A Slow Death (Max Drescher Book 1)

by James Craig

  ‘I didn’t read it,’ Max admitted.

  ‘I did. It’s quite something. Basically, you’re not even supposed to admit you were ever in the police.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Max frowned. ‘What do they think I would talk about? Eichel?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘This case I’m working on.’ Max gave her the briefest of explanations of his encounters with the Kriminalkommissar from Gesundbrunnen.

  Clara gestured towards his face. ‘That’s how you got the bruises, huh?’

  Max nodded. ‘If Eichel is on the wrong side of this case, it’s going to be very embarrassing to the department.’

  ‘I’m sure. But it’s not that they were worried about that when I spoke to them. It’s your illness that scares them.’ Seeing his face darken, Clara quickly corrected herself. ‘I mean, your condition.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Max demanded. ‘Apart from anything else, I can’t be the only cop who’s been infected.’

  ‘Maybe not, but you’re the only one that the union has heard about, so far.’

  Max raised an eyebrow. ‘In Berlin?’

  ‘In the whole of Germany,’ Clara pointed out.

  Max slumped against the frame of the door. ‘Really?’

  Clara nodded. ‘West Germany. We don’t know about the East. It’s a bit of a black hole, information-wise. Plus, the union hasn’t really got up and running there yet.’

  ‘I’m sure that the Ossis don’t have any of that bourgeois deviancy,’ Max chortled. ‘It was a socialist paradise for forty years, remember?’

  ‘Of course,’ Clara grinned.

  ‘So, I’m unique – in the whole of the police force?’

  ‘For the moment,’ Clara nodded, ‘you are unique. You’re single-handedly causing them to re-write the Employee Handbook.’

  ‘A trailblazer,’ said Max grimly, trying to squeeze a gram of amusement out of the situation. ‘I kind of like that.’

  ‘Well, the brass don’t. They don’t like it at all. Scared shitless is the only way to describe it. The word is that your case has been discussed all the way up to the Mayor’s office.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Max groaned. ‘You mean even Momper knows about this? Don’t I have a right to privacy?’

  ‘Theoretically, yes. He probably doesn’t know your name but he was always going to be told about your case. This has a significant political angle to it. Imagine if the press got hold of the story. The idea that there’s even one policeman running round Berlin with HIV would be enough to send the whole criminal justice system into turmoil.’ Clara spat out the names of a couple of particularly reptilian defence lawyers. ‘It would be gold dust for those ambulance-chasing bastards. They would jump right in front of a judge, asking for their clients’ cases to be reviewed on the grounds that the PD had not properly discharge its duty of care. By putting them at risk of infection and causing them untold grief and anguish.’

  ‘What complete bollocks.’

  ‘Of course its bollocks,’ Clara agreed, ‘but it’s all just more hours on the clock to people like that. I can see it now, they will argue that the PD has no monitoring in place, so has no idea how many of its staff may be carrying the infection. It’s just exploiting the irrational fear and panic that’s out there. There’s already been a case in the United States; a convicted murderer is suing the state of Kentucky for five million dollars. Apparently one of the guards who drove him to prison was found to have contracted the virus. The murderer is now worried he’s got it too.’ She smiled. ‘And you want to know the best bit? The guy is already on death row. He killed a family of six, decapitated each one of them and then lined the heads up for a family photograph. His lawyer is hoping that the suit will delay his client’s trip to the electric chair.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously,’ Clara eyed him with her best poker face. ‘I never lie to my clients, Kriminalinspektor. Anyway, you couldn’t make this stuff up.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Max shook his head, genuinely amazed. ‘How cynical can you get? Only in America.’

  ‘What happens in America will happen here, soon enough. With the authorities panicking, there are lots of different ways that the criminals can try and take advantage. Aside from the absence of any testing, the PD has absolutely no idea whether it has any insurance cover if a load of claims come its way. So, like I said, they want to shut you up and sweep the whole thing under the carpet; keep the matter buried for as long as possible.’

  ‘’Til I’m dead.’

