‘I did,’ said the pathologist over the phone. ‘And I came across a couple of interesting things.’
‘OK, well, let’s go through it all from the start and you can add what you found.’ Nik placed his cup back in the holder and reached for the printouts from his bag. ‘Maybe you two will think of something.’
‘Greta’s disappearance was reported to the police at 7.46 a.m.,’ Jon began. ‘When exactly she was kidnapped cannot be determined because there were no witnesses. Even the parents didn’t notice anything.’
‘Rigor mortis on the security guard was fully developed when the police arrived,’ said Balthasar. ‘That means he’d been killed between midnight and two o’clock in the morning.’
‘His body was lying in the back garden,’ said Jon. ‘He’d received a shot to the front of the forehead. No gunshots were heard, so it is assumed that the perpetrator used a silencer on the gun.’
‘And that’s how he managed to get in,’ added Nik. ‘Splashes of blood were found on the door and small amounts were also found on the carpet in the house.’
‘The intruder shot the security guard the minute he came out the door.’
‘How did he get on to the property?’ asked Balthasar.
‘Across the back garden.’
‘But that area was covered by CCTV.’
‘The camera was intact when the police inspected it,’ said Jon. ‘It’s possible someone had programmed it to play an endless footage loop, but the investigators are still racking their brains about that one.’
‘So, who was this person who broke in?’ asked Balthasar. ‘Batman?’
‘You’d think,’ said Nik. ‘But it was definitely two people because two sets of footprints were found in the garden.’
‘And the ones that led away from the house were deeper than the ones that led to the house because they were carrying Greta,’ added Jon.
‘This is unbelievable,’ said Balthasar, perplexed. ‘Somebody takes the Grohnerts’ daughter from her bed, throws her over their shoulder, marches out of the house with her, carries her through the garden with an accomplice and then climbs over a wall with her. And the parents don’t notice a thing!’
‘No footprints or mud were found inside the house so the kidnappers must have taken their shoes off,’ said Nik. ‘The house has no laminate or floorboards so there won’t have been any creaking and the carpet would have cushioned their footsteps. The doors are too new to squeak and the parents’ room is separated from Greta’s by a large bathroom and walk-in closet.’
‘Greta was drugged and carried out of the house,’ Jon continued. ‘Getting her over that wall would have been a struggle but she was a slim girl so it’s definitely possible.’
‘There must have been someone else monitoring the property who told the two kidnappers the whereabouts of nearby patrol officers,’ said Nik. ‘They would’ve got Greta on to the other side of the wall and put her straight into a car.’
‘And then, at 8.24 a.m. a man out walking his dog found her body at the edge of Lake Feringa, not far from the A99.’
The photo of the dead Greta was burned into Nik’s memory. The colourless face, framed with wet, straw-like hair, and her staring eyes, lifeless and glassy. The large hole in her T-shirt and the dry blood enveloping her chest. A young girl who had been so beautiful, left floating on the bank of the lake like an old piece of driftwood. Disposed of like worthless rubbish.
‘I think it’s best I spare you both the autopsy details,’ said Balthasar. ‘But we know, at least, she was neither tortured nor raped. All investigators agree that the lake wasn’t the murder location: she had lost a lot of blood from the gunshot wound to the chest and there wasn’t much blood found at the scene. She was just thrown into the water there. Estimated time of death is 7 a.m.’
‘So where was she in the hours between the time she was kidnapped and when she was murdered?’ asked Jon.
‘There’s no evidence to suggest where she was,’ said Nik. ‘The bank is still being searched. And considering the size of Lake Feringa, that will take a good while.’
‘Throwing a body into the water to destroy evidence is nothing new, but why were the wounds washed out with bleach?’ asked Jon.
‘Because they took the bullet out of her chest,’ explained the pathologist. ‘Her murderers wanted to be sure they left no clues behind.’
‘And what kind of gun was it?’ asked Nik.
