The Northern Cross (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel Book 2)

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  Hannes asked them to account for their whereabouts during the crimes. Mrs. Beck recalled having a severe migraine around the time of the crucifixion. She was unable to get out of bed for two days, which her doctor could confirm. Her husband said he was interested in adventure expeditions, and that night there had been a television special on research expeditions.

  On the day Mrs. Böhm had suffered her agonizing death on the dock, Mrs. Beck had been visiting her mother in Cologne, while Mr. Beck had received patients in the morning. On Friday afternoons he was usually free, and on that day, he had taken a trip to the sea on account of the nice weather. He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a ticket for Sea Life. The date on the ticket matched.

  After all Hannes had learned about New Way and its members, it was difficult to imagine that the murderer could be one of them. Nevertheless, all members would be interviewed and their alibis checked. That meant a lot of work without any prospect of success. The detectives would lose valuable time.

  Ben had invited everyone in their circle of friends to a pasta dinner for that Saturday evening, but only Elke and Hannes could make it. Ines and Kalle had left for a two-week stay at a spa resort in the Seychelles after several stressful weeks at work, and Anna had not yet returned from Asia. Ben rented a small garden cottage from a doctor, who lived with his family in the large main house. As Hannes opened the garden gate, a bundle of black-and-white fur darted toward him.

  Socks, Ben’s dog, jumped onto Hannes. His white paws glowed in the dark, and Hannes laughed as he stroked the dog’s soft fur. He, too, was always happy to see Socks and gave him treats. This time, it was smelly jerky.

  Hannes heard laughter from the rear of the garden, and as he approached the cottage, Elke and Ben waved from the patio.

  Ben tossed Hannes a beer. “Socks picked up your scent five minutes ago.”

  “I think it was the snacks in my bag,” Hannes joked as he hugged Elke. Her long blonde hair got tangled in his stubble. “Why are you sitting out here in the cold?”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Elke, who had pulled her hands into the sleeves of her black wool sweater. She pointed to a half-filled ashtray.

  Ben was fond of the “grass of the gods,” as he called marijuana. Hannes looked at Ben, whose pale blue eyes had a somewhat glazed veil. Evidently, he had chosen a lighter strain tonight.

  There were pots of three different pasta sauces in the kitchen. Ben always experimented, so Hannes never recognized any of his creations.

  “What are you torturing us with this time?” Hannes joked.

  Ben placed the pots on the small dining table and presented the menu for the evening. “The first course: cannelloni with an exotic sauce of tomatoes, onions, garlic, chili pepper, and mangoes. Next, we have farfalline with a leek and lime sauce. And for the grand finale, festonati in a spinach-peanut sauce.”

  “Good thing my cold’s almost gone and my taste buds are working,” Hannes said and tried a forkful of the first course. His tongue caught fire, and he quickly reached for his water glass. “Now I know why you smoked a joint before eating.” He wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “I tried a new chili variety,” Ben said and swallowed a mouthful.

  “At least the sauce is likely to kill all the germs.” Elke had tears in her eyes after the first bite too. “This is exactly what I need. I woke up this morning with a scratchy throat.”

  “If you get sick, you can get your revenge and give it to the kids this time, not the other way around,” Ben replied.

  Elke rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back. “I’m so glad our preschool was closed for break. Almost every kid was sick. I didn’t even think about germs when becoming a teacher.”

  The second course wasn’t nearly as painful, and Elke and Hannes licked every last drop of the third dish—much to the chagrin of Socks, who cocked his head and watched. It was only a matter of time until the conversation turned to Hannes’s investigation; the crucifixion was the hottest topic in town.

  “Do you know who nailed the porn star to the cross?” Ben asked, wiping remains of spinach sauce from his beard.

  Elke was surprised. “You’re investigating the crucifixion?”

  Hannes was uncomfortable discussing his work. Although he trusted everyone, he couldn’t discuss the details. He limited himself to a vague description of the circumstances which the media had already covered.

