Nemesis: Innocence Sold

by Ross, Stefanie

  She quickly typed an e-mail and sent it off. “Unexpected absence for urgent personal reasons” wasn’t even a lie. Another day with her smug asshole of a superior and she would be ready for the psychiatric ward. The next question: How should she approach Stephan? The brief three-line e-mail avoided any manner of personal address. During their last encounter they had addressed each other casually, but she doubted that the familiarity observed among colleagues would be appropriate when one confronted a superintendent in the context of a job interview.

  Shortly after eleven thirty—much too early—Sandra stood in the entrance hall of the star-shaped building in Hamburg-Alsterdorf and hadn’t gotten any further with the question of how she should address Stephan. At least she knew in what part of the building the narcotics unit was located, and her identification enabled her to enter without difficulty. Her plan involved looking around inconspicuously and spending the rest of the time in the corridors. She wouldn’t score any points by appearing almost thirty minutes early. She sauntered slowly across the hall and noticed too late that she’d already reached the narcotics unit. Before she had found Reimers’s office or could retreat, a door was pushed open, and Sandra barely avoided a collision with a man in handcuffs.

  Blue eyes glared at her with amusement under a shock of brown hair. “Go ahead and come closer. I don’t have anything against a little human warmth.” The gaze was appraising but not unpleasant; the man seemed to like what he saw.

  Sandra rebuked herself inwardly. If she needed a criminal’s confirmation that she looked good in jeans, a tight white T-shirt, and a dark blue blazer, then something was wrong with her. It was only after a moment that she noticed the woman, half a head shorter than the man, holding him by the elbow and looking amazingly relaxed. “Do you honestly think the lady likes riffraff like you? She’s got more class in her little finger than you’ll ever have in your whole body. And when you’re out again in ten years, no one’s going to be interested in you anyway.”

  “Ten years? With her”—a slight nod in Sandra’s direction—“life would be all right.”

  The woman tightened her grip until the man glowered. “That’s enough,” she warned him, and her gaze slid to an office door that was ajar. “Did I mention your buddy sang? You’ll be lucky to get only ten. We know all the dirty little details, and now get going, you lousy scumbag. The cell down there’s waiting for you.”

  Despite her words, she remained where she was and gave Sandra a friendly look. “Can I help you in some way? And don’t take his stupid talk seriously.”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Reimers, but I’m actually quite early.”

  The reserved friendliness disappeared. Instead both of them examined Sandra, and then the woman smiled. “Katharina Schlegel. I’d heard Stephan was doing an interview. The door after the next on the left. He’s talking to a colleague at the moment. I’m sure he’ll be done soon, and he’s not particularly concerned about exact times. Good luck.”

  The man let out a groan. “Help! Not another one of these tough female bulls. Couldn’t you establish a quota for men?”

  “Female bulls?” Sandra said. “Let me know what cell you’re in, and I’ll send you a biology textbook. Fourth grade’s about your intellectual level.”

  Katharina snickered. “Finally someone who sees through this bigmouth immediately. Again, good luck. I could use some help out here.”

  Sandra smiled. She could certainly live with having Katharina as a colleague.

  After a knock to which, as she had expected, there came no answer, Sandra opened the door.

  The room wasn’t particularly large, but the furniture was a class better than the standard police look. Through another doorway, Sandra could see into the neighboring room, in which there were eight desks but currently only two men. She recognized Stephan Reimers immediately, and she knew the man he was speaking with, too. Dirk Richter. Normally, she liked the accountant and appreciated his dry humor, but at the moment he seemed like a stranger to her. Cold and unapproachable. She didn’t understand what the conversation was about, but Stephan’s tone was insistent. Finally Dirk noticed her presence and waved. Stephan turned halfway around and nodded to her.

  “Just a sec,” he said with a casual tone that put her at ease.

