Grave Intent

by Alexander Hartung

  “Once I realized I couldn’t count on Moritz, I found him waiting for me at my front door one day. Told me how bad he felt and gave me the number of a friend who was importing meds that weren’t approved in Germany. Two days later, I’m meeting with Robin Cordes, a supposed pharmaceutical rep. After ranting for a while about all the rules and regulations in Germany, he promised me a remedy that would significantly slow down the progress of the sarcoidosis.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “In a hopeless situation like that, Detective Tommen? You believe anything. The doctors had written Charlotte off. They hadn’t said it in so many words, but I could see it in their eyes. They were helping her cope with the pain, but no one believed there was any chance of a cure. And then Robin Cordes comes along, pretending to understand my situation and leaving these glossy brochures on my table for a substance that had very promising results in early tests.”

  “I’m guessing the results were falsified?”

  “Of course. There was such a substance, and it was used for sarcoidosis, but the chances of success were minimal. Robin said he could get a modified version, one that was more effective, but that hadn’t yet been approved in Germany.”

  “So you agreed to it?”

  “For the desperate, God is the person who gives you hope.”

  “Why didn’t you ask the doctors about it?”

  “Robin warned me explicitly not to do that. They could not give it to Charlotte because it wasn’t approved. I had to secretly put it into her food.”

  “How much did you pay Robin for it?”

  “Two thousand as a deposit. Then four thousand more on delivery.”

  “When did you realize it was worthless?”

  “When Charlotte’s condition hadn’t improved and she only had a few weeks left to live.”

  “Did you get back in touch with Robin at that point?”

  “I couldn’t reach him on his cell phone, and Moritz had made himself scarce. I didn’t have any more money. The doctors said I should start getting ready for my daughter to die.”

  “So what led you to Yuri Petrov?”

  “Nothing. He came to me.”

  “Just like that?”

  “It was late one night. Charlotte was asleep, and I was just heading into the bathroom when Petrov called me. He’d heard about my daughter. He offered to procure a lung for her, complete with a doctor who would perform the operation.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I had a moment of clarity and asked Petrov for proof. We met two days later on Friedrichstrasse. He had me get in his car and then explained to me that he was a diplomat who smuggled illegal organs into Germany and could have them transplanted into patients by doctors he was friends with. As proof, he showed me his diplomatic passport and a cooler containing a liver he was about to transport. Then he let me out on the next corner and handed me a card with his cell-phone number.”

  “That liver could’ve been from a pig.”

  “True. But just like with Robin, I didn’t have anything to lose. My daughter was dying. I couldn’t imagine life without her. Yuri Petrov was my last chance. So I called him.”

  “I thought you were broke. Where would the money come from?”

  “Petrov had offered me the Full Wellness Package. That evening he took me to a money lender who would let me borrow fifty thousand euros.”

  “Which would go directly to him?”

  “That was the deal.”

  “And you weren’t worried about any of them pulling a fast one on you?”

  “Detective Tommen, haven’t you been listening? I wasn’t taking out a car loan. My daughter was about to die. Even a one-in-a-billion chance was better than anything the hospital could offer me.”

  “How were you going to pay back the money?”

  “At the time, I didn’t care. If my daughter was saved, my friends and I would’ve worked the rest of our lives to pay back the debt. If not, owing fifty thousand euros would hardly matter to me.”

  “But Petrov didn’t deliver. And the first payment was due.”

  “Two months later, a debt collector paid me a visit.”

  “Chandu Bitangaro.” It was tough for Jan to hear that his friend could be one of the bad guys. He still hadn’t gotten the image of Chandu on a stretcher out of his head.

  “Chandu was waiting at my apartment. I was on my way to the hospital and wanted to bring Charlotte some freshly washed pajamas. He grabbed me by the collar, lifted me up, and demanded the first installment on my loan.”

  “But you couldn’t pay.”

