Lina nodded slowly and put her notepad away. She got up and put her knapsack on her shoulders. She smiled when she was saying good-bye at the door, but then—her hand already on the door handle—she asked, “Before I forget, is it true that your father’s company is about to go bankrupt?”
Katja Ansmann’s reaction was even more violent than when Lina had asked her about the life insurance. She turned and had to hold on to the wardrobe. She staggered, saw that Lina was staring at her, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders. She opened her mouth to reply, but Lina gestured that it wasn’t necessary.
“That’s all right, Frau Ansmann. It was just a question.”
Chapter 9
Lina got up in a good mood on Monday morning, took a shower, and drove to police headquarters after a quick breakfast. Yesterday, after her visit with Katja Ansmann, she had driven to her place in Ottensen, the district where she had grown up and where she still felt most at home despite the various changes it had undergone, from endearingly quirky to snobby chichi. She had no idea whether any of her colleagues had been in the office on Sunday afternoon, but she didn’t care, either. After her talk with Frau Ansmann, she felt so euphoric that she followed up on her original plan for the Sunday and arranged to meet Lutz at the Elbe.
Sitting in the subway, she wondered how long it would take to get a search warrant from the judge. She could hardly wait to turn the apartment in Rothenbaum and the office of the management consultant upside down. In her eyes, Katja Ansmann was very suspect, much more so than Frank Jensen.
She cheerfully greeted Max in the office, tossed her knapsack on the floor next to her desk, and fired up the computer. Max looked up and frowned. “What happened to you? Are you in love?”
Lina laughed. “No, but I found out some interesting facts about Katja Ansmann yesterday. She has—”
Max raised a hand. “Stop. Before telling me every little detail, you should probably see Hanno first. He’s already asked for you.” He motioned to the half-open door to the neighboring office.
“That’ll work. I wanted to talk with him anyhow,” Lina said. And with that, she jumped up again. She had almost reached the door, when Max said in a low voice, “Don’t be too excited. He didn’t look very . . . happy.”
Slightly more subdued, she knocked on the door and entered her boss’s office. She had no idea what to expect, but she figured she must have forgotten some crummy regulation, filled out a form incorrectly, or ruined a document with her abominable scrawl. She left the door open and walked toward his desk, smiling. “Mornin’,” she said, before she saw Hanno’s expression and her good mood flew out the window.
“Why don’t you close the door,” he said.
Ouch. Lina turned back and closed the door carefully, as if it were made of the thinnest glass. She sat down on the visitor’s chair in front of the desk and tried to interpret Hanno’s mood. All she saw was that there was trouble.
Hanno Peters stared at her for a while, but such games got nowhere with Lina, not even if they were played by her boss. She raised her chin and stared back. He finally shook his head and propped his elbows on the desk.
“What kind of mischief did you get into this weekend?” he asked her.
Lina fought to keep it together. While she was small and looked younger than twenty-nine, she wasn’t a naughty teenager, as Hanno seemed to think. With his sixty-one years, he was old enough to be her father, but she was not going to tolerate this tone. “I was working,” she replied curtly.
Hanno was sighing. “And why did you go to Katja Ansmann’s?” He looked at a piece of paper in front of him. “And why did you insult and threaten her?”
“Insult and . . . Where does that come from?”
“Answer my question first. What did you want from her?”
“My investigation led to some questions I hoped she could clarify.”
Hanno’s bald patch seamlessly ended in a sleek short haircut, and he had carefully nurtured the belly one could see behind the desk. He had been a policeman for a long time, more than thirty years. He now scrutinized the short, energetic person in front of him. “And that couldn’t have waited until today?”
Lina shrugged. “I was curious how she would react.”
“React to what?”
“For example, to the fact that I knew she lied about her alibi. She claimed to have been at a lecture when she was actually with her girlfriend.” Hanno was listening. “Or to the question about what she plans to do with three million in life insurance money.”
Hanno raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure about that?”
“I am, indeed.” Lina briefly told him what she had found out on Sunday, but didn’t mention her father’s call. She made a point to tell Hanno the name Evelyn Riemann.
“You mean the Evelyn Riemann who . . .”
Lina nodded.
Hanno dropped back into his chair and exhaled audibly. “And Frau Ansmann is the daughter of Johannes Ansmann from Blankenese?”
Lina nodded again and Hanno frowned while perusing the notes in front of him. “May I finally find out what this is all about?” she asked.
Hanno leaned back in his chair. “The chief of police himself called me this morning. He asked whether a Lina Svenson who, as far as he knew, was assigned to my division was investigating the Birkner murder case. When I confirmed that, the chief of police instructed me to prohibit Inspector Svenson from contacting Frau Katja Ansmann, domestic partner of the deceased Philip Birkner, and to assign other detectives to future interrogations in the Birkner case because Frau Svenson had approached the witness in ‘an insulting and threatening manner.’”
“That’s not true,” Lina said, defending herself indignantly. “And by the way, since when does the chief of police interfere in an ongoing murder investigation?”
