Time Heals No Wounds (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel)

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  “Thirty years. In the beginning, I worked as Mr. Ternheim Sr.’s secretary. When his two children took over ten years ago, I remained their assistant.”

  Fritz had noted her name. Well-informed secretaries were always a treasure trove of background information.

  The elevator stopped at the twentieth floor, and the doors opened to a completely different scene than the one in the foyer. The nicely furnished room with dark-brown carpeting and moss-colored upholstery was home to three tidy desks. Two younger women looked up from their flat monitors and warmly greeted Fritz.

  “Ms. Maler and Ms. Stahl,” said Ms. Wagner, introducing her colleagues. Fritz politely greeted them. She’d then steered him to the leftmost of three doors and turned to him. “Have you found Ms. Ternheim?”

  Fritz had faced the massive wooden door and opened it after a brief knock. The room was decorated with wood paneling and comfortable upholstered furniture, suggesting that Mr. Ternheim placed no great value on modern functionality.

  A gaunt gray-haired man stood by the large panoramic window, with his back to the door. He turned around and looked at Fritz. He was clean shaven and had no wrinkles, even though he was well into his fifties. Only a birthmark under his right eye marred his otherwise flawless face. At the sight of Ternheim’s suit, which perhaps might have been stylish in the 1980s, Fritz no longer felt so badly dressed.

  “Mr. Janssen, you’re the lead detective in charge of finding my sister?” asked Ternheim.

  Fritz cleared his throat and decided not to beat around the bush. It did not look as if it was necessary to take a cautious approach.

  “I am. However, we had already found your sister before you notified us. Mr. Ternheim”—he cleared his throat again—“we unfortunately found her body Sunday night on a beach located about three miles from the old fishing port. We were only able to identify her after you filed a missing-person report. I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Ternheim shifted slightly back toward the window and stared out over the city. Fritz knew there was nothing he could say and remained silent.

  Quietly, almost as if to himself, Mr. Ternheim said, “I was afraid something happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Ternheim turned around. “How did she die? An accident?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Fritz said. “I very much hope you can help us in this matter.” He’d described what had happened, without getting into too many difficult details.

  “And how should I be of any use in the investigation?” asked Ternheim. “That’s clearly your job. After all, you should have enough experts who are familiar with such cases. If you want to know if she had enemies, she had none as far as I know. Of course we have competitors that would prefer to get rid of us. After all, we’re the industry leader! But otherwise my sister had few contacts. Like me, she devoted her life to the company. That leaves little time for a private life.”

  “Excuse my next question, but I have to ask: Do you think she might have committed suicide?”

  “Out of the question.”

  “Of course, there’s the possibility of an accident. Your sister could have fallen from the cliff. Do you have any idea what she might have been doing on that section of the beach?”

  Ternheim scratched his chin. “She was probably visiting our father. She sees him at least once a week and provides him with the essentials. In recent years, he has greatly declined. However, he lives in a place near the cliffs. Maybe she went for a walk . . .”

  “Hold on! What did you say? She may have visited your father? Who’s your father?”

  “The former owner of Lagussa, Heinrich Ternheim. You might know him as Merlin.”

  Fritz paused. Hannes dropped his fork and stared at him in disbelief. “What? Merlin is the victim’s father? That means Helene Ternheim is the daughter the farmer’s wife told us about? That crazy old man once led a pharmaceutical empire?”

  “Yes,” said Fritz with a grin as he adjusted his square glasses. “He left the company a decade ago, which at his age is remarkable. Since then, he’s devoted himself to his true passion: painting crazy pictures. His son seems to share our opinion on them.”

  Hannes was barely listening. He poked at the lettuce. “That explains why he was completely beside himself. Poor old man. Walks along the beach to collect amber and suddenly stumbles over his dead daughter.”

  “He was crazy and taciturn before, according to the Olsens. But at least this sheds new light on the matter. My instincts tell me it was no coincidence Ms. Ternheim was found on that stretch of beach.”

