The Body on the Beach

by Anna Johannsen

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘In your report, it says you arrived at the scene at eleven p.m. Is that correct?’ Johann’s question sounded casual – a necessary formality.

  ‘That’s correct. I wouldn’t have written it in the report otherwise.’

  Lena listened with interest. She had to admit that her first impression of Johann Grasmann hadn’t been that favourable, but here he was, impressing her with his skill all over again.

  ‘The two witnesses who found Hein Bohlen left the scene shortly after eleven, right?’

  Reimers rose abruptly. ‘What are you playing at, Sergeant?’

  Johann wasn’t rattled. He turned one page after the other in his little notebook until he seemed to have found what he was looking for. Reimers was still on his feet.

  ‘Standard inquiries. You know the score. We’re just trying to get a clear picture.’ He turned another page. ‘Yup, there it is. Both witnesses stated that they left the beach shortly after your arrival. Is that correct?’

  Reimers sat back down slowly. ‘I checked on Herr Bohlen to make there was no pulse, then I questioned the witnesses briefly and sent them home. They were in shock. Why should they have stayed?’

  Lena suppressed a smile when her Flensburg colleague started leafing through his little book again.

  ‘I’m just struggling with the timeline here. Dr Neumann told us you called him at twenty past eleven at the earliest. That would be—’

  ‘He must be mistaken. I called him as soon as the witnesses had left.’ Reimers was growing increasingly agitated.

  Johann pulled a manila folder from his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. ‘Yes, I remembered correctly. The time on the death certificate reads five to midnight.’

  Reimers grabbed the document and studied it. ‘His watch must have been wrong. I admit I forgot to check his entries. Jesus – the man died of natural causes, his GP confirmed it, and you’re making a fuss about a typo!’

  Lena cleared her throat. ‘I agree, we’re not here to split hairs. I’m sure the funeral home will confirm your timing, if we have to double-check at all. We’re much more interested in finding out if there was anyone who disliked Hein Bohlen, or even hated him?’

  Reimers seemed reassured by the change of subject. He leaned back in his chair. ‘Ever since I was told that foul play can’t be ruled out, I’ve been asking myself the same question. Hein – Herr Bohlen, I mean – was well liked around here. I can’t imagine that he had any enemies, let alone anyone who would want him dead. We’re on Amrum, not in Hamburg or Berlin.’

  ‘You knew him well?’ asked Lena.

  ‘I can’t say we were friends, but we knew each other well enough and had a beer every once in a while. That’s just the way it is on Amrum. I first came here eight years ago and met Hein Bohlen when one of his charges ran away – thankfully, we caught the boy on the ferry.’

  ‘The evidence we have so far suggests that Hein Bohlen was indeed murdered,’ Lena said, changing direction again. ‘Since there’s nothing to suggest that Herr Bohlen was the victim of a robbery, we’re assuming that he knew the perpetrator.’

  Sergeant Reimers nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see what you mean. But, for the life of me, I can’t think of anyone. I’ll keep an ear open, of course. No problem at all.’

  Lena rose, saying, ‘Right then, we’d better get back to work.’

  Johann stood up also and asked Reimers, ‘I don’t suppose you have the number of the funeral home to hand, do you?’

  Reimers reached for a notepad, scribbled down a name and number and tore the sheet off before handing it to Johann with a forced smile. ‘Here you go, Sergeant.’

  6

  ‘Strange conversation,’ Johann said, back in the car. ‘Why didn’t we push him harder?’

  ‘What use would that have been in this situation?’

  ‘He might have lost his nerve. Something’s definitely wrong here.’

  ‘Maybe. But Sergeant Reimers is a police officer, not some petty criminal. Unless we have something concrete, a confrontation could backfire on us big time.’

  ‘Still, I don’t understand what he was doing for around twenty minutes before calling the doctor.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it – but I’d rather have a few trump cards up my sleeve before that.’ Lena grinned. ‘Makes a game of poker so much more fun.’ She checked the time. ‘Hungry?’

  Johann shrugged. ‘A little. Any decent takeaways around here?’