“When he thinks he has reason to do so,” Hanno said brusquely. “Someone complained to him that his officers—in this case a female officer—behaved improperly. It’s then actually his duty to step in immediately.”
So far, Lina had never seen the chief of police intervene when “his officers” behaved improperly, for example during a raid near the Reeperbahn, on the Kiez.
“I doubt that came down through regular channels,” Lina said as she imagined Katja Ansmann reaching for the phone the minute she had left.
“No comment,” Hanno said. “I have here a complaint and instructions from the very top. That’s enough for me.”
“But I didn’t insult or threaten anyone!” Lina could feel her stomach contract in anger, but she managed to control herself. “But I did confront her with the fact that she had lied.”
Hanno looked serious. “The question is, of course: Did you unearth a crucial point or is she just touchy? She lied about where she spent the evening. Okay, that was wrong, but she gave a good reason. And then there’s the life insurance. I admit, that sounds suspicious.” He frowned. “But Katja Ansmann’s family has money, lots of it. The three million from the life insurance is probably no more than chicken feed to her. She really doesn’t need to get herself into trouble for that.”
Lina evaded his gaze. If she told him about the impending insolvency of the Ansmann & Son Bank, he would want to know how she found out. And that was something he wasn’t supposed to know. Ever. But she couldn’t just hold on to the story, either. “I believe that her father’s bank is about to go under. I mean, I’m pretty sure of that.”
Hanno frowned. “What gives you that idea?”
Lina shrugged. “It was a long shot,” she said very casually. “You know, banking crisis and so on . . . I simply threw it out there. She almost fainted. I swear—there’s something going on. The Ansmann & Son Bank is in dire straits at least.”
Hanno gave her a suspicious look. “A shot in the dark? Well, well.” When Lina said nothing, he frowned. “You’re not keeping anything from me, ar
e you?”
“No.” She met his gaze.
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A soft murmur of voices could be heard from the adjoining room. Tensely, Lina waited for her verdict. Hanno wanted no trouble; that much was clear. He wanted to serve the last few years before his retirement quietly, and nothing was further from his mind than upsetting the chief of police.
“Well, all right. Try to get your hands on some numbers about the bank. I don’t know. Balance sheets, annual reports. There must be something. Maybe you were on the right track with your long shot. But until we have proof of insolvency, we sit tight. That goes for you, especially. Stay away from Frau Ansmann.”
“But . . .”
“There’s no but. This is an order.”
Team meeting. Hanno begins, “Let’s recapitulate. Frank Jensen has a motive, the right shoe size, and a shaky alibi. It looks similar for Katja Ansmann: motive, right shoe size, uncertain alibi. The unknown woman from the Waldschänke hasn’t come forward so far, and Tanja Fischer, possibly Philip Birkner’s lover, couldn’t be reached, either.”
Hanno Peters looked around. Lina Svenson sat near the door with crossed arms. She was still mad at him. Max Berg sat with legs crossed. He looked awake and relaxed in his open jacket, as if he and not Alex Osterfeld had just come back from vacation. It was the first day back in the office for the latter, but he looked as if he had worked all weekend, with dark circles under his eyes. Sebastian Muhl lolled in his chair with a slight grin. He sensed that Hanno and Lina were on the outs, and he liked that.
“Sebastian, did the security videos from the subway stations show anything?” Hanno asked.
With an air of importance, Sebastian straightened up. “Possibly. A group of young hooligans ran wild at the Niendorf Markt station. They harassed a woman who got out of one of the trains. That was around eleven. The tapes don’t tell us how the story ended, since the whole gang left the station. Our colleagues in uniform didn’t know about the harassment, but did know the gang—the local tough-guy wannabes. I’ll get their names today, at least for the ones who have a record.”
“Good. Stay on the story. Max, did you hear anything new from forensics?”
“Yes, they really hustled this weekend,” Max replied. “They found one of the weapons that was used, a sturdy wooden stick—horse chestnut. They found tiny traces of blood and some hair on one end and were able to secure DNA evidence from the other.”
“You mean, if we find the perpetrator, we can nail him with this?” Hanno asked.
Max nodded. “At least one of the responsible parties. Fact is, though, the death blow was not executed with this stick.” He looked at his notes. “Hartmann also found out that the replanted plant is an Aaron’s rod.” He smiled, recalling how disappointed Hartmann had been that Max already knew that. “They also paid close attention to the footprints at the crime scene and have determined that, apart from the dead man, at least three other people were there around the time of the murder.” Max took a sip of tea. “One wears size 41 shoes, one size 43, and the third one size 44.” Max looked up. “Hartmann came across something strange. In some of the prints of the size 43 shoes, they found traces of fiber from a plant that grows near the brook, the Kollau, several hundred meters away from the crime scene.” He looked at his notes. “It’s called Himalayan balsam, to be precise. It doesn’t grow at the scene of the crime itself. So it seems that the person in size 43 shoes went to the brook while everything went on and came back again. One can assume that this person dug up the Aaron’s rod, went to the Kollau, washed it there, and then returned and replanted it.”
They tried to imagine the scene, but it didn’t make sense to any of them. Who would dig up a little plant in the middle of the night, in the middle of a fight, clean it, and then plant it again?
