‘Schreiber has been placed at the last murder scene … or at least someone very close in appearance to him … and he has a … history … with the victim. That would not incline me towards seeking out the next convenient “window of opportunity” in his diary. I need to talk to him now.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Van Heiden had made a call to the Rathaus and had obviously encountered some bureaucratic resistance. The threats that Van Heiden had made to the poor administrator at the other end of the phone had been given added menace by the quiet, restrained and cold voice in which he had delivered them. He had been put through to Schreiber. The conversation had been short and to the point. Schreiber had agreed to meet them in his chambers immediately. Van Heiden had stared at the phone after replacing the receiver.
‘It was almost as if he had been expecting the call. I got the feeling he was relieved.’
The Rathaus is Hamburg’s city hall, home to the Hamburg state government and one of its most striking buildings. The main entrance to the Hamburg Rathaus sits immediately beneath the clock tower and spire which soar above and dominate the vast Rathaus square.
When Fabel and Van Heiden entered the Rathaus, the huge main hall with its colonnades and multi-vaulted ceiling opened up to them. A few dozen tourists were scattered throughout the hall, clustered around the illuminated glass displays that circle the immense pillars. The Kriminaldirektor was about to say something when a liveried official approached the two policemen.
‘I’ve been asked to meet you gentlemen and take you to meet his honour the Erste Bürgermeister.’
The Bürgermeistersaal, the room used for official and ceremonial functions, is on the second floor of the Rathaus, just off the main tower hall. The working offices of Hamburg’s Erste Bürgermeister, however, are on the ground and first floors, set in the south-east corner of the building. It was to the first floor Bürgermeisterzimmer that Fabel and Van Heiden were conducted.
Schreiber stood up when they entered his oak-panelled office. Fabel noticed the cut of Schreiber’s suit. Yet more expensive Italian tailoring that hung perfectly from the Erste Bürgermeister’s powerful shoulders. But Fabel sensed that he also bore something that sat less easily than Armani: there was a certain awkwardness in his movements. Schreiber thanked the attendant and asked the two policemen to sit down. Fabel took his notebook out and flipped it open.
‘You said this was something to do with Angelika’s death?’ asked Schreiber.
Fabel paused the couple of seconds that protocol demanded, in case Van Heiden wanted to take the lead. When Van Heiden remained silent, Fabel spoke.
‘You expressed considerable concern about these murders, Herr Erste Bürgermeister …’
‘Naturally …
‘And you also made it clear you wanted as swift and successful a conclusion to the investigation as possible …’
‘Of course …’
Fabel decided to play his cards face up. ‘Then could you explain to me why you neglected to inform us that you visited Angelika Blüm the night she was killed?’
Schreiber returned Fabel’s stare, but there was no hostility, no defensiveness, no strength in the gaze. After a moment, Schreiber sighed. ‘Because I didn’t want to get caught up in all of this. The scandal. As you can imagine, the press would have a field day …’ Schreiber looked in Van Heiden’s direction, as if he would appreciate the point. Van Heiden gave no indication that he did.
‘Herr Doktor Schreiber, you are a lawyer, so you understand your rights under the relevant articles of the Grundgesetz, and that your answers to our questions from now on may be used in evidence.’
Schreiber’s broad shoulders sagged. ‘Yes, I understand.’
Fabel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the carved lion-claw arm rests of the oak chair. ‘And I take it you understand that I – that we – do not give a rat’s ass about your concerns about the media. You have withheld potential information about a series of murders. Murders, I have to point out, for which you are fast becoming a prime suspect. There are women being butchered – and I don’t mean that metaphorically – and you are worried about your PR?’
‘I think the Bürgermeister takes your point, Fabel,’ Van Heiden said, quietly and without anger.
‘If your answers do not satisfy me, Herr Doktor Schreiber,’ Fabel continued, ‘then I am going to arrest you here and now. And believe me, I will lead you through the Rathaus in handcuffs. So I think you should exhibit a little more candour than you have thus far.’ Fabel leaned back. ‘Did you murder Angelika Blüm?’
‘Christ … no.’