  Lena started up the engine. ‘Fast food is not my style, young man. Let me surprise you.’

  They drove out of Nebel and headed south along the shoreline. A short while later, they reached a brick building painted white with green lattice windows. The restaurant stood not far from the Wadden Sea shoreline.

  ‘Likedeeler,’ said Johann, reading the sign. ‘Weren’t those—?’

  ‘A guild of buccaneers, also known as the Victual Brothers. But don’t you worry, you’ll be quite safe.’ Once inside the restaurant, they chose a table in a bay window overlooking the coast. Lena handed Johann a menu. ‘The plaice with prawns always used to be good. The prawns at least come from the last remaining fisherman on Amrum.’

  Once they’d ordered, Johann pulled his notebook from his pocket. ‘Who are we going to interview next?’ He unfolded Sabine Bohlen’s list of names.

  ‘The teacher at the home is expecting us at two. I’m hoping she’ll give us a bit more than Frau Bohlen – we’ll see. What have we got so far? The victim’s wife told us very little about the day Hein Bohlen died, only that he hadn’t been quite himself lately: irritable and distracted. We need to check if he really went to the supermarket that day and how long for. Can you take care of that?’ Johann nodded. ‘Good,’ Lena said, then went on, ‘Visiting the accountant strikes me as an important lead. Let’s drive to Wittdün after the interview with Frau Müller. Can you call ahead?’

  Johann made a note. ‘Shouldn’t we ask Frau Bohlen to relieve him of his pledge of confidentiality?’

  ‘No, I want to let sleeping dogs lie on that one. I have a feeling she’d refuse and tell the man to keep his mouth shut. She seems awfully worried about her husband’s good name, and that of the home as well. Let’s just give it a try.’ She cleared her throat. ‘All right, what do we have? A wife who is passionate about her work and on the surface seemed relatively composed when we talked to her. The educational side of the business appears more important to her than the finances, considering it’s now over two weeks since her husband’s death and she still hasn’t seen her accountant. She is, after all, the sole beneficiary. She wasn’t too fussed about what her husband was up to all day long, and he was often out at night too. Long walks, she says. Doesn’t sound like the happiest of marriages to me. We’ll see.

  ‘The GP was very happy to help in spite of doctor–patient confidentiality. His opinion sounds plausible. I’ll double-check the medical facts with our pathologists. If we find any irregularities, we’ll have to pay him another visit, but if he insists on his pledge of confidentiality, there’s nothing we can do about it – unless he uses it to cover up a crime, although we have nothing to suggest that’s the case. And then we have our colleague Reimers. He’s—’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Johann said with fervour. ‘Can we get our hands on his personnel file?’

  ‘I don’t think so – you know how tough the regs are. Obviously, I’ll have a go anyway. We don’t have anything apart from a time discrepancy, which Reimers blames on human error. We need to take a look at his previous placements in the force – see if there’s anything of interest.’

  ‘Got it. We need to keep an open mind. You’re absolutely right, but I just – how can I put it? – I can’t stand police who don’t stick to the rules.’

  Lena looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t always stick to the rules.’

  Johann gave a start. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Sometimes unconventional methods of investigation are necessary.’

>   Lena grinned. ‘That sounds more like it.’ Then she turned serious again. ‘I absolutely detest a bent copper too – not that I’m suggesting for a moment that Walter Reimers is in that category. If we find anything else that doesn’t feel right, we’ll find out what’s going on.’

  ‘OK, I’m in!’ Johann said enthusiastically.

  ‘But softly, softly, please. We don’t want to shoot ourselves in the foot.’

  A waiter brought their lunch. Johann had ordered a prawn salad and Lena the plaice. She used to come here regularly with her mother and Beke. The three of them would walk along the coastal path from Nebel and back again after their meal. She remembered their long conversations. She’d learned a lot about Amrum and life on the island during those walks. Her family had lived here for generations; her great-grandfather had been a captain of whaling ships and her Aunt Beke still lived in the house he’d built on his retirement.