Max continued, “Before he died, Birkner was on his knees, possibly before he received the fatal blow. They found handprints that definitely are the dead man’s. While there are tracks of size 43 and 44 shoes above those prints, there are none from the size 41 shoes.”
“Since Birkner was also kicked in the balls,” said Lina, “it’s possible that he sank to his knees after that and propped himself up with his hands.”
The men all grimaced, thinking about it. “That’s it,” said Sebastian. “That hurts like hell.” Then all were silent for a moment.
“How do the autopsy results mesh with the evidence at the scene?” Alex asked.
Hanno fished for the mail he had received on Saturday. “Two wounds on the back of the head, most likely caused by the weapon retrieved from the scene and three wounds on the right upper temple, which were caused by a still unidentified object. Hartmann guesses it was a steel pipe or a heavy flashlight.”
They mulled over the info and tried to imagine what happened. “Looks like one of your typical group attacks,” Sebastian said. “One of them starts and then lets his two buddies finish. My money’s on the juveniles from the subway station.”
“How many were there?” Hanno wanted to know.
“Six.”
“And what were the other three up to in the meantime?” Lina interjected. Sebastian shrugged.
“Isn’t it possible that one person did all the hitting?” Max suggested. “He or she grabs a stick and beats the man twice, isn’t satisfied with the result, and looks for another stick. Maybe that’s why that person went down to the brook.”
“In the middle of beating someone to death? And then he decides, since he’s there anyway, to wash the plant?” Hanno shook his head. “No. Unless he was at the brook twice. But your basic point is correct: we don’t know how many people were beating the man.”
“Or how many people were there,” Sebastian said. “It’s possible that all six from the subway station were there, but only three attacked Birkner. The others waited on the path and that’s why we found no tracks from them.”
“I can’t imagine that the youngsters had anything to do with it,” said Lina. “How does the replanting fit in? Why would they do that?”
“Who knows?” Sebastian said, shrugging. “Maybe one of them is a plant enthusiast and couldn’t stand it that a sweet little Aaron’s rod was soiled.”
“And what about the unknown woman from the Waldschänke? What about her?” Max said, voicing his doubts.
“She was scared shitless and beat it,” Sebastian replied.
Hanno looked at Sebastian. “Well, you’re on that lead anyway. Get the names of the youngsters from the station and bring them in.”
Sebastian’s grin was so obnoxious that Lina felt like slapping his face. “Just to bring them down a peg or two. Even if they have nothing to do with it. A prophylactic measure.”
Lina rolled her eyes and noticed that Max was frowning as well, but neither of them said anything. After all, one couldn’t completely rule out that some adolescent punks had something to do with Birkner’s death, even though she doubted it. She just hoped that Sebastian would follow proper procedure when dealing with them, but she wouldn’t bet on it.
“Now, then,” Hanno said. “We’re looking for at least three people, one of whom executed the deadly blow. Leaving the juveniles aside for a moment, we’ve encountered three people in the dead man’s surroundings so far who might fit: Tanja Fischer, Katja Ansmann, and Frank Jensen.”
“The last two know each other,” Lina said slowly. “Some tracks at the crime scene could be tied to Katja Ansmann since she wears size 41 shoes, and the size 44 fits Frank Jensen. However, so far we haven’t found any shoes we can directly tie to the scene of the crime.”
“It’s easy to make shoes disappear in any old garbage can,” said Alex.
“Has forensics told us more about the shoes yet, other than the sizes?” Hanno asked. “What brand, how old they are . . .?”
Max scanned his notes. “The size 41 shoes are most likely sturdy hiking boots, g
ood quality. The soles are in good shape, so they’re either new or were recently resoled.”
“Brand?”
“Our colleagues are still working on that, comparing them with their collection. The size 43 shoes are an old, shabby pair. The left heel’s more run-down, but the difference from the right isn’t large enough to suspect that the owner limps. Simple soles, little profile left, probably cheap mass production. It’ll take a while to find out who made them.”
“And the third prints?”
“Flat casual shoes with rubber soles, well worn. Equally well worn at the heels, so one can assume the owner tends to shuffle a bit. The forensics guys found tiny leather scraps that might belong to these shoes. Ruby-colored.”
“Ruby men’s shoes?” Sebastian frowned.
“Why not?” Max dropped the papers on the table in front of him. “Frank Jensen could have worn ruby loafers and Katja Ansmann hiking boots.”
“Expensive and of good quality,” Lina added. “If Katja Ansmann were ever to wear anything less elegant than pumps, it would have to be some kind of high-tech shoes of superb quality. The latest ‘in’ thing.”
“And what about Jensen? Does he have a shuffling gait?” Hanno asked.
Max and Lina looked at each other. “It’s possible. He wasn’t very snappy when we took him along on Saturday, but that might have been the result of his hangover.”
“But how does it all fit together?” Alex thought out loud when everyone was quiet for a moment. “We could come up with plausible motives for the domestic partner and the former employee, but not for their working together, am I right? Jensen motivated by revenge, Ansmann by greed.”
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