When she returned to the bedroom, Breggie climbed into bed and cuddled up to Joseph. It was a little while before she finally succumbed to the beguiling warmth and comfort of the bed and she drifted off to sleep.
In the small cot, the baby lay sleeping, oblivious to the big world and the dramas that dogged it. Unaware of it, his tiny brain sensed the smallest quiver deep inside his chest. As the baby drew warm air into his lungs, a small sliver of mucus covered a microscopic airway until it burst under the pressure. This tiniest of irritations was like a reed in the wind and the vibration carried up to his throat and erupted in a single, explosive cough.
Breggie woke again but there was still no noise. She lay her head back on the pillow and wondered how long it would be before the little mite in the cot woke up for his feed. And how much sleep she would get that night. She drifted off to sleep and, at last, everything was peaceful again.
*
Joanna lay awake in the darkness, her eyes wide open. Unlike Breggie de Kok, sleep was a stranger to her that night. She had tried reading, watching a late night movie on television, blanking her mind and breathing deeply, but it was all to no avail. Her mind kept going back to the horrific scenes of the kidnap. The noise, the deaths, and her darling Manny being cruelly snatched from her. The woman’s eyes floated before her, untouchable and unreachable. The eyes were manic, yet beautiful. Cauldrons of Satanic power, pools of enchantment. Where had she seen them before?
The question had burned a fire in Joanna’s soul and threatened to destroy her unless she could find the answer. Joanna knew that if she could put a name to the eyes, the policeman, Hoffman, would find her. But how many people does one meet in a lifetime she wondered? How many people leave some kind of unforgettable impression? The questions rolled through her mind like tumbling balls in a lottery. If only she could pick the right one.
Eventually Joanna threw back the bedclothes and got out of bed. She was aware of the dawn light seeping round the edges of the curtains; another day. She rang through to the night staff for a pot of tea to be sent to her room then took a shower.
Twenty minutes later Joanna was dressed in a loose fitting sweater and a pair of blue jeans. She had no make-up on. It was the first time for as long as she could remember. She put on a pair of flat, espadrille shoes and poured herself a second cup of tea which she carried through to the room in which Hoffman had interviewed her and Schiller the day before. When she got there she was surprised to see the huge curtains drawn back and Schiller sitting in one of the leather chairs.
Joanna put her cup on a coffee table. The clink of the china made Schiller turn in his chair. He was about to stand up, but Joanna reached him first. She took his hand and kissed him gently on the forehead.
“Good morning, Manfred. Couldn’t you sleep either?” She sat opposite him.
Schiller sighed heavily. His face looked lined and deeply troubled. The kidnapping seemed to have aged him considerably. Joanna was quite concerned.
“Hallo, meine liebchen.” He often greeted her like that; two languages, but they always spoke in German. This was something Joanna had insisted on from their very first meeting. “No, I couldn’t.”
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve been sitting here watching the dawn come for some time, wondering what it is that makes man so evil to his fellow creature.”
“It’s in our nature,” Joanna told him. “We all have a degree of cruelty in us. Most of us suppress it. Others have no wish to.”
He let his gaze drift back to the panoramic view through the huge window. He said nothing for a while.
“It makes me very angry,” he said eventually, “that men should treat an infant that way. Such a child. He does not deserve that.”
She reached forward and took his hand. “Please don’t worry. We shall get little Manny back, you’ll see.” Joanna found it difficult to believe it herself. “As soon as they tell us how much they want, we shall pay the money and little Manny will be back here with us where he belongs.”
Schiller looked back at Joanna. There was a deep sadness in his eyes that was meant for Joanna, not the infant.
“Oh my dear, dear Joanna, they don’t want money. It’s something else.”
Joanna stiffened. “Have you heard something already?”
He shook his head. “No, but I know what they want.”
“What?”
He didn’t reply in the way Joanna expected him to. Instead, he began to talk about his childhood.
“When I was a little boy, I was very clever. I mean, whatever I had to learn at school, I could without any effort. It wasn’t something I postured about, and none of my friends seemed to resent me for it. I was also blessed with a sharp brain and a torturous intellect which could destroy most arguments among my peer group.” He looked up briefly and smiled. “I could see through anybody. I could spot their deviousness, their trickery, their cunning. I had power and was sublimely happy. But I never used that power to control people, unless they wanted to be controlled.
I built up a small business, employed a couple of friends and by the time I was fifteen years old I sold the business at an enormous profit. At sixteen years of age I knew I was going to be rich and successful. The power that God had blessed me with would carry me through life on a golden chariot.”
Schiller paused there and his mood became a little more sombre. “But then I encountered a power that was not born of talent or God given. A power that was manifestly evil. A power that destroyed men and nations, took from them their dignity, their roots and their lives; a power that controlled others through fear and intimidation. It was an inimical, despotic, evil power.”
Joanna saw rage in Schiller’s mind; an almost uncontrollable ferment burning away at him.
“The Nazis,” she said simply.