‘Hard to tell under the circumstances,’ answered Balthasar. ‘But investigators believe it was a nine mil.’
‘I understand the bit about removing traces from the gunshot wound,’ said Jon. ‘But why had her hands also been washed with bleach?’
‘Because Greta had defended herself,’ said Nik. ‘So it would have been possible to find DNA from the murderer under her nails.’
‘And why didn’t they just shoot her in the house?’
‘I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times,’ said Nik. ‘And the only plausible explanation is that the murderer wanted information from Greta.’
‘Information from a fourteen-year-old?’ asked Jon. ‘What kind of secret could a young girl be keeping that would justify so much violence?’
‘No idea,’ said Nik.
‘And if we take information as a motive for the kidnappings, the whole thing gets even more absurd if we consider Hannes a victim,’ said Balthasar. ‘He won’t be able to say a thing! And even the most brutal of methods wouldn’t change that!’
Jon sighed. ‘So, all of that, and we still have nothing new. We still have no idea what’s going on.’
‘What was van Berk doing last night?’ asked Nik.
‘According to his tracking device, he was in his villa. His car was there all night until nine o’clock this morning. Greta had been dead for at least a couple of hours by then.’
‘It’s possible he took another car,’ suggested Balthasar.
‘Van Berk definitely wasn’t actively involved in Greta’s kidnapping or murder,’ said Nik. ‘He’s not that stupid.’
‘So the only thing left to do is wait,’ concluded Jon.
‘Wait and hope that Greta’s murder will be the end of all this insanity,’ added Balthasar.
‘I’ll keep an eye on the CID server,’ said Jon. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon there’s anything new with the investigations.’
‘I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Hannes,’ said Nik, putting the files back into his bag. ‘I won’t let them get their hands on him.’
At precisely 7.55 a.m., Hannes and his mother left the house and got into their car. Nik let out a sigh of relief, the tension in his body easing instantly. He put his gun in the glove compartment, turned off the camera and waited until the car had driven away with the police escort. He started his engine and set off home. Not long after, he got a call from Jon.
‘Everything’s fine,’ said Nik, rubbing his eyes from exhaustion.
‘Glad to hear it but I’m calling for another reason. Olaf van Berk was taken into hospital last night.’
‘OK. What happened?’
‘I can’t see,’ said Jon. ‘I carried out the routine checks on the bugs that Balthasar had attached to his car and saw that he drove to Harlaching hospital at around two o’clock in the morning and stayed there for a long time. When I hacked the hospital server, I managed to find his name on the patient admissions list but his medical complaint was described merely as “some vague discomfort”.’
‘Does he have a record there?’
‘I searched everything but couldn’t find any entries. He normally goes to a private hospital.’
‘Is he still there?’
‘I don’t know. The car drove back to van Berk’s forty minutes ago. Either with or without him.’
Nik scratched at his unshaven chin. ‘So what does this mean?’ he mumbled.
‘Not sure. I’ll keep an eye on the hospital database.’
‘OK. I’m going home to get some sleep so I’m well rested for the next
watch duty,’ said Nik.
Nik wished it had been a sunny day for Greta’s funeral but instead, there was a solid barrier of grey clouds in the sky, waiting for an opportune moment to release their rain on to the crowd of mourners. There were a lot of people at the cemetery: friends and family, but mostly lots of teenagers who had come with their parents. Most of them had tears in their eyes, while others looked apathetically at the floor, as if realising for the first time what had happened to their friend.
Nik stood at the edge of the large crowd that had gathered around the grave. He couldn’t hear the minister’s committal, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to hear it. And neither did he want to read any of the messages on the countless wreaths. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn’t even notice Naumann was there.