  “Of course not.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I told him that my contact still hadn’t delivered the organ and that I wasn’t going to start paying back the loan before that. Of course I didn’t tell him I didn’t have the money. I was just hoping to buy myself a bit more time. I wanted to get back to the hospital as fast as possible. Each day could have been Charlotte’s last.”

  “But Chandu didn’t let you go.”

  “He was good at his job.”

  “So, since you still didn’t intend to pay—did he rough you up?”

  “I guess I shouldn’t have called him a son of a bitch.” Dietrich shrugged. “By the time our little talk was over, I had a broken wrist, three cracked ribs, and a torn shoulder tendon that still gives me trouble today. I don’t even want to talk about what he did to my face.”

  “So that’s why Chandu had to die?”

  “I explained to him what I was using the money for—that my daughter needed me—but he showed no mercy.” He paused for a moment. “During my daughter’s final days, I sat next to her bed like a cripple. When she saw my face beaten all black and blue, she started crying.”

  He closed his eyes and fell silent for a long while.

  “They had her pumped full of painkillers, so she spent the final hours of her life in a delirium. By the end I was praying that she’d go quickly.”

  He swallowed hard. “God didn’t listen.”

  “When did you start thinking about murder?”

  “From the start. After my breakdown, I contemplated suicide for a long time. My family had been everything to me. I had no interest in a career as a city manager. I didn’t care about material things. After my wife and then my daughter died, I had nothing left to live for.”

  “Why didn’t you commit suicide?”

  “Dr. Beringer. He saw my despair for what it was and tried to help me make sense of my life again. One day, we were talking about my desire to kill Dr. Valburg, and I realized that that thought aroused me like nothing else did. Not in a sexual way. But here was a way to punish him.” Dietrich laughed. “When I was released, Dr. Beringer was so pleased to have shown me a way back into the world. He had no idea it was all founded on my fantasies of killing people.”

  “Why didn’t you ever alert the police?”

  “To which part? Dr. Valburg’s misdiagnosis, or Moritz Quast rejecting treatment? Maybe Robin Cordes’s crooked business, or Yuri Petrov’s organ-smuggling operation?” He snorted in contempt. “Even if the police had arrested Robin, he would’ve gotten nothing more than a suspended sentence. Yuri Petrov was a diplomat—untouchable. Not exactly suitable punishment for my daughter’s death.”

  “So you planned the murders.”

  “I had nothing but time on my hands. Four years in an institution is enough for a hundred murders. I secretly obtained access to the Internet and did research when I could. I mostly did it at night when Dr. Beringer wasn’t on the premises.”

  “Once you were released from the ward, when did you disappear?”

  “I was grateful Dr. Beringer put so much effort into me, but my sessions with him gradually got on my nerves. I wasn’t sure how fast you would figure out it was me, so I couldn’t go back to my apartment.”

  “You were released on March first. Why did you wait so long before killing Dr. Valburg?”

  “Dr. Valburg was not the issue. It
was tougher figuring out Robin Cordes and Yuri Petrov. Those took some planning.”

  “Let’s start with Bernhard Valburg. How did you get into his house?”

  “That was easy. I only had to wait till he was too high to remember to lock the door or shut a window. I went inside and got a house key. The doctor didn’t even notice it was missing. The night I killed him, he was just standing in his living room staring absently out at that absurd garden of his. He didn’t even notice me coming through the door.”

  “Why gouge his eyes out? Was that some kind of religious nonsense? Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth?”

  “A man who buries his wife far too soon and witnesses the agonizing death of his own daughter—that man does not believe in God anymore. At least not in a God like the one portrayed in church.”

  “So nothing religious?”

  “You read too many crime novels.”

  “What was it, then? Boredom?”

  “While I was keeping watch at my daughter’s bedside, I read a book about the Native Americans. There was a tribe that believed in the physical integrity of the human body. Whatever happens to a person’s body during life, that person will carry beyond death onto the eternal hunting grounds. A tribal member who was guilty of a serious crime was not just punished while he was alive—his dead body was also disfigured. The mutilation would follow him in the afterlife and torment him forever. I found it comforting to think that Dr. Valburg would be blind forever.”

