“I just had another thought,” Hannes said. “When we talk to the people from New Way again, we should ask if anything unusual has happened to them lately. Maybe it would give us a clue about the murders.”
“That makes perfect sense,” said Marcel. “But we need to be discreet. We don’t want to trigger a panic in the group. Ah, here comes the rest of the team. We can discuss it now.”
Federsen trudged into the room and ignored Hannes. He threw himself into the only seat to assert his place in the pecking order. Marcel balanced himself on an exercise ball behind his desk to manage his back pain. The young detectives were forced to remain standing for the duration of the meeting.
Per spoke first. He had done some research on the Church of the Creator and had learned some interesting facts. In his assessment, it was a conservative fundamentalist group which had sparked controversy before due to its literal interpretation of the Bible and its promotion of antiliberal values. The church attracted new members with promises of salvation, which evidently worked quite well.
“In the last three years, its membership has increased nearly 30 percent. The church now has around five thousand members in Germany, with two hundred in our city. Founded in Stuttgart, it now has multiple locations. It’s completely independent and doesn’t belong to an umbrella organization like the German Evangelical Alliance, which includes a wide range of independent churches and Evangelical Lutheran churches. However, these aren’t cults or religious fanatics. In total, the Alliance counts some 1.3 million active members, and some of the constituent churches are a little quirky. One religious community—”
“Get to the point and stick with the Church of the Creator. The rest is irrelevant,” said Federsen.
“Uh, right. So, the Church of the Creator was founded in 1988 and has gradually expanded from southern Germany all over the country. It maintains a particularly dogmatic interpretation of the Bible. However, it doesn’t belong to the so-called Charismatic Movement, where firebrand preachers whip people up into a frenzy.”
“That Mr. Ahrendt was by no means charismatic,” Hannes said.
“How’s the church financed?” asked Marcel.
“Like other independent churches: exclusively through donations. It doesn’t receive any government funding. Donations are supposedly voluntary, but a certain amount of pressure is probably placed on members. It’s been noted that members of independent churches show much greater commitment than attendees of established churches. For example, as a rule, they attend religious services more regularly. What’s more, there’s a surprising number of high earners in the church’s ranks. The Church of the Creator is unlikely to go broke anytime soon.”
“Five thousand members. Well, have fun questioning everyone,” Clarissa said. “And if we add all the other independent churches as a precaution, we’ll be at it for years.”
“Per pointed out that these churches represent a broad spectrum,” Marcel reminded her. “So we shouldn’t lump them all together. The majority of members practice their faith peacefully. You’ll be in a better position to determine whether this also applies to the local branch of the Church of the Creator after attending their service on Sunday.”
“I’m sure you’ll get a warm welcome,” joked Per, who was obviously glad to have avoided the assignment. But Federsen burst that bubble.
“You’ll go with her. After all, you’re the one with the most background information. You can find out if what you learned is correct and hang out with some truly radical Christians. Where are we with the New Way interviews? Any evidence of incidents with certain people from the Church of the Creator?”
“We’ve only been able to reach a few so far,” Isabelle said. “We’ll probably have more luck this afternoon when people start their weekends. So far all we’ve heard is that they’ve gotten dirty looks and comments. But the situation calmed down after New Way started meeting on Fridays.”
“There’s only been a few isolated confrontations since the beginning of the year,” said Clarissa. “A woman was told at a children’s party to stop spoiling the kids. And at this year’s summer festival, a few people from the Church of the Creator distributed pamphlets. An argument ensued, and in the end, two cops had to intervene.”
“Well, at least that’s a start,” Hannes said. “Maybe they took down names and addresses.”
“We checked. It’s not like we were born yesterday,” Clarissa said. “There were five names, including two from New Way: Mr. Lück and Mr. Beck.”
“Did it get physical? I’d have a hard time picturing those two getting into a fight. They must have been provoked.”