  With that, the question of the appropriate level of formality had at least been resolved. In order not to seem like an eavesdropper, she stepped back and looked at the little interview corner. She had no idea whether Stephan would prefer to have the conversation there or at his desk. Her gaze fell on a framed photograph that stood on the tidy desk next to a laptop and was impossible to overlook. Before it occurred to her that this didn’t exactly constitute polite behavior, she was already holding it in her hand. About fifteen men were gathered together in two rows. The ones in the back were standing; the ones in the front had chosen sitting positions that looked more or less comfortable. The men were wearing camouflage clothing, and their faces were for the most part rendered unrecognizable with dark coloring, but she recognized Dirk, Stephan, and Sven Klein. The man who had laid a friendly arm around Dirk’s shoulder appeared to be Mark Rawlins. Her pulse accelerated. The sight of the SEAL was enough to ignite a deep-seated rage in her. She had never bothered to ask herself whether her anger had been caused by Rawlins’s arrogant behavior or the superiority over her that he had impressively demonstrated on two occasions. She suppressed the thought of the minutes during which he had displayed amazing understanding in confronting her. If Stephan and Mark were friends, she could forget the interview. She didn’t know the other men. A blond man whose tousled hair fell to the nape of his neck caught her attention. The photographer had captured the moment at which, laughing, he leaned against the man next to him. A vitality and nonchalance emanated from the two men, who were obviously friends. She wondered when she had last laughed with such abandon.

  Someone cleared his throat behind her and caused her to jump. At least she hadn’t dropped the photo. Embarrassed, she turned around. “Excuse me—I didn’t mean to . . . But I didn’t know that you . . . you and Rawlins . . . I mean . . .” Sandra fell silent when she realized she couldn’t put a proper sentence together.

  “I didn’t know it was a crime to look at a photograph. If I wanted to keep it a secret, I wouldn’t have it out. You have a sharp eye if you were able to recognize Mark. No one’s managed that before. Did you notice anything else?”

  “Sven, Dirk, and you. You’re easy to recognize.” She managed to stop herself from mentioning the blond man. That would hardly interest Stephan.

  “Correct. And how would you describe the mood?”

  “Casual, relaxed, unburdened. Your faces show signs of a recent effort, but there’s more. Friendship? Camaraderie?” She tapped the blond man with a fingernail. “He’s particularly vibrant. It’s clear he and his friend are enjoying themselves.”

  “What makes you think they’re friends?”

  “Their body language. The blond man’s leaning against him with his shoulder. That’s relatively rare among men. Either they’re close friends or there’s more between them. My guess, however, is that it’s simply friendship. It’s similar to what one sees with Dirk and Rawlins; there again the body language is a kind that’s fairly rare among men.” It finally became clear to her that the apparently casual conversation was a test. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t produce another word.

  “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

  She declined in a friendly manner. In her current state she’d probably knock the water glass over or spill the coffee all over Stephan’s designer jeans. Inconspicuously, she took a closer look at him. His blond locks were styled with apparent carelessness and fell to his collar, but with his black jeans and his gray shirt, which complemented his eyes, he could have been a model for a women’s magazine.

  He waved his hand toward the interview corner, just as his cell phone rang. After looking at the display, he accepted the call with a grimace. “He�
��s on his way to the office. Keep him busy somehow. We’re meeting at the steak house at one.”

  Sandra gave free rein to her curiosity after Stephan had ended the call. “Is Dirk not well? He seemed . . .” She broke off awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be impolite. It’s just that . . .”

  Stephan’s gaze became cooler. “Someone tried to kidnap his son yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, swallowing her question about whether the boy was four years old and had blond hair and brown eyes. In the best case, Stephan would consider her insensitive; in the worst case, he would think she was crazy. Nevertheless, the thought wouldn’t go away. She noticed that Stephan was looking at her expectantly. She hadn’t registered his question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t . . . Did you ask me something?”

  A trace of impatience was evident in Stephan, and since she was familiar with his usual self-control, she knew this was intentional. “I can certainly ask the question a third time. Why the drug unit?”

