Van Heiden broke the awkward silence.
‘How likely is all of this, Frau Doktor? Do you think this psychopath believes this “Blood Eagle” nonsense?’
‘It’s possible. It’s definitely possible. And it does explain the religiosity of the e-mail. But if it is true, then we are dealing with a much more sophisticated and structured psychopathy. I would imagine that he plans everything in great detail and well in advance. That means he’ll leave as little as possible to chance.’
Fabel had been turning a pencil around between his fingers. He sighed and threw it down onto the table. ‘And that means he’s less likely to slip up and give us a lead. And a religious motive means, as we already suspected, he could be on some kind of crusade … unless it is all a smokescreen. Or at least a partial smokescreen …’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Susanne.
‘I don’t entirely know what I mean. I’ve no doubt that our guy believes this crap, but maybe it isn’t what drives him. Maybe he’s hiding another motive in all of this. Why did he erase everything from Blüm’s computer? And why did he steal files? And I’m not the only one who’s flagged up the possibility.’ Fabel then gave a brief summary of what Brauner had had to say.
‘Frau Doktor?’ Van Heiden invited a response to Fabel’s statement.
Susanne frowned. ‘It is possible. People with a motive to murder have often “dressed it up” to fit with some other psychological agenda.’ She turned back to Fabel. ‘You’re saying that there may be a division between motive and method? That there is a need to kill other than for the pleasure or psychotic fulfilment that he derives from the act?
‘Exactly.’
‘Possible. I can’t say it’s likely, but it’s possible.’
The door of the conference room opened. Maria Klee, clutching a thick file, came in and apologised for being late, although she seemed less than contrite and looked more than a little pleased with herself. Fabel paused for a second before continuing.
‘The only way we can be sure,’ Fabel continued, ‘is to establish more facts. We’ve got to probe deeper. We must find Klugmann and find out what it is he’s withholding from us. If there’s a link between the victims we’ve got to find it. Are we any closer to finding him?’
Anna Wolff answered. ‘No, Chef. Sorry. Klugmann obviously knows how to stay lost. We’ve kept a close watch on his girlfriend, Sonja, but there’s been no attempt at contact.’
Fabel worried at his chin with a thumb and forefinger. ‘I want us to take a closer look at the Odinist connection. I have a name, the Temple of Asatru, that needs checking out. Werner, I’d like you to pay Mr MacSwain a return visit as well and ask him where he was when Angelika Blüm was being murdered.’
‘You think he’s a possible?’
‘Well we didn’t have the time to fix a surveillance on him and he could, just about, fit the description we got from the girl outside Blüm’s apartment. Although if it’s accurate, MacSwain’s hair is too dark.’ Fabel paused. His mind had moved on and there was a bitter irritation in his expression. ‘There’s no way we can build a fact trail between all three victims if we don’t have an identity for one of them. We absolutely must crack the identity of Monique. That is our number-one priority. Someone, somewhere, must know who she is.’
Maria Klee slapped the file she had brought in down on the conference table. Everyone looked in her direction: she was grinning broadly, something she was not normally wont to do.
‘I do.’
‘What?’ Van Heiden and Fabel spoke at the same time.
‘I know the identity of “Monique”. And I have to tell you that this is dynamite, Chef.’ Maria turned defiantly to Van Heiden. ‘And someone, somewhere has been withholding key information from this inquiry.’
‘For God’s sake, Maria, just tell us who she is.’ Fabel’s voice was stretched taut and thin. This was the biggest break in the inquiry so far.
‘The victim is Tina Kramer. She was twenty-seven.’ Maria’s simple statement seemed to electrify the stale conference-room air. ‘The good news is that I’ve discovered her identity. The bad news is how I discovered it.’
‘Get to the point, Maria,’ said Fabel.
‘As you know, I did all the usual checks against our own and the Bundeskriminalamt’s records. Criminal records, that is. It revealed nothing. So I ran a wider search.’ Maria paused, as if allowing the others to brace themselves. ‘I widened the search to include police officers.’