“A fight might be a little exaggerated. Let’s just say there was some shoving,” Isabelle said. “Who pushed who first, we’ll never know. However, two members of the Church of the Creator did get into a scuffle with our colleagues.”
“One of them we already know by name—and Hannes at least from behind,” Clarissa joked.
“We need to catch that guy!” Federsen shouted as if David Bach had just waltzed through the door. “Who were the other two?”
“A Ludwig Obermann and a Frank Meister. Neither has a criminal record. Obermann is forty; Meister, thirty-four. He was the other guy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Obermann, however, behaved.”
“Let’s teach those two a lesson.” Federsen banged on the table. “Niehaus can stay here and continue calling New Way members. No more slipups.”
Isabelle and Clarissa had been able to reach the first seven members on the list, so there were thirty-four left for Hannes. Although many numbers were for cell phones, his success didn’t start improving until after five. As was to be expected, many from New Way remembered the incident at the summer festival as well as David Bach. One member mentioned finding a pile of dog poop on the group’s doorstep, but he couldn’t be certain if the Church of the Creator was to blame.
Hannes asked if anything unusual had happened to them personally. What constituted unusual was, of course, subjective. A few of the statements made Hannes laugh. He did, however, learn of incidents which couldn’t just be attributed to anxiety, exaggeration, or bad luck.
Wolfgang Hartmann, the department store owner, stated that he had been the recipient of repeated calls on Sundays in July until he finally had his number changed. He was one of the few names that Hannes could put a face to. He remembered Hartmann as the plump man who had hugged him at the meeting last Friday and as the Earth Spirit at the rehearsal. Hartmann hadn’t reported the alleged telephone calls, but he insisted that his phone had rung hourly every Sunday for a month.
“It started at six in the morning, and it didn’t stop until eleven at night. Whenever I picked up, nobody answered. The first Sunday, I kept thinking it was just kids playing a prank.”
“Who did you think it was the following three Sundays?” Hannes asked.
“I assumed it was just some crazy person who randomly dialed numbers. So I just put my phone on silent and then got a new number.”
Alarm bells went off in Hannes’s head. Of course, it could also have been completely harmless. After all, the incident was several months ago, and Mr. Hartmann hadn’t experienced anything out of the ordinary since. A Beatrice Reichert, who sounded elderly, told Hannes about a burglary of her ground floor apartment.
“I made it easy for the burglar,” she said, somewhat embarrassed. “I always forget to close my patio door in the summer. He didn’t even have to break in.”
“But let me guess, you didn’t use the insurance money to replace anything,” Hannes said.
“That’s the thing. Nothing of value was stolen.”
“How do you know you were robbed when nothing was stolen?” Hannes asked.
“They took only items of great personal value, not material. Mementos that meant a lot to me. I used to be a successful ballet dancer. Then I got sick and couldn’t dance anymore. My world collapsed. But I still had souvenirs that I could look at, and they would take me back to those wond
erful days.”
“What sorts of things were taken?” Hannes asked.
“Photos from my performances, my old ballet slippers, awards, newspaper articles.”
“Strange,” Hannes said. He had never heard of burglars who specialized in ballet memorabilia. “Where did you keep the stuff?”
“In a box, which my friends jokingly called my treasure chest. I kept it in the living room under a large picture that had been taken during my last performance. That photo’s also gone.”
“Otherwise nothing else was stolen?”
Mrs. Reichert was insistent. Hannes made a mental note to ask his colleagues about their impressions of her from when they had questioned her. Perhaps she was just some scatterbrained old lady who had misplaced the souvenirs while cleaning the house.
His next two interviewees couldn’t think of any mysterious or odd incidents and were suspicious about the reason for the question. Hannes had hoped that “investigating all leads” would be a satisfactory explanation, but neither sounded convinced.
After speaking to twelve more people, Hannes hadn’t learned anything new. A glance at the clock showed that he still had time for one last phone call before heading downtown to meet Ben and Elke at the movies.
