“You don’t have good memories of your school days, do you?” Hannes said.
“Whatever,” Clarissa said. “Who’s next?”
“Rebecca Köhler.” Hannes entered the address into the GPS.
The neighborhood was in a rough area. Clarissa raised an eyebrow and shook her head, her green earrings swinging.
“At least that last visit gave us a different perspective,” Hannes said. “The Schweigers were the first ones not to gush about the victims.”
“That got me thinking. Either the others were better able to hide what they really thought, or this couple is alone in their thinking. Perhaps the group’s split into two factions?”
“An internecine religious war? That seems hard to believe. Could you picture the Schweigers being involved in a murder?”
“No, but a group dynamic is always difficult to assess,” Clarissa countered, and Hannes wondered what in her less than thirty years of existence she hadn’t experienced.
The teachers also provided verifiable accounts for their whereabouts at the times in question. Around the time of the crucifixion, they had hosted friends from Munich. On the following Friday afternoon, they had both been at teacher meetings.
Rebecca Köhler lived on the ninth floor of a drab high-rise. Clarissa searched for the buzzer while a group of bored teens looked on. The elevator was being serviced, so the officers headed for the stairs.
Ms. Köhler was on welfare, and her sparsely furnished apartment was tastefully decorated. She was in her twenties, seemed educated, and had a misty-eyed look about her. She had a completely different take on the victims. Ms. Köhler didn’t have a close relationship with Sylvia Böhm and had nothing bad to say about her. It sounded as though she had felt self-conscious and awkward around her. On the other hand, she gushed about Alexander Kramer. Her eyes turned even mistier. The last time she had seen him was at the fitness class before he disappeared. She didn’t notice anything unusual about his behavior that evening. Afterward, she had met up with a friend. On the day Mrs. Böhm died, she had attended a job training course at the unemployment office, which was easy to verify.
“Alex was a super nice guy. He didn’t look down on anyone and was always friendly. I liked him a lot.” She burst into tears and took several minutes to continue.
“Did he get along well with everyone in the group?” Hannes was pursuing the idea that there were two warring factions.
“As far as I know. How could anyone not get along with him?”
She refused the bait when questioned about an intimate relationship between Mrs. Böhm and Alexander Kramer, claiming she knew nothing. Hannes assumed she only saw what she wanted to see. She painted an incredibly glowing portrait of Kramer.
“Alex was always helpful. I broke up with this guy who wasn’t right for me. In the beginning, he was very kind and loving, but then he started trying to brainwash me. He was very religious and demanded I change my life. I finally broke up with him a few months ago when he started hitting me. But he kept calling and even attacked me in front of New Way. That was three or four weeks ago. Alex grabbed him and told him to leave me alone. He hasn’t bothered me since.”
“What’s the name of your ex-boyfriend?” asked Hannes.
“David Bach.”
“You said he’s very religious. Could he be a member of a cult?”
“No. He goes to the Church of the Creator, so we kept running into each other.”
Clarissa and Hannes informed their colleagues about David Bach over the phone. They made their way to his apartment, but he wasn’t there. The station told them he worked as a forklift driver at a filter-systems factory. His rap sheet was fairly long.
They left the factory empty-handed. David Bach had been sent by a temp agency and worked Monday through Wednesday. A call to the temp agency didn’t help either because he hadn’t been sent to any other jobs. Apparently, a three-day work week was enough for him to survive.
“Eh, it’s probably a false lead anyway.” A testy Clarissa drummed her long fingernails on her cell phone. “Just because he hit his ex-girlfriend and was put in his place by Kramer doesn’t mean he would have killed him.”
“He didn’t just beat her up,” Hannes said as he turned onto the main road. “To get a rap sheet like his, you really have to try. Theft, repeated assault, property damage, trespassing. I mean, the guy’s your age.”
“Just goes to show how boring my life is,” she joked. “My biggest crime was running topless through the red-light district in Hamburg because I lost a bet.”