  ‘The case?’ asked Johann when he noticed Lena’s faraway expression.

  ‘Old memories,’ Lena replied. ‘How do you like the far north so far?’

  Johann looked surprised. ‘Me? Well enough, I guess. The North Frisians can seem a little stand-offish, but . . .’ He faltered. ‘Not all. Present company excluded, of course.’

  Lena smirked, ate the last morsel of fish and then pushed her plate aside. ‘Stand-offish? That’s interesting. What about people on the Lower Rhine then? Are they any more approachable?’

  ‘No, not really – more like stubborn and suspicious of strangers.’ He grinned. ‘Except during carnival season, of course. There’s none of that “them and us” nonsense then – everyone’s suddenly your brother or sister.’

  ‘Better once a year than never,’ Lena said seriously.

  Johann seemed to ponder Lena’s comment. Eventually, he said, ‘Well, I’m not sure. Carnival isn’t really my thing. Dressing up, getting drunk, being cheerful – all at the push of a button?’

  ‘If it makes people happy, why not?’

  Johann stood up. ‘Are you ready to go? I’ll get the bill.’

  He turned away without waiting for Lena’s reply and walked over to the waiter. She watched her colleague as he pulled out his wallet and placed several banknotes on the bar. Once the waiter had given him a receipt, Lena rose and walked to the door.

  A young woman in her mid-twenties sat facing the two detectives. Of medium height, she was slim and wore jeans and a tight-fitting sweatshirt. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied in a loose ponytail.

  ‘How long have you been working at the home?’ Lena asked after checking Isabel Müller’s ID.

  ‘Six months and three weeks, almost to the day,’ the young woman replied.

  They were sitting in the office of the home. Sabine Bohlen had left them a few minutes earlier.

  ‘Why choose Amrum?’

  ‘Coincidence. I was out of a job and heard about the position. I called, came for an interview the next day and started a week later.’

  ‘Do you live here at the home?’

  ‘Yes, it’s easier that way. It’s nearly impossible to find a flat that’s affordable on the island.’

  ‘Have you always worked in this field?’

  ‘In the broader sense of the word, yes: I’ve worked with children and young people. But I only finished my degree three years ago.’

  Johann Grasmann cleared his throat. ‘Did you know your predecessor?’ He checked his notebook. ‘Anna Bauer. She worked here for five years.’

  ‘No, only from what the children told me, and Frau Bohlen dropped a comment here and there.’

  ‘How was your relationship with Hein Bohlen?’ asked Lena.

  ‘He was my employer. How do you describe a relationship with your employer? Normal, professional. We got along fine.’

  ‘Did you like him?’

  ‘As a person, you mean?’

  ‘For example.’ ‘Well, he was from a different generation. Twice my age. I appreciated his experience with children and teenagers. I learned a lot from him.’

  ‘And on a personal level?’

  ‘How do you mean? We weren’t friends or anything. He was my boss and I tried to keep a professional distance.’

  ‘Did he share your views?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re getting at.’ Irritated, Isabel Müller brushed a strand of hair out of her face. ‘I had nothing to do with Herr Bohlen outside of work. We only interacted on a professional basis, though of course you still get to know someone reasonably well that way. You could say he was . . . Don’t get me wrong, he was very polite most of the time, but when he was in a bad mood, everyone knew about it.’

  ‘Hein Bohlen had a bit of a temper?’

  ‘No, I didn’t say that – he had his quirks, you could say. A little hot-tempered from time to time, but never towards the children. He was always very professional with the children. But you asked about my opinion of him as a person.’

  ‘Hot-tempered, moody and very polite,’ said Lena in summary. ‘Let’s leave it at that for now.’ She smiled at Isabel Müller and asked abruptly, ‘Where were you on the evening of Herr Bohlen’s death?’

  ‘Me?’ asked Isabel Müller with amusement. ‘Am I a suspect?’

  ‘We have to ask everyone. Where were you between nine and eleven p.m.?’