  “It reminds me of a news report I saw on the Philippines,” said Elke. “On Good Friday, men nail themselves to crosses in a bloody ritual to recreate the pain and death of Jesus.”

  “You’re not serious.” Ben was fascinated. “How sick is that?”

  “Well,” Elke said, pointing to Ben’s eyebrow piercing. “Some men like having metal driven through their flesh.”

  “Hey, you wear earrings,” Ben said. “But you wouldn’t whack nails through your hands. It just goes to show what religion’s capable of.”

  “You just lump everything together.” Elke’s bracelets jingled as she gestured at him. “Just because you don’t get religion doesn’t mean you paint everyone else as delusional idiots.”

  “Did I hit a nerve?” Ben said and grinned. “I didn’t know.”

  “I used to go to church,” Elke said, much to Hannes’s surprise. “I actually used to enjoy it, but I stopped going.”

  “Why?” asked Hannes, who had last attended church fifteen or so years ago.

  “As a lesbian, you don’t feel very welcome. It’s a shame because sometimes I miss it. Mass is so solemn and dignified that it makes you want to reflect. But what I was actually going to say was that maybe this man let himself be nailed to the cross. And then the ritual somehow got out of hand.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Hannes, and he explained with some hesitation that Alexander Kramer was a member of some kind of nondenominational church.

  “I don’t want to hurt Elke’s feelings again,” Ben stated, “but sometimes these fundamentalist churches are much more extreme than established churches.”

  “It’s not a fundamentalist church,” Hannes said and explained New Way’s goals.

  “That sounds all right,” said Elke. “Throws my theory out the window. Maybe the group has enemies?”

  “Unlikely. There aren’t that many members, and they don’t publicize themselves. Maybe someone just wants to give the impression that it’s religiously motivated.”

  Hannes couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to the killings. Something that had yet to be uncovered. And that was precisely the problem.

  CHAPTER 9

  She knew it was coming. She looked up at me and knew it. It was already too late for her to repent. Why do people only realize it when they’re confronted with death? It didn’t have to be this way. She didn’t have to do it. But I did. Her deed couldn’t go unpunished. But was this really the only way? Absolutely. It was too late to make amends. How could she? It was easy this time as well. Even easier than before. The perfect plan. But I also had a good adviser. I have it all under control. It was the right thing to do. I just hope I don’t have to do it again. I didn’t enjoy doing it. But if need be, I could. Now I know how it all works. I know the game and the rules. I could do it again if I had to. Please don’t make me. Is it possible they might suspect something? I doubt it. But what if they do? It’s certainly possible. Should I take the risk? Leave everything else to others? I can’t do that. I’ve done it twice already and can do it a third time. She can destroy everything. I have to do it. She’s making me do it.

  CHAPTER 10

  Four more days had passed. It was now two weeks since the crucifixion, and the pressure was mounting. There was, however, a bright side: Federsen had called in sick at the beginning of the week and would be out sick until further notice. Steffen Lauer had merged the investigation teams and temporarily placed Marcel in charge. The marathon of witness interviews had to be split among fewer colleagues, but Hannes was convinced that they had been able to work much more
effectively without Federsen’s interference.

  This was a welcome change, and it wasn’t long before the team had bonded under Marcel’s levelheaded command. Even Isabelle and Clarissa, who hadn’t gotten along before, had interviewed several witnesses together without incident. But the lucky streak didn’t last long, because soon Per was out with a severe cold.

  The crowd in the cafeteria at lunchtime had also thinned, and Mrs. Öztürk could barely keep up with the incoming prescriptions. Federsen had apparently denounced Hannes as the one responsible for the contagion, which explained the dirty looks.

  That Thursday afternoon, just four detectives sat before Marcel, who was often rummaging for a tissue. He summarized the results of the previous days. As usual, he was wearing faded jeans and a perfectly ironed, form-fitting shirt.

  “Thanks to Per, we were finally able to track down Alexander Kramer’s dealer. His sister had given us the wrong name. His name’s Daniel Novak, not Dennis. He’s a small-time crook.”

