Blood Ties

by Alexander Hartung

  ‘Can you tell me what the woman looked like?’

  She closed her eyes, as if transporting herself back to that night.

  ‘Early twenties, long blonde hair . . . dark brown eyes. Had a southern European accent. Spanish or Italian perhaps.’

  ‘Did you ever see the woman again?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Do you know if the baby was a boy or a girl, or the time of birth perhaps?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. That’s all I can remember.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much for your time.’ Nik shook the woman’s hand and turned to leave.

  ‘Herr Pohl,’ she called out. ‘Is the woman OK?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ replied Nik.

  ‘I thought about her a lot after that night and hoped she and the child had managed to get away,’ said the woman pensively. ‘They were not good men.’

  ‘As soon as I find out anything, I’ll be in touch,’ said Nik. ‘But unfortunately, I don’t think you should get your hopes up too much.’

  Nik had laid out all the photos he had for the case on the coffee table: photos of the children, of the places they were kidnapped, and a photo of the murdered man, Vincent Masannek. There were also photos of the parents and their homes, as well as reports on the money exchange and the messenger’s interrogation. He leaned back on the sofa, his hands interlocked on the back of his head, glancing from photo to photo. Kara was perched on the edge of the table and seemed to show a particular interest in Nik’s bullet-battered car. It looked as if she was trying to understand all the chaos. Every now and then she would look up from the photo and give Nik a suspicious side glance. But Nik didn’t even notice she was there.

  ‘No new leads?’ asked Balthasar. He was standing in the doorway with a cup of tea in his hand, looking over at the photos.

  ‘Everything links back to the birth of a child in June 2003. But what the hell was so special about the child?’

  Balthasar came closer to the table and pointed to the photo of the man with the scar on his face. ‘Is that the kidnapper?’

  Nik nodded.

  ‘And who is he?’

  ‘We can’t find anything on him anywhere. We thought that with such obvious facial features, we’d be able to find a record of him in seconds. So apparently he’s managed to stay under the radar until now.’

  Balthasar picked up the photo. ‘That scar is at least two years old and the injury could be the reason for the facial palsy.’

  ‘Facial palsy?’

  ‘Facial paralysis,’ explained Balthasar.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean, it might be a mistake to concentrate on the obvious external characteristics.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘OK. Let’s say he was injured two years ago,’ Balthasar began. ‘As well as the obvious scar, the injury also caused the facial paralysis and the eye clouding. But if we go back to before those two years . . .’

  ‘. . . Our kidnapper would have looked different.’ Nik caught on to Balthasar’s logic.

  ‘You need to build a photo that undoes his injuries.’

  ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘Facial plastic reconstruction is a science all of its own,’ Balthasar explained. ‘A former fellow student of mine earns a fortune in Munich doing nose corrections and covering up defects after accidents. Still owes me a round of beers as it happens.’ Balthasar laid the photo back down on the table. ‘With his knowledge and Jon’s computer skills, we should be able to generate a photo of the kidnapper before his injuries.’ He smiled at Nik. ‘I might not be an investigator, but I bet the man that turns up in the photo is a criminal.’

  ‘It was unbelievable!’ said Jon enthusiastically. ‘Balthasar’s friend from uni is a plastic surgeon, and after his degree he did a course on forensic facial reconstruction in the USA, where he learned how to give skulls a face again. His knowledge of bone and soft tissue is perfectly suited for the process.’ Nik could feel Jon’s fascination permeating down the phone. ‘Him and Balthasar gave me exact instructions on how to build up the paralysed side of the face and to see how the cheek would have looked without a scar.’

  The man in the photo now had symmetrical features and he certainly looked far less forbidding. ‘Ismail Buchwald,’ Nik said slowly under his breath, as if locking it firmly in his brain.

  ‘After I had the reconstructed face, I managed to find his file in minutes,’ explained Jon. ‘He was once arrested for bodily harm after breaking a rowdy drunk man’s arm and nose. But he got off with a one-year suspended sentence and never got into any trouble again.’