Vanessa Brinkmann picked up immediately and didn’t seem very surprised by his question.
“Oh, you know,” she said, “these last few weeks have been a complete mess. In late summer, I endured the loss of my children, then the murders, and now the death of Antje. Work’s been nonstop. I’ve barely had time to visit my parents in the nursing home.”
“I’m so sorry,” Hannes said. “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“That you lost your children this summer.”
“I said that the wrong way. They’re not dead. It’s more that I’m dead to them.”
“Oh, okay.”
“My daughter and son are in their midtwenties. When my daughter was two, I separated from my husband and raised my children on my own. I didn’t want to have any more contact with their father. It wasn’t easy because I worked full-time, which was still unusual then, and there wasn’t childcare like there is today.” She sighed, and Hannes hoped she would get to the point. His bus was coming in a few minutes. He quickly sent Ben a text message telling him to buy the tickets and only half listened.
“They probably lacked a father figure. It often wasn’t easy. We had a somewhat complicated relationship in recent years. I . . . well, I didn’t agree with everything they did. Anyway. I always maintained that their father had died in an accident. I had even thrown out all my photos of him. We moved back then, so there was no danger that they’d run into one another. But in September, my children received a letter telling them that their father was still alive and that I’d lied to them all these years. They were so upset that they broke off all contact with me.”
“Hmm,” Hannes said. “Certainly took some gall on your former husband’s part to send the letter. But I’m sure your son and daughter will start talking to you again.” He glanced at his watch.
“But the letter couldn’t have come from my ex-husband,” Mrs. Brinkmann said. “He died before it was sent. He was run over by a truck in June after running out into the street drunk. My kids never got a chance to meet him.”
Despite an all-out sprint, Hannes just missed the bus. Fortunately, the driver stopped again to let the wildly waving cop on.
“Thank you very much,” Hannes said as he tried to catch his breath. The bus driver nodded. Hannes squeezed past a group of young people who had evidently been pregaming and were now on their way to a party. There was an empty seat in the rear.
“Well, what a surprise,” someone said.
Hannes looked over. “Oh, hello, Mr. Beck,” he said and shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Was your meeting canceled tonight?”
“No, no. I’m just running a little late because I was visiting Mrs. Schlichter. She’s also a member but unfortunately can’t make it because she’s bedridden. Her mind’s still sharp, though. I visit her every Friday. It took a little longer today because the recent incidents have really upset her. I hope you’re getting somewhere with your investigation. Our members are very concerned.”
Hannes tried to give the impression that they had everything under control. He also seized the opportunity to ask Mr. Beck about any unusual events.
“You could say that I was unfortunately somewhat of a guinea pig. When I was working as a priest in North Rhine-Westphalia, we had problems with a small group of anarchists. They’d disrupt Mass, hold demonstrations, and once even urinated in the baptismal font. Now I’m the chaplain of a secular group, and it seems I’ve still pissed someone off.”
“How so?”
“Mr. Ahrendt from the Church of the Creator keeps accosting me for, in his words, ‘going astray.’ But since I know that I live out Christian values today just as much as I did before, I can take it. This summer, however, my tires were slashed outside our meeting place. Since then, I started taking the bus. Then, someone put a picture of the Devil in my mailbox a few weeks ago, and there was an anonymous complaint against me that I was supposedly working as a psychiatrist without proper qualifications. As you know, that’s complete nonsense. I’ve never called myself a psychiatrist, and the sign on my gate doesn’t say that either.”
“Did you report any of this to the police?” Hannes asked.
“No. I’m used to a lot by now and have learned that there’s not much the police can do. I’m sorry—I don’t mean you personally. My wife’s a bit worried, especially after the murders. We had hoped we’d be able to lead a quiet life here. We went through a lot when the parish found out we were a couple. Celibacy is still a prerequisite for being a Roman Catholic priest. It was not an easy time.”