Maria flipped open the file and removed a letter-sized, head-and-shoulders photograph. She walked around the table and behind Fabel and secured the image to the board with a pin, next to where Fabel had written ‘Monique’. Maria slapped the photograph with the palm of her hand as if to stamp it indelibly on the inquiry board. She took the cloth and wiped the name ‘Monique’ off the board and picked up a broad-tipped red felt pen, writing ‘TINA KRAMER’ in large capitals. Fabel stood up and looked at the face in the photograph: the same face as in the mortuary picture next to it. The hair was darker than Fabel had remembered it, scraped severely back. She was wearing a dull mustard service-uniform shirt with green epaulettes. Behind him, Fabel heard the electrified silence in the room explode into a buzz of excited talk. Eventually he turned to Maria.
‘Shit, I don’t believe this … She’s one of ours?’
‘Yes. Or at least partially. She is …’ Maria corrected herself – ‘she was Polizei Niedersachsen, based at Hanover. She was a Schutzpolizei Kommissarin. From what I’ve been able to gather, she was originally from Hamburg and – get this – she was seconded to the Bundeskriminalamt; specifically to the BAO here in Hamburg.’ Maria scanned down a report in the file. ‘And this is no admin screw-up with records. In 1995, she was serving with a Polizei Niedersachsen special-weapons Sonder Einsatz Kommando based in Hanover. There was a robbery on a security truck and there was a fire-fight between the robbers and the unit. She was hit in the leg. Right thigh. She’s our girl all right.’
‘She was seconded to the BAO?’ Fabel turned to Van Heiden. His voice was flat and cold.
‘No way, Fabel.’ Van Heiden made a face and gestured as if pushing the accusation away. ‘No way did I know about this! The Besondere Aufbau Organisation has a pretty autonomous structure … but by God I’m going to find out who authorised this without my knowledge or consent.’
‘I just want to be clear on this,’ Susanne interjected. ‘The BAO is the special unit set up to fight international terrorism?’
‘Yes,’ Maria answered. ‘It is a cooperation between ourselves, the Bundeskriminalamt, the BND secret service and the American FBI. Its principal aim is intelligence-gathering.’
‘And,’ added Fabel, ‘they probably run covert operations.’ He turned to Maria. ‘Is she still seconded to the BAO?’
‘Yes. And her secondment started just over a year ago.’
Van Heiden and Fabel exchanged looks. But it was Werner who expressed what they all were thinking. ‘Just before Klugmann was discharged from the service. This victim …’ he looked at Maria.
‘Tina Kramer.’
‘This victim, Tina Kramer,’ Werner continued, ‘is a serving officer with the BAO, a highly secretive criminal and counter-terrorism intelligence unit, and she’s also ex-SEK. Klugmann is an ex-Mobiles Einsatz Kommando member.’
Maria Klee returned to her place at the table, leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through her short blonde hair. ‘Added to which is the fact that we have a hidden video camera and whatever it recorded missing from the scene. All of this at a time when one of the top organised-crime godfathers is assassinated.’ She leaned forward, clasping her hands with interlocking fingers and resting her weight on her elbows. ‘Do you remember I thought I recognised Klugmann?’
‘Yes … God, that’s right,’ said Fabel. ‘You couldn’t place him though.’
‘It’s been bothering me. I couldn’t place him anywhere. But when I found out who Tina Kramer was, I thought I’d check out Klu
gmann’s files at the Bundeskriminalamt. And guess what, his records stored at Federal Records and his service record at the Polizei Hamburg don’t match. The dates are all over the place. Specifically his discharge from the army. He got out six months earlier than his records show here, and they place him somewhere very interesting indeed.’
‘Where?’
‘Weingarten.’
Fabel’s face was split by a bitter, knowing smile. ‘Of course. I might have known. The NATO Long-Range Reconnaissance School?’
‘Exactly.’
Van Heiden said: ‘Fabel?’ and made a gesture of impatient confusion.
