“We know that you were in Blum’s house on the night of his murder,” Katharina said, taking a gamble. “Witnesses saw you. Plus we know that you were turning tricks for him.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with the murder,” Michaela stated, still shaken.
“Was he knocking you around like that a lot?” The answer was obvious considering her condition.
“He found out recently that doing this was a lot of fun for him,” Michaela said.
“Which is why you took revenge on him.”
“What? No. You can’t pin his murder on me.”
Before Katharina could dig deeper, the front door opened. The known pimp Klaus Matisek entered the apartment, raising his eyebrows in astonishment.
“Well, if it isn’t two civil servants paying my girlfriend a little visit.”
“Your girlfriend?” Daniel asked, surprised.
“Jealous?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t like having to play second fiddle. Not like you. Seeing how you had found yourself so out of the picture.”
Katharina groaned inside; her coworker’s careless remark would just cause unneeded tension.
Matisek’s calm demeanor slipped for barely a second, but then he got it back under control. “And Blum, looks like he’s out of the picture too,” he sneered, “according to what you read in the papers.”
So that the situation didn’t escalate, Katharina placed a calming hand on Daniel’s arm.
“Michaela, are these sons of bitches harassing you?” Matisek asked her.
“Let it go, Klaus.”
The pimp pointed at the door. “My dearest beloved will not be bothered by any more questions. Not unless you have a warrant.”
“Come on, Daniel. Let’s go.”
“I guess it’s best,” Daniel said. “After all, we wouldn’t want to disturb the new couple any further, since they’re so in love—they’ve been waiting two years for this, after all.”
As Katharina stepped out into the hallway, she saw the neighboring apartment’s door open a crack. She paused, waiting till Matisek had shut Michaela’s front door. Then she turned to the neighbor’s apartment, where an elderly woman looked out warily.
“Detective Rosenberg,” Katharina began. “Do you have a brief moment to talk?”
“That wouldn’t be good,” the woman replied, her voice low. “I can’t risk them hearing any of this next door.”
Katharina pulled out a business card from her jacket and held it out for the woman. “You can reach me at North Precinct.”
The woman took the card and closed the door, barely making a sound.
Sandra stared at her phone. The number of the call coming in could not mean anything good. “Hello?” she answered cautiously.
“The cops were at our place,” Matisek said bluntly. “You know what we agreed.”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice faint.
“You owe me. I got him off your back.”
“I’ll keep my end of it,” she promised.
Sandra hung up without saying good-bye. It probably wouldn’t be long now before the police showed up at her place, and no way did she want to be questioned by them. The cops would easily be able to tell she knew crucial details. So she rushed into the bedroom and pulled out her travel bag from under the bed—already half full after her last conversation with Matisek. Now she threw in whatever else she’d need. Once she was done with that, she took a sad look around her apartment. She had always felt so good here, but now she had to leave behind her lovely home without any idea what the next few days would bring. Sighing, she opened the door and stepped outside. Luckily she ran into no one in the hallway. Coming out the front entrance, she turned left and made for her dark green Passat.
Katharina pointed to the green Passat maneuvering its way out of a parking space. “What luck,” she said. “A spot right in front of the building. Or is that too tight for you?”
Daniel, snorting in contempt, steered their unmarked car into the space.
8
Katharina, furious, slapped her pack of cigarettes down on her desk and cursed the smoking ban in city buildings. She didn’t feel like going outside and had to vent her anger somehow.
“Fuck,” she blurted, crumpling up a piece of paper.
Frank Weimer glanced up from his desk in surprise.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“The little birdie flew away. She flew right in front of our eyes.”
Not understanding, Frank just rumpled his brow and went back to studying his computer screen. Katharina looked around the office and discovered Daniel Schult standing at his desk tapping something into his phone.
“Daniel!” she shouted. “I just found out what model vehicle Sandra Bürgel drives. A green Passat.”
“So?” he asked, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
“You really don’t remember? The parking space, the one that popped up in front of her building? That exact model was pulling out. I admit I didn’t notice the plate number, but it had to be hers.”
Her colleague shrugged, indifferent. “At some point we’ll get a statement out of her—but she won’t be any more cooperative than Michaela Meier.”
“What if Matisek had warned her?” she snapped at him. “Because maybe she could have given him away? Don’t you even give a shit?”
Frank got up and pointed her toward the exit. “Come on, let’s head out into the courtyard. You need a cigarette break.”
A half hour later, Katharina’s phone rang just as Frank stood up and motioned to her.
“Getting something from the cafeteria,” he said. “Want anything?”
“No, thanks,” she said, reaching for the phone. “Rosenberg here.”
“Hello, Katharina. Chris Moll calling.”
For a half second, she was speechless; then she broke into a broad smile.
