“I spoke with another inspector before,” Till said. “I gave a statement.”
“Yes,” Krumm said, “but my partner and I have taken over the case.”
Till didn’t need to ask why. “Spannberg,” he said.
“Ah. You followed the press conference in November?”
“It was the talk of the town.”
Krumm nodded sadly. “Yes, well, we have discovered evidence in Mr. Albrecht’s apartment that we can clearly trace back to Franka Spannberg. I was assigned the case on Friday.”
“You think Spannberg killed him?”
“Of that we are certain.”
“What connects the two?”
Krumm studied Till for a moment. “What I am about to tell you must be kept in strict confidence. Do I have your word on that?”
“Of course.”
Krumm stared at him a second longer. Finally, he broke silence. In a concise summary, he explained how the perpetrator chose her victims, revealing information that the police had withheld from the public.
“You’re saying Jonathan had some kind of relationship with one of Spannberg’s attackers?”
“Obliquely. He once accepted an assignment from one of the criminals over twenty years ago,” Krumm said. “I give him credit for not necessarily knowing how much he was hurting someone else in the process.”
“But he had no personal relationship with the man.”
The chief inspector nodded. “We have come to the same conclusion. We were able to reconstruct Spannberg’s escape route and finally discovered the house in which she was holed up. Unfortunately we were too late. She had already fled. In the weeks that followed, we tracked down two more hideouts. Also too late.”
Till thought back to the events of November, the attack at Florian Werner’s apartment block, the explosion. “At least the boy survived.”
“That’s how we see it, too. The well-being of Werner was the top priority in our considerations from the beginning.” The chief inspector glanced sideways as he said it.
Was he lying?
“Spannberg did not kill Florian as a means to secure the cooperation of his girlfriend,” Krumm said. “With the girl as a hostage, she managed to evade capture at the last moment. She knew that in a hostage situation, we proceed more slowly than in the pursuit of a fugitive. The fact that she placed an e-bike in the neighboring building beforehand shows how strategically she is proceeding. And I believe this is exactly where Mr. Albrecht became part of her scheme. We suspect that Spannberg used his services to go completely underground.”
“Is there any evidence of this?” Till asked.
“Nothing solid,” Krumm said.
“Why are you telling me this?” Till asked the question, even though he sensed what the chief inspector was after.
“In the weeks before his murder, did Mr. Albrecht speak to you about a new client?”
“We’re very secretive in our business,” Till said, “especially when we help people disappear from the scene. So, no, he didn’t mention anything about that. I’m sure you’ve already checked with Jessica Sturm, right?”
“Of course. Mr. Albrecht and Mrs. Sturm are registered as partners, but they run separate offices. She allegedly knew nothing either. I find this all very strange.”
“If Jessica says so, it’s true. There’s nothing strange about that. Our clients are often frightened. Some women who are stalked by a violent ex grow to trust in a single person at best, but certainly not two strangers at the same time. That’s why we have separate offices.”
“Frau Sturm said as much. You learned how to be a P.I. from Mr. Albrecht, is that correct?”
“Yes. He took me under his wing many years ago.”
“What was his approach when he helped someone disappear forever?”
Till pursed his lips. What could he entrust to Krumm? His skepticism about the chief inspector lay more than a year in the past and was related to Till’s profession.
4
Thoughtfully, Till examined the client. Late twenties. Attractive. Unfortunately, the story she told him in the last half hour did not sound new to him. A stormy love affair that began with a whirl of kisses and gifts. But passion sometimes has its dark sides. Pathological jealousy. Possessive claims. Loss of control. Till had heard this story all too often. As soon as one partner broke free from the bonds of the relationship, the other partner ran amok.
After the young woman finished her story, she waited for Till’s response. Her bright blue eyes pleaded with him, seeking help.
“What do the police say?” Till asked. “Surely they advise you to report it?”
“You don’t understand. I can’t go to the police.”
Till raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t reported him yet? I would strongly advise you to do so. Most stalkers are deterred by this. Perhaps he’ll stop once he receives notice.”
“It’s out of the question.” She sounded completely terrified.
“Why?”
“Ludger… he’s a cop. Chief Inspector. If I report him, I will only harm myself. He would destroy the report and harass me even more. You have to help me. Please! I have to get off Ludger’s radar. Forever.”
5
“When people come to us who want to go underground,” Till said, deciding to share at least a little with Krumm, “the background must be just right. In this respect, Spannberg has come up with a convincing story. Of course, we don’t want to help anyone flee from prosecution.”
Krumm laughed. “It’s working out great.”
“As a rule, yes. But if someone is lying well enough, she can screw us.”
“Spannberg’s face was in all the media,” Krumm said. “Albrecht should have recognized it.”
“Apparently she has mastered the art of disguise. Or why haven’t you arrested the murderer yet, if it’s so easy to see through her?”
“So be it. Keep talking.”
“We give the clients tips and help them with the organization. But we never choose where they go into hiding.”
“Why not?”