  This was exactly the question for which she had prepared, but now she was unable to produce a convincing answer. She retreated into cliché phrases and could tell she was losing his attention. Insecurity gripped her, paired with fear of letting this unique opportunity slip through her fingers. She began to stutter. The tone was equally cool during the rest of the conversation. When Stephan finally stood up, Sandra knew she had lost her chance. She hardly managed to look Stephan in the eye and forced herself to smile when he promised he would contact her again. Sandra’s hand was already on the door handle when she realized the door led to the office next door and not to the corridor. She had the sense that Stephan usually left this door open, and bitter disappointment over not getting the opportunity to work in this casual environment spread through her. Rather than crossing the office with a bright red face because of her error, she would end her visit to the drug unit by passing through this office.

  “Just leave the door open,” Stephan said.

  Without turning around, Sandra nodded. “I will.”

  At one of the desks a man was bent over a rolling file cabinet but straightened up when Sandra approached. She stopped as if frozen. The brown-haired man, this time without handcuffs. He must have escaped her colleague somehow. Without hesitating, Sandra leapt forward and threw him to the floor with a hip toss. With a muffled curse, the man tried to get up, but Sandra held him down. “Is that close enough for you now? I have no idea how you got loose, but this is the last stop for you.”

  Coughing, the man gasped for air. “Man, let me go. Have you gone insane? I’m . . .”

  The rest of the sentence was lost in bright laughter. Katharina Schlegel was standing next to her with two cups of coffee. She tried twice to say something, but was laughing so hard she could only get out incoherent words.

  “Would someone tell me what’s going on here?” Stephan Reimers took the coffee cups from Katharina. “Sandra?”

  “I thought . . .”

  The man struggled to his feet and interrupted her, grinning. “My fault, boss. Apparently my act earlier was absolutely convincing. Detective Lars Hoffman, only occasionally acting as a drug dealer or something similar. Sorry about the stupid remarks earlier, but there was someone sitting in the room next door who was supposed to hear all that. And it worked like a charm. He’s still singing like a bird. That wasn’t bad. Are you a female version of Dirk or what?”

  “Dirk Richter?”

  “Yes, I still haven’t gotten over how he took on three armed men. There should be a movie about that.” His gaze wandered to his desk. “Damn. I’d love to talk with you some more, but I need to finish this paperwork—if I don’t, the public prosecutor will kill me. Well, if the boss leaves her anything. Since we’ve gotten so close to each other, Sandra, we can address each other informally. I hope I’ll see you again.”

  Stephan’s expression was impenetrable. “Good instincts, Sandra. I’ll be in touch.”

  If that was supposed to be praise, the tone didn’t fit, and she could hardly have gotten kicked out in a more obvious fashion. She would have loved to have apologized to Lars and heard about his encounter with Dirk. But she’d spoiled her chance. She managed to smile at Katharina and then headed for the door with her head held high. She felt her colleagues looking at her back and sensed they would start talking about her as soon as she had closed the door behind her.

  She carefully looked around the hall. No one in sight. Good. She slammed the palm of her hand into the wall. How on earth could she have been so idiotic as to spoil a chance like this with such careless behavior? She wouldn’t accept nervousness and lack of sleep as excuses. She had no plan B, meaning she would have to return to her shitty superior.

  CHAPTER 6

  Stephan was unenthused as he chewed on his steak despite the fact that there was nothing wrong with it. Normally he enjoyed his get-togethers with Dirk and Sven at the steak house, but his job was getting to him. He liked being the department head, but he could have done without the human resources aspect. He felt a trace of envy as he thought of Mark, whose team had been composed of the same people for years. This brought him to the next matter that was bothering him. Why hadn’t they heard anything from Daniel? They’d agreed he would call when he had made his decision. Stephan’s conviction that Daniel wouldn’t leave Mark’s team under any circumstances became more uncertain with each passing minute.

  As if that were not enough, there was Dirk’s tense expression. He could have used Dirk’s dry humor as a distraction.

  “What’s with you? You’ve taken care of the coordination issues, right? The way you’re massacring your steak, I’m afraid you’re going to come after me next,” Dirk said.

  Stephan forced a smile. “No. I’ve already said the encounter couldn’t have been predicted. Everything’s all right, and apart from the paperwork, the matter’s settled. However, you haven’t heard about the continuation yet.” Stephan put his fork and knife aside and told the entertaining story of Lars’s performance as a supposed felon and what went down when Sandra discovered him loose in the office.