  Clara grimaced. ‘For as long as possible. Who knows? In a few years’ time, they might have found a cure and all this panic will be over.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘In the meantime, the more people who know about me,’ Max pointed out, ‘the more likely it is to leak to the newspapers.’

  ‘To be fair,’ Clara pointed out, ‘they have tried to keep it as tightly controlled as possible. Only a handful of people are supposed to know: Marin; Foldhammer, the woman in charge of HR; Momper himself; and maybe one or two of his advisers. And, like I said, not all of them will have your name.’

  ‘That’s still more than enough for it to leak.’

  ‘They all want it hushed up. If it comes out, heads could roll … their heads.’

  A question popped into Max’s head. ‘Who else at the union knows?’

  ‘No one.’ Clara patted the large black leather shoulder bag sitting next to her on the sofa. ‘I’ve handled it all myself and kept all the papers with me. You can be sure that there will be no gossip from my end.’

  ‘Okay, good. But why does everyone think I would leak it?’

  ‘Because,’ Clara explained, ‘it’s what they would do if they were in your position.’

  ‘Surely not.’

  ‘Rather, it’s a threat they would use if it was their payoff negotiation and they were on the other side of the table. These people are political to their fingertips. For them, everything is a potential bargaining chip, even their privacy. And they assume everyone thinks the same way as they do.’

  ‘That’s one of the most interesting things about all of this,’ Max chuckled, ‘the reactions of other people.’

  ‘It seems to me,’ Clara observed, ‘the responses basically fall into two camps: fear and hatred.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Max agreed. ‘Those who think I’m going to drop down dead in front of their eyes – after I’ve infected them, of course – and those who think I want to use it as a way of embarrassing the city and fucking over the PD. Everyone basically sees it as some kind of scam.’

  ‘Not quite everyone,’ Clara pointed out. ‘I don’t think like that, and neither does Michael.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. But you guys are the exceptions. Most people filter the news through their own fears and prejudices.’

  ‘It’s always the same,’ Clara sighed. She reached for her coffee before thinking better of it. ‘And you have to admit, this is a very scary situation. In Berlin alone –’

  ‘Ah.’ Max held up a hand. ‘Don’t start quoting facts and figures at me. I don’t want to know. I’m not a statistic. And I’m definitely not going to be a victim. I’m just a normal guy who wants to live long and die slow.’

  Clara shot him one of her special smiles, infused with spirit and sadness in equal measure. ‘Good for you.’ Reaching down, she lifted a Spar plastic bag from the carpet and offered it up for him to take. ‘That’s why I’ve brought you a few things.’

  Max eyed the bulging bag with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Some fruit. A selection of seasonal vegetables. One or two other bits and pieces. Now that I’ve sorted out your very comfortable retirement, you’ve got to start making some lifestyle adjustments, starting with your diet.’

  Max reluctantly took the bag. It was heavy and the handles immediately began cutting into his fingers. ‘Eh?’

  ‘You have to start looking a
fter yourself properly.’ Reaching into her handbag, Clara pulled out a dog-eared paperback. ‘I’ve been reading your book.’ Holding it up, she waved it in front of her face. ‘Dealing with HIV – A guide for the newly diagnosed, the one that you nicked from that bookshop. I picked up a copy from Dialogue Books.’

  ‘I didn’t nick it,’ Max said defensively. Carefully placing the plastic bag at his feet, he rubbed his hands together, trying to restart the blood flow to his rigid digits. ‘It happened to be part of the investigation.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Clara grinned. ‘Anyway, have you managed to read your copy?’

  ‘I skimmed it,’ Max lied, feeling his enthusiasm for this conversation waning rapidly.

  ‘Well, the chapters on diet are very good. You should read those if nothing else. You’ve got to start looking after yourself. It says you should get rid of processed foods that are full of chemicals and preservatives and focus on fresh, healthy stuff – fruit and vegetables. Coffee’s no good and the booze needs to go,’ Clara added, slipping effortlessly into schoolmistress mode. ‘It goes without saying that smoking is completely out. If you are going to face this thing properly, you’ve got to get rid of anything that could negatively impact your immune system.’

