‘And what about your theory that the children have been kidnapped to put pressure on the parents?’ asked Balthasar.
‘It could be true in Greta’s case,’ said Nik. ‘But with Simon, we don’t even know if he’s been kidnapped. There are no witnesses to any crimes, no demands have been made and his foster dad doesn’t give a shit about him.’
‘Right. Well, there’s been nothing new in Greta’s case,’ added Jon. ‘The police are still looking for her but she’s losing priority. The public’s already more interested in other stories.’
‘Timo Fürste has disappeared and Simon’s nowhere to be found.’ Nik took a sip of beer. ‘We’ve got no leads to follow up.’
‘I might actually have something,’ said Jon. ‘Last year there was a police raid on the graffiti scene. They picked up one gang who’d been terrorising residents in Giesing. The complaints were so serious that the police and the CID carried out surveillance for days. They finally caught some of them red-handed. The youngest in the group was thirteen and wasn’t charged but they did put his name in the system. It was our friend Simon.’
‘Did you get the names of the others as well?’
‘Yeah. I’ll send you everything, including photos. They’re actually pro graffiti artists who work legally but apparently got bored.’
‘Are you going to visit them at home?’ Balthasar asked, his mouth full of baguette.
‘No, I’ve got a better place,’ Nik answered.
Sprayers had caused Nik a lot of grief during his CID days. But now, as he was walking alongside Munich’s stockyard, he couldn’t help feeling impressed with the work he saw. There were psychedelic mushrooms, characters out of a German cartoon from the 70s and a proud fist, held high in defiance against the development of a well-known, swanky club. Between the images were phrases such as ‘Hipsters OUT!’ and ‘NO TO GENTRIFICATION!’ The crumbling wall beside the train tracks made the area feel run-down but there were no homeless or drug dealers to be seen. Nik caught a glimpse of two teenagers standing underneath a large oak tree drinking energy drinks. He assumed the bags on the ground beside them were filled with paint. It was a mild afternoon but the boys had their hoods pulled over their heads. Nik kept driving, acting as if he hadn’t seen them, and parked his car in a side street. Keeping close to the trees, he crept over towards them.
‘Inspector Pohl, CID.’ He lifted his hands to show he wasn’t armed. ‘I’m not here to cause any problems. I just have a couple of questions.’
The boys spun around, startled by the sudden arrival. ‘You can ask as many questions as you want but you’re not gonna get any answers,’ said one of the youngsters gruffly. His long dreadlocks were swelling out from underneath his hood. Nik knew the boy would never give his real name so he decided to call him ‘Marley’.
‘I’m looking for a sprayer called Simon Fahl.’
‘Try Google, mate,’ said the second boy. Nik reckoned he was around sixteen years old. His near translucent skin was covered in freckles.
‘Look, if you tell me you’ve seen Simon in the last couple of hours, then my work’s done and I’ll leave immediately. But if that’s not the case, then we should be worried because a week ago a teenage girl was kidnapped, and Simon has also disappeared. I’ve got reason to believe there is a link between the two. Not only are there similarities, but Simon went missing not long after the girl did. Only difference is . . . while everybody and their granny knows about the girl, nobody has a clue about Simon. D’you understand what I’m saying here? I’m the only person out there looking for him.’ Nik paused and looked at the boys. ‘So, if you’d rather not hear about Simon getting fished out of the Isar because some sick paedophile got bored of him, then you should probably be a bit more helpful.’ Nik knew a sentimental story wasn’t going to work on these boys so he’d have to resort to a bit of exaggeration. Marley lifted his head and looked at his friend. He finally let go of the stubborn act.
‘We haven’t seen him in ages,’ he said.
‘How long exactly?’
‘Five days.’
‘Is that normal?’
‘Simon’s home life is a pile of shit. His foster mum’s mental and his old man sells drugs. So obviously he spends most of his time with us.’
‘How d’you know about the drugs?’
‘Simon told us,’ answered Marley. ‘Wanted to get him selling too.’
‘Anything strange happen last time you saw him?’
‘Nothing, man. He was the same as always.’