‘Then what were you doing at her apartment the night she was murdered?’
‘Angelika was an old friend. We saw each other now and again.’
Fabel’s face hardened. ‘I thought I made myself clear, Herr Schreiber. We can do this here or at the Präsidium. And unless you start being totally honest with us – and I mean about everything – then we’ll do it on our ground, not yours. Let’s start with the true nature of your relationship with Frau Blüm. How long had you been having an affair?’
Schreiber looked empty. He had been scrabbling around for some scrap to cover at least something of his privacy and Fabel had snatched it away from him.
‘A year. Maybe a little longer. As you probably know we had been intimate years ago. I had asked Angelika to marry me at the time but she turned me down. We remained friends throughout the years and then, somehow, something began to spark between us again.’
‘Is Frau Schreiber aware of this relationship?’ asked Van Heiden.
‘No. God, no. Karin has no idea. Neither of us wanted her to get hurt.’
‘So you didn’t plan to leave your wife?’ Fabel asked.
‘No. Or at least not now. I had suggested it to start with but Angelika didn’t want us to move in together. She wanted her independence and I suppose the arrangement … well, suited her. Anyway, like I said, we didn’t want Karin or the kids to get hurt.’
‘It doesn’t sound like a particularly deep relationship.’
Schreiber leaned forward onto the desk. He picked up a pen and fiddled with it, turning it end to end between his fingers. ‘That’s not true. We cared for each other. It’s just that we were being …’ he paused to find the right word – ‘practical. The other thing was that we always had a sense of unfinished business between us.’
Fabel decided to play another hunch. ‘Would I be right in saying that Frau Blüm wanted to end the relationship?’
Schreiber looked stung. ‘How did you …’
Fabel cut him off. ‘Was that why you were up there that evening? Were you trying to talk Frau Blüm out of ending the relationship?’
‘No. We had already agreed to stop seeing each other.’
‘I take it you had stayed the night on previous occasions?’
Schreiber nodded. ‘When circumstances allowed.’
‘In other words when you had a credible alibi to offer your wife.’
Schreiber made a small signal of resignation with his shoulders.
‘So I assume you had some stuff in Frau Blüm’s apartment and you were picking it up that night.’
Schreiber’s eyes widened slightly. ‘Yes … shirts, a spare suit, toiletries, et cetera … How on earth did you know that?’
‘The sports bag. You were either collecting something or carrying the murder weapon in it.’
It had been the sports bag that had brought Fabel to envision the scene: the end of a relationship; the removal of the last personal belongings from the apartment. Fabel remembered how he himself had used exactly the same kind of bag, Renate standing silent, Gabi asleep in her room, as he had disinvested himself from their family home five years before.
‘When did you leave the apartment?’
‘About a quarter to nine.’
‘You were only there for fifteen minutes?’
‘I guess. Angelika had just stepped out of the bath and had some work to get on w
ith that evening, so I just picked up my stuff and went.’
‘Was there any kind of argument?’
‘No … of course not. Our continued friendship was too valuable to throw away. It was all very civilised really.’
‘And you didn’t see anyone else arriving as you left?’
Schreiber took a moment to think, then shook his head. ‘No, I can’t say I did.’
‘What time did you get home?’ asked Fabel.
‘About nine-ten, nine-fifteen.’
‘And your wife can confirm this?’
‘Do you have to bring Karin into this?’ There was a hint of pleading in Schreiber’s tone.
‘I’m afraid we do, if she’s the only person who can confirm you were back by nine-fifteen. The autopsy of Frau Blüm states she was murdered sometime around ten p.m.’
Schreiber had the look of a man who had sewn his life together, tight and neat, only to see it come apart at the seams.
‘And we’ll need your fingerprints, Herr Doktor Schreiber,’ added Fabel.
‘I think we could arrange for a technician to do that here …’ said Van Heiden, looking at Fabel as if for approval, ‘discreetly.’
Fabel nodded his acceptance. ‘Brauner himself is the best guy to send. I’ll arrange it.’ Fabel turned back to Schreiber. ‘I’ll probably have more questions for you at some point.’