  “How’d you identify him?” Lauer asked.

  “Per has built a reliable network of informants, but no one knew a Dennis. One individual remembered Daniel Novak boasting about some porn-star customer he’d regularly put the squeeze on. So we put the squeeze on Novak.”

  Clarissa, who in her late twenties was the youngest member of the team, had conducted the interrogation. Her advantage was in being regularly underestimated. Hannes could picture her backing the dealer into a corner with her barking voice and no-nonsense demeanor. She toyed now with her long fingernails.

  “Daniel Novak said Kramer owed him 2,000 euros,” Clarissa said. “He denied any involvement in the murder. His alibi’s shaky, but why would he have killed him? He wouldn’t get his money, and Kramer was just about to come in to some serious cash. There’s no connection to Sylvia Böhm. According to her husband, she never did drugs.”

  “What about the guy Kramer stole the porn gigs from?” Lauer asked.

  Isabelle took the stage. “Manuel Birkholz is thirty-two years old and has been working in the porn industry for years. He got his first role at twenty-five.”

  “There’s another difference,” added Hannes, who had visited him with Isabelle. “While Kramer was everyone’s favorite, no one liked Mr. Birkholz. He might think himself irresistible, but some of his costars refused to continue working with him. His return to Paradise Images & Productions didn’t last long. The boss kicked him out the door for good.”

  Manuel Birkholz had claimed that he had been taking on various odd jobs to stay afloat. But word had it that he also worked as a call boy specializing in married women. That could explain why he was unable or unwilling to provide alibis.

  Twirling his mustache, Lauer paused to sneeze. He rose from his chair and shuffled over to the water cooler. He downed a vitamin and came back.

  “We need to find out if Birkholz had any connection to Mrs. Böhm. Can we put some pressure on him? Take him into custody?”

  Marcel shook his head. “On what grounds? No one heard him threaten Kramer. All we have is Ms. Kramer’s vague statement that her brother felt harassed by him. We need a lot more.”

  “Then see to it you get more,” Lauer said. “Pay him another visit and put him through the wringer. I have another meeting in ten minutes. So let’s move on. Who else is still on the list?”

  “Matthias Böhm,” Isabelle said. “He couldn’t stand Alexander Kramer, was against the abortion, and his wife wanted to leave him; however, at the time of her death, he was with his accountant.”

  “Though he could have hired someone to commit the murder,” Hannes said. “Maybe he suspected an affair between Kramer and his wife. And from what various New Way members have told us, it might have been true. So he had a motive.”

  “What else came out of all these interviews with the members?” Lauer asked.

  Marcel summed up the interviews. The murder victims had been very popular at New Way. The group was a hodgepodge of characters, but the one thing they had in common was their lack of strict religious attitudes. In many cases, religion played no part in their lives. The members were artisans, housewives, businessmen, and even a local politician.

  “The politician insisted his membership be kept confidential,” Clarissa said. “Apparently he doesn’t want to alienate religious voters.”

  “In any case,” Marcel said, “several people have indicated that the victims were very close. They met a few months ago. No one has any idea who might have had an interest in killing them. So far, none of the members have any significant gaps in their alibis. We haven’t checked out all the alibis, but so far there’s been nothing unusual. We still have a couple more interviews left. There are forty-three of them and only four of us.”

  “I know.” Lauer sneezed. “And if I get any worse, next time you’ll be updating me in my bedroom.”

  Hannes wasn’t sure, but he sensed a certain reproach in Lauer’s voice. He’d been looking at Hannes when he spoke. Evidently, his star was waning.

  For the remaining interviews, Hannes had paired up with Clarissa, while Marcel had left with Isabelle. Clarissa tossed on her leather jacket and walked toward a drab-looking row house. It wasn’t random that she and Hannes were starting here. Since the Schweigers were teachers, they would be home in the afternoon.