  ‘It’s a pretty big step from bodily harm to murder.’

  ‘You won’t find it in his records, but it turns out Buchwald worked for Vincent Masannek’s security company.’

  ‘How d’you find that out?’

  ‘After Masannek was murdered, I hacked into the company server and downloaded the employee list. It took a good while because the server was so well secured and I barely got around to it because I was so busy with the investigations. But it was worth the effort.’

  ‘The fact that Buchwald and Masannek worked together changes things drastically. Especially if we assume Buchwald shot his former boss.’

  ‘The scribbles on Masannek’s map make even more sense,’ said Jon. ‘He’d written “IB?” at two points.’

  ‘Ismail Buchwald,’ Nik realised.

  ‘So Masannek was looking for Buchwald . . .’

  ‘. . . But Buchwald found him first and shot him.’

  ‘Which brings us back, once again, to our original questions,’ continued Jon. ‘Why did Buchwald kidnap the kids and how was Masannek involved in the case?’

  ‘Well, we can’t ask Masannek, can we? So we’ll need to get hold of Buchwald. You got an address?’

  ‘There was one in the employee database. But the house there was ripped down two years ago because it was so dilapidated and they wanted to put a supermarket in its place.’

  ‘And what about the police? What are they doing?’

  ‘The search for him is running full steam ahead. Every civil servant knows Buchwald’s face, which means he won’t be able to leave his hiding place. It’s not looking good.’

  ‘Then we’ll just need to pull the snare tighter,’ said Nik. ‘Can you get hold of cameras that are so discreet we can install them on the street, but strong enough to still give us a sharp picture in the dark?’

  ‘No problem. What you planning?’

  ‘I’m going to make George Orwell’s nightmares a reality and put the residents in Trudering-Riem under constant surveillance.’

  ‘You’ll need a lot of cameras for that,’ said Jon.

  ‘We’ll only need them at the spots Masannek marked on the map. It’s just a few streets and junctions.’

  ‘OK. So you’re talking around thirty to forty cameras.’

  ‘When can you get them by?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ answered Jon. ‘But how d’you plan on rigging them up?’

  ‘I’ll need a cherry picker and clothes that a street light electrician would typically wear.’

  ‘Bit short notice, but I’ll manage.’

  ‘Get a set of clothes for you too. You’re coming with me.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You know how much I hate outdoor operations. And I’m scared of heights.’

  ‘Stop moaning. The cameras have to be installed correctly and we don’t have much time.’

  Jon groaned loudly.

  ‘So when should we meet?’ asked Nik.

  ‘Nine o’clock tomorrow morning in front of your flat,’ replied Jon. ‘By the time we get to Trudering, the morning rush hour will be over. Then we can work without being disturbed.’

  ‘Let’s hope Buchwald doesn’t get caught in the meantime.’

  Nik pretended to tinker with the street lamps while Jon hooked up the cameras. The device was the size of a table tennis ball, just as round, and had a small lens on the front.
Jon attached it to the light with grey duct tape that matched the lamppost’s colour almost perfectly. Nobody would notice it from the street.

  ‘And you can monitor the street with that tiny thing?’

  ‘It’s the latest model from China,’ explained Jon. ‘It’s got an impressive wireless coverage, HD resolution, really good battery life and great software that lets you control the lens. Moving cars would be a problem, but if Buchwald’s on a bike or walking, we’ll get a good picture of him.’

  ‘How did you get that sent over from China so quickly?’

  ‘I’ve got a dealer here in Munich for that kind of thing,’ Jon explained. ‘He was a bit surprised when I said how many I needed but thankfully he’s got a good warehouse in the Czech Republic, not far from the border.’

  ‘So this is all illegal stuff we’re hanging up here?’

  ‘Well, the entire device is banned on the German market but . . . the camera itself is allowed. It’s just what we’re doing with it that’s illegal.’ Jon pulled his tablet out of his bag and opened up an app. The street below them appeared on the screen. Jon zoomed down to two small children standing at the fence of their nursery school staring up at the cherry picker. Nik could make out their eye colour.