  “His death wasn’t enough for you?”

  “The life of some drug-addled old man for the life an innocent child with big dreams? I ask you.”

  “Then you packed him into a barrel, loaded him into the VW, and drove him to the cemetery.”

  “It was just as easy as it sounds. You know where I got the barrels. I cleaned one of them out and then used bleach to remove all traces of dirt. Then I printed the words ‘Green Waste’ on the barrel in case I ran into anyone inside the cemetery.”

  “So how did you feel afterward?”

  “Good. Excellent, actually. An emotional state I no longer knew.”

  “Then you turned your attention to Moritz Quast?”

  “I was so excited, I dug the grave for him that very night.”

  “How did you know where to find his parents’ grave?”

  “For that I have Bernd Pietsch to thank.”

  “Who the hell is Bernd Pietsch?”

  “I’d have to back up a little.”

  “I have all day.”

  “Bernd Pietsch was one of my fellow inmates in the psych ward. He had some scary sexual tendencies, but I was in no position to be choosy. Bernd had a half brother named Jordan who ran a little pawnshop here in Berlin. Jordan also traded in stolen goods.”

  “And this person knew Moritz Quast?”

  “Patience, Detective Tommen. When I first broke in to Dr. Valburg’s house, it wasn’t just for the key. The doctor also provided me with the money for my plans. As you can imagine, I was flat broke. I’d sold all my furniture, and that kept me above water for a few weeks, but I needed more.”

  “You plundered Dr. Valburg’s house?”

  “Not the whole house, just things the doctor wouldn’t immediately notice were gone. He completely failed to notice that some watches and jewelry had gone missing.”

  “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Quite a bit. I swiped two original Glashütte watches and his wife’s whole jewelry box, which was a gold mine. I took it to Jordan’s pawnshop. And, because I was a friend of his brother, he gave me forty thousand euros for it all.”

  “A hefty sum.”

  “There’s a certain irony to the fact that Dr. Valburg’s bounty is what made my plans possible.”

  “Why did you need so much money? You were living in a shack in Lichtenberg.”

  “Let’s go back to Moritz Quast and his parents’ grave a moment. Jordan didn’t just take the stolen goods, he also served as go-between for services of a different nature.”

  “What kind of services?”

  “Information, mostly. For a thousand euros I received the name of Moritz Quast’s new employer and his home address, as well as directions to his parents’ grave.”

  “How did your contact get his information?”

  “No idea. They must have bribed some office drudge somewhere. I didn’t even know their name. Everything went through Jordan.”

  “Maybe I should pay the man a visit.”

  “Waste of time. Jordan got enough money to split for good. He’s probably at some resort in Thailand enjoying his retirement.”

  “You’ve told me how you located the grave. But why didn’t you kill him at home like Dr. Valburg?”

  “I have never in my life humiliated myself the way I did with Moritz Quast. I fell to my knees in tears in his office and pleaded with him for that treatment in Switzerland. He assured me that he would do everything in his power, but by the end he wouldn’t even return my phone calls, and he made sure I wasn’t allowed to enter insurance-company premises anymore. I wanted him to see what he’d done. I chose that cemetery so I could take him past Charlotte’s grave.”

  “But first you had to eliminate the cops on watch outside.”

  “Moritz was a spineless coward. All I had to do was threaten him with a pistol and he became as obedient as a lapdog. The two cops on watch made it easy for me by splitting up. The first was out cold before he knew what hit him. The second was more cautious, but he wasn’t counting on Moritz coming at him. Once the two cops were tied up in the living room, it was a piece of cake.”

  “How did you get into his house?”

