“Sure. You’re a poor little orphan. Completely innocent. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Before the boy could answer, he asked, “Have you ever actually fought before? I mean, kickboxing?”
Marcel nodded. “One of my buddies showed me.”
“Hm, a buddy. What did he show ya?”
The boy’s glance wandered between Lutz and Lina and he shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, in case I’m attacked, what I’m supposed to do. What kind of kicks there are. Stuff like that.”
“Show me,” Lutz said before quickly feigning a blow. After a moment of shock, the boy swerved, turned around with surprising agility, and kicked—way too high and far from his target. Lutz just briefly lifted his foot to block, then raised an arm quickly, and Marcel landed on the mat.
“So that’s what your pal showed you?” Lutz asked.
“Dammit, no!” Marcel picked himself up, vacillating between anger, admiration, and surprise. He squinted at Lutz. His curiosity finally won and he swallowed his pride. “Would ya teach me that?”
The boy had caught fire, but Lutz didn’t answer immediately. He gnawed at his lower lip without letting Marcel out of his sight. After what seemed like half an eternity, he said, “Okay, but I’m the one who makes the rules. If you don’t obey them, you’re out.” Marcel was already nodding his agreement—sure, no problem—when Lutz stressed the point once more. “I absolutely mean it. If you fuck up, you’re gone.”
Marcel heard the man, but, shit, it seemed worth it. And so he nodded, slower now. He was about to say something to clarify the deal, when the door to the dojo flung open and two men entered, laughing loudly. The little group looked toward the door; the laughter stopped. One of the men—sturdy and pale, with gray eyes and short, brown hair—stared at Lina. If they had met on the street, he’d have spit on the ground. Here, at the dojo, he just snorted disdainfully. Lina and Lutz exchanged glances. She was about to say something when the man bawled, “Lookee here, our cop slut.” He glared at Max. “So now you’re dragging along your pig friends, too, are ya?” The man, Kalle, had a nose for cops. Lina turned around again, measured the man from head to toe, and turned away silently. She told Lutz, “Thanks. We’ll talk later.”
Lutz nodded without taking his eyes off the two men. “Are we on for later at Chilli’s?”
“They don’t like cops at Chilli’s,” Kalle interrupted and slowly came closer. He stopped three steps in front of Lina and Max. Marcel had edged to Lutz’s other side.
“Chilli’s is Lina’s joint as much as it is yours,” Lutz said.
“But not this one’s,” Kalle declared, staring at Max. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m a policeman,” Max answered, emphatically calm and polite.
“And how dare someone like you come to our dojo? Did the missus not tell ya that we don’t wanna see no cops here?”
“Sorry, but that’s news to me,” Max replied, still politely. “I had no idea my presence would disturb anyone.”
“You bet your ass your presence disturbs someone, you fucking pig.” Kalle looked at his buddy, whom Lina had never seen there before, and took another step toward Max.
“Stop it, Kalle,” Lina said.
“Kalle, that’s enough,” said Lutz.
Kalle ignored them both. Max stood in front of him totally relaxed, his weight resting equally on both legs, his arms dangling loosely at his sides, and his hands slightly open. Kalle’s eyes contracted. He took another step forward.
“If I were you, I’d stop,” Max said. His voice was a touch lower and a bit calmer, if that was possible. “Otherwise, someone might get badly hurt.”
“Yeah, you faggot cop, I bet someone’s getting hurt right now,” Kalle said. He wore a tracksuit. Max was in street clothes. Kalle positioned himself in front of Max, held up his fists, and stared at his opponent. Max stood there without moving, breathing calmly.
The attack came with lightning speed. A kick, a blow, a scream—and Kalle flew through the dojo and crashed down on the mat about ten feet away. He was white as snow and looked as if he were about to throw up. All Lina could see was Max lowering his arm and putting down his left foot.
“Wow,” she said.
“The pig dislocated my shoulder,” screamed Kalle, his voice breaking and sounding rather high, not at all fitting for such a huge guy. His pal was already kneeling at his side and Lutz also ran to him and checked the shoulder.