Nik should have been feeling sad, or angry. Angry with himself, and the CID’s failures, or with the whole world, which was still consumed by things it deemed more important than the death of a young girl. But instead, he felt nothing: as if he were an uninvolved bystander. Now was the time when he should have gone over to Greta’s parents to offer them his condolences. But that too seemed pointless. The young, pretty, lively girl was dead and he hadn’t been able to save her. Nothing was going to bring her back. He couldn’t even say who had murdered her or why she’d had to die. Had God made him the offer, he would have taken her place in that coffin. But instead, fate had decided he would carry on living, constantly aware of his failings. For the rest of his life.
The minister came to the end of his speech and shook hands with the Grohnerts. Party by party, the mourners started to move away from the grave.
Nik made the sign of the cross. He hadn’t done that for many years but today it somehow felt right. As he started to leave the cemetery, it began to rain so he lifted his jacket collar. Arriving at his car, he turned around to look at Greta’s grave one more time. Then he stepped into his car and made his way to Hannes’ house.
By the fourth night of his self-imposed surveillance duty outside the Leppers’ house, Nik had developed a routine. He would park in front of the entrance to a paint shop that was closed at night. To the side of the shop was a large bush which he could conveniently use in case of any toilet emergencies. Every night, Balthasar supplied him with a flask of coffee and a home-made panini, which – thanks to the lashings of garlic Balthasar would plough on to the bread – made Nik’s eyes stream. Nevertheless, the sandwiches tasted so good they were always gone by midnight. Thanks to a digital radio, he was able to listen to his favourite rock station – albeit turned down very low. He’d had much worse surveillance jobs.
Each night, he had pointed his camera towards the house and watched intently. Over the last few nights, however, the most interesting thing he had seen had been a pine marten. No roaming figures, no large cars with tinted windows – in fact, not a single person who seemed interested in the house or the people living there.
Nik flipped unenthusiastically through the most recent police files on Greta’s death but there was still no trace of her murderer. It would have been unfair to say the special commission weren’t doing everything in their power, but despite all their efforts, neither the investigation of the crime scene nor the questioning of possible witnesses had provided any useful evidence. There had been no DNA on the dead body, no fingerprints, and not a single clue as to how the body could have got to Lake Feringa.
A blue light snatched Nik from his thoughts. A police car was driving at high speed out of the residential area along the road parallel to the one he was parked on. Not long after, he heard sirens coming from another direction. The sounds wailed distressingly through the silent night.
Nik looked at the time. It was just before four. He turned off the radio and called Jon, who picked up after the first ring. ‘Apparently I didn’t wake you?’ said Nik.
‘Unfortunately not. Someone’s being held hostage in Sendling,’ said Jon. ‘Somewhere in the wholesale market.’
‘The market’s massive and there’ll be loads going on this close to opening time. A hostage situation there could escalate really quickly.’
‘That’s why the police have called out all available units. To block off all the roads.’
‘Why would anyone hold someone hostage there?’ asked Nik. ‘I’m assuming it’s not because they’re pissed off after being sold rotten fruit.’
‘The situation’s unclear and police are getting contradictory information. Some people are reporting a robbery, while others are saying someone’s being held hostage. One caller was rambling on about some Islamic fanatic, but the market hall manager can’t confirm anything of the sort.’
Nik was taking a sip of coffee when he got cut off. ‘What the hell?’ He put his cup back in the holder and looked at his phone. No service. ‘Piece of shit!’ He went to call Jon again, but just before he could, someone started shouting loudly, startling him.
‘Stay where you are!’ cried one of the police officers. The young man had stepped out of his car but Nik couldn’t see who he was shouting at from where he was sitting. Just as Nik laid his hand on his gun, there was a tremendous bang followed by a glaring explosion.
Nik covered his head. He knew that noise. Stun grenades. An efficient weapon and nobody stood a chance against them, not even if they squeezed their eyes closed and pressed their hands up to their ears. The noise reaches 170 dB and is louder than a lightning strike. The strain on the inner ear is immense and the flash caused by the magnesium causes temporary disorientation. The police officers would be of no use to Hannes anymore but Nik had thankfully been far enough away. He grabbed his gun and jumped out of the car. Crouched down with his gun stretched out in front of him, he ran down the street towards the house. A hefty man in dark clothes and a ski mask was running towards the Leppers’ front door. The man had a sledgehammer in his hand. When he arrived at the front door, he started slamming down the tool on to the door lock. Nik stopped running, aimed and fired. The bullet hit the man in his right thigh. He cried out, dropping the sledgehammer and falling to his knees on to the stone steps.