Schreiber nodded. There was a pause.
‘The first victim, Ursula Kastner – I believe she worked for the Hamburg state government. Did you know her?’ asked Fabel.
‘Of course I knew her. She worked in our environment and property law office. She was involved with projects like Hafen City and the St Pauli regeneration project. I knew her well. She was an excellent lawyer.’
‘Did you have any kind of relationship with her, other than a professional one?’
Schreiber straightened his shoulders, as if mustering the scattered remnants of his dignity. The trapezius muscles strained against the sleek fabric of his Armani suit. It was the kind of conformation that only comes from serious weight work in a gym. Fabel could imagine that Schreiber was physically very strong. Powerful enough in a killing frenzy to wrench open a victim’s ribs.
‘No, Herr Fabel, I didn’t have any kind of inappropriate relationship with Frau Kastner. Contrary to the impression you may have of me, I am neither a serial killer nor a serial philanderer. The affair I had with Angelika is the only time I have strayed in my marriage. And the only reason that happened was because Angelika and I had a history. There was no personal dimension to my relationship with Ursula Kastner … although it was I who introduced her to Angelika.’
There seemed an eternity of silence. Fabel and Van Heiden exchanged a look. Fabel felt a tingle of electricity. It was Van Heiden who broke the spell.
‘Are you telling us that Angelika Blüm and Ursula Kastner knew each other? That there is a connection between them?’
‘I assumed you knew … with them both being killed by the same person, I mean.’
‘The only link we had between them was you, Herr Doktor Schreiber,’ said Fabel. ‘Now you say they had contact with each other?’
‘Yes. It was Ursula who instigated the introduction. She said she needed a “friendly” contact in the media for background information.’
‘Is that normal?’
‘No. I wasn’t too happy about it. I suspected that Ursula had information on something that she wanted leaked to the press. I insisted she tell me if it was anything potentially injurious to the Hamburg state government. She assured me that she had no knowledge of anything that would attract negative attention to the city government. She insisted it was only for advice.’
‘Did you believe her?’
‘No. I don’t think I did. But I had to take her word for it. And anyway, if she was going to blow the whistle on something to do with the city, she would hardly come through me.’
‘Angelika Blüm never told you what it was about.’
‘No.’
‘Did you ask?’
‘A couple of times, but I didn’t get anywhere. Then I gave up. If you knew Angelika you would understand.’
‘How often did they meet?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t even know if they ever met other than at the Neuer Horizont reception where I introduced them. They maybe met regularly or not at all, or dealt with each other by phone or e-mail. I just don’t know.’
‘Did you invite them both to this function?’
‘No, it so happens they were both there … on business, as it were. Neuer Horizont is a plan to regenerate areas of the city that have missed out on the big schemes, like Hafen City or the St Pauli regeneration, but which may still qualify for federal, state or EU funding.’
Fabel gazed out through the huge stone arched window that faced out back towards the Alsterfleet and the Alsterarkaden. He tried to keep his mind working logically and methodically, but his thoughts were turbocharged by the thrill of epiphany. Previously unconnected trails were now converging. Colliding and sparking off each other in Fabel’s brain. Two out of three victims had been in contact with each other. And both had a connection to property dealings through the city government. He turned back to Schreiber.
‘Who is behind the Neuer Horizont initiative?’
‘A private consortium. The main shareholder is a subsidiary of the Eitel Group. It was Norbert Eitel who held the reception.’ Schreiber shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I’m no fan of Eitel, but the city cannot be seen not to support any initiative that offers potential benefits.’
Another connection. Another spark. ‘I thought the Eitel Group was exclusively a media business?’
Schreiber shook his head. ‘No, the publishing arm is their main business, but Eitel is involved in dozens of other areas. Information technology is one. Property development is another.’
Fabel nodded thoughtfully. ‘Was Eitel’s father there? Wolfgang Eitel?’
‘No. he wasn’t. That’s where I draw the line … I won’t share a platform with a Nazi like him, no matter how beneficial the cause. I think that’s why he was kept away … despite their public shows of solidarity, Norbert Eitel is very much aware of the liability his father represents to his political ambitions.’
