Deep Pain

by Marcus Hünnebeck

  “Then let’s do it,” Sandra said. “Like we talked about. I don’t want to be without you.”

  Spannberg snuggled up to Sandra and gave her a kiss.

  40

  Bastian Dorfer looked at his cell phone. He had spent the last half hour in a hectic conference with Dellhorst, in which, to make matters worse, the chief of police had joined in. It had been impossible to keep an eye on his messages. Now, staring at Buchinger’s text, Dorfer regretted ignoring his phone.

  I’m afraid Spannberg is sitting here at the movies, the private investigator had written. Where are you?

  Dorfer dialed Buchinger’s number. His call went directly to voicemail. “Why aren’t you picking up?” Dorfer said. “Call me! We’ve placed all potential victims under personal protection. Four policemen are also waiting at Mrs. Dickrich’s address. Please contact me as soon as possible.”

  There was a knock at the office door.

  “What?” Dorfer said.

  A uniformed officer peeked in, looking pale. “Sir? There’s been an incident. At Cinemaxx Dammtor.”

  ***

  The theater manager led Dorfer to the projection room where an employee sat at the control desk. “We’ve got cameras throughout the building,” the manager said, indicating a bank of monitors streaming security footage. “We caught everything.”

  “Show me,” Dorfer said.

  The employee nodded and called up the first recording. It showed a woman waiting just outside cinema three. She made no attempt to enter the theater. Suddenly the doors flew open and people scrambled out. They looked frightened. But the woman didn’t look frightened at all. She lifted her jacket. Horrified, the moviegoers stood still or tried to retreat. Then Buchinger stepped out of the room, escorting a woman in a police hold.

  “Can you enlarge the woman who’s with the man?” Dorfer asked.

  The technician stopped the playback. Seconds later, Dorfer studied the pixelated magnification. Despite the below-average quality, he had no doubt. That was Spannberg.

  “Go on,” he said.

  He watched as the tide turned. The women quickly overpowered Buchinger and dragged him to the exit.

  “Zoom in on the second woman,” Dorfer said, squinting at the screen.

  That face. She looked so damn familiar. The longer Dorfer stared at the frozen picture, the more certain he was. This was the woman from the photos in Ludger’s apartment, Ludger’s ex. She had dyed her hair black and was now wearing a short hairstyle, but it was her. It was Sandra Borke.

  “Shit,” Dorfer said, finally putting the puzzle together.

  “You all right?” the technician said.

  “Yes! Everything’s fine! Shit!”

  Dorfer paced for a second, trying to think. Sandra had never loved Ludger. She had used him from the very start. To help Spannberg. To warn her.

  He picked up the phone to inform Dellhorst.

  Buchinger. They had to track him down. Wherever he was, Spannberg and her accomplice would be there too.

  41

  “Friday evening it’s packed in St. Pauli,” Spannberg said. “That suits us just fine. Many police officers on duty, many people coming to the Reeperbahn.”

  As Hamburg’s entertainment district and a major red-light district, the Reeperbahn in St. Pauli had an active nightlife scene. In her mind’s eye Spannberg saw David’s Watch, the police station on the corner of Spielbudenplatz and Davidstrasse. She had seen the tall red-brick building many times on television. On weekends more police officers were on duty there than in comparable stations throughout the city.

  “How can we attract as many people as possible?” Borke said. “I want to blow up every pig on his way to the red light district. None of them are worth more than Hansen or the others. Women are just cheap merchandise in their eyes.”

  Spannberg nodded. “Even the cops who didn’t help us. They’re all scum. The more we catch, the better.”

  They had developed the basic outline of the plan months ago. At that time they had made a fundamental decision. Should they ever find themselves in a hopeless situation, they would not surrender. Instead, they would leave an unforgettable mark. For this reason alone, they had crafted two explosive vests.

  However, neither hostages nor other people had played a role in their planning at the time. These were suicide vests. Now they had to rethink everything.

  “Buchinger has gotten in our way several times,” said Spannberg. “Let’s kill him here, now, so he’s no longer a danger to us.”

  “Or, what if we can use him to our advantage?” Borke said. She stepped to the fridge and took out two more beers.

  “Shouldn’t we keep a clear head?” Spannberg said.

  “Two beers won’t hurt.” Borke opened the bottles and carried them to the table. “Cheers!”

  They clinked bottles.

  “Use him to our advantage how?”

  Borke’s gaze glided past her. “I don’t know, I’m thinking.” She took a sip and wiped the corners of her mouth with her index finger. Then she smiled. “I’ve got it: You take him to David’s Watch by force of arms. You’re wearing an explosive vest, but Buchinger doesn’t know that. You claim that we want to surrender.”

  “Yeah, but why in St. Pauli though?” said Spannberg. “He’s going to ask. Why not just surrender here?”

  Borke wiped her mouth again. “So you say in St. Pauli, there would be a ton of spectators on the weekend, which guarantees the cops won’t just shoot you down. After all, Krumm died because of us, and we fear an act of revenge. Then you explain to him that I’ll wait here for my arrest. If the cops get trigger-happy, I could still disappear.”

