by Jack Gatland
‘When do you have your next medical?’
‘In a week,’ Monroe looked back out of the window again, ensuring that Bullman couldn’t see the concern on his face. ‘If they see no improvement, there’s a chance I’ll be benched until retirement. Or, maybe even given early retirement on medical grounds.’
‘Is that so bad?’ Bullman placed a hand on Monroe’s arm to bring his attention back into the plane. ‘You could retire with honour, Alex. Take it easy.’
‘I’ve seen retirement,’ Monroe grumbled. ‘Patrick Walsh told me it was the worst mistake he ever made. That and promotion.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bullman frowned. Monroe smiled, but it was faint, bittersweet.
‘Admiral Kirk,’ he replied.
‘Oh, that.’ Bullman crossed her arms as she stared at Monroe. ‘Rosanna told me about this. Never liked Star Trek. Too fictional.’
‘But the point still stands,’ Monroe replied. ‘He was never happier than when he was out there. And it’s the same for me.’
‘What if they offer you the role?’
Monroe laughed at this. ‘Christ, I’d ask if they were that short staffed,’ he said. ‘Besides, they already spoke to me about this. I told them that if I was medically cleared I didn’t want it and gave them a suggestion who they should speak to.’
Bullman stayed silent at this for a moment.
‘You’d make a good Detective Superintendent,’ she eventually said. Monroe shrugged.
‘Not my path,’ he replied, looking back out of the window. After a minute of staring, he looked back to Bullman, trying to get a read on her reaction to this.
She was already reading her book, their conversation already forgotten.
The headquarters of the Bundeskriminalamt was immense; more of a compound than a building, it comprised a series of three-storey red bricked buildings laid out in what felt like a small campus, with roads spider-webbed between each building, and a more functional concrete office block in the middle of a collection of long, narrow red ones. But the layout of the federal offices wasn’t that important, as Monroe realised incredibly quickly, when the gate guard barred their entrance.
They would never see it.
‘We have had orders to stop you entering the premises,’ the guard explained with no hint of apology.
‘But we’re Detective Chief Inspectors in the United Kingdom Police Force!’ Monroe exclaimed. ‘We have a working relationship with the German Police! Who told you to bar us?’
‘An order from the main office.’ The guard tried not to, but the hint of a sneer crossed his face. ‘It looks like your working relationship is not as close as you seem to think so. Things are not so smooth here after Brexit, eh?’
Monroe was about to argue the point when movement to his side distracted him; a woman had exited the building to their left and was now walking over to them. In her thirties, she was Asian, with short, spiky hair that completely contrasted with her black suit, while making her look twice as cool as either Monroe or Bullman. As she reached them, she held out a hand.
‘Kriminalkommissar Margaret Li, of the Schwere und Organisierte Kriminalität,’ she said as she shook Monroe’s hand. ‘I work with Rolfe Müller.’
‘I’m guessing he’s the one who told you not to let us in?’ Monroe asked. ‘Sounds about right, especially if you’ve got a guilty conscience.’
Margaret nodded.
‘Actually, he said you are actively harassing him, while interfering with his case,’ she explained as she lead them away from the gatehouse and back to the street. ‘My superiors listen to every word that he says, and they believe what he says. Me? Not so much. Especially as he is not assigned to any cases right now.’
‘So he is AWOL?’ Monroe smiled. ‘I bloody knew it.’
‘Not so much that, more on duty but with his own autonomy,’ Margaret explained. ‘We did not realise he was in England until he called us.’ She pointed north, up the street. ‘Schlesischer Busch is just up there. It is a nice, small park, and they have a street van that sells coffee. It is a sunny day, good for a walk.’
‘So we can’t discuss the case?’ Monroe muttered with exasperation. Bullman however nodded to Margaret.
‘I think we are, Alex,’ she said. ‘In the only way she can.’
Schlesischer Busch was one of several small state parks in the area, and on paper was nothing more than a square of park with office buildings to the south and west, a busy road to the east and a canal to the north. However, once you entered the park, you could see that it was a warm, green area, with flowing paths and tree lined corners, a place where families could gather, and children played; but the first thing that Monroe saw when he entered it was a grafitti covered watchtower that loomed over the rest of the park, a stark reminder of a time long passed.
