by Val McDermid
It was a strategy fraught with risk, but Tony had been as resolute as Marijke that Mann’s killing spree had to be brought to an end. “With the last killing, the level of violence leapt dramatically. Now he’s overtly sexualizing his murders, he’s going to want to enjoy them more often. There’s no reason why he should confine himself to Germany and Holland either. When it gets too hot for him in one place, he can simply cross a border and begin again. We can’t hang back and wait till he finally makes a mistake that provides something harder than circumstantial evidence. I won’t sit on my hands while a whole community is staked out like a sacrificial lamb,” he’d said to her as they’d boarded their boat.
And so they had spent the past two days meandering up the Rhine, sometimes ahead of the Wilhelmina Rosen, sometimes far in her wake, one or the other of them in the cockpit with a pair of powerful binoculars, watching the movements of the three men on board. Every couple of hours or so, Karpf and Marijke would exchange phone calls, keeping each other up to date with the movements of the barge. The first night, it had motored until midnight, then anchored offshore, out of the shipping channel. Marijke and Tony had had to carry on downriver for another mile or so before they found a wharf where they could tie up. Marijke had insisted on sleeping for no more than four hours, lest they miss their target. “I’m beginning to think the German police had a point about the difficulties of maintaining surveillance on a boat,” she’d said wryly as she zipped herself into her sleeping bag.
“At least we know he’s not murdering anyone tonight,” Tony said. “He can’t get the car ashore from there.”
Marijke had been huddled in the cockpit over a steaming cup of tea when the Wilhelmina Rosen had passed them just after six. She called to Tony to take the helm while she cast off, and they were soon back on the trail. The day’s journey brought them to the Dutch border, and the barge made its way into the first commercial harbour on Dutch territory, Vluchthaven Lobith-Tolkamer. “What do we do now?” Tony asked.
“It’s an hour since I put my team on stand-by. They should be able to get here very quickly. Now, according to the chart, we can use this harbour too,” Marijke said, turning the helm. “We watch where the Wilhelmina Rosen moors up, I put you ashore, then I go and find a yacht mooring, no?”
It was easier said than done. They managed to keep their objective in sight, but there was no easy way for Tony to go ashore nearby. The only possibility would have involved climbing a dozen feet up an iron ladder set into the harbour wall, and Tony had to acknowledge that was far beyond his present capabilities. Eventually, Marijke found a pontoon where he could scramble on to dry land, but by then they were both in a ferment of frustration and anxiety.
Tony hurried back to where they’d last seen the Wilhelmina Rosen, a task that was easier in theory than in practice because of the pontoons and moles that stuck out at apparently random angles to the main wharves. Eventually, he found himself at one end of a long jetty. Towards the end of it, he could see the Wilhelmina Rosen. With a sense of relief, he saw that the Golf still sat on the stern roof.
There was, however, no easy vantage point from which to keep an eye on the barge. This wasn’t the sort of place where people went for an evening out to sit around watching the water traffic. It was a working harbour where men went about their business. The only advantage he had was that it was already almost dark. In half an hour or so, nobody would notice him standing in the shadows of the low brick building at the landward end of the wharf. He tried to look like a man who is waiting to meet someone, pacing to and fro and looking at his watch.
Twenty minutes passed and the night gathered around him, broken by pools of harsh light from the lamps that illuminated the wharves and the softer hazes of brightness from the boats themselves. He was so intent on his surveillance that he didn’t notice Marijke’s arrival until she was right next to him. “I spoke to the team. They’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Anything happen?” she asked.
“No sign of life.”
“So, now we wait till my people get here.”
“We have to wait anyway. I need to get him alone.”
“OK, but we should be ready for when the others arrive.” Marijke fiddled with the radio equipment, clipping the pen to Tony’s jacket pocket and inserting her earphone. “Walk down the jetty and talk to me,” she said, readying the mini-disk recorder that completed the system.
He set off, nerves jangling, forcing himself to walk at the right speed. Too slow and he’d look incongruously like a tourist; too fast and he’d draw attention to himself. Already his mind was racing ahead to the encounter with Mann, and he tried to calm himself by focusing on his surroundings. The evening air had a cool bite to it, counteracting the heavy stink of diesel fumes and the odd whiff of cooking food that came from the barges moored alongside. But Tony felt hot and clammy, perspiration making his shirt cling with all the discomfort of a wetsuit on dry land.
He was halfway along the wharf when two figures appeared at the wheelhouse of the Wilhelmina Rosen. “Oh shit,” he said softly. “Marijke, we have activity. Two men, can’t see if either of them is Mann.” Heart racing, he carried on walking as the pair came down the gangplank and headed towards him. They drew closer and he could see that neither was his target. They passed him without so much as a curious glance and Tony muttered, “Negative. I think he’s on board alone now. I’m going to turn round. If you can hear me, step forward into the light and wave to me.” He turned to face the direction he’d come from and saw Marijke emerge into a cone of light. She raised one hand and let it fall.
The sensible thing would have been to walk back to her and wait till the back-up team was in place. But by then Mann could have left the barge. Or his crewmen could have returned. And Tony was in no mood to be drawn by the sensible option.