  “You’re waiting here?” Spannberg said.

  “No, see, this way we give the cops an incentive not to shoot us. It must sound credible why the three of us don’t go to the police.” She took another sip. “You stop in front of the station. As soon as someone reports a woman outside with a gun, the cops come running. They ask you to put down your gun. If there are enough onlookers, or the cops try to overpower you, you ignite your vest. Then Buchinger, several cops, and hopefully also many red-light visitors will be dead.”

  “And where are you at this time?”

  “Among the onlookers. Far enough away not to be hurt by the explosion. The detonation is followed by chaos and panic. People are running everywhere. Of course I have to run too. But when the first ones return to the scene, I follow them. The cops will cordon off the area. Outside this cordon I’ll wait. As soon as I see SOKO members at the scene of the accident, I break through the barrier and detonate the second bomb. Maybe I catch Bastian Dorfer. He seems to be running the SOKO now.”

  Spannberg rolled the plan around in her head. It would kill a lot of people. Hamburg and especially St. Pauli would be scarred forever by the explosion, even if the visible traces disappeared at some point. The name Spannberg would be remembered by everyone forever. She liked that scenario.

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to hide in the crowd?” she asked. “Instead of you?”

  “I’d love to would carry the first bomb,” said Borke. “I’d love to. But unfortunately it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Because the cops don’t know who you are,” Spannberg said.

  “Right. If I stand in front of the station and scream that I want to surrender, no one will know that I’m connected to you.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Besides,” said Borke, “I can mingle better with the onlookers. My anonymity protects me from exposure.”

  Spannberg nodded. “I just hope they don’t shoot me before I can set off the explosives.”

  “You have Buchinger as a shield,” Borke said.

  “And what if he figures out our plan and alerts the cops to the bomb?”

  “Then shoot him and detonate the vest immediately.”

  Spannberg sipped her beer, then twirled the bottle around on the table again, deep i
n thought.

  Borke stood up. She walked around the table, kissed Spannberg, and said, “I’ve got to take a leak.”

  42

  Sandra Borke looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. She had just given Franka her version of the Judas kiss.

  She did not intend to die at all. As soon as Franka detonated the bomb, Borke would disappear forever. Disappear a second time. Thanks to Buchinger, she knew how it worked. And he would be dead in a few hours, so he could no longer help the cops track her down. Ludger Krumm—the police—had already failed the first time.

  Borke wiped tears from her eyes. She loved Franka and wished she could turn back time, wished she could undo this fateful day. Unfortunately that was impossible.

  In her childhood, which she had spent in homes for the most part, she had learned one thing: always think of yourself first. That was exactly what she planned to do. Franka would sacrifice herself and give Borke a gift. She would give her the opportunity to disappear forever and start a new life.

  Sandra splashed cold water on her face. Their farewell was just around the corner.

  43

  “This is bullshit!”

  The result of the video surveillance depressed Dorfer. There were recordings of the three targets leaving the theater and running to the nearby parking lot. Using the timestamp of another camera, they had even identified a car with three occupants driving off the premises. This had to be the getaway car. After that, though, the cursed vehicle disappeared from surveillance. Out of all the cameras to which the LKA had access, not a single one captured the car. What would he give for a complete traffic surveillance of Hamburg! But no, data protectionists and their concerns were constantly thwarting plans. As if innocent citizens cared when their license plates were recorded. Why didn’t the protectionists realize they were only helping criminals?

  Dorfer leaned back in his office chair and stretched his neck. He put his hands on his head. How was he supposed to find Borke and Spannberg’s hideout? He had no clues. It was like poking around in the mist.

  The two women had needed a retreat at short notice. Hotels were ruled out, because they couldn’t hold a hostage in a hotel room. Had they been renting an apartment this whole time? Or had they been looking for an apartment in the last few days? The name Borke was not on any wanted list. She could have rented dozens of properties in the last few months without anyone noticing. A needle piling up her own haystack.

  Dorfer leaned forward again. Buchinger’s life depended on him. He owed it to the private investigator to try everything humanly possible.

  On his computer, he sent a bulletin to all police stations via the LKA server, listing the license plate number and the type of car. He also asked all officers who were on foot to be especially alert. He pointed out that the fugitive had at least one explosive vest, which could cause a dangerous escalation in the city at any time.

  44

  They stood in white underwear, locked in an embrace. Sandra Borke stroked her partner’s hair.

  “I love it when you do that,” whispered Spannberg.

  “Let’s dance.”

  To imaginary music they moved slowly on the fluffy bedroom carpet, nestled close together. Borke’s hands caressed Spannberg’s back and wandered down. “I love you so much,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to miss a second of our time together.”

  “I wish I never…”

  “Shh. This belongs to us. And nothing can divide us. Not even death.”

  “A beautiful performance.”

  They went around in circles.

  “When I press the trigger,” said Borke, “it will comfort me knowing that you’ll be waiting for me on the other side.”