“Chris!” she said. “How you doing? To what do I owe the honor?” In her mind’s eye, she could see him that first time he had stepped into the office, to help her with a serial homicide investigation. But their purely professional collaboration did not stay that way. It had turned into far more between them, until she suddenly put an end to it. She remembered how hurt Julius had been when she told him about the new man in her life. Recalling it made the delight in this unexpected call vanish as quickly as it had appeared.
“The reason I’m calling is not a pleasant one,” Chris replied. “I heard about Matthias’s murder. Are you heading the investigation?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“Ever since I heard about it, I’ve really felt terrible. Matthias and I, we became close friends back when we worked together. He had me over at his house a few times.” He paused. “Of course, it doesn’t compare with what developed between you and me.”
His words unlocked the floodgate of memories once more: their secret trysts, that wonderful feeling of being desired by him, their one night together. Flustered, Katharina stared at the edge of her desk. “That was a long time ago,” she muttered.
“Have you been able to get over the accident,” he said, hesitating, “and what came after?”
His question twisted the dagger still plunged in her heart. Her coworkers avoided the subject because they could tell she was still not over it. But how would Chris know?
“Mostly,” she responded, elusive. “I’m sorry, by the way, that I was so harsh—blowing you off the last time you called. The guilt was eating away at me.”
“Already forgotten,” Chris reassured her.
“I really was planning on calling you at some point,” she added lamely. “But you know how—”
“I’d like to offer you my help with the murder investigation,” he cut in.
The offer shocked Katharina as much as his unexpected call.
“I thought yo
u gave up on police work six months ago.”
“I did, and I didn’t want to return to it under any condition. Matthias’s death changed that, though. I feel I owe him this.”
“I can understand that, but fortunately your help probably isn’t needed. We’ve landed a hot lead.” She was thinking of Matisek. “My instincts tell me that we’re on the right trail.” As she spoke she took a pen, then wrote down the pimp’s name on a piece of paper and circled it.
“That’s good news.” Chris sounded relieved.
Just then a patrol cop came into the office. At his side was a gray-haired lady of about seventy. Katharina noticed them because the officer was gesturing her way, leading the older woman over to her.
“Could you wait a sec, please?” she asked Chris, putting a hand over the mouthpiece and facing her new arrival.
The officer introduced her: “This is Frau Herweg.”
The elderly woman nodded in silence, evidently impressed by the atmosphere of the detective office.
“She’s the neighbor of a Frau Michaela Meier and would like to speak with you.”
“Yes, we already know each other. Have a seat, Frau Herweg. I’ll be off this call in a second.”
The woman sat, gazing around, curious. She’ll have a lot to tell her friends for a few days, Katharina thought, amused.
She took her hand off the mouthpiece. “Chris, sorry, but duty calls. What do you think about us talking on the phone privately, sometime in the next few days?” As she was saying it, she was half hoping he wouldn’t take her up on the offer.
“Sure. You still have my number?”
“I do. I’ll call you. It’s great to hear from you. Till then.”
“Talk soon.”
Katharina hung up, feeling guilty for having to get rid of him like that. “Well, Frau Herweg. Thanks for coming over. What would you like to tell me?”
“I think I heard something important, the night before yesterday. You should know that I suffer from trouble getting to sleep. Sometimes I’ll lie awake for hours before I can sleep. On top of that, the walls in our building are extremely thin. Anyway, that night, I heard the man who’s living with Frau Meier now—you know the one? To me, he sounded really nasty that night.”
“You mean, on Tuesday night?” Katharina said.
“Yes. He came home sometime late in the evening. Shortly after that, another lady left Frau Meier’s apartment, by the way. I’ve seen her at Michaela’s more often recently.”
Katharina fished out the photo of Sandra Bürgel from her files and showed it to the neighbor, who nodded.
“That’s her.”
“Did you hear what happened then?”
“While the other woman was still present, the man started shouting that he was going to ‘slaughter that fucker.’ Excuse the expression. I’m just telling you his choice of words. He was making me really scared.”
“Did things calm down after that?”
“At least at first. But once I was almost asleep, the man started speaking loudly at one point. I admit I didn’t understand what he was saying. All of a sudden he left the apartment. I don’t know when he came back.”
Katharina leaned back, satisfied. “Since this has utmost importance for our investigation, I have to ask: Are you certain that this took place during Tuesday night?”
The elderly woman seemed a little peeved that anyone would seem to doubt her memory. “Absolutely. Tuesday was my daughter’s birthday, you see. I was probably lying awake even longer than usual because I had too much coffee and cake.”
9
Despite Chris’s call, it had been the kind of day Katharina liked, when the work was so demanding that she barely had time to ruminate about her personal life.
Now she drove to that place she ironically called home. Waiting for a red light, she thought about Chris Moll. She had assumed she’d never hear from him again. He belonged to a part of her past that she so wanted to forget, no matter what. Her time with him had been lovely, but now it only reminded her of the horrific events that followed, now seared into her memory.
