“That’s what I thought; one of those fluff brews wouldn’t fit you two. Beer needs to be tart. Period.”
Sven smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “That’s how it is. You take care of the fish; the LKA will ensure we don’t die of thirst. I’ll help you carry things.”
Thankful for his partner’s thoughtful behavior, Dirk leaned against the Audi and enjoyed the warm sun and the wind blowing through his hair. Once again, he swore he would bring down those responsible for Eric’s murder, but even that would be only somewhat satisfactory. He didn’t understand why there were people who transgressed all boundaries of humanity and law. Sure, one’s intellect provided answers—power, profit, greed, and perversion—but something in him fought against accepting that such abysses existed.
For his taste, Sven and Angela returned too soon, but he forced a smile.
“Should we eat here or at one of the shaky stand-up tables?” asked Sven.
“At the tables. Closer to the sea.”
“Is that a sport for you?” asked Angela, pointing with her beer bottle to a surfer who waited until he had nearly reached the beach to execute a perfect turn.
Dirk tilted his head and thought of his rare windsurfing excursions with Pat. “To some extent—the tempo and water would be attractive—but I have a hard time with wind and currents. I’ve mastered windsurfing fairly well, but I only get on a board in the presence of a friend who has an uncanny sense of wind and waves. I just have to follow him; then it works splendidly and is a lot of fun.”
Angela laughed and took a bite of her fish roll. “That sounds really tempting. Let me know if you get out here.”
“I’ll do that. I could easily imagine spending a weekend on the island with family and friends. We’ll see. If it happens, we’ll get in touch.”
“Surfing isn’t your thing?” she asked, turning to Sven.
“If it gets sporty, that’s my partner. The standard fitness program’s enough for me.”
“I can see that by looking at you guys.” She heaved a deep sigh. “It’s unfair—men seem to have an easier time keeping their weight down and staying fit. I really have to work at it.”
With his mouth full, Sven nodded. “That’s what my wife always says, too.” He was barely comprehensible. He swallowed with pleasure. “This stuff’s truly fantastic—coming here for a short vacation would be worth it for the food alone,” he said, much more distinctly.
“I’m glad you both like it. But don’t think everyone finds out about this place.” She raised her beer bottle in a toast to Dirk and Sven, who immediately returned the gesture. The bottles clinked; Sven mouthed some words to Dirk: Giving up is not an option, something like their motto. Smiling, Dirk nodded, not surprised that his partner had recognized his mood. Behind his seemingly relaxed facade the rage that hadn’t let him go since the attempted kidnapping continued to boil.
For a while, the conversation rippled along, but his respect for the captain increased more when he heard about how she mastered her job and her tasks as a single mother. Her bottle was almost empty when she turned serious. “If you think I’m insane in a minute, blame it on the beer. Speaking of which—in Munich the Halbe Helles are as much a part of lunch as a glass of red wine is in France. It’s nice you’re not giving me a lecture about drinking on duty.”
Dirk found it increasingly easy to grin. “Why should we? One beer’s not going to put any of us over the limit. Where’s the problem?”
“If you ask me, in Lübeck,” she said.
“You should explain that,” Sven said.
“A childhood friend of mine also joined the police. He went to a university, however, and is well on his way to becoming chief of detectives. Or was, actually, because there’s a problem. When he was with the District Office of Criminal Inspection in Lübeck, he noticed that some things were not being pursued. First he believed this was a coincidence, but then it was no longer possible to explain it as such. Specifically, there was the case of a missing boy from Ukraine with blond hair and blue eyes and that of a small Turkish child. An incredibly sweet kid. In both cases, the files were very quickly slammed shut with the explanation ‘Conflict between the parents and probable return to the homeland.’ Then there were a whole lot of rumors that were hotly debated among colleagues but didn’t result in any investigations. Sounds wild, right? But Hannes is as sober as an encyclopedia; he doesn’t go around telling crazy stories. I just know that he turned to the LKA in Kiel and was once again approachable when he visited his mother on weekends. Well, that’s it. Do something with it, or write it off as silly talk. By the way, the bridge is over there. You just have to keep right later, and you’ll be on your way back home.”