Hannes now realized why he’d gotten the impression when he’d first met Mrs. Beck that she’d endured a tragic life.
“I have to change buses here,” said Mr. Beck. “Have a nice weekend.”
Hannes’s mind raced for the remainder of his ride. Fritz had once again demonstrated a sixth sense. Some of the New Way members actually had incidents to report, and the list of interviewees was still quite long. The question was whether or not these incidents were connected in some way to the murders.
Hannes’s phone rang. Clarissa’s voice soon thundered in his ear.
“Federsen, Per, and I had the pleasure of visiting Frank Meister at his home. We shouldn’t have contacted him first, though. He’s definitely friends with David Bach. And if Bach was hiding out there, then we gave him enough time to escape. Meister claimed he hadn’t seen him in a while.”
“Why’d you call first?”
“It was Federsen’s idea. He didn’t want to have to travel all the way there just to stand in front of an empty apartment,” Clarissa said.
“Ah, but he never makes mistakes,” Hannes said cynically. They were even now. He wouldn’t forget this slipup the next time Federsen accused him of botching the Birkholz interview. He listened intently to the rest of Clarissa’s report.
Frank Meister had been a member of various independent churches since he was a child. His deeply religious family had joined the Church of the Creator several years ago. He worked as an optician in a small shop and had, in Clarissa’s opinion, been “thoroughly brainwashed.”
“Although he didn’t come across intellectually stunted, the stilted language he used to explain his beliefs did seem odd. And he kept going on and on the entire time,” Clarissa said. “He’d make the perfect missionary. I wonder if he gives a free Bible with every pair of glasses. He had an answer for every question or comment. He’ll make your head spin.”
“It’s odd that he’s friends with a daredevil like Bach.”
“We only found that out because in addition to the umpteen crosses and other religious junk, there were a ton of photos hanging on his walls. Most were of church events, and it was obvious that they got along quite well. There were pi
ctures of a pilgrimage they went on together. But it’s true, he seems more the brains while David Bach’s probably the muscle. And it shows.”
Unlike Bach with his imposing stature, Frank Meister hid his spindly, anemic-looking body under some pretty stodgy clothes. He had a razor-sharp side part and wore round John Lennon glasses. Clarissa was convinced that his eyes had a fanatical glint, but Hannes did not want to read too much into this interpretation. As expected, Meister did not have a very high opinion of New Way, but he chose his words carefully and refused to be finessed. Outraged, he denied the involvement of any members of the Church of the Creator in instigating conflict. The dispute over the summer was provoked by New Way, and the scuffle with the police was purely a misunderstanding.
“Have you heard anything from Isabelle and Marcel?” Hannes asked as he stepped off the bus one stop early to continue the conversation without being disturbed.
“Yes. They met up with Ludwig Obermann, who runs a small carpentry business and does wood carving. He apparently has a very impressive collection of Madonnas and saints. You could say he’s the religious counterpart to Antje Kramer, only he works with wood.”
“Making a wooden cross like the one Alexander Kramer was nailed to wouldn’t be too difficult for him then,” Hannes said. “And I assume he’s also strong enough to set it up.”
“But Isabelle described him as somewhat oafish and not very thoughtful or noticeably aggressive. He claimed he was just trying to defuse the situation during the confrontation with New Way.”
“He contradicts Frank Meister, who said it was all just a misunderstanding.”
“Like I said, he doesn’t seem to be the brightest. He’s unwittingly stabbed his coreligionists in the back. Unlike Meister, it should be easier to get him to talk. He’s just as deeply religious, though.”
“He might have been used,” said Hannes. “He innocently threw together a cross, and the others finished the job.”
“Maybe. He couldn’t deny ever having made a giant wooden cross. Well, at least we have a promising new lead, though we shouldn’t forget Matthias Böhm.”
The Northern Cross (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel Book 2) Page 15