by Inge Löhnig
Alois came walking up the lane from Uferstraße. ‘Nobody there. I got hold of the owners on the phone. One hasn’t been to the lake for months, but the others, a married couple from Munich, were here the weekend before last and saw Heckeroth senior. At Sunday lunchtime he was having a barbecue in the garden with his other son. With Bertram.’
An old man who had a good relationship with his children. One son came up for a barbecue, the other to fix a drain – a solid family. And now, abruptly, it was missing its anchor.
On the way home Dühnfort thought about his own father, who lived in Hamburg and whom he’d avoided for years. Only last summer, on his seventieth birthday, had they got back in touch. Dühnfort had been astonished to find that his father, a prominent defence lawyer now retired, had been avidly following his cases. In August, in lieu of a party, they’d spent a week’s holiday together on Sylt. Both had steered clear of sensitive subjects. Dühnfort hadn’t mentioned his parents’ marriage and divorce, nor had he asked his father whether he’d ever worried about justice when defending his clients. He didn’t talk about his brother Julius, either, who had become a barrister and got married and was slowly turning into Dad. Just like the old man had always wanted.
And Dad hadn’t asked why Konstantin had broken off his law degree and moved out, why he preferred the police to a career in the law. Instead they’d chatted about trivial things and taken silent walks on the beach, eating good food and getting early nights. It had been a refreshing week, passing quickly. As they said goodbye, his father had hugged him.
Dühnfort reached the motorway. He was driving quickly, the rain setting in again. Almost midnight.
Had Agnes stayed over? Probably not. She never did. She preferred to wake up in her own bed, even if she had to get up in the middle of the night like she was on the run. She was the woman he wanted to live with, to have children with. It was less love than a calm certainty that made him sure of it. But he wanted more than she could or would give him, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with things as they were any more.
He switched the radio on. First the news, then the weather report and a classical concert. As he listened to the music, he reached the end of the motorway and followed the road south. He parked the car outside his building and looked up. It was dark in his flat. Perhaps Agnes was sleeping. But when he opened the door he could sense that she wasn’t there. Loneliness enveloped him like a coat he couldn’t throw off. He switched on the light and found a note on the kitchen table. Hi Tino, I decided to go home. I’ve got a meeting in town tomorrow afternoon. If you’re up for it we can meet afterwards. Call me. Agnes.
Up for it, he thought. Was that all it was? Sex? No, he thought. She could have written if you like, but she’d written up for it. At that moment he decided. That one phrase had the casting vote.
Tuesday, 14 October
Dühnfort hurried sullenly down Blumenstraße, past the farmers’ market with its green stalls, colourful awnings and abundance of foods of all kinds. He’d overslept and left the flat without having breakfast. Grey clouds were gathering above the city, the pavements shone wetly, and a fine, incessant rain fell. Cold gusts of wind swept through the streets, reminding him of the sea. He missed it. The sight of that surging, raging, ever-moving vastness gave him a sense of freedom, of faith that something still lay ahead.
He entered the meeting room shortly after nine. Alois was buried in his paperwork, a cup of green tea in front of him. As always, it seemed to Dühnfort as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a men’s style magazine. Smooth cheeks, a hint of expensive aftershave, three-piece suit. Only his large, bumpkin head spoiled the impression. Gina, in cargo pants, trainers and a fleece, looked more like a model in a hiking magazine. She poured herself a coffee from her thermos. ‘Good morning, Tino. Want one?’
‘Yes, please.’
Dr Weidenbach made a phone call, and Frank Buchholz stretched and yawned. Dühnfort sat down and took the coffee cup Gina handed him. She’d already added milk. ‘Thanks.’ He downed half of it in a single gulp, and felt better. Dr Weidenbach ended her conversation. All eyes were now on Dühnfort.
He leaned back in his seat, briefly gathered his thoughts and considered his understanding of the chain of events. ‘Let’s assume that Wolfram Eberhard Heckeroth was attacked Monday last week, i.e., 6 October. Albert left around nine p.m. The neighbour walked by around half past, and by that time the car was gone and the shutters were closed. The attack must have taken place during that half-hour.’