It seemed to snap Schiller out of his mood. He sighed heavily, nodding his head as he did so.
“I couldn’t believe what they were up to at first. My instincts told me they were no good. Hitler was a supreme orator. His speeches were powerful and commanding; mesmerising even. But I could see through him. Trouble was Joanna,” and here he allowed himself a little chuckle. “I was making money hand over fist because of his rebuilding programme. I was also converting most of my money to gold and shipping it out because I knew that no good would come of Hitler’s plans. It was that old instinct again. I continued to make money throughout the war, and believe me, I was in torment, but I was a businessman first and foremost.
Then I met Otto Schindler. Do you know of him?” He didn’t wait for Joanna’s response but carried on. “He was a successful Austrian businessman who employed many, many Jews in his factories. And, right under the noses of the Nazis, he was instrumental in shipping a lot of them out to Palestine. He was a truly wonderful, brave man. So, unknown to Herr Schindler, I channelled funds into his underground pipeline. The irony of it all is that I was charged with war crimes after the war.”
“I didn’t know that,” Joanna said, showing surprise. “I can’t believe it.”
Schiller laughed gently. “The War Crimes Commission spread their net so wide that practically every businessman in Germany who survived the war was thought to have something to answer for. But, they returned my passport and I went on making more money rebuilding Germany and absorbing as much of the rest of the world as I could.”
Joanna wondered where all this was leading to. “What has this got to do with Manny’s kidnap? Are you saying that someone is seeking revenge?”
He shook his head. “Nothing like it. What they want is my power. They want control of my empire.”
Schiller’s empire as he called it was the envy of all businessmen the world over. It was almost inevitable that whatever anyone touched during their normal day, it would have had some connection with Schiller. He controlled an enormous portfolio in raw materials, communications, shipping, aviation, armaments, space exploration and medicine. There was
little on planet earth in which Schiller had no involvement.
He stood up and took Joanna by the hand so that she had to stand as well. He wanted her to understand so much that by pure, physical contact he hoped that she would feel what he felt.
“Joanna, what I am about to tell you could be dangerous. But I feel you are entitled to know what the stakes are. It is my belief that Germany will dominate Europe within the next ten years. Totally. We now have full monetary union with other member states of the European Union and soon the European Constitution will be ratified; of that there can be no doubt. The Bundesbank will eventually be in control. We have seen the Bundestag, the German Parliament return to the Reichstag, to Berlin. That is a massive, psychological boost to the German nation. I fear for the rest of Europe and for the rest of the world. My money, my empire and my power could provide the German people with such a feeling of supremacy it would be like a drug. We are a strong nation, mein liebchen, magnificently strong, but we must never be allowed control. That is why I have made a covenant; to ensure that not one penny, nor one brick, of my money and my empire will belong to the German nation.”
He stopped there. Joanna waited for a moment, expecting him to go on, to clarify that last statement. When it was obvious he wasn’t about to say anything else, she asked him who he had made the covenant to.
He shook his head. “I cannot tell you that, Joanna. It would be too dangerous. And you must never reveal to anyone what I have told you. Anyone!”
He paused again as if unsure of what he would say next. For a moment, he was unable to look at her. His eyes focussed on the backs of his hands. Suddenly, he looked up.
“Joanna, there is something else.” He paused for a while as though there was a conflict in his mind and what he was about to say he was finding difficult. At last he sighed and his eyes seemed to pierce Joanna deep into her soul. “I am a Jew.”
Joanna gasped. It was almost unbelievable. This man was the very symbol of Germanic power; the epitome of Hitler’s dream for the Aryan Race.
“It is something I have kept secret for most of my life,” he went on, ignoring Joanna’s obvious expression of astonishment. “I had to in order to guarantee my survival. My father told me, when I was quite young and that if I ever admitted being a Jew, it would destroy me. He told me that he had never followed the Jewish faith, or lived the Jewish life because he despised them. But he knew when Hitler came to power that the fate of all Jews in Germany had been sealed. He kept his secret through embarrassment and then through fear. I have kept mine, because of my father’s warning to save my life. The few people who knew my secret are all dead. They died in the camps,” he added sadly. “So you see, I cannot let them have my power, for as God is my witness, the terror will begin again.”
Joanna felt a cold chill slither down her back. Schiller’s manner, his change from an old man reminiscing to one who held such strong views about his own people, showed the fear he had of some awful fate being visited upon the heads of those who had no control over their own destiny.
“And you honestly believe that? In today’s modern world?” she asked him.
“You do not understand,” he replied slowly. “Young people simply do not comprehend the sheer, awful insanity that engulfed the world in those dark days. It would happen again,” he added with a shrug. “Believe me Joanna, it would happen again.”
Suddenly his attitude changed. From the prophet of doom he switched to the indulgent father-in-law.
“No more talk of it now, Joanna,” he told her brightly. “You and Manny will have a happy life. You are both well provided for. Now, let us go and get some breakfast.”