“Really? How old were you?”
“It wasn’t all that long ago,” she said and smiled. “What’s your biggest offense?”
Clarissa’s phone rang, saving Hannes. She spoke for a few minutes, and Hannes guessed it was Isabelle based on the bits he overheard. She had gone with Marcel to the Church of the Creator to find out more about David Bach.
“That was Isabelle,” Clarissa confirmed as she placed the phone on her slender thigh. “They met the pastor, who said he hadn’t seen Bach for weeks.”
“So much for his piety,” Hannes said.
“The pastor claimed Bach hadn’t done anything wrong for a year. Said he deeply regretted his earlier actions and was leading a decent life.”
“Very decent, beating and stalking his girlfriend.”
He remembered Elke asking him whether New Way had enemies. The information about David Bach would certainly suggest it. After all, the murders pointed to a religious motive. There were no apparent fanatical tendencies within New Way. The moral objections of the Schweigers had so far been the most serious and seemed the only point of contention. Otherwise, the group appeared to be extremely liberal and averse to dogma. That could attract enemies from across the street perhaps. Clarissa also felt this was a reasonable assumption.
“Where are we going, by the way?” She hadn’t been paying attention while Hannes explained his theory.
“Alexander Kramer’s sister lives here,” Hannes said as he turned down the familiar dead-end alley. “Maybe she was there when her brother had his chat with this pious whipping boy.”
Antje Kramer remembered the incident. She was working on a gravestone, and as the detectives approached, they realized she had been carving her brother’s name. The stone was simple and dignified, and she must have invested a lot of effort in its design.
Exhausted, Ms. Kramer wiped her sweaty hair from her forehead and stood up. “It must have been a month ago,” she said. “Rebecca had told us before that her ex-boyfriend abused her. It happened on a Friday night after our meeting. Rebecca had already left to catch her bus. As we were leaving the building, we noticed she was arguing with a guy who grabbed her by the arm. When he started jerking her around, Alex stepped in.”
“Were there any problems with him before?” Clarissa asked.
“I saw him from time to time. We’ve had verbal altercations with people from the Church of the Creator before. When Alex stepped in to protect Rebecca, the guy jumped him and started punching him. I ran over with Sylvia, and the three of us were able to subdue him.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I forgot about that. It’s a good thing you talked to Rebecca.”
Unfortunately, not much else relevant to the investigation stuck out in her mind.
“Have you found a new owner for your brother’s horse?” Hannes asked as Ms. Kramer walked them to the door.
“Sadly, no. I went to see Mr. Böhm yesterday, but he isn’t interested. Apparently, he wants to sell the farm.”
“Understandable. After all, it was more his wife’s project and probably a daily reminder for him that . . .” Hannes caught himself, realizing how tactless that sounded.
“I didn’t get the sense he was too burdened by it. The marriage hadn’t been working for months. I felt like he was trying to shoo me off the farm yesterday. I’ll leave the horse there for now. I’ve paid for boarding through the end of the year.”
“That’s a beautiful bowl,�
� Clarissa said as she picked up a stone vessel.
“It’s not for sale,” Ms. Kramer said and gently took the bowl from her. “It’s supposed to represent a Celtic sacrificial bowl.”
“Who commissioned it? Are some of your customers druids?” Hannes joked.
“No, I use the bowl.” Ms. Kramer sheepishly turned the vessel in her hands. “Actually, the Celts carved sacrificial bowls into the rock. So this isn’t a very realistic interpretation.”
“So what do you use this Celtic bowl for?” asked Clarissa.
Ms. Kramer blushed. “You’ll probably think I’m some wacky New Age person. I’ve always been fascinated by Celtic myths and gods. Every now and then, I go out into the wilderness and hold a small ceremony. Of course I don’t sacrifice animals in this bowl, just plants.”
Clarissa shook her head. “Doesn’t pagan magic conflict with your membership in New Way? After all, there are references to Christianity.”