“So we don’t endanger the clients. Otherwise a violent stalker might get the idea to squeeze the location out of us.”
“Shit!” Krumm said. “I was hoping you could give me some pointers on where to look for Spannberg.”
“Maybe I can narrow it down.”
“In what way?”
“Jonathan has generally advised his clients to go underground in big cities.”
The chief inspector seemed annoyed. “Are you kidding me? What kind of hint is that? Big cities? Great! So I can call off the search parties from the villages.” He stood up abruptly, but sat down again almost in the same breath. “Excuse me. The fact that Spannberg managed to escape drives me crazy. First I run after her like a game of hare and hedgehog, then I come across another corpse. The chief is breathing down my neck, and I finally have to deliver results. Excuse me.” Krumm stroked his hair.
“No problem. You weren’t seriously hoping I’d snap my fingers and tell you where Spannberg’s hiding?”
“If it was that easy, we would’ve arrested her by now. I need to know exactly what you do to help a client.”
To track down your ex afterwards? Till thought. “How about this,” he said. “I’ll confer with Jessica Sturm. Together, we’ll consider how Jonathan might have proceeded if this were him you were asking. As soon as we make a decision, I’ll let you know.”
Once again, Krumm stood up. This time, he extended his hand. “Granted, I had hoped for more, but I accept your offer.”
Till shook with him and saw him to the door.
“Don’t be surprised if I follow up quickly,” said Krumm. “Patience is not one of my virtues.”
Till smiled. “I can handle impatience.” Besides, Till thought, I already knew that.
He stood at the door and watched the officer climb into his car. Under no circumstances did he want to give Inspect
or Krumm a single clue as to how they worked. Nevertheless, he wished that Jonathan’s killer could be brought to justice. He decided to go two ways. First, he would distract Chief Inspector Krumm with a trail of breadcrumbs, and at the same time he would search for Spannberg on his own. As soon as he found Johnathan’s killer, he would let Krumm know. He didn’t care who took credit. He only cared that Krumm wouldn’t find out where his ex was hiding.
6
Jessica Sturm waited on the bench in front of Antje’s grave. After an unexpectedly cold intermezzo after the turn of the year, typical northern German winter had set in. Foggy in the morning and always humid during the day, but with bearable temperatures. Jessica wore a long wool coat but had doffed scarf and cap.
“I would like to bury him next to Antje,” Till said as a greeting. He took a seat next to Jessica.
She wiped her eyes. “I just can’t believe this,” she said. “I wake up in the morning thinking this is just a nightmare. It has to be. I still try to call him.”
Till offered her his hand, and she squeezed it. They looked at Antje’s grave, silent for a while. A crow landed nearby. An odd sight in the winter. It stared at Jessica briefly and then flew on.
“I had a visit from Chief Inspector Krumm today,” Till finally said.
Jessica nodded. “He came to me over the weekend. He wanted to know all kinds of things. Asked me questions I could not possibly answer. When he left, he seemed upset.”
“Don’t take it personally. The guy has a woman problem.”
Jessica looked at him. “How do you know that?”
Till told her about Krumm’s ex, the client he had helped go into hiding about a year ago. He also explained what role the chief inspector thought Johnathan had played in Spannberg’s disappearance.
“Shit,” Jessica said. Then she remembered their surroundings. “Sorry,” she added quietly.
“I’m afraid if I give him too many details about our actions, he might use them to track down his ex,” Till said.
“Do you think that’s realistic?”
“You know nobody we help disappears forever. We give our clients hints on how to make things difficult for their stalkers. But they’re not invisible. Especially since, as a policeman, Krumm has resources that others don’t have.”
“So you’re not helping him?”
“I want to see Spannberg in jail. She has to pay for Jonathan’s death.”
“I guess that’s what they call a dilemma.”
“Indeed,” Till said. “But I thought of something. I’ll try to track down the murderer myself. Once I find her, I’ll let Krumm know.”
“Are you crazy? What if she notices? I don’t want to lose another friend.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
Jessica arched her eyebrows, her lips tightly pursed.
“Did Jonathan mention a new client?” he asked, trying to take her mind off things.
“Yes. Around mid-November. A woman who wanted to go into hiding from a violent ex, but she couldn’t go to the police.”
“Did he mention why?”
“He wouldn’t say. I strongly advised him not to take the job.”
“Then why did he take it anyway?”
“Jonathan was about to retire. Emigrate. To Thailand. He’s been talking about it more and more lately. I’m afraid it’s made him more indiscriminate when picking new clients.”
“And he’s paid dearly for it.”
Jessica nodded sadly. “Even if I don’t feel good about chasing after a murderess, I’ll help you.”
Till squeezed her hand. “Jonathan’s death will not go unpunished.”
After a while, Jessica stood up. Again she wiped her eyes. “I’ll leave you alone with Antje, then. Come by whenever you want.” She glanced at the gravesites, swallowed, and without another word she walked to the exit.