‘Did he tell you about any new acquaintances of his?’
Marley shook his head. ‘Simon didn’t make friends easily. That kids’ home he lived in hardened him up.’
‘A child care worker saw Simon speaking to a very tall, scrawny man on two occasions. He had a bad limp.’
Marley glanced at his friend again before speaking, as if looking for permission. ‘Yeah, we saw that guy once.’
‘We were picking Simon up from the home,’ continued the boy with the freckles. ‘He was speaking to that lanky dude when we got there. I noticed he was tall but other than that he seemed normal. Apart from the limp . . . That stood out.’
‘And how did the conversation look? Did Simon seem nervous or threatened?’
‘No idea. But they definitely waved goodbye. Didn’t notice anything strange.’
‘Did Simon ever mention the man?’
‘Nope,’ answered Marley.
‘And we never saw him after that,’ added the other boy.
Nik sighed. This man was the connection between the two missing teenagers but he wasn’t going to get any further without a better description or a name. Simon was the only one who could help.
‘D’you reckon Simon might be hiding somewhere? Has he got somewhere he goes to get away?’ asked Nik.
‘Simon likes being on his own, yeah. But he’s not a complete loner. He doesn’t just hide out for days on his own without telling anyone. So, if you’re CID . . . isn’t it about time you got on the phone to your buddies in blue and tried to find him?’
Chapter 6
Nik was woken by a sharp pain in the nose. He blinked quickly, opened his eyes and noticed a faint pressure on his chest. Kara was standing stock still on his solar plexus, not moving a feather, and glaring at him threateningly, as though weighing up the potential success of an attack to the nose. Nik was relieved that she was a grey parrot and not an Andean condor.
As he lay considering the best way out of the predicament, Balthasar’s voice rang through the flat. ‘Ni-i-k! Breakfast’s ready-y-y!’
The parrot squawked, raised its wings and flew out of the bedroom. Just as Nik turned on to his side to go back to sleep, music started blasting from the living room. ‘Fucking ABBA. Of all things, why ABBA?’ He pushed himself up and turned to sit on the edge of the bed. Sinking his forehead into the palms of his hands, he focused his attention on his breathing. In and out. ‘No violence, Pohl,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Leave the gun in the drawer. And calm . . . down.’ There was no room for aggression when it came to Balthasar at the moment. Even if he was sleeping better, he still needed time. Nik forced a smile on to his face, stood up and slumped his way into the kitchen. On the table was a small bowl of cornflakes that had been drowned in watery yogurt. Kara’s head was dunked deep into the white mush, and Nik wondered how on earth the parrot was able to breath.
‘Is that appropriate food for a parrot?’ asked Nik.
‘My Kara might be a sweetie pie, but she is also a real grouch in the morning. And you do not want to see her when she doesn’t get her breakfast.’
‘Hmm, probably best,’ grumbled Nik. Kara lifted her head, took a deep breath and dived down for more.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Balthasar asked with a smile.
‘I was fine after I stuck earplugs up my nose. Would have been suffocated by lavender otherwise.’
‘You’ll get used to it and then . . . you won’t be able to do without it.’
‘I
wonder what it smells like when you throw petrol over it and put a match to it.’
‘Like burned lavender, of course.’
‘Balthasar, were you decorating the kitchen in the middle of the night?’ Nik looked over at a colourful painting above the washing machine.
‘Ah yes! That’s a replica of one of Jackson Pollock’s masterpieces,’ answered Balthasar enthusiastically. ‘Fabulous, isn’t it?’
‘Looks like a three-year-old ate their paint set and threw it back up on the wall.’
Balthasar turned off the hi-fi with the remote control and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Nik Pohl. You are an utter philistine.’
‘Been called worse names,’ Nik responded, sipping his coffee. He picked up a slice of toast and shuffled into the bathroom, while Balthasar gazed at the abstract expressionism on the wall and Kara continued with her yogurt-diving ritual. Nik turned the tap to cold and let the water run over his head. After a minute, he dried off his hair with a lavender-scented towel. He yawned his way back to the living room, slumped on to the couch and called Jon.