“Well, we only refer to moral values. Those don’t have to be the Ten Commandments. Alex often said I always pick the god who best suits me.” Ms. Kramer smiled. “But why opt for a single religion? There’s something fascinating and distasteful in every faith. For some reason, I feel magically drawn to Celtic mythology. That’s probably why I feel so at home in our group—we accept more than one truth. Unlike, for example, the Church of the Creator.”
Hannes hadn’t forgotten the key to Lena that evening. He stuck it into the lock of the small wheelhouse. After missing the second class in his boat-safety course the previous week, he wanted to return motivated. Unfortunately, the class he had missed was on navigation, which he found the most difficult.
The door groaned, and Hannes entered the dark room dimly lit by the small harbor. He heard the ocean smack against the hull and harbor walls and felt Lena tug against her ropes as she bobbed. The ship creaked as he placed his hands almost reverently on the worn wood of the old steering wheel. He could already see himself crashing heroically through the stormy waves. Then he explored the belly, which had been expanded and comfortably furnished by Fritz. Hannes plopped down on the bed. Between passing the boating-license test and his maiden voyage, he would have to do some dusting and get rid of the moldy odor.
On his way to the small harbor building, he once again ran into Ole, who held hands with a familiar-looking boy with platinum-blond hair.
“How’s the boating license going? This is my grandson Fiete.”
Hannes confessed he had missed an important class and that he was still confused by navigation.
“At least manual navigation is still being taught,” Ole said. “Most people just rely on technology, but a real captain must be able to deal with a chart and compass. Even on a little boat like yours.”
Hannes told Ole about his visit with Fritz, and Ole scratched his beard.
“Decent of you to see him. I honestly didn’t expect you would. Hmm, speaking of navigation, if you show up an hour before your class, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”
CHAPTER 11
Hannes and Fritz sat opposite each other at the same table as the week before. The guard on duty looked as though she had never left the room. A nod hello, however, proved that she was made of flesh and blood. There were no other visitors that day, so the former colleagues had the space to themselves. Fritz looked much better. As always, he wore a wrinkle-free polo shirt over a pair of black jeans, and his face seemed less gaunt. Hannes had felt a little uneasy at their first meeting and had remained more or less reticent, so he looked forward to a more relaxed reunion this time. But he suspected that it would take some time before he could feel completely at ease.
“How come you’re allowed to wear your own clothes?”
“In principle, we’re supposed to wear a prison uniform, but you can request to wear your own clothes. You’re responsible for washing them, though. As you can see, I know how to use the washing machine.”
He smiled, and Hannes wondered how this restless man could endure his days in captivity. Because Fritz couldn’t stand or walk for very long, he worked in the prison kitchen, where he could sit while preparing meals. Given his former—and what Hannes had thought an almost suicidal—diet, this opened him to a whole new world of experiences. Since he had to serve out the rest of his days in a seventy-five-square-foot room, he figured he might as well make the best of it.
“Ole’s going to help me because I missed the class on navigation. Can’t fail the exam now, he’d take it as an insult. He wants to visit you next week, so I won’t be able to.”
“I doubt that.” Fritz grinned. “I could probably arrange for extended visiting hours. You’ll have to come up with a better excuse.”
Hannes wasn’t about to let his visits become a regular habit. He presented a stack of papers, which after a lively discussion at the security gate, he had been allowed to bring in. “Don’t want you rotting away. Lots of crosswords and a few sudoku puzzles. Now you can enjoy your new hobby even more.”
Although the former Fritz would have never considered such a pastime, his face lit up. “That’s very kind of you; the ones at the commissary are too easy. But let me return the favor. Since you don’t want me to turn into some useless lump, let me share some of my gray matter with you. I understand you won’t discuss any details of the investigation, but I’ve had a lot of time to read the paper, and I couldn’t help but notice that you and Henning are investigating the so-called Jesus Murder. By the way, you looked good in the pictures, unlike him.” He grinned. “We can limit ourselves to what’s already public information. Maybe my outsider’s perspective can provide some insight? Sometimes in an investigation, you can’t see the forest for the trees. I certainly know that.”