When the light turned green, Katharina slowly drove on. She longed for the way her life was before. On her days off she would often drive somewhere with Sarah; on the way her daughter would always listen to one of her funny audiobooks. She could still hear Sarah’s laughter echo in the car, exactly as it had been.
Brake lights flashed on the car in front of her, and she stepped on the brakes too. In her mind, though, she saw the taillights of a different vehicle, one moving away from her while she waved at the blond girl who had turned to face her from the rear window. It was Sarah. Her father was driving. She looked sad because her parents had been fighting again. At least Sarah had ended up smiling at her anyhow. It was the last smile she ever got to see on her daughter’s face.
A sad song was playing now on the radio. Why now, of all times? Yet, she softly sang along, steering the car home as if on autopilot and somehow not getting into an accident, then maneuvering it into a tight parking spot. She cut the engine but waited to switch off the ignition until the song finished. Instead of getting out, she leaned her head back against the headrest and stared vacantly into space.
Another image appeared in her head: she was sitting in her apartment with her duty pistol pressed to her temple, feeling weary enough to go through with it.
Katharina struggled to fight back the tears that came and forced herself not to give up hope for better days. Surely she wouldn’t be haunted forever, would she? Sighing, she smoothed out her unruly dark hair, grabbed her bag off the passenger seat, and opened the door. When she got out, she heard a little girl’s voice.
“Mommy! Catch me!”
Katharina pivoted around. About twenty yards away, a child was playing with her mother. The woman had her arms spread out; her daughter ran up to her, jumped into her mother’s arms, and was lifted and twirled in the air. The two whooped with joy.
Katharina couldn’t take her eyes off them or hold back her tears. In that moment she could see herself standing at the grave at her daughter’s funeral. Looking down at the child-sized coffin had ripped her heart in two.
Patrick Albrecht, feeling uneasy, folded up the scrap of paper with the address on it. He had already settled the first part of his debt to Glasch. But there were more assignments to fulfill. You couldn’t pay off eighteen months of protection with just one job. And considering all that he’d been spared, he was more than grateful—and ready to do what was necessary.
He picked up the pace, jogging up to the building. Once there he flicked the switch for the light above the doorbell names, but nothing happened.
“Crap,” he muttered, edgy now. He’d forgotten to ask which name he should ring, of course. He bent down and tried to make out the names. His sight had gotten a lot worse in the slammer. He couldn’t decipher the tiny black script on the white plates. So he rooted around in his jacket for the glasses they’d prescribed for him in prison and put them on. Now he recognized a name and rang the bell.
As he waited, he shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. Finally a tinny-sounding voice came out of the intercom.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Frau Glasch?” he replied. “Patrick Albrecht. Your husband sent me.”
Two, three seconds passed, and then he heard a faint buzz and the door clicked open. Evidently she’d been told he would be coming.
He had barely reached the lower steps in the inner courtyard when an apartment door opened up along the mezzanine floor. A good-looking woman appeared, flashing a dubious smile.
“Evening, Frau Glasch,” Albrecht said, almost under his breath. The situation was awkward and embarrassing. If his buddy had told his wife a former fellow prisoner was coming to visit, then she also had to know why he had become her husband’s henchman.
“Come on in.” S
he took a step back, waving him inside. When he started to stomp his boots clean on the mat, she ordered, “Hang your jacket in the closet. You can leave the boots on.”
At that moment a boy of about ten peeked out from a room, eyeing him curiously.
“Hi,” Albrecht said.
“This is Manuel,” Lydia Glasch said, introducing her son. “Manny, this is Herr Albrecht, a friend of your father’s.”
“Hello,” the little guy said shyly.
“Would you like something to drink?” Lydia asked.
“I wouldn’t mind a coffee.”
“Let’s go in the living room. We won’t be disturbed there.”
Fifteen minutes later, Albrecht was already enjoying his second cup of the most delectable coffee he’d drunk in ten years. His anxiety had slowly lifted. Glasch’s wife probably did know a lot of details relating to him, yet he had learned a few things himself. For one thing, he knew that this spouse of a five-time prostitute killer had not been able to satisfy all her man’s desires.
“Did Markus ever let you in on the situation?” he said.
“You know how it is visiting the prison,” she replied with a knowing look, “all those unwanted people around, listening.”
Katharina wiped her tears away, determined. She was nearing the spot where her old life had been destroyed.
In front of her, a car was cruising along the road doing the speed limit. Her own speedometer showed seventy-five. Instead of braking, she swerved out into the opposite lane. The driver of the oncoming car flashed on his brights. She caught up with the slow vehicle, kept accelerating, then passed it and darted back into her proper lane right in front of it, just in time. Now she heard angry honking behind her. She imagined herself sitting next to Sarah, brushing her long blond hair.
Soon she would reach the curve where her husband had lost control of the wheel.
Lydia made him a third cup of coffee at his request. Before taking the first sip, he breathed in the aroma, which now smelled like freedom to him.
Mark of Cain Page 4