Blood Ties

by Alexander Hartung

  Chapter 11

  The ride to Aying wasn’t too disconcerting. Nik had been through much worse. Nobody pulled a hood over his head or tied his hands together, and the driver acted more like a businessman than one of Paddy’s dealers. He was wearing a navy suit and a white shirt and didn’t have any piercings or tattoos. The only garish thing about him was the bulky gold ring on his right hand. The man hadn’t uttered a word since getting in the car. He was more than likely used to driving odd clients to odd places and Nik was well aware that in situations like this, it was better not to ask too many questions. He hadn’t seen a gun on the man, but considering the car had reinforced doors and bulletproof tinted windows, it could be assumed the driver would know how to defend himself if necessary.

  After a good half hour of driving, the car stopped in front of an old farmhouse with a large barn. The paint on the outside of the building was flaking and the only thing that was still in any reasonable state was the wooden balcony on the first floor. Two small Italian family cars were parked at the entrance and beside them were three piles of chopped wood and a battered old gas barbecue. The mound of manure at the side of the driveway was still steaming and there were countless potholes. The property was situated on a side street that trailed off to a small forest. The nearest neighbour was a hundred metres away and a large beech tree at the front entrance prevented anyone from seeing into the house. Nobody just randomly passed this place.

  Nik’s door unlocked. With a brief goodbye, he got out of the car and walked over to the farmhouse. An elderly man wearing a pair of dirty dungarees appeared from a small shed. He was holding a gardening fork over his shoulder. Without saying a word, he signalled over to a low batten-door that led into the barn. The door squeaked loudly as Nik entered and he saw a mouse rushing back into a hole in the wall. The barn was dilapidated and covered in a thick layer of dust; it looked as if the place had never been renovated. Clouds of dust wafted through the air and there was a strong stench of cow manure. A man was sitting on a narrow platform underneath one of the small windows. He was playing with a silver cigarette lighter and had a gun on his lap. It was a Taurus Millennium G2. Small, easy to handle, loaded and ready to shoot. Saying nothing, the man pointed to a grubby stool.

  Nik knew Fürste from the photos but he’d lost a lot of weight since they’d been taken. He was gaunt, his hair hadn’t been washed in a good while, he needed a shave and his T-shirt was filthy. He looked exhausted and Nik concluded that the hiding place probably wasn’t conducive to getting a good night’s sleep.

  ‘So you’re Paddy’s . . . business partner?’ the man asked in a tired voice.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Nik, nodding.

  ‘He promised me two thousand if I spoke to you,’ continued Fürste. ‘As you can probably see, I could do with the money.’ He clicked the lighter. ‘So, what do you want?’

  ‘It’s about your foster son, Simon,’ Nik began.

  ‘That little shit,’ grumbled Fürste.

  ‘You mean because he didn’t want to help you with your business?’

  Fürste spat on the floor. ‘I wasn’t earning much at the power plant so I had to make some money on the side. Would have been tight otherwise. And Simon never seemed to complain when I used the money to buy food. So he could have helped me out once in a while to push the stuff.’

  ‘Not exactly the attitude you’d expect from a foster dad.’

  ‘Simon doesn’t give a shit about school. He just hangs around spraying walls all day with potheads,’ replied Fürste. ‘So nothing’s coming from that either, is it?’

  ‘Simon’s not been seen in a long time.’

  ‘Yeah, my woman mentioned that.’

  ‘Do you think it’s possible he’s been kidnapped?’

  ‘You mean by this child kidnapper who’s driving the Munich pigs insane?’

  ‘Yeah, or your Somalian friends. The ones who made you end up in this humble abode.’

  Fürste laughed. ‘I took Simon in so my woman would have something to do at night. Not because I love children. If the Somalians have got him, they can keep him. They won’t get me with that.’

  Nik took a photo of Ismail Buchwald out of his pocket and handed it to Fürste. ‘Do you know him?’

  Timo looked at the photo and nodded. ‘Not exactly a face that’s easy to forget, is it?’ He handed the photo back to Nik.

  ‘His name’s Ismail Buchwald,’ said Nik.