‘Timing’s a bit tight, isn’t it?’ observed Gina.
‘Don’t think so.’ Alois looked at them. ‘It was planned, and there must have been at least two of them. One to drag the old man into the bathroom and tie him up while the other looked for valuables. You don’t need half an hour for that.’
Dühnfort nodded. ‘If this was a robbery, then it wasn’t a standard smash-and-grab. Other than credit and debit cards, all they took was a valuable watch.’
‘And the car. Bet that cost more than I make in a year.’ Gina was clicking her ballpoint pen against the table.
‘It wasn’t reported stolen, of course. How could it have been? Maybe that was why they left Heckeroth tied up. So they could take the car across the border without any trouble.’ Alois looked at Dühnfort.
‘I don’t like that. What about the mattresses in front of the door and windows? They could have done without all that if they’d gagged Heckeroth and turned the lights off. In fact that would probably have been a more effective way to stop people hearing Heckeroth’s cries for help and make sure they wouldn’t be identified.’
‘It’s funny.’ Gina briefly chewed her bottom lip. ‘Maybe they coerced Heckeroth into giving them the PIN for his card, and wanted to make sure the number was correct. He might have been lying, after all. So they tied him up, in case they had to come back and force the right one out of him. When it wasn’t necessary, they cleared off and left the old man to his fate.’ Again Gina repeatedly clicked the pen, smiling at Alois as she did so.
‘Even so, they could still have saved themselves plenty of work with a gag.’
Buchholz stretched, making the chair creak. ‘They could have been spying on Heckeroth, in which case they would have known how long he was staying at the cabin. So long as nobody missed him, they had time enough to use the cards.’
‘But then they must have realised that a week would go by before he was found, and that he wouldn’t survive. Pretty coldblooded.’ Gina put the pen down.
‘Better check his accounts. Have there been any withdrawals? If we’re lucky, they’ll have been caught on CCTV. If they used the cards, we might get a description,’ said Dühnfort.
Alois reached for his notepad. ‘On it.’
‘Good. There’s also the missing watch to think about. And somebody should check his phone records. Can I leave that to you, Gina?’
‘No problem, boss. So we’re assuming robbery?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘I’m only asking because it doesn’t seem like you believe that.’
Since last night Dühnfort had felt like he was watching something stage-managed, something that hid what had really taken place. But he didn’t know where that feeling came from, and couldn’t justify it. It surprised him that Gina had noticed.
‘We’ll explore all avenues and see how it pans out.’ He turned to Buchholz. ‘Did you find the keys?’
The head of forensics glanced up. He looked tired, his eyes red, stubble on his usually clean-shaven head and cheeks. ‘Not yet. We’re not finished. My people have been back on site since seven, and the search team began an hour and a half ago. Should we get divers looking for the car?’
Dühnfort nodded. ‘Tell them to start with the bank nearest the house.’
Then he turned to Ursula Weidenbach. ‘I’m sure you’ve got some preliminary news for us.’
The coroner opened the slim file that lay in front of her and put her hands on the table. ‘The bo
dy isn’t in good condition. Decomposition is already advanced, making an exact time of death impossible. The cause of death is equally problematic. Aside from a small laceration to the back of his head and the abrasions on his wrists, there are no injuries. The toxicology report isn’t complete yet, but so far there are no indications he was poisoned. Given the way he was found and the length of time between the attack and the discovery of the body, I suspect the man died of thirst.’
‘Died of thirst.’ Dühnfort didn’t want to imagine it. ‘How long does that take?’
‘Well.’ Ursula Weidenbach took off her glasses. ‘It was very warm in the bathroom. Twenty-three degrees. The central heating wasn’t set to switch off overnight, I checked. So we can assume it remained constant. Because of the advanced state of decomposition, I think it’s likely the man died on Friday. Three and a half to four days ago, in other words.’
‘The head injury, where did that come from?’ asked Dühnfort.
‘Blunt object. A blow or a fall. I’d put my money on a fall, given the positioning of the wound – on the lower part of the skull.’