Dumbfounded, Hannes stared at Fritz. The sparkle in his eyes spoke volumes. Hannes had seen this look before—Old Fritz was caught up in the thrill of the investigation.
“There’s no giving up with you, is there? Well, what the hell. Why not? That said, I’ll only discuss the facts that the press already knows.”
“Great.” Fritz leaned forward and patted Hannes on the shoulder. The prison guard eyed them suspiciously. “I’ve prepared a few notes.” He pulled out two folded pieces of paper.
Hannes leaned back in his chair. “Am I that easy to read? Did you think you could just win me over?”
“I hoped I could,” said Fritz with a laugh. “But I know you. We’re not so different. All you can think about is catching the killer and whether or not you’re overlooking some crucial detail. That’s how it was with me. The only way I could get my mind off the case was to solve it.”
“Well then, tell me what you’ve figured out so far.”
Fritz massaged his big ears. Hannes could picture him hunched over the desk in his cell, listening to classical music while he put his thoughts on paper.
“The most obvious and strangest thing about this murder is the cross,” Fritz began. “It can have only one of two meanings: either the crime is religiously motivated, or the perp wanted to make it seem that way. It was stated in the paper that the victim was a porn star. This might suggest a religious connection. The perp considers the porn industry immoral and wants to take action against it. Maybe the victim even starred in a film that used religious symbols.”
He looked at Hannes, who had the uncomfortable feeling that Fritz was reading his mind.
“So far, so good.” Hannes kept a straight face. “If this theory is true, then we might as well quit while we’re ahead, because this world’s full of religious fanatics.”
“Not so fast. There must be a reason why this man in particular was crucified. It’s rare to see a victim chosen at random. You need to find out if the dead man came into contact with a religious group.”
They discussed the pros and cons of this theory until Fritz glanced at the clock.
“If it’s just to create a diversion, then it becomes more difficult. Why crucifixion? After all, it’s quite a hassle. It takes more than a few minutes to n
ail someone to a cross and hoist it up. It’d be easy to spot you. In this regard, my second theory overlaps with the first. If the diversion is going to work, then it has to appear realistic. The crime would need a religious connection, even if it’s only incidental. The perp would need to know the victim well.”
“Do you think it’s an individual or group?”
“If religious fanaticism motivated the crime, then my gut feeling would say group. Maybe just two or three people. If the act was committed for personal reasons, then it’s more likely a single perp. Crucifixion might be a physically demanding task, but hatred can awaken unseen strength.”
“So either a group of fanatical religious warriors or a strong, hate-filled individual.”
“At least, that’s my first guess. Either way, you’re looking for someone who knew the victim personally, that much I’m sure of.”
Hannes nodded, but he was reluctant to share. He could never have a conversation like this with Federsen, and he would have preferred investigating the crime with Old Fritz by his side. But it was Old Fritz’s fault he had to bother with Federsen in the first place, and Hannes resented him for it.
I have a long way to go before I’m a pro like him, Hannes thought as he left the prison. What annoyed him the most was that he had accidentally disclosed information regarding the murder of Sylvia Böhm and its presumed connection with Kramer’s death. On the other hand, Hannes was also curious as to what theories Fritz would come up with. It didn’t occur to Hannes that he was already planning for the following week.
“We’re slaving away over two murder cases, while you just paddle across the water,” Federsen said.
Hannes had actually skipped his morning workout to see Fritz and was not happy to see his boss back at the office. He asked if Rebecca Köhler’s abusive ex-boyfriend had surfaced.
“Still no trace,” Clarissa said. “We posted an undercover cop outside his apartment building, but no luck. Either he’s out of town, or he’s up to something.”
The Northern Cross (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel Book 2) Page 9