  ‘Impressive.’ Nik couldn’t deny it. ‘But how are you going to keep an eye on the footage from thirty of them?’

  ‘That’s only possible on an overhead projector,’ explained Jon. ‘The images would be too small on a single monitor.’

  ‘Can you use facial recognition with them?’

  ‘If only it was that easy,’ replied Jon. ‘You’d need special software and hardware to be able to identify moving figures. And they exceed even my budget. I’ll just need to sit and watch the projector myself. The fact Buchwald’s tall and has a limp will make things a bit easier. You can cover up a scar with make-up but you can’t just stop limping.’

  ‘And what about when it gets dark?’

  ‘The cameras are sensitive enough to show a good picture in just the light from the street lamps,’ said Jon. ‘And when I go to sleep, I’ll set the device to record and watch the footage when I wake up.’

  Nik lowered the cherry picker’s platform, to the immense excitement of the children below. ‘Just eighteen to go and our network’s ready,’ said Nik.

  Jon rubbed his eyes. Continually watching the footage from thirty cameras on a large canvas on the wall wasn’t an easy job and although the projector produced a clear picture, it was still too much to ask from one brain. He’d already taken two painkillers but the pressure in his head wouldn’t shift. The fact it was getting dark outside also didn’t help and the lack of light was causing outlines to become blurry. He attempted to ignore the faces and concentrate on any tall people who were walking slowly. The limp was included in the official search criteria so Buchwald would undoubtedly be trying to cover it as well as he could. Another reason to remain extra alert.

  In a desperate attempt to stay awake – and hopefully for the whole night – Jon reluctantly drank an energy drink. Just as he was considering how awful the stuff tasted, he noticed a tall figure shuffling along the street carrying two shopping bags.

  Jon picked up his tablet, switched the program to control the corresponding camera and zoomed in. The footage was of a side street near an industrial area not far from the main station. Despite the mild weather, the man was wearing a woollen hat. He also had on a pair of tinted glasses and was keeping his head down, as if afraid of being recognised. Jon looked at the man’s gait. He was almost dragging himself along, concentrating on each step. A random passer-by on the street wouldn’t have noticed a thing, but Jon saw it straight away: the man was limping.

  Nik stood in front of the couch and looked at the printouts he’d pinned to the wall. He’d spent the last hour rearranging everything he had on the case. He’d pinned Buchwald over by Masannek, and he’d grouped Greta, Simon and Hannes together. A long piece of string stretched upwards from Masannek to a large question mark.

  ‘Still no breakthrough, eh?’ asked Balthasar. The pathologist was wearing a dressing gown and smelled like sweet aftershave. He doused his face in the same stuff every day after he shaved. Kara was sitting on his shoulder, mesmerised by the pictures on the wall. The glint in her eye seemed to suggest she was considering the best way to rip every last one down.

  ‘We’re missing something,’ said Nik, shaking his head. ‘I still don’t get what Buchwald and Masannek have to do with everything. Why did Buchwald kidnap the kids and why was Masannek going after him? What the hell happened that night in June 2003 that could justify all this insanity? Who was the woman who arrived at the hospital on her own with contractions and left just a couple of hours after giving birth? What happened to the baby? And could that be one of the three kidnapped teenagers?’

  ‘Just a few questions then. Are the police making any progress?’

  ‘They’ve managed to identify all the children who were born in Munich at that time with help from the city council and have notified their parents directly. The connection between the three abduction victims has not been made public yet. Police cars are patrolling high schools and doing stop-and-search operations on cars. They’re using all available resources and still haven’t had a breakthrough.’

  ‘How’s the surveillance operation going?’

  Nik pointed to the screen behind him. It showed thirty tiny little windows. ‘Jon’s monitoring the live camera footage while I go through everything. He’ll call me as soon as he notices anything and link the right camera up to our monitor.’

  Just then, Nik’s phone began to ring. Both he and Balthasar jumped at the noise while Kara flapped her wings frantically and squawked in shock. A close-up image of two legs appeared on the screen. Despite the attempt at covering up a limp, it was easy to see who they belonged to. Nik answered the call.