  ‘Well, here. I was on night duty, so I could hardly leave. We take it in turns, Herr and Frau Bohlen and me.’ She paused. ‘Used to take turns.’

  ‘Can Frau Bohlen confirm that? Or one of the older children?’

  Isabel Müller thought for a moment. ‘Frau Bohlen was in her flat. We don’t usually cross paths during the evening. And the children? It’s not like a hospital, where patients are nursed round the clock. The children don’t often call out after bedtime. No, there wasn’t anything that evening. We only have one fourteen-year-old at the moment. The others are younger: twelve, eleven, ten, down to seven. They’re asleep at that time of night.’

  Lena nodded. ‘And you’re absolutely certain you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary that evening? Everything was the same as usual?’

  ‘I only found out about the death the next morning. I’m sure I’d remember if anything happened that night. No, everything was exactly the same.’

  Johann wrote something in his trusty notebook. ‘Did you notice anything odd about Hein Bohlen’s behaviour? On the day he died or the days before?’

  ‘No, not that I can think of.’

  ‘Take your time. It may have been small changes you wouldn’t usually pay attention to. Was he more on edge than usual, did his routine change during his last few days, was he at home more than normal, or perhaps less?’

  ‘I honestly can’t say for sure. One day merges into the next here. I’m worried I’m imagining it, but – his fuse may have been a little shorter than usual, perhaps he was a little more distracted. But, like I said, it might just . . .’ She broke off in the middle of the sentence and smiled.

  ‘What exactly do you base that observation on?’ asked Lena. ‘Can you give us an example?’

  Isabel Müller sighed. ‘That’s where it gets tricky, hence my fear that I’m imagining things, but all right. We work with children of various ages. Almost all of them come from dysfunctional families and have had a ton of bad experiences in their short lives. If either of you grew up with siblings, you know how turbulent life can be in a family of only two or three children – and that’s in a perfectly normal family. What I’m trying to say is, you need nerves of steel in this job from morning till night. If you’re not in complete control of yourself when you work with children, they soon notice and withdraw or take advantage. I’m not saying we have to be like machines, but whenever we’re around our children here, we need to be very aware of our own state of mind. To get to the point, even weeks before he’ – she paused to search for the right words – ‘before his death, Herr Bohlen could be quite impatient with the kids. One time I saw him nearly hit Jonas. Like I said – nearly. Jonas is one of our chil
dren who needs a lot of attention and demands it very actively. He’s ten and going through a difficult phase. Herr Bohlen immediately pulled himself together, but I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t walked into the room right then.’

  ‘And was that just one of many similar incidents?’ asked Lena.

  ‘It was just an example – a very drastic example – and I’d like to ask you not to tell Frau Bohlen. I don’t know how she’d react right now.’

  ‘Let’s forget about Frau Bohlen for the moment and stay with your boss. He’d had a rather short fuse in recent weeks. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said.’ Isabel Müller leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, then changed her mind and straightened up again. She hadn’t leaned back against her chair once during the entire interview. ‘Yes, there were other similar situations. Each taken on their own, they wouldn’t have seemed significant. We’re only human, and that’s good.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why Herr Bohlen’s behaviour might have been a little out of the ordinary?’

  Isabel Müller shrugged. ‘How should I know?’

  ‘You may have noticed something,’ said Johann. ‘Any small detail could be significant. Was there trouble with any of the staff or trouble at home? Was the phone ringing more than usual in the previous few days?’

  ‘If I’d known what was going to happen, I’d have paid more attention. But now, more than two weeks later, I really can’t say. I never really hear the phone calls because I rarely work in the office. And I don’t know of any trouble in the house. And with his wife . . . Well, what marriage is perfect? But you’re better off asking Frau Bohlen about that. I’d rather not comment.’ She paused. ‘Hang on, I think a few days before he died we did have some visitors I didn’t recognise. I was on my way to pick the kids up from school. A car pulled up just as I was about to get into the minibus. Two men got out. I remember they were wearing dark suits, and in their forties or fifties, I’d say. But I only saw them out of the corner of my eye, and by the time I got back they were gone.’