He put an arm around a bewildered Joanna’s shoulder and led her from the room. He had told her to think no more of it, but deep in his heart, Schiller was a troubled man.
*
Hoffman was fast asleep when Jansch walked through the door and turned on the overhead light. It was six o’clock. Hoffman screwed his eyes up against the light and took the offered cup of coffee gratefully. Jansch went across to Hoffman’s desk and sat down.
“Did you have company last night?”
Hoffman looked up from the coffee. “Who’d want to get into a bed this big with me?” he growled.
“I was thinking more of a social visit than an ‘assignation’.”
Hoffman swung his feet out of the bed and stood up. As he pulled on his trousers he asked Jansch what he was getting at.
“Doctor Kistler, didn’t he see you last night?”
“No. You were the last person I saw. Why?”
“Oh. Well, it was just that I saw his name in the log when I booked in this morning. He left about thirty minutes after me last night.”
Hoffman shook his head and wandered away towards the washroom. “He was probably working late.”
Jansch thought no more of it and concentrated on his coffee and an attempt to convince himself that he had slept longer than the three hours he’d been in bed. He was still wishing his alarm clock hadn’t gone off when Hoffman walked back into the room. Jansch yawned and spun the file towards him that was lying on Hoffman’s desk. Hoffman pulled his shirt on. Suddenly, he stopped.
“What did you do just then?”
Jansch gave him a peculiar look. “I don’t know. Yawned, I guess.”
“No.” He shook his head. “The file.” Hoffman pointed at the desk. “Have you just started reading it? Just then?”
Jansch nodded, not sure what his boss was driving at. “I’ve just this second opened it.”
“You turned it round.”
“I had to; I wouldn’t have been able to read it otherwise. Why?”
Hoffman returned to the task of getting dressed. “Oh, nothing really.” He shook his head. “Forget it. I think my brain must be asleep still.” He picked up his cup and walked over to the desk. “Look, there won’t be a great deal happening for a while. I think I’m going home for some breakfast. Say hello to Elke. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He put his empty cup on the desk and started walking out of the office. “The rest of the team should be here shortly,” he called back over his shoulder. “Tell them I’ll have a briefing at nine o’clock.”
He rode the lift down to the ground floor and couldn’t get the file out of his mind. When he had finished reading it the night before, he had got up from his desk and left it there. This morning, Jansch had been sitting in his chair and had to turn the file round to read it. It could only have meant one thing: someone had been in his office while he had slept and read the file.
He stepped out of the lift at the ground floor and checked the night log at the front desk. Apart from the night staff, none of whom had any reason to enter the incident room (they would have woken him anyway) the only people in that building after Jansch had left were himself and Doctor Aaron Kistler.
*
Conor closed the door of his flat. He was carrying a large, black plastic bag. It contained the few possessions he felt he needed. Not that he had much, but enough to see him through the next few days. The remainder of his possessions he left behind to convey the impression that his flat was still lived in.
He carried the bag down to his car and put it in the boot. Then he drove to a local shopping precinct and parked his car in the free car park. He then began touring the local estate agencies and reading local adverts in an effort to secure lodgings close to his apartment. By mid-afternoon Conor found the ideal bed-sit on the opposite side of the road and about fifty metres from his other place.
His landlady, a jovial little woman by the name of Frau Lindbergh, asked for one month’s rent in advance and the promise that he conduct himself with due respect to the other tenants. She assured him that hers was a respectable establishment and everybody kept themselves to themselves. Conor was quite happy about that. He had a key and somewhere to stay. It was all he needed.
*
Oberkommissar Otto Lechter had just finished reading the signal co-opting him on to Hoffman’s team
at Police Headquarters in Bonn when the phone rang. It was to advise him of the explosion in Schwelm which was in his district of responsibilities. Lechter was head of a department in KK11, the serious crimes division in Wuppertal. The explosion had thought to be the result of a spark igniting escaping gas, but preliminary investigation by the fire department and gas engineers had resulted in the police being called. The phone call was to tell Lechter that the cause of the explosion had been a bomb.
Lechter replaced the phone. He was now faced with a small dilemma: should he call Hoffman and ask to be excused the new task? Or should he hold out for a few days? He decided on the latter simply because he was a career man and wanted to become a well-known face where it mattered. And Hoffman, at the moment was where it mattered.
He drove out to the remains of the house, parked his police car and ducked beneath the red and white police tape strung round the property. The forensic team was still at it. There was a small fire team getting in the way of the forensic department, and the usual gathering of neighbours and sightseers. Members of the Press were also there.
The house was a total wreck. All that was clearly visible were the remains of the garage. Because the house was in about half an acre of ground, the debris had, mercifully, settled largely within the boundary. It was inevitable that some of it would be found quite some distance away. Lechter’s quick glance told him that combing through what was left would only reveal clues if the search was concentrated at the heart of the blast. But that was not his remit; forensics would do that.
He saw a face he recognised as Kommissar Baum. The Inspector was already walking across to him.
“You senior officer here?” Lechter asked him.
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