  “So what now?” asked Hannes.

  Fritz looked at his watch. “In two hours we meet with Mr. Ternheim at the medical examiner’s office. He has to officially identify the dead woman as his sister. Unfortunately, he can’t be spared that.”

  “She had no husband or partner? Are there any children or other family members?”

  “No, she was never married, nor does she have any children. Her mother’s no longer alive, and after our experience with their father, I certainly wouldn’t want to drag him to the medical examiner’s office . . .”

  While Hannes cleared their trays, Fritz strolled over to the counter and asked Mrs. Öztürk about the changes to the menu. When Hannes joined him, Mrs. Öztürk smiled.

  “Ah, the young man with the green and blue eyes! Very good karma! In my village, it’s said that a man like you can look into other dimensions. The green eye to what was and the blue eye to what is. You’re at home in both worlds! You must learn to look correctly and take advantage of your great gift!”

  Hannes’s ears turned red. Fritz laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “And with these ears, he can even hear the voices from the other side. If that doesn’t help us in our investigation . . .”

  Fritz pulled Hannes toward the exit and waved good-bye to Mrs. Öztürk. She glared at him.

  Christian Ternheim arrived at the medical examiner’s office in a modest car. Hannes had expected a cold, stiff businessman and now marveled at the pale, slightly bewildered face. On the other hand, who would arrive bursting with life at the place where you have to identify your dead sister? Mr. Ternheim seemed to want the matter over with as quickly as possible. Maria was already expecting them, and after a brief introduction, they headed for the elevator.

  “Since we’re done examining, we have to go to the basement,” she said to Hannes. “The bodies are kept in the refrigerator down there.”

  She sensed everyone wanted to get this over with and quickly led the group down a bright corridor to the tiny room. It was almost too small for all of them since the stretcher took up most of the space. Hannes realized it was impossible to distance himself from the dead woman beneath the white sheet.

  Maria glanced at Mr. Ternheim. He nodded, and she gently lifted the sheet to reveal a pale face framed by light-blonde hair. For a moment, Christian Ternheim’s face relaxed.

  “That’s not my sister,” he said and sighed. But only a moment later, his face contorted into a confused grimace. “Where . . . but . . . it’s her! Oh my God! Helene! But what happened to her hair?”

  “Did you not know your sister had blonde hair?” Maria asked.

  “No. She had brown hair that turned gray around her fortieth birthday. She never dyed her hair.”

  Ternheim leaned over the stretcher, trembling as he touched his sister’s body through the thin cloth. He wiped his brow.

  Fritz said, “We have a few brief questions about some abnorm—”

  “Please!” Mr. Ternheim raised his hands. “Can’t we put this off until tomorrow? I . . . I need some time now. You can come to my office tomorrow, but . . . please, not now.”

  Fritz nodded. “We’ll lead you upstairs. Thank you for coming here so quickly and . . . Well, we’re truly very sorry.”

  As Hannes tried to leave the room, Maria held him back. “Wait. Let them go ahead. I need to show you something.”

  Fritz looked puzzled but said nothing and closed the doo
r behind him. Maria pulled the sheet to the waist so the battered torso was visible. Hannes leaned over the stretcher and looked intently back at Maria. What a contrast, he thought. In front of me is this horribly disfigured, lifeless body, and behind me is this attractive young woman.

  “Here.” Maria lifted Helene Ternheim’s left arm. “We studied the tattoo in more detail. This is not a typical tattoo. I mean, not some rose or anchor. Nor Asian characters, which are all the rage now. We examined it through a microscope and analyzed it on the computer. We’re convinced this is a series of numbers. While we couldn’t identify all of it clearly, a series of six or seven digits were tattooed on her arm around the time of her death.”

  “It was so nice to see Amber again after so many years.” Merle was still trying to fight against the loneliness with the sound of her voice. “Even though I only recognized her delicate hands.”