  ‘I saw him once with Simon. The two of them were speaking at the front door when I got home. Just thought he’d brought him home from school.’

  ‘And did you speak to him?’

  ‘Nah. He limped away without saying a word when he saw me.’

  ‘And did you ask Simon about him?’

  ‘I don’t give a shit who Simon hangs around with.’

  ‘Did Buchwald seem like a friend or did Simon seem hostile towards him?’

  ‘They both had their heads down, as if they were hatching some kind of plan.’

  ‘And did you see them speaking before or after Greta Grohnert’s abduction?’

  ‘When was she abducted?’

  ‘Twenty-ninth of September.’

  ‘Was about two weeks before that.’

  Nik put the photo of Buchwald back in his pocket. ‘Do you think it’s possible Simon could be involved in a kidnapping?’

  Fürste opened and closed the lighter. ‘He never wanted anything to do with my drug dealing so it’s a bit hard to imagine him working with a kidnapper.’

  ‘But you think he’d be able to?’

  ‘Simon’s the smartest fucker I’ve ever met,’ answered Fürste. ‘He could do anything he put his mind to . . . So yes, he’d be able to carry out a kidnapping.’

  Nik sat on the couch and looked at the few pictures of Simon that he had. He wasn’t smiling in a single photo. He looked like a teenage revolutionary with his long hair, a hoodie and ripped jeans. Although he was only fourteen years old, he appeared older; far too mature for someone who was still supposed to be a child.

  Nik was so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn’t notice Balthasar was in the room until he spoke.

  ‘You assume Simon’s in on it all?’ asked the pathologist.

  ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve assumed anything,’ Nik answered. ‘I’m just trying to think in all possible directions, hoping I’ll get some genius idea where everything links sensibly together.’

  ‘Does Simon have a record?’

  ‘Nothing to get too excited about.’ Nik pointed at two pieces of paper. ‘Breach of peace, damage to property and trespassing. Pretty harmless stuff for a kid with his background. No bodily harm or any other kind of serious crime. Not even shoplifting. Conversations with his care workers suggest he’s a difficult kid but not one with criminal tendencies.’

  ‘So why are you including him as one of the suspects then?’

  ‘Because he wasn’t at the police raid,’ said Nik. ‘Why were Greta and Hannes in the warehouse but not him?’

  ‘Are you sure he’d been there at all?’

  ‘The investigators found four traces of DNA there: two of them matched Greta and Hannes and the other two were male. One of them will be Buchwald’s and the other could be Simon’s.’

  ‘Or it could belong to another male kidnapper.’

  ‘Going by the clothing that was found, there has to have been a third teenager there,’ said Nik. ‘Plus, no other child has been kidnapped so there’s a good chance it was Simon.’

  ‘And what are the other two teenagers saying?’

  ‘There still isn’t anything on that,’ answered Nik. ‘It’s possible they’ve already been questioned and the reports just haven’t been uploaded yet. But I can’t be sure. Whatever the case, both families are being protected from the public eye.’

  The conversation was interrupted by Nik’s phone.

  ‘There’s been a shooting in Grünwald,’ said Jon instantly. ‘Buchwald broke into a villa and killed two securit
y guards.’

  ‘Which villa?’

  ‘I still don’t know, but he didn’t get far. He was still at the entrance when he got shot himself.’

  Nik knew a large section of the neighbourhood would be sealed off but he still wanted to try and get a picture of what had happened. He decided to park his car close by and go the rest of the way on foot. Police cars were blocking the street and barrier tape had been hung up to restrain the customary crowd of curious onlookers. Journalists were trying to get their first titbits of information, and cameras had been rigged up high in the hope of catching a lucky snapshot that would make the morning’s front page. But the crime scene itself had been hidden with large tarpaulin sheets. Nik spotted his former colleagues from the CID and forensics. Two ambulances were parked on the pavement.

  The villa in question must belong to a rich man. The price per square metre in Grünwald was obscene and all the villas enjoyed gardens the size of small parks. This particular man’s house was light brown with dark shingles on the roof and a balcony that was supported by thick beams. The high grey wall surrounding the house made it impossible for anyone to see into the garden, as did the large gate at the driveway entrance, which was lined with magnificent oak trees.