  The investigators squeezed past an old Passat on their way to the front door. A few minutes later, they were sitting in a messy living room and being eyed suspiciously by a pair of identical six-year-old boys. Mrs. Schweiger had likewise stared at Hannes and asked about his different-colored eyes. Hannes preferred that over hushed comments and furtive glances, so he explained the pigment disorder called heterochromia iridis.

  The twins had left their toys all over the room, and they began to fight.

  “Marius, if you don’t stop, I’ll remove a star from the chart,” Mrs. Schweiger threatened, and the two police officers stared at each other.

  Mrs. Schweiger looked young for a mother, while her husband appeared to be ten years older. The couple were New Way mainstays. It became clear over the course of the conversation that Mr. Schweiger liked to lecture. It was easy to picture the high school science teacher making his students break into a sweat during class. He had also served as president of New Way for the past four years.

  His wife was an elementary teacher, and her love of children was so obvious that Hannes found it almost grating. Her eyes kept constantly wandering over to the boys, who were playing quietly. It took a while for her to explain all the extracurricular activities and school projects she led. She also sat on the New Way board and coordinated all the children’s activities.

  “Children are the most precious thing in this world. Unfortunately, too many are growing up in dysfunctional families or under difficult circumstances.”

  Mrs. Schweiger explained that she had left the Church in the wake of the abuse scandals and sought a stable community based on fundamental values.

  “I enjoyed working with Sylvia. She loved kids and had lots of great ideas. Which made it all the more incomprehensible why she”—she glanced at her husband—“why she had no children of her own.”

  “Why didn’t she have children?” Hannes asked.

  “Well . . .” Mr. Schweiger started, but his wife couldn’t control herself.

  “She could have had a child, but decided not to. Imagine that. She was so set on having children, and then . . . then she kills the one growing inside her.”

  “Sabine,” Mr. Schweiger said. “That was her decision and none of our business.”

  “Of course it’s our business. We’re a community, and she was making the wrong decision. Not to mention the whole Alexander thing.”

  “What do you mean?” Clarissa asked.

  “He didn’t really fit in from the beginning,” Mr. Schweiger said. “I mean, his whole way of life was so—”

  “Undignified!” Mrs. Schweiger burst out. “Can you imagine? A porn star playing with children? Sylvia encouraged him
because he was good with the kids. But it’s inappropriate.” She lowered her voice, probably so her sons didn’t pick up any “bad” words.

  “What went on between them?” Hannes asked.

  The teachers looked at each other in embarrassment. Mr. Schweiger stood up and ushered the children out of the room. The TV came on in the next room. Shortly thereafter, the overprotective father returned.

  “We’re not intolerant,” he began, but his wife interrupted him.

  “This has nothing to do with intolerance. It was an open secret that they had a relationship.”

  “Are you sure?” Hannes asked. “We’ve heard they got along but that it was purely platonic.”

  “Platonic?” Mrs. Schweiger said. Her cheeks turned red. “During one of our afternoon play times, they disappeared. I went to get some supplies out of our storage room, and I caught them . . . well, you know. What if a child accidentally wandered into the room?”

  Obviously, not everyone in the group was as tolerant as they claimed to be. These two certainly would have liked to kick Sylvia Böhm and Alexander Kramer out of the group.

  “What did the others have to say about it?” Hannes asked.

  “Some saw it how we did. But others stretched the definition of tolerance.”

  “You can say that again,” Mr. Schweiger said. “I had a long conversation with Mr. Beck. He is, after all, sort of like a chaplain. But even he didn’t want to take action against them. And his opinion carries weight. I’m sure the press will find out sooner or later that they were members of our group. It won’t reflect well on us. A porn star in New Way. We wanted to increase our outreach efforts to attract new members.”

  “Don’t get us wrong,” added Mrs. Schweiger. “It’s terrible what happened to Sylvia and Alex. But it’s also terrible what they did.”

  “What a nice couple,” Clarissa said as she started the engine and drove away. “Only confirms my image of teachers. Miserable, stuffy know-it-alls who pass judgment on everything.”