Dühnfort thanked Weidenbach and turned to Buchholz. ‘Any DNA?’
‘Some. Fingerprints and fibres, too. We’re analysing them now. As soon as I have something, you’ll know about it.’ Buchholz stretched and yawned.
‘Good. That still leaves the question of who stood to profit from this death. I assume it’s the children. Better go and speak to them now.’
*
Babs sat in the kitchen at the English mahogany table she’d bought at a flea market years before, drinking a cup of coffee. The table was the family meeting point. She breakfasted there with Albert and the kids, ate lunch there with the boys, and often, after dinner, played Malefitz, Settlers of Catan or some other board game on it. They chatted at this table, made decisions, had discussions. But how could they explain to the children that their granddad had been murdered?
‘Dad’s dead,’ Albert had said when he’d got back home last night. At first she thought she’d misheard, but one look at his face was enough to tell her she hadn’t. Grey, his lips colourless, his features rigid, it was as if he were trying to hold back tears. Immediately she was seized by a fit of guilt that she hadn’t taken Wolfram’s cleaning lady seriously. Before she could ask what had happened, Albert turned and vanished into the hall. She thought he was going to take off his jacket, but when he didn’t come back she went to look, and found him lying on the bed in the dark. She lay down next to him and asked what was going on. After a long silence, he began to tell her.
After he was finished, her first thought was how to tell the boys. She felt a little ashamed that she hadn’t felt enough concern about Wolfram or how Albert must be feeling, but had put her children’s emotions above all else. Within the space of four weeks, they’d lost Albert’s mother and father. On her own account she wasn’t so terribly upset. She and Wolfram had never been close; frankly, she hadn’t liked him much.
The coffee had gone cold. As Babs carried the cup to the sink and emptied it, she heard the bedroom door creak and Albert go into the bathroom. Then the shower started.
Around eight Babs had called the practice and asked Margret Hecht to refer the patients that day to Isolde Kurz, a colleague of Albert’s who occasionally acted as a locum.
‘Why? Your husband’s not ill, is he?’ Margret Hecht seemed concerned. Babs explained the reason.
‘Oh my God. How dreadful. Poor Alb—Poor Doctor Heckeroth.’
For a moment Babs was confused. Albert was on relatively formal terms with his employees, on principle.
‘Wouldn’t it be better if I organised a locum for a few days?’
Albert was a disciplined person. He was sure to be back at the practice the next day, more from a sense of duty than passion. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’ Babs had ended the conversation, wondering what Margret’s use of her boss’s first name might mean. Was it a crush? Or had Albert had an affair with her? Surely not – if he was going to cheat then it wouldn’t be with an employee. Not with a woman who’d barely graduated from high school and could offer him nothing intellectually. What would he talk to her about? Then again, perhaps a good conversation wasn’t what he wanted. Maybe he wanted a proper fuck. Had he got that awful word from a cheap affair with his receptionist? ‘Rubbish,’ she had said out loud into the silence, pulling herself together and pouring the rest of the cold coffee down the drain.
Babs put on fresh coffee for Albert and put the boys’ plates into the dishwasher.
Noel and Leon had known at once that something had happened when they came down to breakfast. They could tell it from her face, and when Leon asked what was wrong she’d simply replied that Granddad was dead. She’d neglected to mention the circumstances, which was something she’d have to rectify. Just then, the doorbell rang.
She walked over to the intercom – an inspector wanted to talk to Albert – and pressed the buzzer. Then she went to Albert in the bathroom. He was still standing under the shower. The panel of glass was misty, and clouds of steam were fogging up the room. ‘A policeman wants to talk to you.’
The sound of running water subsided. Albert stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, which he slung around his hips. He’d lain awake for hours, only falling asleep after Babs had convinced him to take a pill. He looked pale and bleary-eyed. ‘I’ll be out in five minutes.’