  ‘D’you see who it is?’ asked Jon eagerly.

  ‘Well, whoever it is has difficulties walking,’ answered Nik.

  The image zoomed out. ‘The figure matches Buchwald’s.’

  ‘Where’s he heading?’

  ‘Into an industrial estate.’

  ‘We got cameras there?’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ said Jon.

  ‘Why didn’t we notice him on the way to the supermarket?’

  ‘’Cause he took a street we’re not watching,’ said Jon. ‘I’ve narrowed it down to possible routes and think I know which one he took.’

  ‘Let’s hope he didn’t just park his car somewhere and that’s where he’s headed.’

  ‘I doubt it. He wouldn’t have parked that far away from the supermarket,’ said Jon. ‘He’s covered his face well; scar and all. And his head’s so low, I can’t see much but the limp’s the most important thing anyway; the police have emphasised that many times. Buchwald’s hideout can’t be far off.’

  The man went down a narrow street and disappeared from the picture. Nik reached for his car key.

  ‘He’ll be gone by the time you get there, Nik,’ said Balthasar.

  ‘Yeah, but most of the properties over on the industrial estate will be locked up,’ said Nik. ‘That will limit the routes he can take. It’ll only be a question of time before I find out where he’s hiding.’

  Chapter 10

  Nik looked at the building from his hiding place behind a tree. It was an old box-like industrial warehouse, about twenty metres long, with a crumbling exterior. The building had a metal door and next to that were two windows made of frosted burglar-proof glass.

  ‘Did Buchwald go in there?’ asked Jon over the headphones.

  ‘I’ve ruled out all other possibilities,’ explained Nik. ‘Only eight of the buildings here are non-residential, four of which are still in use and three of which are too big and too well monitored for somebody to be able to hide themselves and three children inside. And there’s been no evidence that Buchwald’s working with anybody.’

  ‘If you’re not sure, why not put up a camera
at the entrance? Then we’ll see Buchwald when he goes shopping again.’

  ‘That’ll take too long,’ said Nik. ‘Buchwald just bought loads of food and we have no idea what state the children are in.’

  ‘Yeah, but remember we’ve only got one chance at this,’ warned Jon. ‘What if he really is hiding out in some residential building?’

  ‘The houses are built too close together,’ said Nik. ‘Buchwald would never have been able to get three children inside without being noticed. But this warehouse has its own car park and a rear entrance they can drive right up to. The back end is surrounded by high beech trees and all the other warehouses on the way to it are closed at night, which makes it easier to go shopping. Plus, if you look a bit closer, you can see the place is falling apart. The concrete slabs around the building are all loose and there’s moss growing over one of the walls. Not only that, an area of the wire-mesh fence at the back has been kicked down. The building’s been abandoned.’

  ‘So what are you planning?’

  ‘I’ve spent the last half an hour going over the building inch by inch with my binoculars and only managed to find a small camera at the rear entrance. The front door will be barricaded and as I can’t see through the frosted windows, I’ll need to use another method to see if they’re inside.’ Nik took a small device out of his bag, no bigger than a packet of cigarettes. ‘I brought my mini amplifier with me. It’s got a directional microphone. I’ll sneak along the side without any windows and hold the microphone up to the wall. As long as it isn’t too thick, I should be able to hear sounds from inside the building.’

  ‘And then, if you hear something . . . are you planning on storming the building?’ asked Jon.

  ‘God no. That’d be stupid and unprofessional,’ answered Nik. ‘I’m on my own and have no idea what’s going on in there. And I don’t have the necessary training for freeing hostages. I’ll leave all that up to the pros from special operations.’

  Nik crept up to the building, got down on his knees and turned on the amplifier. He moved the device along the wall until he could hear something. He stopped to listen and closed his eyes. Ten seconds later he put down the device and picked up his mobile again. ‘Jon, get in touch anonymously with the CID and tell them everything we know. Especially the information about the warehouse and the camera at the back door,’ said Nik. ‘I was right.’