  ‘Hold on,’ he spluttered, ‘you’re my lawyer, not my doctor.’ Patting his jacket pocket, he felt the reassuring outline of an almost full packet of HB. He could do with a smoke but knew better than to light up in the middle of Clara’s little lecture.

  ‘I’m concerned about you Max.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘That’s great. But we have to keep you that way. You have to keep you that way. What’s the use of me getting you this great pension if you don’t live long enough to enjoy it?’

  ‘That’s why I got such a good pension,’ Max joked grimly, ‘because they know I’m not going to be around very long to collect it.’

  ‘Don’t be so ungrateful,’ she said sharply. ‘I had to fight hard for your deal.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So you need to get informed. It’s time to make some changes in how you treat your body.’

  ‘It’s my body.’

  ‘You have to understand what’s happening to it.’

  ‘I am informed,’ he grinned, trying to re-establish a lighter tone to their sparring. ‘At least, I know what I want. When I say I want to live long, I don’t mean I want to spend the next ten years sucking pureed turnips through a straw.’

  ‘Pureed turnips?’ Clara giggled.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Leaving the force,’ she said gently, ‘is the perfect opportunity for you to make some sensible lifestyle changes.’

  ‘I don’t particularly want to make any lifestyle changes,’ he huffed, ‘sensible or otherwise. And, anyway, I haven’t left the police yet.’

  Sitting back, Clara gave him an amused smile as she draped an arm across the back of the sofa. ‘No, you haven’t, have you? And, from what I hear, you’re going out with quite a bang.’

  ‘And what precisely do you hear?’ Max enquired, happy to move the conversation away from the matter of his hopeless diet.

  ‘The gossip is that you finally got the guy who murdered the Beerfeldt family.’

  ‘The Dutchman,’ Max nodded, ‘Floris Kooy. Michael shot him. Saving me in the process.’ It suddenly struck him that he had never actually thanked Michael for saving his life. He made a mental note to do just that. ‘Kooy was a professional killer who left a long trail of bodies behind him. We had to take him out.’

  ‘Well, well done. Case closed. That’s a great result. You can walk out of Stresemannstraße with your head held high.’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘No?’ Clara’s face darkened.

  ‘We’ve still got to nail Kooy’s boss. The main man, an international criminal by the name of Kappel.’

  ‘Come on Max, someone else will take up the fight. Now is the time for you to quit while you’re ahead.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled. ‘I will. I promise.’

  46

  Winding down the window of his decrepit Opel as far as it would go, Michael gingerly poured the contents of his coffee cup out of the window, idly watching the noxious liquid ooze across the tarmac. Glancing in the side mirror, he watched a familiar figure slouching towards him. After a couple of seconds, the passenger door clicked open.

  ‘Nice of you to finally show up,’ Michael muttered sarcastically.

  Max made a face as he settled into his seat. ‘Smells a bit in here.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Michael placed the cup in the compartment on the inside of the door.

  ‘Leave the window down, will you?’

  ‘I’ve been on this for hours,’ Michael snapped. Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Stuff to do,’ Max said cheerily.

  ‘Like what? I thought this was your life’s work. What’s left of it at any rate.’

  ‘Now, now. There’s no need to be so grumpy. I haven’t been bunking off. I had to go to a funeral.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Seriously. Volkan Cin was cremated at Holy Trinity this afternoon.’

  Michael’s expression softened slightly as he realised that his boss might have a good explanation for his absence. ‘Already? That was quick.’

  ‘I called in a couple of favours and managed to get the body released for the father.’

  ‘I hope he’s grateful.’

  So do I, Max thought, recalling his plans for a new set of digs at Lübecker Straße 93. After successfully recovering his son’s body, he was increasingly confident that Kerem would let him have the flat at a cheap rent.

  ‘Those guys at the morgue don’t care,’ Michael pointed out. ‘They’ll keep hold of it forever if you let them.’