Dirk looked in the direction she was pointing, but in his mind he was still sorting the report she had delivered in staccato bursts. The obvious conclusion was that the Kielers had taken the information seriously and put Berger on it. So much for the theory—now they just needed proof. Finally, he raised his beer again. “Do you want to get rid of us so quickly? Thanks for the inside information. I think your friend’s right because we’d already had similar thoughts ourselves. There’s still the question of whether this is just sloppiness or something far worse.”
“I don’t want to get rid of you. Quite the contrary—you’re welcome to stay longer,” Angela offered with a mischievous smile. Without looking, Dirk sensed his partner’s grin, but before a noncommittal answer occurred to him, Angela’s smile grew wider. “Only until Friday evening, however—otherwise there could be trouble with Hannes.”
“Aha—childhood friend is what it’s called these days,” Dirk said with a wink.
“If you’d like me to put you in touch with Hannes, let me know.”
After exchanging glances with Sven, Dirk refrained from asking for the full name. They would be able to track down the Lübeck policeman without it. “Thanks. We’ll do that.” He stretched and crumpled the napkin that the fish roll had been wrapped in. “All right, then. Unfortunately, it’s time for us to head back.”
Dissatisfied, Mario Berger closed the file. Without proof, his theory was worth nothing, and his superior in Kiel was getting impatient. At least they were both convinced that the tragic death of little Eric would give them the breakthrough they had long been waiting for. Now it was up to him to turn their conjectures into watertight charges for the public prosecutor’s office, and this was exactly his problem: he had nothing. He had spent over two hours studying the personnel files of the two policemen who had manifested a conspicuous interest in their Hamburg colleagues. But the contents had had a tendency to raise more questions rather than provide answers. There were no obvious commonalities between the two men, and their CVs didn’t seem to justify a close friendship.
Ulf Blumenthal, whom the red-haired American, not inappropriately, had compared to a primate, had entered the police force after passing his final high school examinations and been promoted at normal intervals during his service, but there were some formulations in the personnel file that indicated his superiors hadn’t always been happy with the fifty-two-year-old’s performance. Unfortunately, a bad feeling wasn’t enough to justify further measures such as taking a look at his financial situation or searching his apartment. There were some indications that Eddings had been right in his assumption that if there had been no witnesses the situation in the old-town building would have escalated. However, in Berger’s view such an escalation would have ended fatally for the two policemen, as Eddings and his red-haired friend had already proven that they could handle themselves. Sandra Meinke didn’t seem to see her service pistol as a fashion accessory, either.
That left the second policeman, Volker Lüttgens. At the age of thirty-one, he already held the same rank as the older man. His evaluations were consistently positive, and he had also received two commendations. After passing the college placement examinations, he had decided against going to college and chose a career with the police. Why was Lüttgens involved with Blumenthal? Berg
er hadn’t failed to notice how uncomfortable his colleague had felt when they had met.
But these questions would have to wait; Berger’s wife and daughter were complaining more frequently about his constant absence. Today he would finish on time.
He groaned inside when he heard a knock at his office door and—without waiting for a reply—Röhrich entered. The captain had long been his favorite suspect, but he was now no longer sure what he should think of the man—there was too much that didn’t fit.
Röhrich looked out the window, down at the Berliner Platz, a Lübeck roundabout on which there was always traffic in the daytime. Berger, too, had observed the sometimes chaotic and irresponsible behavior of bicyclists and drivers and hoped to sort out his contradictory thoughts while doing so. He waited patiently until Röhrich broke the silence. “What you suggested earlier about the dubious roles of Blumenthal and Lüttgens, I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it, either. But I can’t find a plausible explanation for their behavior. No order was issued to the effect that they should go to where Mr. Richter’s son was being treated in the hospital. Blumenthal proceeded there on his own initiative and didn’t report to the command center until he was there. Today was nearly the same situation once again. He’s doing his own thing. The question is: Why? And perhaps also: For whom?”
