the house. Kathi’s beside herself with worry. She’s asking whether you’re okay.’
For a brief moment concern for his m
other flickered across Maik’s face, which still had a trace of boyishness. But his madness soon got the upper hand – a predator that could scent any tiny hint of reason.
‘You’ve got no right to talk about family!’ Saliva was spraying from Maik’s mouth. ‘You killed him. You took my father. And the alphabet with him.’
‘That’s why you want me, isn’t it?’ Jan took another step forward. He had to change tactics. ‘That’s why I was going to be “Z”.’
‘Nobody thought I could do it. They all laughed. All of them. Living in their world of letters.’ Maik pushed Tugba ahead of him as he came closer to Jan.
‘Stay where you are, or we’ll shoot!’ roared Eller.
Jan threw out his arms protectively. ‘No! Stop! Don’t shoot, whatever you do!’
His voice trembling, he turned back to his nephew. ‘You were never a part of their world. Their alphabet. So, you made your own. Out of them. Out of everything you hated. But there’s nothing Tugba can do about that. Nor Tamara.’
Maik broke into laughter. Hoarse, joyless laughter.
‘You don’t understand anything, Jan. nothing. You’re blind.’
‘What are you talking about? Maik, you’ve got to surrender.’
‘The alphabet will be completed.’ Maik’s face grew firm. He relaxed the chain. ‘It will be completed. Whether I’m alive or dead.’
He shoved Tugba away, and she collapsed as her limp body collided with the workbench.
Maik raised the chain above his head, swinging it like a whip, and ran blindly at Jan.
Jan was paralysed with shock. His legs felt like lead. He lifted his arms. ‘Don’t shoot!’
Too late.
His words were drowned in a hail of bullets.
G
‘ “G”, the soft guttural (gutturale media), occupying a midpoint between the harsher guttural “K” (gutt. tenuis) and the aspirated “ch” (gutt. apirata).’
The Grimms’ Dictionary
77
8th December, late afternoon
A final silence fell across the workshop.
Jan looked up, hands shaking. A high whine had settled in his ears, drowning out all clear thought.
He was still crouching. Everything around him happened in flashes. Impressions rained down mercilessly. Two SWAT officers bending over Tugba’s limp body, one feeling for her pulse and putting her in the recovery position.
‘Paramedics! We need a paramedic over here!’ bellowed the other.
More officers rushed past him, mere black shadows. The clicking of safety catches. Finally, a paw being laid on his shoulder.
‘Are you all right?’ Eller was standing beside him.
Did that even matter?
‘What happened to Maik?’
Eller said nothing, simply stepped aside.
Jan staggered to his feet, staring fearfully at the body in front of him.
Maik was lying on his back in front of him, his arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross. An oval of blood was spreading across the concrete floor around him.
Jan’s legs gave way. He averted his eyes, suppressing the urge to gag. His own nephew. He’d been unable to save him.
He couldn’t help thinking about Maik’s last words. ‘It will be completed. Whether I’m alive or dead.’ Was there an accomplice after all? That would explain the high frequency of the murders, at least. They could be at different places at the same time.
Eller was standing over Tugba, who was being wrapped up in a thermal blanket by the officers. The young teacher was unable to speak – her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.
The SWAT officers turned Tugba onto her side, revealing a mess of dried blood, pus and tattooed lines on her back. It took Jan a moment to realise they were in the shape of a G. Tugba must have tried to scratch it off with some sharp object. She’d fought against the letter to the last.
At least one of the two kidnapping victims was safe. But what about Tamara?
He couldn’t think of Maik. Couldn’t think of Kathi, who must have heard the shots from the house.
A thought struck him. ‘There’s a basement room that used to be used for storing food. Over there on the right is a trapdoor – you’ll only see it if you look very carefully.’
‘We should take a look with your colleagues,’ replied Eller. The operations leader flipped up his visor and held the radio to his mouth. ‘Object secured. Suspect eliminated. Hostage out of danger. Chief Superintendent Stüter and Senior Chief Superintendent Ichigawa, please join us.’
Jan’s colleagues entered the shed, followed by a paramedic coming to treat Tugba Ekiz.
‘Oh my God!’ gasped Anita. ‘Is – is that Maik?’
‘Yes.’ Jan stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath that made his whole body tremble. ‘He said the alphabet would continue without him. It seems he had an accomplice.’
Anita nudged Stüter. ‘Look at his wrists!’
Jan and Stüter stepped closer. A tangle of scars criss-crossed the boy’s wrists. The letters of the alphabet. Pulling on latex gloves, Stüter rolled up Maik’s sleeves. ‘A’ to ‘G’ were carved into his skin up to the elbow. The A was already nearly healed and quite pale, the G fresh and red.