‘That’s the Führungsstelle Schlesischer Busch,’ Margaret explained as she pointed to it. ‘All of this, the park, the streets, even the offices we came from were within East Berlin back when the wall was up. That was a watchtower on this side of the wall which would have run through the middle of the park, although back then there was no park here, just warehouses, train tracks and gatehouses. There would have been a small space between the inner and outer wall, which was built up beside the Flutgraben canal.’
Monroe stared towards the watchtower and the canal, almost envisioning what things would have looked like a generation ago.
‘However, it has all since been removed, and the Schlesischer Busch now houses art exhibits,’ Margaret continued. Monroe couldn’t take his eyes off the watchtower as he nodded. Margaret was already making her way towards a small coffee truck, and Bullman followed, dragging Monroe with her.
‘So what couldn’t you say at your offices?’ she asked.
‘It is policy not to speak badly of our detectives,’ Margaret replied as she ordered an espresso. ‘I am sure you have the same?’
‘Ours is less a policy, and more of a vague guideline,’ Bullman replied.
‘One we don’t follow that much, either,’ Monroe grinned as he pointed to a latte on the menu. Margaret thought about this for a moment and then nodded.
‘Well here, it is a little more official, than as a politeness. And I have known Rolfe since I started here.’
‘And when was that?’ Monroe asked. Margaret glared at him.
‘What,’ she said, ‘you think that because I don’t look like a German I’m not one? I was born in West Berlin, Detective Chief Inspector. I am as German as anyone else.’
‘I meant, how long have you been working together?’ Monroe replied calmly. ‘I don’t care about your heritage.’
Margaret seemed to soften at that. ‘Six years,’ she answered as she waited for her coffee. ‘I know him better than anyone in there.’
‘So why do you think he went AWOL?’ Bullman asked. ‘And don’t tell us he’s on a mission or some kind of secret arrangement. That he phoned in to ask his superiors to help in barring us from our enquiries gives us a ton of doubt on that.’
‘You have not yet explained your enquiries,’ Margaret accepted a small cup of espresso, paying with her credit card via a contactless reader. ‘I do not know how relevant they are.’
‘We’re looking into the Müller family,’ Bullman answered, grabbing a bottled water. ‘In particular, his father and his sister.’
‘His sister is a conversation all on its own,’ Margaret sipped at her drink as Monroe paid for his latte.
‘We’ve time for both conversations,’ Monroe replied. ‘So why is Rolfe in Hurley?’
‘He is on leave,’ with their drinks now purchased, Margaret walked over to a bench, sitting down on it. ‘There was a case, a violent one. Gang related, and incredibly traumatic. He was sent home, medical leave until he was allowed back.’
‘I know how that feels,’ Monroe muttered. Margaret either didn’t hear this or ignored it as she continued.
‘His sister, she visited him while he recovered. Next thing I kno
w, she has then been hired as his assistant and he travels to England with her.’
‘Do detectives usually have assistants?’ Monroe asked. Margaret shook her head.
‘I believe he was helping her,’ she replied. ‘Ilse was fired by Bayer Ingelhelm, a pharmacy company in Munich. There was no severance pay, no period of transition. She was escorted out of the building the same day and was left with nothing.’
‘Do you know why she was fired?’ Bullman pulled out her notebook at this.
‘I heard rumours, nothing more. Something about unauthorised use of a trial medicine. She worked with products that were not yet released, and many that had side effects.’
‘Do you know what the name of it was?’ Bullman was writing into her notebook.
‘I am not psychic,’ Margaret smiled. ‘That is a question for Bayer Ingelhelm.’
‘Aye, we’ll get someone on that.’ Monroe was still staring at the watchtower as he sipped at his latte. ‘What do you know about the Ampelmännchen Killer?’
‘That it is a case that Rolfe cannot let go of,’ Margaret sipped at the espresso as she thought. ‘That it is a case that he believed his father had been connected to in some manner. Hauptmann Müller had not been a kind man, you see.’