  After a while they stopped dancing and kissed.

  “Shall we?” asked Spannberg.

  Borke nodded. “Let’s put my vest on first.”

  They stepped to the bed, to the explosive vests laid there. Spannberg picked one up and helped her partner put it on.

  “What do you want to wear over it?” she asked.

  “The red plaid lumberjack shirt. I think I can hide it under there.”

  Spannberg opened the closet and picked out the shirt. Borke slipped into it. Although she buttoned it up, she could still see the outline of the vest.

  “Never mind. The jacket covers the rest. Can I have the black jeans?”

  She sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. Spannberg brought her the trousers.

  “Shall we try the jacket?” asked Spannberg.

  “No. It’s fine. Now you.”

  After the vest, Spannberg put on a denim blouse and a black, ankle-length flannel skirt. Then Borke helped her into the lined jacket.

  “Wonderful. You can’t see a thing. No one will notice.”

  “That’s good.” Spannberg looked down sadly.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Are you scared?”

  “It’s not that. I just don’t want to say goodbye.”

  Borke was afraid that Franka might give in and abandon the plan. But a joint escape was impossible. Two women could not disappear together. They would attract attention too quickly. To that extent, their departure was inevitable.

  “Me either. Come here, sweetheart.”

  In order to prevent the bomb from prematurely detonating, they did not hug each other. Instead they held hands and kissed.

  “I can do it,” said Spannberg.

  “I know that. Our love fills me with pride.”

  “I love you.”

  “And I you.”

  They tore away from each other, and Spannberg began to retreat. She wiped away her tears and waved goodbye. Then she turned and left the bedroom.

  Borke looked after her. She was sad, too, but her will to survive was stronger. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her days locked up in prison, and she didn’t want to put an end to her life. But she would end it, if the going got tough.

  She heard Franka enter the basement. Slowly she unbuttoned her lumberjack shirt. She had no further reason to wear the explosive vest. After all, she wanted to eliminate any risk of accidentally detonating the bomb. That was the wrong way to disappear.

  45

  Till looked up as Spannberg entered. She had changed her clothes and was now wearing a skirt and ankle-high boots. She had closed the zipper of her jacket, although it was quite warm here in the basement.

  In her hand she held the pistol, but she had unscrewed the silencer attachment.

  “We’re leaving now,” she said.

  “All of us?” Till asked.

  Spannberg didn’t respond.

  “Where to?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said.

  Out of his reach she stopped and examined him. Was she thinking of how to safely release him from the heater and cuff him back up?

  Spannberg took a step back. Was she going to call for Borke? Her hesitation was obvious. Why was she so indecisive?

  Finally she fished the small key for the handcuffs out of her skirt pocket. “You do the, um…” She paused and turned to the door. “Honey! I need you in the basement.”

  No one answered her.

  “Sandra?”

  “Yes,” Borke called down from above. “What is it?”

  “You have to help me here. To unchain Buchinger from the radiator.”

  “Okay. Be right there. I’m just putting some clothes on.”

  Borke took an unusually long time to dress. Spannberg’s gaze flitted back and forth between him and the hallway. What were the two planning?

  Finally Borke appeared. Except for her shoes and socks she was fully dressed, including a closed jacket.

  Till’s fears that Spannberg was wearing an explosive vest increased.

  “I’m sorry, Sandra, I didn’t think I needed help here.”

  “Me either. Point the gun at him, would you? So he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  Spannberg gave her
the handcuff key. Then she pointed the gun at Till. “It’s very simple. If you resist or attack Sandra, I will shoot you in the stomach or back. Depending on what you turn toward me.”

  Till quickly considered his options. Was this his last opportunity to overwhelm the women? He decided to take the risk.

  Sandra Borke approached him. Without warning she kicked him in the stomach with her bare foot. He doubled over, struggling to breathe. She released the handcuff.

  “Your eyes betrayed you. You were going to attack me.”

  Before he could prevent it, she banged his head against the radiator. Black dots danced before his eyes. Because of his dazed state, Borke found it easy to tie his arms behind his back. Then she pushed him to the ground. His chin hit hard.

  “You’ll have to watch him. He has that combative look. The eye of the tiger.” She laughed gloatingly.

  The two women kissed, and then Borke left the cellar.

  Spannberg approached Till. “You brought this on yourself. Get up, you son of a bitch! You’re going to have a lot more pain than this.”

  “I need your help,” Till moaned. “How can I stand up like this?”

  “I don’t care. You have five seconds. One, two…”

  With great effort, Till rolled onto his side and straightened himself, even though his solar plexus was still seizing.

  “There you go! To the car!”

  Till stumbled forward. Spannberg remained two steps behind him.

  “You open the door.”

  With his hands clasped behind him, Till had to turn his back to the basement door so he could push the handle.

  “Now for the trunk,” she told him as they entered the garage.

  “I’m supposed to be in—”

  “Come on!” she cried. “I’m losing my patience.”

  He went to the rear of the car, and she hit a button on the key fob. As if by magic, the trunk swung open.