  Sven praised Sandra with a smile. “I’d call that initiative, albeit pretty over-the-top.” He snatched a French fry from Dirk’s plate.

  “Hands off. I’m still eating those. Not bad. I’d have liked to have seen Lars’s face. How did the interview go?”

  “Good start, then it drifted off course. Lars and Kat worked on me subtly but obviously afterward—they’d like to have Sandra on the team. But I’m not convinced. No, most likely not.”

  “What do you mean? You’re talking in riddles.”

  “She has a good eye and a good feel for situations, but her heart wasn’t in it. I believe she just wants to get away from her current job and doesn’t care where she ends up. I don’t need people like that.”

  Sven eyed the French fries on Dirk’s plate and grinned when Dirk nodded, rolling his eyes. “Before you starve to death, partner . . .”

  “There’s a real danger of that. Britta thinks she’s going to start losing weight. You have no idea what ends up on the table at our place.”

  “Then go get your own groceries, or grab your son and flee to McDonald’s. Stop whining—this is the third time today you’ve told me about that. I’m interested in what’s up with Sandra. You’re not describing the woman I know. If she works for something, then she gives 100 percent, and she’s always wanted to come to the LKA. Sven? Preferably narcotics, right?”

  “Yes. Something’s gone wrong between you. But if the right chemistry isn’t there, there’s nothing you can do.” Sven had spoken with his mouth full, and his words had barely been comprehensible.

  Stephan pondered Sven’s words. He had noticed how Sandra had helped his unit outside the dictates of protocol, and at first the good impression he’d had of her had been confirmed. What, then, had gone wrong?

  “Where does she live, by the way? I don’t really remember her file all that clearly.”

  “Ahrensburg. But quite some d
istance from us. She has an apartment close to Daniel. Why?” Sven asked.

  “I want to resolve the matter, and I can’t ask her to come to the office again, so I need to figure out a way for us to accidentally run into each other.”

  Sven had finally sent Dirk’s French fries where they were supposed to go. “Just call her and drive over to see her. It might be unusual, but it’d be appropriate here. By the way, have you heard anything from Daniel?”

  “No, I still haven’t.”

  His brow furrowed, Dirk emptied his glass of cola. “What a mess. I hope that doesn’t mean he’s decided in favor of sunny California. Mark’s already about to go crazy, thinking about the possibility that his team could break up. I’m glad that apart from my sometimes intolerable partner, I don’t have anything to do with HR.”

  “Hey . . .”

  “Calm down. When Dirk’s right, he’s right. Another topic, before I have to head back to the office: What’s up with Tannhäuser? Has he supported you in your investigation of the . . . you know.”

  “The bastards who use children to get a hard-on?” Dirk said. “The appointment’s been postponed until tomorrow. His wife had to be hospitalized. Nothing serious, but he’s not at the office today.”

  Sven looked at the empty plate with regret. “Damn. I think that’s all for today.”

  Stephan held out a piece of garnish to Sven. “Would you like to eat this, too?”

  Sven snorted and drew back. “I’ll let you know if I get to that point.”

  Satisfied, Stephan laid the spurned greenery back on his plate. At least Dirk was a little more relaxed after the friendly banter.

  Tired from the long flight and the time difference, Daniel pushed open the door of his half of the duplex and blinked, surprised. With a leap he was in the hall and closed the door behind him. Tom was certainly not fanatical about cleanliness, but an assault rifle lying in the hall alongside a machine pistol and boxes of ammunition was unusual and violated a few of the German authorities’ regulations. Daniel whistled softly and was surprised when no answer came. Usually when Tom went out he took the black Mercedes station wagon, and when Daniel had seen the car parked in front of the building, he had assumed Tom was home. Daniel threw his duffel bag in the corner and checked the other rooms. In the bathroom a pile of dirty clothes was on the floor, along with a bulletproof vest; the bedclothes in the bedroom were in disarray.