“And where does Lüttgens fit in?” Röhrich asked while he scratched his thumbnail.
“If you ask me, not at all. The two make a remarkably odd couple.” Berger closed the second file folder. “But I won’t get any further now. Tomorrow’s another day.”
If Röhrich found quitting for the day at around four thirty—which was relatively early—to be unjustifiable, he didn’t show it; instead, he looked down at the roundabout. “I have a feeling about this, but I can’t figure out why.” He apologetically spread his hands. “I’m not one of the best-informed people here, but Blumenthal’s name came up some time ago in circumstances I can’t remember anymore. I hoped you’d give me the right key word.”
“I’m sorry. I have to pass.” Berger noted this; perhaps his partner for this mission would be able to shine a light into the darkness. Since they had agreed to meet for a brief conversation anyway, he would pass the question on.
“All right. Then I won’t keep you any longer. Well, one other thing: Have you asked around in Hamburg? I don’t like that Klein, not to mention the American—there’s definitely something behind all this.”
“I’ve asked around, without success—except that I was advised not to ask any further questions about it . . . Richter and Klein seem to be in the chief of police’s good graces, and they’re tight with the head of the drug unit. A regular men’s club.” With this, Berger stuck to the truth halfway and refrained from mentioning the rumors about how the two had taken on terrorists in the past and gotten the upper hand. In his estimation, these rumors could well be true. Both in Richter’s case and in Klein’s, he had sensed a hardness that he knew well behind the engaging manner. He hadn’t bought Richter’s performance as a harmless accountant for a minute and had let this be noted. Also, there was the manner in which Eddings had resolved the hostage situation. Tax expert. Berger sighed with a hissing sound as he thought of Eddings’s supposed job.
He didn’t recall that he wasn’t alone until he heard Röhrich’s question. “Excuse me. I just thought about the murder of the photographer.”
“The perpetrator’s still not saying anything?”
“No, not a word. We’ve put his fingerprints through all the databases, without any results.”
“And the photographer’s apartment?”
“Nothing. According to the technicians, nothing can be obtained from the destroyed laptop.”
“What a mess. At least the weather’s adjusted to the season. I think I’ll have to water some plants for the first time today. Have a good evening.”
A few feet from his Opel, Berger pressed the button on his car key and cursed when nothing happened. He had expected the door to unlock and the blinkers to light up; instead, the car seemed to be ignoring him. Again, he pressed the button, this time harder and for longer. Again nothing happened. “Damned technology,” he said and fumbled with the door until he got it open. He wondered when he had last manually unlocked the car.
He threw his backpack, which served as a briefcase, onto the passenger seat and was about to get in when he heard someone shouting his name. He turned around and saw Röhrich hurrying toward him. Berger took a step toward Röhrich when something hit him in the back with great force; staggering, he tried to stay on his feet. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. A loud detonation echoed in his head. Although murderous heat seemed to envelop him, he felt no pain. All he perceived was Röhrich’s horrified face and mouth, which were frantically moving. Berger heard nothing. The sky over him began to rock and move toward him; then hellish pain set in. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. In a moment of surprising clarity, he realized Röhrich was dragging him away. But why? His instinct had been correct: the captain was innocent, he still thought. Then an impenetrable blackness displaced all coherent thought and released him from the pain raging everywhere in his body.
Sandra massaged her right wrist and suppressed a yawn, but Daniel’s smile told her that he noticed everything.
“Concentrate on the road,” she said.
“Why? I know the way by heart, and the car probably does, too.”