‘Morning, Nik. How’s the flat-share going?’
‘Well, the place smells like a brothel, the tables are covered in weird vases filled with just as weird-looking flowers and Balthasar’s hung up the world’s ugliest painting in the kitchen. Oh, and then there’s the parrot with a psychopathic serial-killer vibe that likes to bathe its head in yogurt for breakfast.’
‘Sounds like a match made in heaven,’ said Jon. ‘Anyway, it’s good you called; something’s happening with Greta’s case. Turn on the local news.’
A special broadcast was underway. Clemens and Vanessa Grohnert were sitting at a table. Clemens was wearing a navy suit, while his wife wore a subtle grey dress. Her hair was tied back in a plait and she was wearing next to no make-up. Clemens was reading from a sheet of paper in a monotone voice.
‘I would like to take this opportunity to make a confession: I was one of the people responsible for the northern Munich bypass embezzlement scandal. I will be working with the public prosecutor to help clarify this matter and I will meet the demands made by the kidnapper. You will get your money. By this evening, I will have set up a fund for the parties that were harmed by the construction scandal.’ Clemens looked up. ‘I’m begging you: please let Greta go unharmed so we can finally hold her in our arms again.’
Clemens stood up and left the room with his wife, who had started to cry. Cameras flashed and flickered wildly. Reporters bawled out questions and a security guard stopped one overzealous journalist from following the Grohnerts. The shot returned to the news reporter in the studio and Nik turned off the TV.
‘Looks like something’s finally happening,’ said Nik.
‘Oh, that’s only half the story,’ explained Jon. ‘Something happened last night as well.’ Nik heard Jon typing in the background. ‘At one a.m. the Grohnerts received a message from an anonymous email address giving Clemens twelve more hours to confess and to set up the account. If he didn’t comply, the blackmailer would send Greta home in a body bag. A photo of Greta holding yesterday’s newspaper was attached to the email.’
‘Was it possible to trace it?’
‘Not a chance,’ replied Jon. ‘It’s easy to send an anonymous email these days. And the photo gives no clues to Greta’s location. The CID forensics reckon it’s real.’
‘Well, at least Greta’s still alive, I suppose.’
‘Yes, but the kidnapper increased the sum. He now wants five million and an extra hundred thousand just for himself that should be handed over to him personally.’
‘Now I understand why Clemens said “You will get your money.”’
‘Yeah, the CID aren’t releasing that bit of information to the public,’ said Jon. ‘But I think all this just disproved your smoke-screen theory.’
‘Not necessarily. I’m still not convinced. There are too many things that just don’t fit a classic abduction. Not to mention a ransom handover will use up valuable resources that would’ve otherwise been put into the search for him and the girl. Did the kidnapper set down a time and a place?’
‘The Old North Cemetery in the Maxvorstadt borough. At eleven p.m.’
‘Not a good choice,’ said Nik. ‘It’s very central but it’s large and flat. It only has four exits and the high walls are hard to get over. The trees will make an aerial surveillance difficult and the gravestones offer great hiding places, but even with the thick vegetation, it’s still not dense enough for someone to hide securely. And the park will be empty at that time so the kidnapper’s got no chance of vanishing into a group.’
‘True. And it’ll be dark.’
‘Oh, that’s not an issue. Night-vision glasses aren’t expensive these days and if the kidnapper memorises the way, the dark’s not a problem anyway. Of course, the police’ll have glasses too,’ Nik remarked.
‘The kidnapper’s never gonna get away with the money. The police are planning to deploy more officers than there are residents in the neighbourhood.’
‘Has an exact point of exchange been arranged?’
‘The kidnapper’s getting in touch just before eleven p.m.,’ explained Jon. ‘The money should be put into a bag and Clemens Grohnert has to pass it over himself.’
‘And did the person make any more specific demands? Like the money needs to be in small notes or if the police are anywhere nearby the girl dies?’
‘Nothing of the sort.’
Nik groaned sullenly.
‘You don’t think the kidnapper will turn up?’