“You’ve got to see a doctor,” he said, but Kalle ignored him.
“I’ll report that pig to the police. This was intentional bodily injury! That fucking cop . . . Ouch, damn!” When Lina made a few tentative steps in his direction, he screamed, “Just piss off. Just wait till I’m fit again. I’ll get you for this. I’ll—”
“That’s enough now,” Lutz interrupted him. “Can you get up? I’ll bring you to the hospital.” He helped Kalle get to his feet with the help of his buddy. Kalle was still pale as the walls of the dojo, but he could leave under his own power.
“Call Igor. He has to train the kids today,” Lutz told Lina on the way out, and she nodded. It hadn’t been more than two minutes since Max’s strike and she still wasn’t over her surprise. She noticed Marcel, who stared at Max with big eyes. It seemed that he also hadn’t even seen Max move.
“What was that?” she finally asked when the door had clicked shut and Kalle’s cursing was muted.
“Kung fu,” Max said and wiped off his jacket with his hands, as if they had caught him in some embarrassing activity, like listening to pop tunes or crocheting doilies.
“Well, you certainly aren’t a beginner,” Lina said, shaking her head. “Kalle might not be the brightest bulb, but he did earn the third dan.” She fished the cell phone out of her knapsack. After briefly talking with Igor, who promised to come by immediately, she steered Marcel and Max to the backyard, away from the stuffy smell of the dojo and out into the evening sun. Marcel hadn’t said anything the entire time, but he was watching Max. He seemed to have forgotten that he was sitting on a bench with two cops and said, “That was super cool. Where did ya learn that?”
“In a dojo very similar to this one. Do you know what a dojo is?” Max asked when he saw that the youngster was confused. Marcel shook his head. “It’s a Japanese word that means ‘exercise room.’ Here in Europe we usually use it for martial arts training rooms, but in the Eastern tradition fighting and meditating are considered as one and are practiced together.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I’ve been practicing since I was three. Meditation and kung fu—the two are one. Kung fu is just another form of meditation. My parents,” he said, mostly to Lina, “are Zen Buddhists. I grew up with it.”
Lina had only a very vague idea what distinguished Zen Buddhists from other Buddhists or what Buddhists in general thought or did. She said nothing since she was too tired. Kids were now starting to turn up for their training session. Some knew her and nodded when they walked by, looking curiously at the other two on the bench.
Finally Igor—a tanned, trim man—showed up. “What happened? Why did Kalle have to go to the hospital?” he asked. He glanced at Max and for a moment his face registered shock. He, too, had a nose for representatives of the law. “Is that why you’re here? I mean . . . on duty?”
Lina shook her head. “No, we’re here on our own time. Kalle attacked Max and for that he paid the price.”
Igor measured Max critically. “That so?”
Lina sighed. “Have Lutz tell you about it, or ask Kalle. Even if you believe only half of it, you’ll get the picture.”
She got ready to leave and pulled Marcel along. “We still have to take care of this one. See you on Thursday?”
Igor nodded. “At half past seven.” He looked at Marcel. “You’re joining us?” The boy nodded. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappeared into the dojo, sweeping a latecomer in with him. The he
avy iron door crashed shut.
Lina fumbled for her phone in the knapsack and said her name. Max didn’t understand more than “Hm” and “Okay” and “Thank god,” as he focused on the traffic. Then Lina said, “I don’t know. I’m kind of pooped. Doubt that I’ll still come by.” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll let him know. You, too.”
She stuffed the phone back. The motor hummed quietly as they drove back to headquarters on the multilane road. They had delivered Marcel to his mother. She hardly recognized her son, enthused as he was about the dojo, about Lutz and Max—and all that in front of cops, whom he usually hated.
“That was Lutz. Kalle is back home,” Lina said to Max. “The shoulder wasn’t dislocated, just badly bruised.”
“Good.”
“I’m sure he’ll rethink the reporting bit. After all, he’s the one who attacked a police officer, and in front of witnesses, too. It could backfire.” She looked at Max. “Officially it’s a training accident. Unfortunate fall. Nobody touched him.”