  “Moritz was a mess. I drove by his place every day to have a look at the house. Wearing city work clothes, carrying tools and instruments, you’re completely invisible. I went in through a back window, made an impression of his cheapo key, then slipped right back out. I checked the nearest power box to make my disguise seem credible, and was on my way.” Dietrich smiled. “When you questioned the neighbors, I’m guessing none of them recalled a city worker checking the meters a few weeks before.”

  Jan said nothing. He was always surprised how easy it was to break into a house. Even an amateur like Dietrich had no problem doing it.

  “The cops were watching the front,” Dietrich continued. “I entered the property through the neighbors’ backyards and came in through the back door. Moritz was such a pathetic sight, shivering with fear, clutching his pillow like it was a stuffed animal. Now it was his turn to beg and cry. I really only came to kill him, but it was pretty satisfying to see him drop to his knees and plead for his life.”

  “So you prolonged his agony by driving him to the cemetery to make him face what he did. Then you killed him at his grave?”

  “Is this another of your sorry attempts to appeal to my conscience?” Dietrich asked. “You checked Moritz Quast’s background, right? So you know as well as I do that he was a greedy, unscrupulous worm who betrayed his own partner.”

  “Robin Cordes.”

  “Not that I was sorry to see Robin go to prison.”

  “How did you get to him? He went into hiding after the first two murders.”

  “That was tough. I was pretty sure Robin would disappear when he got wind of what had happened to Dr. Valburg and Moritz Quast, so I put a tail on him right away. His prison stay nearly wrecked my plans, but as soon as he was released I knew what he was up to around the clock.”

  “That’s what led you to the poker games.”

  Dietrich nodded. “Robin worked hard. Two weeks after his release, he’d gotten himself in a game and then he’s organizing a group of players himself. At a charity poker event, I met several people who were happy to invite me to games; after all, I was a lousy player with lots of money. That’s what brought me to Nina and Paul Hauren, who made me aware of Robin’s poker group.”

  “He didn’t recognize you?”

  “It had been years since we’d last seen each other. I’d lost
weight since then, my hair’s grayer, and I grew a beard.”

  “How did you kill him?”

  “That was easy. After the game was over, Robin stayed behind to clean up. When he left the restaurant, I was waiting for him. By the time he saw what was coming, it was too late.”

  “How could you have been so sure we would let the hearse through?”

  “You underestimate the power of money, Detective Tommen. A desperate small-time criminal? He’ll do anything if you promise him a few euros for his next fix. Jordan had an inexhaustible supply of men and women who’d hang around a cemetery all day for a few hundred euros. We were careful only to use people who had a clean record so they wouldn’t look suspect if they were checked. I figured you’d be staking out the grave. So I had to come up with another way in.”

  “So you broke into the cemetery’s office?”

  “Before my daughter died, I’d never had anything to do with criminals. I was just an ordinary city official. I got an experienced burglar to help me on this one. He led the way, and I just kept close behind.”

  “Weren’t you worried that one of your helpers would blackmail you?”

  “Do you really think that a wanted offender would go running to the cops and betray the man who’s handing him money?”

  “Who were the men?”

  “Don’t even bother. I’m not ratting on anyone.”

  “You don’t really believe your helpers are going to get off so easily.”

  “Word’s already gotten around that I’ve been arrested. And even if I did tell on them? I only know their first names. They’d be underground before you ID’d the first one.”

  Jan made a note, as he still planned to hunt down Dietrich’s helpers. “Now. How did you get Yuri Petrov to leave the embassy?”

  “It didn’t take much imagination. I pretended to be a rich businessman in urgent need of two corneas for his son. I rented a limo and showed up at our first meeting wearing a pricey suit. The beard was sufficient as a disguise. I put twenty thousand euros on the table and promised Yuri one hundred fifty thousand more if he could deliver fast. That greedy gleam in his eye told me all I needed to know. You yourself saw what so much money will do to a person. Even with his life in danger, he still got in a car and evaded his own bodyguards.”