‘It’s not important,’ replied Nik. ‘If they pick him up, fine. If he gets the money and lets Greta go, even better. But as long as the girl isn’t back home, I’m going to keep looking.’ Nik got up off the couch. ‘Can we follow what happens without having to be right at the scene?’
‘I can hook us up to the police radios but not their cameras,’ Jon said. ‘But I’ve got an alternative.’
‘OK?’
‘Airbnb.’ Nik could hear Jon’s proud smile over the phone. ‘I’ll send you the address in a minute.’
‘And the CID’s deployment plans as soon as they’re available,’ added Nik. ‘Let’s hope this whole thing is over by tonight . . . Or we at least get some kind of lead.’
Nik walked over to the fridge and took out a beer. The attic flat was musty and the bed was uninviting to say the least. But the view of the Old North Cemetery was remarkable. ‘How did you manage to book this place at such short notice?’ Nik asked Jon over a headset.
‘The guy who lives here rents it out on Airbnb,’ replied Jon.
‘And it was available tonight?’
‘Actually, no. But I made him an offer nobody in their right mind would have refused,’ said Jon. ‘So now, he gets to spend a couple of nights in a five-star hotel and enjoy a bit of extra cash in his account.’
Nik bent down to look through a telescope. Hidden from the outside world by a curtain, Nik could aim it downwards to monitor Adalbertstraße. Jon had installed high-quality cameras on Arcisstraße, at the park entrance on Zieblandstraße and in front of the play park at Tengstraße. All the images were now visible on the three monitors that Jon had set up on a table beside the telescope.
‘You not scared someone will find the cameras?’
‘Don’t worry. They’re no bigger than lighters and very well hidden. Plus, the signal’s encrypted and runs directly to me via an open Wi-Fi network. So even if the police do find the cameras, they won’t be able to trace them to you or me.’
Nik looked at his watch. ‘It’s almost eleven p.m. The street’s awfully quiet considering a team of more than twenty officers is out and about.’
‘The police decided not to close any roads or set up control points. A flat in Adalbertstraße is being used as a central look-out post. Plus, four SEK officers are undercover in a bus parked in Tengstraße.’ SEK was Germany’s special operations unit that dealt with high-risk settings such as hostages, raids and kidnappings
. ‘Two CID officers are in an old building directly at the main entrance on Arcisstraße and four others are lying somewhere in the cemetery.’
Nik looked at a printed plan of the area. ‘Depending on where the four from the SEK are situated, the chances of getting away with the money are slim. But who knows? Maybe we’re in for a surprise. Maybe the kidnapper has a trick that nobody’s been expecting.’
‘So, the exact exchange location was just confirmed,’ said Jon. ‘The CID are saying another email came in from the kidnapper two minutes ago. The money is to be left behind Wagmüller’s tombstone. The one with the angel of death and a child on top.’
The monitor suddenly grabbed Nik’s attention. Somebody was leaving the building by the main entrance with a torch in his hand.
‘Is that really Clemens Grohnert?’ asked Nik.
‘No, just a police officer with a similar figure,’ Jon explained. ‘And a wig and make-up. Since it’s dark, the CID decided to take a risk and fake that demand.’
Nik watched the action for as long as the camera could follow the man. Then, four minutes later, the same man appeared on another monitor.
‘Everything looks fine,’ said Jon.
Nik sat down on the couch, his eyes never leaving the monitors. Every so often a car would drive past and at one point he saw an old man walking his dogs, but other than that, the area surrounding the cemetery stayed quiet.
He looked at the map and imagined all the ways he would have tried to get into the cemetery, take the money and disappear without being seen. But it was useless. He always ended up getting picked up by the police.
‘I’m keen to know how the kidnapper plans on getting that bag,’ mumbled Nik.
‘We’re about to find out,’ said Jon. ‘A person dressed in black just climbed on to some rubbish bins and over the wall. They’re moving in your direction.’ Nik ran to the telescope and looked through it but thanks to the trees, he could only see a thermal signature every so often.
‘He’s going straight to the tombstone,’ said Nik. ‘No hiding, no creeping.’
‘And he’s not limping,’ said Jon.
Blood Ties Page 10