  Nik stood back from the gawking masses and called Jon.

  ‘Anything new?’ Nik asked.

  ‘All your ex-colleagues are on site but barely anything’s been uploaded on to the server.’

  ‘Who does the place belong to?’

  ‘Olaf van Berk.’

  ‘Should I know him?’

  ‘I’m still putting together some information on him. Ask me again tomorrow.’

  ‘What was Buchwald doing here?’

  ‘This is the first I’ve heard of van Berk,’ said Jon. ‘And I’ve got no idea how he’s linked to Buchwald.’

  ‘Maybe a deal went badly?’

  ‘According to the reports, Buchwald tried to violently break into the house. After climbing over the gate, he was shot in the driveway. If this was a gangster film, I’d say it was an act of revenge.’

  A siren started to sound and the air filled with blue flashing lights. Nik held a finger up to his free ear. ‘There’s nothing I can do here,’ he said. ‘I’ll head home and wait for the first reports.’

  ‘OK. I’ll carry on looking into van Berk,’ said Jon.

  Nik pinned a photo of the villa on the left-hand side of the wall, along with a map of the area and photos of the fatalities from the shooting. On the right, he’d hung a list of names of all the people involved. Each name was accompanied by a brief life summary. There was an empty packet of chocolate biscuits on the table and a large bag of crisps that had been ripped wide open. Beside that was a thermos flask and a white cup with the dry brown remains of his coffee. Nik stood in front of the wall and scanned back and forth across the pieces of information, unconsciously tapping a black felt-tip pen against his chin.

  The home phone rang over the living room speakers and Nik blinked rapidly, bringing himself back from wherever it was he’d been. He looked at the time. Exactly 12 p.m. Jon had promised he’d call to discuss the case. Not a second later, Balthasar appeared wearing his white yoga trousers and a sand-coloured low-cut T-shirt. Kara was perched on his shoulder. As soon as she caught sight of the biscuit crumbs, she flapped down quickly to peck at them before ripping at the packet with her beak. Nik answered the phone and put it on loudspeaker, his gaze not budging from the wall.

  ‘What a night!’ said Jon, yawning. ‘Couldn’t murderers kill early in the morning for once? Then we could at least get a good night’s sleep and be able to concentrate the next day.’

  ‘It’ll take more than a good night’s sleep to help me figure out what the hell this case is all about,’ said Nik. ‘But anyway, let’s take things one step at a time.’ He went over to Ismail’s photo. ‘Our suspected kidnapper went to Olaf van Berk’s villa yesterday at 7.27 p.m., climbed over the gate and shot the first security guard, who was standing in front of the house, in the head.’ Nik pointed to an area on the map. ‘A heavy crowbar was found in the suspect’s equipment so it can be assumed he was planning to break in. A second security guard, who was also in the garden at this point, opened fire on Buchwald immediately. Buchwald managed to shoot the second guard dead, but in doing so, received a bullet to the left arm. This significantly broke his momentum.’ Nik pointed to a picture of the house door. ‘The moment of weakness gave the third security guard, who was inside the house, enough time to get to the entrance, open the door and start shooting at the intruder. Despite managing to shoot the third guard in the hip, Buchwald was shot fatally in the lungs. But somehow he still managed to climb over the gate and get back on to the street.’

  Nik looked at the photo showing the deceased Ismail Buchwald. He was lying on his right-hand side with his fingers still closed around the gun. Blood was running from his mouth, forming a dark, sticky pool in front of him, and he was staring towards the villa gate. There was a large hole in his jacket at lung height, and blood-drenched feathers from the down lining were sticking to the navy fabric on his back.

  ‘My God. Sounds more like an insane suicide attack you’d see in a film,’ said Balthasar. ‘Until this, Buchwald’s actions have always been well planned.’

  ‘Well, the attack wasn’t actually that far from being successful,’ said Nik. ‘Word had it that van Berk’s property was protected by two security guards. And he killed two. Had the third man not been on the premises, Buchwald would have got inside. He even managed to shoot the third one, albeit not fatally.’