She gave him a kiss on the cheek. He hugged her close and held her there; she felt a tremor run through him, and thought he was about to cry. When the apartment front doorbell rang, she pulled away and went into the corridor. On the way to the door she cast a glance into the mirror. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair was slightly tousled, her skin was pale and her dark eyes anxious, the result of two nights without much sleep. Albert’s embrace had left traces behind: the turquoise cardigan had a damp patch at the shoulder, as did the white blouse she wore with her jeans.
She opened the door. The man, who introduced himself somewhat breathlessly as Inspector Dühnfort, was about as tall as Albert, but without his athletic build. He was a few pounds overweight and a little older, his dark hair shot through with streaks of grey. His greyish-green eyes were remarkable, as was his friendly smile. ‘May I come in?’ he asked.
*
Third floor. No lift. He brushed aside the thought that he ought to be in better shape. He had neither the time nor the self-discipline, although since meeting Agnes he had started riding his bike now and then. There’d be an end to that too, now.
A little out of breath, Dühnfort entered the apartment and followed Albert’s wife into a square front room.
‘My husband’s just coming. Shall I take your coat?’ Despite her smile, Dühnfort could read the tension in her face. As she hung up his coat, he glanced around. He liked the apartment. Antiques shoulder to shoulder with modern furniture. Walls and curtains in tonal harmony with the carpets and herringbone parquet floor. Light shades of cream harmonising with darker earth tones. Accents of red in various hues. The door to the kitchen stood open, an old table dominating the country-style room.
Albert’s wife offered him a seat. ‘Would you like some coffee? It’s fresh.’
‘Yes, please.’ Dühnfort sat down. His mobile rang. Gina. ‘We’ve released the description of the watch. If it comes up for sale we’ll hear about it – hopefully. Bank records will take until noon. So I’m going to sound out the neighbour. All right?’
He gave her the green light. ‘We should find out who knew Heckeroth was staying at the cabin. When I’m done here I’ll come over.’ He said goodbye and put the phone away as Albert came into the kitchen. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt. His hair was damp. ‘Can I have a coffee too, Babs?’ Albert’s wife filled a cup and passed it to him.
Dühnfort asked Albert for the addresses and telephone numbers of his brother and sister, checking where he could reach them.
‘Bertram’s probably at home. His apartment and architectural office
are in the same building. Caroline is head of marketing at Chocolaterie Jacques Kerity in Martinsried. She’s most likely at the office today.’
‘As I understand it, your father was also a paediatrician, and lived in the building where your practice is located,’ said Dühnfort.
‘I took over the practice from him, and the building belongs to him.’
‘Very nice.’
Albert sighed. ‘Paediatricians don’t earn that much. He inherited it from his uncle.’
‘And now you and your siblings will inherit the property?’
Albert nodded.
‘It must be worth a fortune.’
‘If it were debt-free, then yes. But my parents carried out some renovations a few years back, and took out a mortgage to fund it.’
‘And the cabin by the lake?’
‘That’s rented.’
‘If you subtract the debts, then how big is the inheritance?’
Albert frowned. ‘Not sure. Million and a half, tops.’
People have been killed for less, thought Dühnfort.
Albert slid the coffee cup aside. ‘Why are you asking me this? It was a robbery. Wasn’t it?’ His voice sounded tired and resigned.
‘It’s routine. Does anyone else inherit?’
‘No. Just us children.’
‘The practice is doing well?’
‘It was doing better before. All these health reforms . . . but it’s enough to make a decent living and feed the family.’
‘Good. The key to the weekend cabin – that’s on your father’s keyring?’
Albert folded his hands. ‘No. He kept it separately. Is it missing?’
‘It looks that way at the moment.’ Dühnfort took Albert’s key to the cabin from him. The spare he’d already picked up yesterday; now there were just Caroline’s and Bertram’s.
Dühnfort had a sip of coffee and asked whether the elder Mr Heckeroth had argued with anybody recently. But there had been no arguments, not with tenants or friends. No family quarrels either, except for one minor disagreement. ‘My father didn’t agree with the way Bertram was living his life. My brother got divorced, you see, and that didn’t fit with the old man’s world view. It was important to him that families should stick together.’