Max nodded as if he hadn’t expected anything else. He was probably okay with that version and Lina, too, preferred to make as little fuss about it as possible. He said calmly, “In case he runs into any kind of problem, I mean healthwise, and needs treatment he can’t afford—”
“Forget it,” Lina said, waving it away. “He won’t take your money.”
Max nodded again and said after a while, “What about you? Will it land you in trouble?”
Lina shrugged, turned away, and looked out the window. “Not more than I already am.” They drove silently for a long time. It was still light out even though it was after eight in the evening.
“Marcel’s not the first kid you brought to Lutz, is he?” Max asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“You didn’t need to explain anything. Lutz knew right away.” Max was silent as he turned left at a large intersection. “He did a great job; knew exactly how to capture the boy.”
Lina nodded slowly. “Whenever I have the feeling that someone isn’t too far gone, I bring him to the dojo. You saw where it is. Not the best neighborhood. Lutz took on the responsibility to help those who are the worst off and we divide the membership fee for the club between us for most of them.” Why was she telling Max about this? Why had she taken him along in the first place? It was none of his business. But it felt good. Until now, she had strictly separated her private life from her job. Maybe she had even disguised herself a little. She didn’t want to think about this right now, but she knew that she needed no camouflage in front of Max.
“And you and Lutz, are you together?” Max held the steering wheel loosely and only glanced at her briefly. Lina felt his interest and liked it, somehow.
“Lutz is . . .” She laughed. “. . . my other brother.”
Good god, she thought, that means incest. But she liked the description. It fit Lutz just as it fit Max, though with some differences. Lutz was more of a buddy who always had her back and with whom she could pull all-nighters. Lutz was always there for her without ever demanding anything. Lutz simply belonged in her life; she couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine living without him. Max, on the other hand, was the quiet, reserved one, who unobtrusively knew her well, like siblings sometimes do. Lately she had felt that he watched her intensely, looked deeper than she was comfortable with—maybe deeper than she could see herself.
Max winked at her. “Another brother? Quite an interesting family you have.”
Lina almost choked. If you just knew, she thought.
Chapter 11
The quiet, leafy side street with stately nineteenth-century houses was close to the university. The Grindelviertel, populated by students, felt much livelier than the more sedate Rothenbaum where Katja Ansmann lived nearby.
Lina arrived there shortly after ten in the morning. She had been at headquarters briefly, where Hanno had handed out the day’s assignments. Max had found out who was responsible for the mapping of the Niendorfer Gehege—Franziska Leyhausen, a freelance biologist, not an employee of the government agency. Lina had picked up the slip of paper with the woman’s name, telephone number, and address. A call would have been sufficient, but Lina took any opportunity to be outside in such lovely weather. A swarm of sparrows was incredibly noisy in the huge plane tree in front of the house. It was warm. Lina stood for a moment in the sunshine and relative quiet, before returning to work with a sigh.
It turned out that Franziska Leyhausen didn’t even have an office of her own, only a spot in a small office partnership, together with two other biologists and a geologist. A man opened the door and introduced himself as Klaus Beck after Lina had shown him her badge.
“Franka isn’t here,” he explained. “During the summer, biologists are usually outside most of the day.”
“Do you know where she is?” Lina asked.
“In the Niendorfer Gehege,” Beck replied. “Where there was a murder last week.” Finally the man got it. “Is that why you want to talk to her?” When Lina nodded, he added, “Then you have the right one to ask. She’s mapping the area there and can probably tell you everything about the place. You should be able to reach her on her cell phone. Hold on a moment. I’ll get the number.”
“That’s all right. I have the number.” She stopped the man who had already eagerly picked up his own cell phone from the desk.
“Do you want me to tell her anything?” Beck asked.
“No, thanks. That’s not necessary. I think I’ll try to catch up with her in the forest.”
Klaus Beck seemed sorry that he couldn’t be of any further help and was quite charged up when saying good-bye.