Nik started running again. When he got to the man on the steps, he kicked him as hard as he could in the face. His head was thrown back, and he rolled down the stairs unconscious. Nik immediately rammed his shoulder into the door and ran into the house. He came across Hannes’ parents in the hallway. They were wearing their pyjamas and looked deeply confused, staring around nervously with no clue as to what was happening. Nik pushed the father to the side and ran up the stairs to Hannes’ room. The teenager was sitting on the floor in front of his bed, pressing his hands against his ears and crying out. His whole body was shaking and his pyjamas were wet with urine.
‘I’m sorry, buddy.’ Nik tucked his gun into his waistband and heaved Hannes over his right shoulder. The boy screamed even louder and drummed his fists on Nik’s back. But Nik ignored him and hurried down the stairs. ‘We need to get out of here!’ shouted Nik to his parents but the parents just stared at him, frozen with terror.
There was no chance the man with the sledgehammer would have come alone, thought Nik. With a bit of luck, his accomplices would try to come in the front door. The unconscious, bleeding man at the front door would make them nervous and hopefully stall them. They had, after all, only expected the two police officers and not a third man. Nik had to make use of the time to get away. The attackers would have studied the house plans meticulously and would know who slept where, how many rooms were in the house and where each piece of furniture was. If the accomplices confronted him and the Leppers inside the house, they’d be trapped. He had to move things to another location; a location where the terrain would be unknown. Hannes’ mother tried to hold Nik still and grab on to her son, but he hit her hands away, ran through the house, slid open the left patio door and went outside.
The surrounding gardens were separated from one another by low fences. They wouldn’t present a challenge to Nik, even with someone on his shoulder. If the two of
them managed to get a head start, they would be able to hide in a nearby garage or summerhouse until the police arrived. Hannes’ constant screaming, however, was going to make escaping difficult.
Nik had only moved two steps forward when he heard a bang and felt a piercing pain in his left calf. His leg collapsed and he couldn’t keep his balance. He used all his strength to reduce the fall and prevent Hannes from hitting the ground. He pushed him into a corner of the patio, crawled behind a large terracotta pot that had been planted with a palm and took out his gun. Nik hadn’t seen exactly where the attacker was, but the muzzle flash had briefly illuminated a silhouette. Whatever the case, the shooter was far too close. Not even enough time had passed for the accomplices to have checked the entire house. This suggested they must have got here at the same time as the man with the sledgehammer, coming through the surrounding properties to arrive at the Leppers’ garden. Blood ran from the wound in Nik’s calf and the pain made him groan. As he looked out into the garden, he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye. Hannes was still lying in the corner of the patio, now silent from the shock, and his parents were presumably still in the house. With this in mind, Nik pointed his gun to where he’d seen the shadow and fired two shots. The muzzle flash illuminated the setting and he saw the second bullet hit a masked man in the forehead. The head was thrown backwards and the man fell to the ground.
Nik crouched down again behind the pot. He was well hidden, but the downside was he could barely see anything. Hannes had started to scream again, making it impossible to hear any noises coming from the attackers. He counted to three and carefully raised his head. The light from the opponent’s gun and the pain in his shoulder came simultaneously. He’d been hit by a second bullet. He fell back and his gun rolled out of his hand. He hollered, trying to grab the weapon, but the patio began to spin around him. His vision blurred and glittered. ‘Stay awake,’ he mumbled, biting down on his lip. Two black boots were stepping towards him and he felt a hard blow to the head. He fell unconscious.
Blood Ties Page 22