  ‘Yeah, but Muslims are touchy about that sort of thing. And Kerem’s really not well so …’

  ‘Everyone’s touchy about that sort of thing,’ the sergeant observed. ‘How was the old man?’

  ‘Not that great,’ Max sighed. ‘He looks like he’s aged more than twenty years in the last couple of days. I can’t believe he’ll make it much past the end of the year.’

  ‘There’s no cure for cancer,’ Michael quipped.

  ‘Amongst other things.’

  Blushing, the sergeant looked away. ‘Shit, yeah. Sorry.’

  ‘Hey. Don’t worry about it,’ Max grinned. ‘You know I’m not the sensitive sort.’

  ‘No, but still.’

  Moving the conversation on, he pointed towards the red Porsche parked on the far side of the road, about a hundred metres from where they were sitting. ‘Hardly inconspicuous, is he?’

  ‘That Porsche is probably more expensive than all the rest of the cars in the street put together,’ Michael chuckled.

  ‘Easily.’

  ‘It’s one hell of a machine, though.’

  ‘It’s just a car,’ Max muttered. ‘How long’s he been in there now?’

  Michael glanced at the illuminated dial of the dashboard clock. ‘About an hour. Just under.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll stay the night.’

  ‘Maybe. I’m just grateful he’s turned up at all. Marin will be mad as hell when he finds out what we’re up to. He’s never going to sign off the overtime for this.’

  ‘Fuck Marin.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Max conceded. ‘But it could have been worse.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘At least the other girlfriend isn’t around.’

  ‘The one in Hansaviertel?’

  ‘Yeah. She had the good sense to go to Marbella for a week, without Eichel.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Michael, reluctant to acknowledge the silver lining.

  ‘We could never have covered both places,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘Not with you having pressing business at Holy Trinity.’


  ‘It was important,’ Max gestured past the Porsche, towards a modest looking apartment block. ‘Anyway, What do we know about this one?’

  ‘Sonia Nabokov, thirty-four, works downtown for a firm called Havemann & Biermann. She’s a real estate lawyer.’

  ‘How exciting.’

  ‘It’s a good area to be in,’ Michael pointed out, ‘especially in this city, right now. There are bound to be loads of disputes coming up, what with people trying to reclaim properties taken from them by the Communists over the last forty years.’

  ‘Property is theft.’ Max grunted. When it came to matters of real estate, his disinterest was complete.

  ‘Yeah, well, now the owners want to steal it back.’

  ‘This Nabokov woman, is she clean?’

  Michael nodded. ‘As far as I can tell from a quick background check. There is no record, anyway.’

  ‘So what’s nice girl like that doing with a scumbag like Eichel?’

  ‘There’s no accounting for taste.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Hit by a sudden sense of ennui, Max looked around aimlessly. ‘Let’s hope that she kicks him out sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I suppose we’ll just have to wait.’

  ‘Hey. Wake up.’

  ‘Uh?’ With a grunt, Max opened his eyes in response to Michael vigorously shaking his shoulder.

  ‘You were snoring away like an old woman.’

  ‘Me?’ Max rubbed his eyes, relieved to see that the Porsche was still parked by the side of the kerb.

  ‘Yes, you.’

  ‘How long was I asleep?’

  ‘Half an hour. You were getting noiser and noiser.’

  ‘And there’s been no sign of Eichel?’ Max asked, not interested in engaging in a discussion about one of his many unfortunate habits.

  ‘Not a thing. He must have finished shagging her by now.’

  ‘Maybe they’re having something to eat,’ Max mused, ‘or watching a bit of telly.’

  ‘Lucky them,’ said Michael with feeling.

  Max ran his tongue across the back of his teeth. His mouth felt like a small rodent had died in it and he could clearly detect the signs of a nasty headache developing at the base of his neck. Shifting in his seat, he felt the ache in his hip slowly make its way down his left leg and settle in the arch of his foot. I’m too old for this shit, he reflected, maybe retirement won’t be such a bad thing, after all. He reached for the door handle. ‘I need to take a piss.’