“If you say you warned me now, I’m going to kill you. How often have you and Pat gone through this course? Four times? I probably wouldn’t have survived the third time,” she said and thought back to her time on the federal police training grounds. The Americans shared one of the buildings with a special unit of the German federal police. Inside there was a very modern shooting range. Variable walls and a great deal of computer technology made it possible to practice house-to-house combat under fairly realistic conditions. Special ammunition made it possible for a computer to register each shot as a hit or a miss. Sandra forgot her ailing wrist when she thought of the smile Daniel had greeted her with after her first time through. He had been more than satisfied with her performance and had clearly shown this—despite the fact that in the middle of it she had spun around in shock and killed a fictional cat with several shots, something Pat had subsequently commented on at great length.
“Pat worked you over pretty well. After all, you actually outrank him,” she said.
“And what good does that do me? Pat’s a sniper and better with pistols and rifles. I’d be crazy not to listen to him. It had been a while since I’d last trained there; it was logical I’d need a refresher on some things.”
“But four times and then that exercise in the dark where you chased Pat with the night vision. That was ingenious.”
Daniel, who was driving the Mercedes and had just passed an intersection, grinned. “It’s nice we were able to entertain you.”
“In return, I’ve written the report for Berger on Pat’s laptop. So a little more gratitude, please.”
“And what should my gratitude look like? Hurry with your answer, please—we’ll be at Dirk’s place soon.”
Suddenly shy, Sandra looked for an appropriate approach, one that wouldn’t make her seem shameless or ungrateful. “Do you think sometime we could . . . Probably not, and this one time was great, but . . .” She felt insecure and uncertain about how to continue.
Daniel glanced at her from the side. “Stephan would prefer to have his boys and girls practice there regularly, but that couldn’t work, so he doesn’t even ask Mark. But in your case the situation’s a little different. Why shouldn’t we take advantage of the fact that your boyfriend has access to the facility? You did damned well there, Sandy. I’ve heard about federal police officers who don’t get off one clean shot or just lose their nerve. But you neither saw it as a giant video game nor were distracted by the unusual atmosphere; you did your thing. We’ll repeat it. Since I can hardly ask you to give
up your job, I’d like you to be as well prepared as possible for any danger.”
Daniel stopped the Mercedes in front of Dirk’s garage, and there was no time for a lengthy discussion. Nevertheless she could not ignore the fact that he had made a direct reference to the personal relationship between them. The way he did this, as if it were a given, provoked her to contradict him, but then she recognized the hint of uncertainty in his face, accompanied by a silent question, and she returned his smile. “Then I’ve found exactly the right boyfriend, and I’ll make you an offer: if you give up your job, I’ll give notice, too. Until then I guess we’ll have to live with it somehow.”
Before she could react, Daniel pulled her to him and kissed her. She returned to reality when he released her. “You’re undermining my work ethic. Somehow I don’t feel like taking on all this stuff now; I’d rather . . .” Her meaningful look had to suffice, as no appropriate word came to her.
As she had expected, Daniel understood her without further explanation. “So would I, but we have the whole night ahead of us,” he said with the same boyish grin that had appealed to her from the beginning.
Sandra reached for the door handle. “Let’s cut this out. I don’t even want to think about the short time we’ve known each other.”
“Does that matter? I know everything important about you, and the circumstances are just unusual. Don’t start getting weird now,” he said.
“Weird? Just because I briefly switched my common sense back on?” She would have had quite a bit more to say, but just in time she noted the amused twinkling of his eyes and realized he was needling her. “Damn it. You’re impossible.”
“That’s simple self-protection. Somehow I have to think about something else. You have no idea how comfortable and big Dirk’s guest bed is. But I do.”
CHAPTER 18
Sandra hoped that the expression on her face wouldn’t give her away, but Dirk’s smile was pretty smug when she entered the study. “I was wondering if you two were going to spend the night in the car” was his insinuating greeting, and Sandra felt her cheeks turning red. She was still dealing with how quickly her relationship to Daniel had developed, but Dirk’s words triggered a pleasant feeling in her stomach. No matter how briefly they had known each other, it was as if they had been together for an eternity, and it simply felt right. The rest would take care of itself.
Nemesis: Innocence Sold Page 20