  ‘OK. And then what would he have done?’ asked Jon. ‘Gone inside and shot van Berk?’

  ‘Most likely.’

  ‘And what does that have to do with the kidnappings?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Nik, his confusion clearly grating on his nerves. ‘Van Berk’s name isn’t mentioned in a single document.’

  ‘Well, I actually might have some good news there,’ said Jon. ‘As soon as the names of the deceased were uploaded on to the CID system I did a search on them. I’ll give you three guesses who they worked for.’

  ‘Beate Uhse?’ offered Balthasar.

  ‘Nope. Second guess.’

  ‘Vincent Masannek?’ said Nik.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘OK. Now we might be getting somewhere. If Masannek was contracted by Olaf van Berk, then we might just have found the man behind all this.’

  ‘True, but we still have no idea why,’ said Balthasar.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Nik agreed. ‘And to find out, we’ll need to get more on van Berk.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done,’ said Jon. ‘To the outside world, van Berk runs a financial consultancy company but his clientele is decidedly exclusive. When I tried to arrange a consultation, a secretary politely told me that van Berk was no longer taking on any new clients.’

  ‘So the consultancy firm is just a front?’

  ‘Looks like it. His financial assets are certainly impressive but until now I haven’t been able to stir up any dirt on him. I’ll need to dig a little deeper.’

  ‘And what about his family? What’s that like?’

  ‘He has a son called Elias,’ said Jon. ‘I found some photos and entries on him up to 2009. But nothing after that. It’s as if he disappeared into thin air overnight. There are no links to our kidnap victims and there’s nothing on Elias at the Munich registry office. It’s a dead end from where I’m sitting,’ concluded Jon.

  ‘The photos of the crime scene also show the crowd of onlookers. Most of them are playing with their phones but there’s one woman standing at the barrier, crying.’

  ‘That’s pretty normal, isn’t it?’ said Balthasar. ‘Most people get upset at the sight of a dead body or the scene of a violent crime.’

  ‘Yes, but why is she there then?’ asked Nik.

  ‘Where are you heading with this?’

  ‘The woman’s wearing a headscarf and you can’t fully s
ee the front of her in any of the photos. But if you could join all the individual clips together . . .’

  ‘. . . You’d be able to confirm her identity,’ Jon concluded.

  ‘How long would that take you to do?’

  ‘Two minutes.’

  ‘That fast?’ asked Nik.

  ‘You might not have heard, Nik, but I’m not too shabby with computers and in the days of Photoshop, it’s really not that big a deal.’ Nik heard Jon’s keyboard tapping. ‘The woman with the bright red headscarf, yeah?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ Nik heard Jon hang up.

  Nik picked up his coffee cup from the table and looked inside. Empty. After putting it back down, Kara hopped over to peep inside herself. Also disappointed with the outcome, she returned her attention to the chocolate biscuit crumbs. Balthasar was sitting casually on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, concentrating on the busy wall. A few minutes later, Jon was on the phone again. ‘I’ve sent the photo to your mobile.’

  Nik picked up his phone from the table. ‘Bloody hell . . .’ he mumbled. ‘That’s Daniela Haas. The care worker from Simon’s home.’

  ‘Maybe she was just there by chance,’ suggested Balthasar.

  ‘Neuhausen and Grünwald aren’t exactly neighbouring districts,’ said Nik.

  ‘OK. So d’you think she’s involved somehow?’

  ‘Jesus! I’m beginning to think I’ve lost all my investigating instincts.’ Nik was angry. ‘I mean, it’s completely feasible that Buchwald’s a kidnapper. I can almost believe Simon’s an accomplice in a kidnapping. But I would have never suspected Haas was involved.’ He put his phone in his pocket and picked up the car keys from the top of a chest of drawers. ‘All this sitting around speculating is beginning to piss me off. I’m going to visit Haas at her house and ask her what she was doing at van Berk’s villa.’

  ‘I’ll send her address to your phone,’ said Jon.