He couldn’t resist the sense that he was fated to be in the right place when opportunity opened up before him. He understood the risks, but he no longer felt sufficiently attached to the idea of living to care either way. His guilt over Carol was a maggot in his heart that would only grow fatter with time. He wasn’t sure that was something he could live with. If it was all going to end here, then so be it.
“I’m sorry, Marijke, I can’t wait. I’m going in. Fingers crossed.” Tony closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. His body felt taut as the bonds Krasic had fastened around him. There was no point in being afraid now. He needed all his concentration for Mann.
He stepped on to the gangplank of the Wilhelmina Rosen then called out. “Hello? May I come on board?” He knew there were rules of courtesy about approaching a boat that was also a home and he didn’t want to set Mann’s alarm bells ringing too early.
There was no reply, although lights showed in the wheelhouse and in the cabin below. He moved closer to the deck and called out again. This time, a head appeared at the door of the wheelhouse. It was the young man with the ponytail that he’d seen previously at Koblenz, his face screwed up as he tried to identify the figure silhouetted against the quayside lights. Tony switched to German. “Can I come aboard?” he asked.
“Who are you?” the man he assumed to be Wilhelm Mann said.
“I’m looking for Wilhelm Mann.”
“I’m Willi Mann. What do you want with me?”
“Can we talk inside? It’s a private matter,” Tony said, trying to look innocuous, arms loose by his sides in an unthreatening posture. This was the key moment; it could all be lost now with a tiny nuance that made Mann suspicious.
Mann frowned. “What sort of private matter?”
“About your grandfather.” Tony took another step forward, a relaxed move calculated to make him appear like a man with only the most casual of intentions.
Mann looked startled. “I saw you at Koblenz. Are you following me? What do you want with me?”
“Just to talk. May I?” Tony carried on to the end of the gangplank, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I suppose so. C
ome into the wheelhouse,” Mann said grudgingly.
It was a remarkable sight, Tony thought as he walked inside. Everything gleamed. The woodwork was polished to mirror smoothness and the brass gleamed as softly as if it were lit from within. A rack held neatly folded charts, and there wasn’t so much as a coffee stain on the chart table. The room smelled of polish and the sharp chemical fragrance of air freshener. Mann leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He looked young and defensive. Tony had a momentary flash of the troubled boy inside the man and felt the familiar wash of empathy. Who knew what he’d been through to bring him to this point? Tony could guess, and it didn’t make for comfort. One thing was for sure. Even if aping the verbal savagery of the grandfather was the most likely way to break Mann, he wasn’t going to go down that route. There had to be another way to end these killings, and it was up to him to find it.
“What do you know about my grandfather?” Mann demanded.
“I know what they did to him at Schloss Hochenstein.”
Mann’s eyes widened and his arms tightened around him. “What do you mean?”
“He was snatched away from his family and treated like an animal. I know about the experiments. I even know about the water torture. These were appalling terrible things to do to a child in the name of science. It must have had a terrible effect on him.” Tony could see his words hit home. With every sentence, Mann seemed to shrink into himself. But what he needed to do was to make him open up. “You must have paid a heavy price for what was done to him.”
“What does that have to do with you?” Mann’s voice was hostile and defiant, the attitude of someone who is determined to tough out the situation.
Tony made an instant assessment. However much he sympathized with Mann’s pain, this wasn’t a situation where the gentle therapeutic approach was going to work. It would take far too long to bring him to the point where he would be relieved to share his nightmares. It was time to storm the citadel. “I think it’s the reason why you have been killing my friends.”
Mann’s eyes narrowed and his head seemed to shrink into his shoulders like a watchful bird. Tony could smell perspiration cutting through the artificial scents of the confined space. “Your German is not as good as you think it is. What you are saying doesn’t make sense,” he said in a pitiful parody of arrogance. “Who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Tony Hill. Dr. Tony Hill. I’m a psychologist.” He smiled. Walking out on the high wire without a net. And not caring. “That’s right, Willi. I’m the enemy.”
“I think you’re crazy. And I want you to leave my boat now.”
Tony shook his head. The cracks were starting to show. But he still had nothing that would pass for confession. Time to find some more buttons to push. “I don’t believe that’s what you want. I think what you want is for someone to recognize the significance of what you’re doing. You didn’t start killing because the idea of it excited you. You started killing to make them stop what they were doing. But if nobody understands that, then it’s all been a waste of time. Nothing will change. They’ll still keep messing with people’s heads. And you’ll be in jail. Or worse. Because they know it’s you, Willi. And sooner rather than later, they’ll prove it.”
Mann made a harsh sound that might have been intended as a laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tony sat down on the high chair by the chart table. The secret of making someone like Mann open up was to read his responses and shift the approach accordingly. There was no point in having a script meticulously worked out in advance. He’d already changed tack and it was time to alter course again. Now, the pretence of sweet reason was his best weapon. He needed to act as if what he was saying was casually self-evident. “You can deny it all you like. But they’re watching you. When you go out tomorrow night or the next night, or the night after that, they’re going to be on your tail. They’re not going to let you kill another one, Willi. Unless you listen to me, there are only two alternatives. Either you stop or you get caught. And either way, nobody will hear the message.”