Back in the car, Lina plugged her phone into the hands-free equipment, started the car, and called the number of the biologist. It rang five times before someone answered. A woman’s voice responded hesitantly, “Yes?”
“Frau Leyhausen? This is Lina Svenson, from Major Crimes, Hamburg. I’m investigating the murder in the Niendorfer Gehege—I’m sure you heard of it—and would like to ask you a few questions.”
Silence. Then falteringly again, “What would you like to know?”
Lina turned into the Grindelallee, which leads directly to Niendorf, even though the name changes a few times. “If I understood correctly, you’re mapping the terrain there right now. This might be a strange question, but have you noticed any plants that have been replanted by someone?”
Silence again. Through the speakers, Lina could hear the noise of an airplane that must be flying over the forest right now. “Are you still there, Frau Leyhausen?”
The woman on the other end of the line cleared her throat. “I’m here. And, yes,” she added, “I’ve seen plants like that.”
Lina’s heart was pounding. Something in the woman’s voice irritated her. She pressed down harder on the gas pedal. “Frau Leyhausen, I’m on my way to the Niendorfer Gehege. Could we possibly meet there and could you show me the spots?”
“What do you mean?” Franka Leyhausen asked.
“Well, I mean that we meet and then go together—”
“I don’t mean you,” Frau Leyhausen interrupted. “I’m standing at the place where it happened and I also know who . . . NO!” The last word was just a cry. There was crunching and cracking and then the line went dead.
Lina grabbed the blue light she kept handy and put it on the roof of her private car, turned on the siren, and stepped on the gas. Cars moved to the right lane, except for an idiot in a black Audi who didn’t get it. She had to swerve to the opposite lane, where a silver Mercedes just barely avoided disaster. She hit a red on Siemersplatz, but instead of waiting for the cars in front to make room for her, she raced forward in the right-turn lane, scrambled over a small traffic isle, and turned, tires squealing, back onto Kollaustrasse. When she could drive more or less unhampered after the crossing, she radioed for backup. Luckily, she had the exact locatio
n where she wanted her colleagues to go. Then she called Hanno and gave him a brief report. The GPS directed her toward a relief road on the left and then through roads that became increasingly narrow, until she finally ended up directly at the Kollau, next to a railway underpass and couldn’t drive any farther. Cursing, she jumped out of the car and started to run—following the footpath between Kollau and the railroad embankment, across a narrow bridge, and then to the right for a while on top of an old fortification. A woman out for a walk watched her curiously, but Lina paid her no mind. She was breathing regularly and despite her short legs, bushes and trees just flew by. The whole time, she was wondering what the hell was going on.
A few feet away from the spot where Philip Birkner had lain dead in the underbrush four days ago, she saw a man and a woman wrestling with each other. Closely entangled, they were rolling from the gravel path into a green area, until the woman was under him. It seemed that the man had his hands around her neck. When Lina was about forty yards away, she saw the woman pick up a fist-sized stone and hit the man on the head with it. She heard a muffled scream and then was close enough to see blood trickling out of a wound on his temple. The woman was screaming and about to hit again.
Lina seized the man by the collar and pulled him away. He was tall but gaunt, and he offered no resistance but collapsed silently. The woman—Lina assumed that it was Franziska Leyhausen—was still screaming, her eyes closed. Lina grabbed her hand and cautiously removed the stone.
“What’s going on here?” Lina asked.
When Lina looked up, she saw a young man rush toward her. He had some kind of municipal insignia on his jacket, so she assumed he was the forest ranger. “I’m working in crime prevention,” she said. When she saw his puzzled face, she added, “Lina Svenson, Major Crimes, Hamburg.” She motioned with her head to the man lying motionless on the ground. “Could you please take care of this man?” The hair of the man on the ground was medium length, gray, and grungy. He wore a green jacket and green trousers, so that he resembled a ranger at first glance. But his shoes were simple and worn, and he smelled as if he hadn’t washed himself or his clothes for days. Lina guessed he was in his late fifties. While the ranger bent down to the man, Lina turned to the woman again. “Frau Leyhausen, can you hear me? Everything’s all right. You’re safe now.”
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