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Bernstein was hardly able to help Merle research her family history. She did know one thing, though, and it was of significant interest to Merle.

  “Your father was a deadbeat. I’m sorry for being so frank. He was a little older than your mother and had rented a cabin in the mountains with three friends. Your mother, two other girlfriends, and I were on a ski trip and stayed in a nearby house. It didn’t bother us, of course, that four young men were staying just around the corner. On the second night, we went to après-ski with them.” Mrs. Bernstein sighed at the painful memories. “Your father had an eye on your mother, and she was very interested in him too from the start. He was not really her type—a little standoffish and cranky. One of his friends had told me that there had been some incident between your father and another woman in school, which his father was only able to straighten out with a great deal of difficulty. I warned your mother about him, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Why was she so attracted to him then?”

  “Your mother had always been . . . well, interested in money, and your father comes from a rich manufacturing family. She had always fantasized that she would someday marry a rich man and be worthy of her noble name. Maybe she was hoping your father would be her savior.”

  “But he wasn’t?”

  “Not at all! And then the inevitable happened. They spent several nights together, then continued to write after the vacation was over and talked on the phone every now and then. But this was more on your mother’s initiative than his. When she finally realized she was pregnant, she thought he would marry her, of course.”

  Mrs. Bernstein had laughed in discomfort and refilled Merle’s coffee. Then she had gotten up and hobbled to a closet.

  “I have a few photos of the trip. Your father’s in one.”

  Merle had considered the somewhat blurry image with curiosity. Her mother stood in front of a ski lift with her arm proudly around a large, stiff-looking man. He gazed at the camera with a forced smile. Merle had felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “You can keep the photo.”

  “Thanks. What happened next? Did my father ever know about me?”

  “Oh yes. Your mother immediately told him she was pregnant, but his reaction was different from what she’d expected. A lawyer appeared at her door and made it clear a marriage was out of the question. There were two possibilities: either she would stay silent and refrain from any contact with your father in return for a monthly payment, or the paternity would be challenged in court.” Mrs. Bernstein looked sadly into Merle’s eyes. “You already know what your mother decided to do.”

  “Do you know my father’s name?”

  “I’ve tried to remember, but it won’t come to me. However, I still keep in contact with a friend from back then, maybe she can remember. If I find out, I’ll get back to you.”

  “Fortunately, the friend had a better memory than Amber,” Merle said to the darkness.

  She tried to ignore her growling stomach because she had promised herself she would not touch any more food. She did not want to be knocked out again. She was restless and got up from the bed to walk in small circles around the room. Three times clockwise, then three times counterclockwise, and over again. “I have to keep moving. But if I move, I use energy and have to eat again. Whatever I do, it’s wrong.”

  But the fear of being drugged again was greater, and Merle leaned against the wall next to the bed. She remained there in a trancelike state for an hour. Only the sound of footsteps shook her from her lethargy.

  “You can keep your fucking food,” she whispered. At the same time, she hoped the light would allow her to discover more about the room, details she had overlooked last time.

  The footsteps stopped in front of the steel door, and Merle heard a faint groan. Then the bolt was pushed aside, and she turned her head away to avoid being blinded. The room seemed unchanged: a large cobweb was all she had previously missed. Her eyes then fell on herself, and she looked at the clothes she had found that morning and put on while shivering. They seemed to be pajamas; the shirt and pants were striped blue and gray.

  She noticed the door had been open for a while now without anything being pushed inside. She looked toward it, and a blinding flash of light hit her face. Merle screamed and put her arm over her eyes. A soft click, then another flash of light. Merle threw herself on the bed.

  WEDNESDAY EVENING

  Hannes’s thoughts raced. He stared out the bus window. So the tattoo on the victim’s arm represented a series of numbers. A code? What did the perpetrator want to tell them? He was now convinced there was a perpetrator. Ms. Ternheim’s sudden disappearance, the secluded location of the crime scene, the dyed hair, the tattoo, the sedative in the blood—the list was too long for it to be a coincidence or for there to be an innocent explanation. But what really puzzled him was the role of the real estate agent, who had disappeared without a trace. Hannes had been glad when Fritz had let him go early.