Mann didn’t move a muscle. He stood staring at Tony, breathing heavily through his nose.
Tony leaned forward earnestly. “That’s why you need me. Because I’m the only one so far who has understood what you’re trying to say. Come with me. Give yourself up. I’ll make sure they hear the message. Ordinary people will sympathize with you. They’ll understand you. They’ll be horrified at what happened to you and your grandfather. Any civilized person would be. They’ll force the psychologists to answer for what they’ve done. They’ll insist that they stop causing the kind of damage that made your childhood a misery. You’ll have won.”
Mann shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re saying these things to me,” he said doggedly. There was a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip.
“Because it’s very nearly over. And you made a mistake, didn’t you?”
Now the eyes were troubled. Mann looked away, chewing his lower lip. Tony could see he was finally making headway.
“Marie-Thérèse Calvet, that was a mistake. You gave them an excuse to treat you like any other sexually motivated psychopath. They’re not going to be able to see past that to the reality, because they’re small-minded and stupid. You might think you’ll get a chance to explain yourself in court, but, trust me, you’re probably not going to make it to court. After what you did to Dr. Calvet, they’re not going to need much of an excuse to shoot you down like a dog.”
Mann wiped a hand over his mouth, showing his distress at last. “Why are you talking to me like this?” His voice was a plea that Tony needed to answer.
“Because it’s my job to help people who get themselves into a tight corner. Most people will look at someone like you and they’ll think you’re evil. Or sick. Me, I just see somebody who’s been hurt. I can’t undo the hurt, but I can sometimes make it possible to live with it.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Mann pushed himself away from the wall and began to pace agitatedly in the tiny area between the bulkhead and the chart table. His air of vulnerability had vanished, replaced by an angry menace. His words tumbled over each other, his hands clenched and unclenched in spasms. “You’re a fucking psychologist. You twist words. You come here, to my boat, my place, and you tell lies about me. You have no right. You all tell lies. You say you want to help. And you never help. You make things worse.” Suddenly he stopped and took a step towards Tony, blocking his path to the door, looming over him. He spoke slowly and clearly. “I could kill you now. Because I don’t believe you. Nobody knows who I am. Nobody knows me.”
Tony tried not to show the fear that had surged in his chest. He suddenly understood that no matter what he had thought standing on the wharf, he very much wanted to stay alive. “I know you, Willi. I know your motives were pure,” he said, feeling his throat constrict, knowing his only chance was to keep talking. “You saw what had to be done, and you did it. But you’ve done enough to make your point. Let me speak for you. Let me explain.”
Mann shook his head vigorously. “They’ll take my boat away. I would rather be shot down like a dog than let them take my boat away.” He made a sudden lunge towards Tony. In his urgency to escape, Tony tipped off the chair and crashed to the floor, screaming in pain as his bruised shoulder and broken ribs hit the deck. He cringed against the wooden boards, waiting for the blow that never came.
For Mann had no interest in Tony. His goal had been the drawer of the chart table. He wrenched it open and thrust his hand inside. It emerged holding a large, clumsy revolver. He looked at it wonderingly for a moment then put the barrel in his mouth. Tony looked on, powerless and aghast, as Mann’s finger tightened on the trigger. But instead of a violent explosion, there was merely a dry metallic click.
Mann pulled the gun from his mouth and stared at it with a puzzled expression. At that moment, Marijke burst through the wheelhouse door, her Walther P5 braced in her hands. Instantly she took in the scen
e: Tony helpless on the floor, Mann brandishing a gun. In a split second, she made her decision.
For the second time inside a minute, a finger tightened on a trigger.
This time, bone, brains and blood spattered the immaculate wheelhouse of the Wilhelmina Rosen.
It was over.
Epilogue
It wasn’t that there was nothing to say; more that there was too much, and neither knew where to start. Or even whether starting at all was a good idea.
The ground they finally met on was as neutral as it could get. They sat opposite each other in a café in the international departures lounge of Schipol Airport. Not only was this a physical no-man’s-land, it was also a meeting that had finite limits, since both had planes to catch.
For a while, they sat in a silence that felt easier than speech. Carol’s nose would never be quite the same, but the Berlin hospital had done a good job of resetting it. The bruising had mostly subsided, though her eyes still looked puffy, as if she’d cried herself to sleep. Tony’s injuries would take longer to heal. His broken fingers were still troublesome and his ribs a perpetual torment. But that would pass.
Both had done everything in their power to start mending themselves. But each feared that what had been broken inside the other might never be fixed.
It was Carol who eventually broke the silence. “You remember what Radecki said at the end?”
Tony nodded. “That he’d won because you’d never be free of him?”
“Yes.” She stirred her coffee. “He was wrong, you know. You see, he never got inside me. Only my body. And that doesn’t count. Not really. He’s the one who’s never going to be free. Because I did get inside him. So he didn’t win, Tony.”
Tony’s smile was barely perceptible, but it reached his eyes. “I’m glad. You’re going to stay in the police?”