‘You must have been shocked by Kastner’s murder.’
‘That’s an understatement. It was a terrible shock. You remember Innensenator Hugo Ganz?’
Fabel nodded. He thought of Ganz’s scrubbed, fleshy pink face.
‘Frau Kastner worked quite closely with Herr Ganz. Specifically to do with environmental and property-development projects. She provided the legal back-up. Innensenator Ganz was very upset by Frau Kastner’s death. That’s why I think he was so … emphatic when you met him last.’
‘Presumably you remember where you were when Frau Kastner went missing?’
‘I was attending an environmental conference in Rome.’ Schreiber spoke without emotion. Then a small hope lit up his face. ‘That’s right! I wasn’t even in the country when she was killed. And I have a hundred witnesses. And when was the second victim killed?’
‘The early hours of Wednesday the fourth,’ said Fabel.
Schreiber scrabbled though his desk diary. ‘I was at home with my family. They can verify it.’
Fabel didn’t look impressed. ‘All I am interested in just now is Frau Blüm’s murder. And you were there immediately before she was killed.’
‘But I had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.’ A hint of defiance was beginning to creep into Schreiber’s tone. The realisation that he had alibis for the other two killings clearly emboldened him.
Fabel changed tack. ‘Did you know that Frau Blüm had been trying to get in touch with me, personally?’
‘No … no, I didn’t. What on earth for?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to return her calls,’ Fabel lied. It sounded better than saying he hadn’t bothered.
‘Do you think she thought she was in any kind of dang
er? Do you think that’s why she was trying to contact you?’ Schreiber didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Why didn’t she tell me? If she was afraid … why didn’t she talk to me?’
Fabel stood up. Van Heiden followed his lead. ‘I have no reason to believe that she felt in danger. All I know is she tried to get in touch with me three or four times before she died. But she didn’t indicate in any of the messages she left that she was in danger.’
Fabel made for the door without shaking Schreiber’s hand. ‘Like I say, Herr Doktor Schreiber, I may have more questions for you. And I’ll arrange for our forensics guy to come and take your fingerprints.’
Fabel had opened the heavy oak door when he turned back to face Schreiber. ‘One more thing. When was the last time you met or had any contact with Marlies Menzel?’
Schreiber looked at first surprised, then a little worried. ‘God … I don’t know … not for years. Not since we worked together on Zeitgeist and certainly not since she got involved with terrorism.’
‘You haven’t been in touch since she was released from Stuttgart-Stammheim?’
‘No. Absolutely not.’ And Fabel knew he was telling the truth.
The same liveried attendant escorted Fabel and Van Heiden out into the main Rathaus hall. The sun dazzled them both as they stepped through the Gothic arch out into the wide expanse of the Rathaus square.
‘What do you think?’ asked Van Heiden.
‘He’s not our man,’ said Fabel, taking his sunglasses from his breast pocket and donning them. ‘I have to take a trip to Bremen. Can I buy you a coffee in the Alsterarkaden before I head off, Herr Kriminaldirektor?’
Thursday 19 June, 2.20 p.m. Kunstgalerie Nordholt, Bremen.
Fabel had estimated that the journey to Bremen would take about an hour and a half, but halfway there the traffic on the A1 began to thicken and slow. Facing a long stretch of autobahn, he decided to put a CD into the player of his car: Herbert Grönemeyer, Bleibt alles anders. He had just turned up the volume when his cell phone rang. It was Maria Klee; they had the autopsy findings on Klugmann. He had been killed by a single bullet that had passed through his cerebrum and pulped his medulla oblongata, exiting, as Brauner had pointed out, above the top lip and below the nose. The estimated time of death was between 6.00 p.m. on Friday the 13th and 6.00 a.m. on Saturday the 14th. Fabel flinched when Maria told him that the autopsy had revealed signs of torture and beating in the period immediately pre-mortem. Tests had also revealed traces of amphetamine in Klugmann’s blood. Living the life. The ultimate cover. And it had failed.
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