‘We’ve got the whole bloody lot of them in here now. If it goes by initials then it’s involved.’ He slumped back into his chair and threw his pencil onto the table. ‘The Long-Range Reconnaissance School at Weingarten is where GSG9 is trained. An elite counter-terrorism unit that’s officially made up of policemen and is part of the Federal Border Police. But, nevertheless, our British cousins send over their SAS to train GSG9.’
‘As soon as I saw that, it all clicked,’ said Maria. ‘I met Klugmann at a seminar at Weingarten, when I was attached to a Mobiles Einsatz Kommando myself. I can only have said a couple of words to him and I didn’t know his name. He was shaven-headed then and a lot slimmer. But I’d bet a month’s pay it was Klugmann.’ Her mouth tightened into a grim straight line. ‘This is an undercover operation. Klugmann is the deep-cover guy, using as much of his real history as possible to give him credibility. Tina Kramer is his control. She has a fake identity but she’s not deep cover.’
Fabel drew a deep breath. ‘That’s it! Damn it. That is exactly where I’ve been heading with this whole bloody thing. Our so-called random serial killer has taken out an undercover federal agent. That is one hell of a coincidence. Now we have to go back to the first murder, the civic lawyer, and see if there is a fact trail between her and this policewoman. And we have to check them both out against Angelika Blüm.’ He turned to Van Heiden. ‘We have some serious ass-kicking to do here, Herr Kriminaldirektor. We are up to our necks in dismembered women and these idiots are playing James Bond. We should have been advised about this girl’s identity as soon as she was killed.’
‘And that,’ interrupted Werner, ‘is what that twelve-minute telephone call to a non-existent number was all about.’
Fabel slammed his hand onto the table. ‘God … you’re right! That must have been Klugmann calling in to get instructions. The poor bastard really was in shock that night. He comes across his contact sliced up like butcher meat and he calls his control to find out what to do. They tell him to phone the police but to stay out in the field and under cover. Bastards!’ He turned back to Van Heiden. ‘This is obstruction and suppression of evidence. I want people behind bars for this. Do I have your support?’
Fabel had expected Van Heiden to be put out by being asked such a question in front of the whole team. Instead Van Heiden’s face was drawn tight and hard and determined. ‘Whatever you need, Herr Kriminalhauptkommissar, I’ll make sure you get it.’
Fabel nodded his thanks. Whatever else he was, Van Heiden was a straight, honest policeman. Fabel turned to his two lieutenants. ‘Good work, Maria, bloody good work. And you too, Werner … on the phone link.’
‘Speaking of which …’ said Van Heiden picking up the conference-room phone and pressing the button for his secretary. ‘Get me Hauptkommissar Wallenstein at BAO …’
Fabel signalled urgently for his boss to stop. Van Heiden cancelled the call and replaced the receiver.
‘What is it you have in mind, Fabel?’
Fabel slipped Klugmann’s cell phone from the evidence bag. He looked questioningly at Van Heiden who gave a curt and serious nod. Fabel switched on the phone and looked at the last number dialled, then keyed it into the conference room phone. The phone at the other end rang three times. Again there was no voice when it was answered.
‘This is Kriminalhauptkommissar Fabel of the Polizei Hamburg Mordkommission. I want you to listen very, very carefully and pass this information on to whoever is in charge. Your operation is totally compromised. We know about Tina Kramer and your other operative.’ Fabel was careful not to mention Klugmann’s name: he was still out there in the field and if Fabel’s hunch about who was on the other end of the phone was wrong, it could be a lethal mistake. ‘I am sitting with Kriminaldirektor Van Heiden of the Polizei Hamburg and we will be making a full report to the Erste Bürgermeister and to the Bundeskriminalamt.’ Fabel paused again. Still no one spoke but he remained connected. Fabel’s voice now developed a harder, sharper edge. ‘Your operative is in danger and his cover is blown. Whatever you hoped to achieve with this operation is now unachievable. All you are doing now is obstructing a major murder inquiry. If you do not co-operate with our investigation with full transparency, I promise you I will make sure criminal charges are brought against those behind this operation.’
There was an eternity of silence and then a female voice answered.
‘Do you have our operative in custody?’