7
How quickly one gets used to unfamiliar environments, Franka Spannberg thought. She stood in the living room of the apartment she was subletting. The tenant was abroad for just under a year for professional reasons. His décor and interior design was not to her taste. Nevertheless, she felt comfortable. She spent most of her time in the apartment and had not seen much of the city itself. She read for hours, surfed the internet, and spent her evenings watching documentaries from various media libraries.
If she were to ever return to Hamburg, she needed to let the grass grow a little, let the dust settle in the police investigation. She hoped to continue her work in the Hanseatic city by March at the latest.
Spannberg thought of Florian Werner. Was it a mistake not to kill him? Would she get another chance? At the time, she had intuitively decided to use Clara as a diversion to get into the basement—a premeditated escape option. With every murder, she had created similar options for herself—and had convinced herself that she had done everything right the last time. Surely a new opportunity would arise to execute Florian.
She went to the bathroom. The bars of soap were piled up in the vanity cabinet, but her supply had dwindled alarmingly. She would need to walk to the drugstore, a good five minutes away.
Spannberg looked at her watch. The store closed at eight o’clock, four hours from now. She would wait until the cover of nightfall. Although she loved warm temperatures, she celebrated the dark season.
***
At five o’clock, Spannberg took one of the tenant’s burlap jute bags and stepped to the apartment door. She peeped through the keyhole. The hallway lay in darkness. She made sure that the key was in her down jacket and left the first-floor apartment. Without locking up, she made her way to the front entrance.
In the elongated hallway right next to the exit, the door to another apartment opened unexpectedly. Spannberg stopped. A man stepped out, carrying a laundry basket with freshly washed bedding.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi.” Spannberg lowered her head and tried to walk past him.
“You’re staying with Marcel, right?”
She had hoped he would mistake her for a visitor. Now she had to pour on the charm.
“Right,” she said, big bright smile. “I’m Theresa.”
He put down the wash basket and gave her his hand, returning her smile. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ronald Bäcker. With an Ä. So Bäcker, not Ronäld.” He laughed at his bad joke, and Spannberg—Theresa—gently squeezed his hand.
“Do you like it here?” Bäcker asked. “Marcel has hit the jackpot. A year in Scotland and then full pay?”
“Yeah, that sounds great. I like it. I’m writing a thesis for my habilitation, so I’m grateful for a retreat where nobody knows my name.”
The man frowned, as if he wanted to ask something, but then cleared his throat instead. “Aren’t you ever bored?” he asked.
“No. Quite the opposite. I don’t know if Marcel mentioned it. I actually live in Hannover. I’m really here just to concentrate.”
“Beer is beer and booze is booze, right?”
“So it is,” she said, realizing he must have misunderstood her. “I should be on my way. It was nice meeting you. See you soon.”
“If you’re ever bored, ring my bell. I’ll be glad to show you the bars in town.”
“I will.”
She waved goodbye and left the building. Outside, she took a deep breath. This encounter was annoying. Thanks to her background in psychology, she had noticed several characteristics about the man. First, he was lonely and quite taken with her. He would certainly try to arrange another encounter. If he remained persistent, this could prove to be a problem. But for the time being, another thought preoccupied her. Had Bäcker frowned because he couldn’t understand the term habilitation? Or had he wondered for a moment whether she looked familiar?
8
After a long day at work, Ludger Krumm returned to his three-room apartment in Hamburg’s Eppendorf district. Shortly before closing time, the chief of police had invited him to a
meeting first thing in the morning, before the start of Krumm’s duties. The chief wanted a personal report from his senior officer on the progress of the Spannberg investigation. Despite the prospect of having to start the next day with a warning to close the case, Krumm felt elated. The conversation with Till Buchinger had given him a boost.
He went into the kitchen and cracked open his after-work beer, then sat down at his desk. He started the computer and thought of his ex, Sandra. They had enjoyed a passionate time together—until things had gotten out of hand between them.
Krumm ran a search for Sandra’s name. Unfortunately, he had seen these results before. Nothing new. Thoughtfully, he took a sip of beer. In the weeks after Sandra’s disappearance, he had wondered how she managed to become invisible. Secretly, he had used his professional means to find out where she disappeared to—but even with those resources, he hadn’t come one step closer to finding her. He even feared that something might have happened to her. But ever since the conversation with Buchinger, he had an inkling of how Sandra might have proceeded. Since he didn’t trust that she could organize a disappearance on her own, he assumed she had sought help.
Krumm switched to Instagram and searched for her username, trying different combinations. But even this search proved unsuccessful. He rested his chin on his hands, folded as if he were deep in prayer rather than deep in thought. Buchinger could be useful to him in two ways. He could help Krumm find Spannberg. That was the first way. But he could also help Krumm renew his search for Sandra. If he developed a reasonable working relationship with the private investigator, he could show Buchinger photos of Sandra. Based on his reaction, it would be possible to deduce whether or not he had helped Sandra disappear. When you surprise people, you can see the truth on their faces. Only the best poker players have their facial expressions under control at all times, and Krumm was a master at reading faces.
Deep Pain Page 4