‘Yeah, so we’ve been told,’ Monroe admitted. ‘In fact, we need to look into that while we’re here.’
‘I thought you might,’ Margaret reached into her handbag, pulling out a notebook. ‘This is the reason I suggested we talk here. If my superiors were to see me giving you this, I could lose my job.’
‘What is it?’ Monroe took the offered notebook, opening it to see pages of German writing.
‘Rolfe’s notes on his father’s work before the fall of the wall, and anything he’s discovered on the Ampelmännchen Killer,’ Margaret explained. ‘Including the names and addresses of the surviving guards who worked under his father.’
Bullman took the book from Monroe.
‘Impatient, much?’ he asked, annoyed.
‘I did German Language to A’Level,’ Bullman replied, already flicking through the pages. ‘Did you? Do you even know what these words mean?’
Monroe didn’t know and so he decided not to reply, instead turning back with a sulking expression to Margaret who, her espresso finished, was already rising from the bench.
‘I do not know what Rolfe is into, but it needs to stop, detectives. If you can hasten this, find what he needs for closure, then I am happy to help.’ She passed a business card to Monroe.
‘My number, if needed. And only if needed.’
Monroe nodded at this, placing the business card in his pocket. And, with a curt nod to Bullman, Margaret Li left the two detectives in the park.
‘One address for an old guard is less than a mile from here,’ Bullman said, checking a map app on her phone, ignoring Li as she left, engrossed already in the hunt. ‘I think we need to have a chat with them, see if they can corroborate what your German mechanic said about Müller.’
‘Agreed,’ Monroe rose from the bench, still obsessed with the watchtower. ‘And I need to drop Billy an email, get him to check into Ilse Müller’s sacking from Bayer Ingelhelm.’
‘Do you want to play tourist for a moment?’ Bullman asked, noting Monroe’s attention. He shook his head at this.
‘It’s just that it’s a reminder of a far worst time, and far worse people,’ he replied. ‘One of which still reaches out across the years to right now.’
‘God, man, can we stop with all the waxing poetical and just solve the case?’ Bullman grumbled. ‘No wonder people keep trying to kill you.’
‘That’s fair,’ Monroe replied as they left the park, on their way to find a one-time border guard.
19
Female of the Species
Anjli and De’Geer arrived at the Dew Drop Inn on De’Geer’s motorcycle; she’d told Declan that there were no cars to requisition, but in all honesty Anjli hadn’t even looked into it, far happier to ride on a police motorcycle. It was way more invigorating than pootling about in Billy’s Mini. And considering that De’Geer was built like a tank, Anjli also suspected that if anything actually hit them, it’d crumple against his torso.
‘I thought DI Walsh came here already?’ De’Geer asked as he removed his helmet. ‘Aren’t we doubling up?’
Anjli shook her head.
‘They examined the crossing, down the road,’ she replied. ‘The pub was forgotten.’
‘Looks like it isn’t open anyway,’ De’Geer said, pointing. Following the finger, Anjli could see that the pub was covered in scaffolding, a couple of construction workers on the upper levels. One worker however had noticed the police motorcycle, and was making his way over to them, pulling off his hard hat as he did so.
‘Can I help you?’ he shouted as he approached. Anjli nodded, stepping forwards. She didn’t pull out her warrant card; the vision of a police motorcycle arriving and ridden by a police officer in full uniform made that point blatantly clear.
‘I’m looking for someone to talk to about a night a couple of months back,’ she shouted back. ‘Any staff on site?’
‘I’m the manager,’ the man said as he reached them. ‘Kenny Styles. What’s this connected with?’
‘Car accident,’ De’Geer said, pointing back up the path. ‘Blue car, hit a tree, spun out of control.’
‘Sure, I remember that,’ Kenny nodded. ‘I wasn’t on shift that day, but I heard about it. Old man, right? Heart attack at the wheel?’
‘That’s what we’re checking into,’ Anjli replied. At this, Kenny’s face fell.