Fabel looked at those gathered around the table with an expression approaching triumph. ‘No. He’s still at large. We’re looking for him. To whom am I speaking?’
She ignored the question. ‘We have lost contact with our operative. Please let us know if you locate him. On this number. Someone will call you back shortly, Kriminalhauptkommissar.’ The phone went dead. Fabel gave a bitter laugh.
‘I always thought Klugmann was all wrong. I just never thought he’d be wrong in the right way, if you know what I mean.’
‘He’s still in the job, isn’t he?’ asked Werner.
‘Yep. I don’t know for sure for whom, but I’ve got a pretty damned good idea. Anyway, we’ll find out soon enough …’
Nobody spoke. No one seemed to notice how bizarre the situation was: a room full of police officers sitting and standing in silence, the tension almost palpable in the air, and every pair of eyes focused on the missing undercover agent’s cell phone. Several minutes passed. Then the room seemed to fill with the urgent electronic trilling of the phone. Everybody gave a small jump when it rang.
It was Fabel’s turn to remain silent when he picked up the phone and clicked the answer button with his thumb.
‘Hauptkommissar Fabel?’
Fabel instantly recognised the tentative voice at the other end, but he was too pissed off for pleasantries. ‘Be in my office within the hour, Herr Oberst Volker.’
Fabel hung up.
It had taken Fabel only twenty minutes to wind up the briefing in the conference room, allocating investigative and follow-up tasks to his team. Fabel waited in his office. He put his phone on voice mail and told Werner and Maria he needed a few minutes to gather himself before Volker arrived. He needed to muster the windblown thoughts, facts and theories that had been scattered by the impact on the case of the second victim’s revealed identity. He gazed out of his window and looked out across Winterhuder Stadtpark and the city beyond. But he didn’t take anything in. Fabel’s mind was in the darklands: that grey half world Yilmaz had described, where the space occupied by law enforcers lies somewhere between the legal and the expedient and is shadowed and clouded.
It is not easy to be German. You carry the excess baggage of recent history while other Europeans travel comparatively light. Ten centuries of culture and achievement had been eclipsed by twelve years in the mid-twentieth century, twelve years in which the most exceptional evil had become the commonplace. Those twelve years had defined for the world what it was to be German; they had defined for most Germans what it was to be German. Now, they were not trusted. And they could never again trust themselves.
For each German, this distrust had its own focus, an aspect of German life that had a discordant, unsettling resonance. For some, it was geographical: northern Germans mistrusting southerners for their fascistic parochialism; or West Germans, the Wessis, mistrusting the Ossis, the East Germans, fearing that Nazism had been cryo
genically preserved in the deep freeze of Communism and was now beginning to thaw out. For others it was generational: the protestors of 1968 and ’69 who rebelled against the war generation and traditional German conservativeness; the new generation who addressed each other with Du instead of Sie, de-formalising and liberalising the German language itself.
For Fabel, the focus of his mistrust was the hidden machinery of the state: the deep, internal organs of a new democracy that had been transplanted from a dying dictatorship. And right at the centre of that focus, in the spotlight of Fabel’s distrust, was the BND.
The Bundesnachrichtendienst had been set up in 1956. It was part of the machinery of the Cold War, the counter to the East German Stasi, or Staatssicherheitsdienst. The first director of the BND had been General Gehlen. The truth was that the BND had been operating since the end of the Second World War as the Organisation Gehlen. Gehlen had been a general in the Abwehr, the Nazi intelligence service, which had planted spies in the United Kingdom, the United States and around the world. The Abwehr had also operated as a counter-espionage unit, tracking down resistance agents and allied spies in occupied Europe. In its duties it had displayed a slightly smaller appetite for torture than the Gestapo or the SS. After the war, the Americans faced a new threat, Soviet Communism, and found themselves naked of any meaningful east-facing intelligence network. But they knew people who had such a network: the Germans. So the ‘South German Economic Development Agency’ was set up in Pullach, near Munich, and Gehlen was put in charge and told by the Allies he could have access to any personnel he needed.
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