  Hannes got off the bus, and as he turned the corner onto his street, he was met by several flashing police lights. A large crowd had gathered in the middle of the narrow road. Traffic was blocked by emergency vehicles, and an ambulance was parked in front of the building where he had lived for the last six years. He saw his neighbor Richard, who lived with his girlfriend in the apartment next to his. Hannes quickly pushed his way through the crowd over to him. “Hey, what’s going on? Was there a fire?”

  “No, the weird guy who lives above us has a large terrarium, and a python escaped. They’re now searching for it.”

  Hannes’s face went pale. “A . . . a snake? In our building? You’re kidding me!” He had been afraid of snakes since he was a child, and they haunted his dreams. “How long has it been missing?”

  “No one knows. The guy left yesterday morning, and when he came back an hour ago, the terrarium was empty. He probably didn’t close it properly after feeding the snake.”

  Hannes broke out in a cold sweat, thinking how he always left a window open because of the heat. “So it might have been slithering through our building yesterday?”

  “Maybe. You don’t need to worry. At the moment, the snake isn’t dangerous because it was just fed yesterday. The fire department’s combing the building, and when they’re done, we can return to our apartments. Evidently, it’s a nine-foot python, so it should be pretty easy to find.”

  “What if they don’t find him?” Hannes imagined waking up the next morning and looking directly into the eyes of a python dangling from the ceiling lamp and had to suppress a gag reflex.

  “Then it’s definitely no longer in the house,” Richard said and seemed to wonder about Hannes’s overreaction. “Besides, pythons aren’t normally aggressive toward humans. Anyway, the police officer over there just told us we’ll be able to go back inside within the hour.”

  “How come that loser was able to keep a snake in our building? Isn’t it illegal?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Hannes sat down on the curb and wondered how he could ever get a peaceful night’s sleep in his apartment again. Even if the pytho
n was found, it still meant it was going to be living directly above him, and if it had already escaped once, perhaps it had developed a taste for freedom . . .

  A firefighter announced through a megaphone that the search was over. The python, however, had not been spotted. Hannes jumped to his feet and scanned the area. There was no way he was spending the night there! He would look for a hotel room, preferably on the other side of town. He needed a change of clothes and some toiletries, but he had no desire to enter the building.

  He suddenly had an idea and pulled his cell phone from his bag. Ben picked up after a few rings.

  “Ben, it’s Hannes. Remember yesterday afternoon in the park? You know, when you were a completely law-abiding citizen? Well, I’ve got a favor to ask . . .”

  “Man, that was fast. Okay, what’s the favor?”

  “Could you please come to my apartment as soon as possible? You live close by, right? Twelve Tower Street.”

  Hannes was surprised that Ben didn’t ask any questions. “All right, I’ll swing by in ten minutes.”

  Ben got there in eight minutes. Hannes had kept his eye on his watch the entire time. He really wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

  “What’s up?” Ben asked as he pulled alongside Hannes on his Old Dutch bike.

  “Some idiot neighbor keeps a snake, and it’s loose.” Hannes painted a brief picture of the situation, and Ben scratched his head through his dreadlocks.

  “That’s one for the papers . . .”

  “Well, I’d prefer that it stayed in the papers.”

  “And what would you like me to do? Fumigate the place with marijuana?”

  “I’m terrified of snakes! I can’t sleep here tonight. I’d rather pay for a hotel somewhere. I just need a few things from my apartment.” Hannes handed him the key. “Could you please get me some clothes?” he asked in embarrassment.

  He prepared to be teased, but Ben remained serious. “Hold on, I have a better idea! I’ll get you a couple of things from up there, and then you can bunk with me until they find it. I have a guest bed, so it’s no problem.”