‘Are we being blamed for it?’ he asked. ‘Nobody came to us and we hid nothing.’
‘Do you think you should be blamed for it?’ De’Geer responded angrily, but Anjli held a hand up, stopping him.
‘At the time we believed he was driving south, from Hurley,’ she explained. ‘We’ve now learned that there was a slight chance he was in your pub before the accident.’
Kenny nodded. ‘He was, but we didn’t do anything that could have caused it,’ he replied. ‘We overwrite all CCTV though, so that footage is long gone.’
‘Is there anyone we can speak to who worked that night?’ Anjli looked around the car park as she spoke, as if expecting a member of staff to magically appear out of nowhere. Kenny shook his head apologetically.
‘New management,’ he explained. ‘When we closed for refurbishments, we knew that we’d be closed for a good month or more, Most of our staff were casual, couldn’t take that much time off. I think Lisa works at the Rising Sun now, she might have been on shift that day, but that would have been about it.’
‘Thanks anyway,’ De’Geer replied, already turning back to the motorbike as Anjli passed Kenny her card.
‘If you hear anything, could you call us?’ she asked. Kenny nodded.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to help much more than you already know, most likely,’ he admitted. ‘The guy didn’t really stand out apart from the age difference.’
‘What do you mean?’ Anjli stopped at this.
‘I mean we’re an out of the way pub,’ Kenny replied. ‘We get ramblers and cyclists, dog walkers, all that sort of thing; but at night there’s a small group of regulars that turn up and the rest are people who…’ he paused as if not sure what to say here.
‘The rest are people who pick us because we’re out of the way,’ he finished. ‘You know, clandestine meetings, usually between couples who have other halves, if you get my drift.’
‘And you think Patrick Walsh was here for a meeting like that?’ Anjli looked to De’Geer, who shrugged.
‘His wife died years earlier, maybe he was.’
‘He definitely met with a woman, but she was much younger. I remember someone mentioning that they even thought she was his daughter until they heard her speak.’
Anjli looked up from the notebook, finally connecting the dots. ‘She had a German accent.’
‘That’s right!’ Kenny e
xclaimed. ‘See? You do know as much as we do. Anyway, from what I was told they shared a drink, had a row and then he left. About half hour later the bar staff heard the ambulances down the road. Went down there, saw the crash.’
‘Do you know what they had a row about?’
Kenny shook his head. ‘As I said, Lisa might know more. I wasn’t there.’
‘Well, that definitely helps us,’ Anjli smiled. And help them it did, as now they had concrete proof that Patrick Walsh came to the Dew Drop Inn before his fatal accident, where he met with a woman who could only be Ilse Müller. They needed a more reliable witness, though. ‘We’ll see if we can find Lisa at the Rising Sun.’
‘Tell her she’s welcome back when we open,’ Kenny was already walking back towards the pub, and the contractors. ‘We should be done in a couple of weeks and the regulars loved her.’
‘One last thing,’ Anjli shouted out. ‘I get Mister Walsh left in his car, but you’re pretty out of the way here, even for a local. Do you know how the German lady got home?’
‘No idea,’ Kenny said, looking back. ‘I heard she left with another man, but that’s it. Apparently the same age as the other guy, but likely her dad.’
Anjli nodded. ‘Because he was German as well.’
Kenny smiled. ‘See? You had it already.’ And the conversation finished, he entered the building. Anjli looked to De’Geer, who had already reached the same conclusion.
‘Karl Schnitter was in the pub when Chief Superintendent Walsh met Ilse,’ he said. ‘The question is whether Walsh saw him.’
‘We also have two more leads here,’ Anjli was pulling on her helmet. ‘We know Patrick lost control after leaving and crashed. He either had the heart attack before or after that. And Karl is the village’s mechanic. He could have easily fixed the brakes while Patrick was inside. Or, Ilse spiked his drink which caused the crash.’
‘Or both,’ De’Geer started up the engine. ‘Spiked drink causes him to overcompensate, and if the brakes aren’t working…’ he let the thought hang in the air as Anjli climbed onto the bike behind him.