‘He tried to teach himself to spell,’ said Jan. ‘Looks like the victims were nothing but prompts to help him memorise the alphabet.’
‘What a crazy reason,’ groaned Anita.
‘It made sense according to his logic. Maik believed he could solve all his problems at once: the loss of his father, his hatred of me, his illiteracy. The only question is what motivated his accomplice.’
‘And let’s not forget the second question: where is Tamara Weiss?’ added Stüter.
‘Maybe they killed her before we arrived,’ remarked Anita.
‘Or she’s in this basement room you mentioned, Herr Grall,’ interjected Eller. ‘We’re going in now.’
They waited breathlessly as the SWAT team tore open the trapdoor and one of them climbed through the hatch.
After a few seconds the officer radioed, ‘Clear! Nobody down here!’
Jan let the air out of his lungs. He was grateful they hadn’t found Tamara’s body, but it still wasn’t clear where she was. Had Maik’s accomplice taken her to a new hiding place? Was her body already rotting – he didn’t want to imagine it – somewhere in the woods?
They crossed the workshop, the smell of benzene and rusty metal reminding Jan of a petrol station. The officer was already climbing back out through the trapdoor. ‘There’s space for three people, max, so you go down. Some weird shit down there.’
The warning made Jan more than queasy. He nodded to Anita. ‘Please, you go first!’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think this is quite the moment for gallantry.’
‘Then I’ll go bloody first, before we all die of politeness,’ growled Stüter, climbing down the steps.
Jan was the next to venture into the basement. It was more than twenty years since he’d been down there. Back then the walls had been covered in shelves, full to bursting with pickles, apples and preserves, which his mother had kept like the family silver.
Now the unfinished brick walls were plastered with dozens – no, hundreds – of pieces of paper, scrawled top to bottom with the same letters. Like the exercises of some manic primary-schooler. Among them were photos of the victims, as well as newspaper clippings about the case. Several times Jan caught a glimpse of his own face on one of the cuttings.
From a wooden cage that had once been used to store potatoes came the stench of faeces. Jan could make out a stained mattress in the gloom. This must be where Tugba – and perhaps Tamara – had been imprisoned.
In the centre of the former storeroom was a wooden table, also covered with countless carved letters. On it were a kitchen cloth, a skinning knife and disinfectant. So, this was where Maik had inflicted his letters. One last set of shelves was still standing in the basement, dusty and overhung with cobwebs.
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br /> ‘Keep your eyes peeled for clues about the accomplice,’ said Stüter.
Jan inspected the shelves more closely. On the lowermost one was a set of hunting equipment. A knife, a hog knife, a pocket sharpening steel. Binoculars, folding stool, box of ammo. There was also a faux-fur rifle scabbard, inside of which were two rifles with scopes. The pistol case, however, was empty.
‘Revolver’s missing,’ said Jan. ‘The accomplice is probably armed.’
On the top shelf was a row of leather-bound classics. He could see Quo Vadis, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Murder on the Orient Express. Standing on tiptoes, he took out the last one and leafed through the yellowed pages. On the first page was a stamp with the name and address of his mother. Most likely Maik had found the books in the attic. Throughout the book, letters had been neatly cut out to make the quotations.
On the shelf beneath he found the tattoo gun. Pneumatic, as Quester had supposed. Beside it were several bottles of ink and a battered, blotchy shoebox.
Jan took it off the shelf and removed the lid. The box was half-full of bits of bark. More than enough to finish the alphabet.
‘Seems Tamara’s still alive.’ Stüter was standing by the wall beside the shelving.
Jan went over to him. ‘How do you know—?’
A glance at the wall of photographs and he fell silent. It reminded him of the educational posters you found in primary schools, with colourful letters and cute illustrations. ‘A’ for ape. ‘B’ for bear. ‘C’ for chameleon.
The incomplete alphabet on the wall only reached ‘F’. Over-exposed Polaroids of the tattooed letters. Each image the bloody conclusion of a human life. Until ‘F’. Until Rabea. Jan could follow Stüter’s train of thought. Maik seemed to have hung up each letter immediately after the murder. But Tamara was missing. A glimmer of hope.
‘I’ve got something!’ called Anita. Her voice echoed against the walls. ‘Come over here!’
She was kneeling beside a metal bucket, the inside of which was grimy with soot.
‘What’s in there?’ asked Stüter.
‘Somebody tried to destroy some documents. Nearly everything has been burned beyond recognition – except this.’