The Oath
Page 39
‘We should lure him onto an island,’ Weller suggested.
Büscher agreed. ‘An island is good. Then we can easily control the access. The smaller the island, the better. We let him onto the island, but not back off. He can’t get away if we’re prepared.’
Rupert had returned to the team in the meantime. The tin of mints was all alone in the police department in Norden.
‘I think an island is a stupid idea,’ Rupert blustered. ‘Our people would be noticed immediately. The smaller the island, the faster.’
Elke Sommer smiled. ‘A SWAT team can hide better in a tower block than on Baltrum. The island is so small that you can almost throw a ball over it.’
‘Yeah, Baltrum is really too small,’ Weller noted, ‘but we should choose an island that is dependent on the tide.’ He continued, ‘In peak tourist season there’s a ferry that goes to Norderney every half hour. That would be hard to keep under control. I would suggest Wangerooge, Spiekeroog or even Juist. But Borkum is too big.’
Büscher raised his index finger. ‘Langeoog would make sense. After all, Kaufmann goes on holiday there every year. So it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to go back to his holiday flat. It’s booked anyway.’
‘We’ve already upset lots of people on Langeoog,’ Sylvia chimed in. ‘After all, Birger Holthusen was stabbed there. We grabbed Kaufmann there. Won’t people think it’s odd if he suddenly reappears?’
‘But the killer might not realise that.’
Everyone looked at Ubbo Heide, as if they expected a decision from him.
‘Although Langeoog doesn’t depend on the tide, it’s certainly the right choice,’ Ubbo said thoughtfully. ‘We will have to take over the whole house. There can’t be any holidaymakers there under any circumstances. Willy Kaufmann musn’t take a step without us and has to be wearing a wire. Team, we can’t mess this up! You will all be looking for new jobs if Willy is found lying on the beach with his throat cut.’
‘Is what we’re planning here at all legal?’ Elke Sommer asked.
Rieke Gersema groaned and looked as if she’d prefer not to know.
Büscher answered, ‘If Kaufmann plays along, yes. And if not, we won’t do it.’
Both Weller and Büscher’s phones rang almost simultaneously. They both answered immediately. Ann Kathrin informed Weller that Kaufmann was up for it, and Büscher heard from Achim that Volker Janssen had turned himself in at the police station. He insisted on police protection, refused to leave the building and wanted to be put in a witness protection programme.
‘Witness protection programme?’ Büscher asked. ‘That’d actually be a criminal protection programme, right?’
Büscher listened for a while, then he let rip. ‘Yes, he’s considered innocent, legally speaking. They delivered a verdict of not guilty. But—’ He waved them away, as if it wasn’t worth wasting his breath. ‘Well, let’s forget that nonsense. What do I care about his lawyer? You might as well put him in one of your drunk tanks and keep him there until he’s had enough of it himself.’
Weller thanked Ann Kathrin for the information and was glad he could cut Büscher down to size. ‘We can’t assume that the culprit will do what we plan. Maybe he’ll pull the wool over our eyes. He might know our plan, laugh to himself and then take someone else. Volker Janssen, for example!’
Büscher played it down. ‘We can’t possibly protect everyone while watching Kaufmann and setting the trap. We don’t have the military at our disposal, just our own teams.’
Ubbo Heide chimed in. ‘Weller’s right. We should be happy that our fellow police officers in Achim are offering us some support. Janssen won’t run away – on the contrary – and they’ll keep him safe.’
‘And if he wants us to do precisely that?’ Elke Sommer asked. ‘He’s always been one step ahead so far. He knows that you don’t have a couple of hundred people available. It’s also completely clear that we can’t protect everyone in Ubbo’s book. After all, this means about twenty-two people who are still alive and at risk, and I’m not even talking about the second volume here. He wants you to lose sight of the whole picture and then show you how pitiful your means are in comparison to his.’
Weller didn’t like that Elke Sommer said you and your, as if she was consciously excluding herself, as if she didn’t belong. As if she was already trying to distance herself from an impending defeat or simply didn’t want anything to do with it. But Weller thought it wasn’t that simple.
Although many considered him far too nice, he strongly rebuked Elke Sommer. ‘Aren’t you one of us anymore, Elke?’
She looked at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
‘Yes,’ Ubbo Heide said, ‘I noticed that too, Elke. Your words suggest you are distancing yourself from us. At a time when we need your analytical expertise. Give us your take on the situation.’
She swallowed and moved her shoulders jerkily. ‘My take is that he’s pulling the damn wool over our eyes. He’s bringing out the worst in us. He wants us all to become murderous beasts. And we’re on our way there.’
‘At least you’re saying we again now,’ Ubbo Heide noted with relief.
*
He’d set the camera up in front of the bars. He was agitated, as if he were a real director now, making a film and afraid to fail his audience.
‘No! Don’t stand like that! I can only see the bed behind you. Actually, it’d be better if we could see instruments of torture behind you or something. That would scare people.
‘Don’t smile so much when you talk, understand? They have to be frightened! The whole thing becomes a joke if you smile at them. That doesn’t work!
‘You look far too healthy and happy. If we were making a real film now, then there’d also be someone doing make up, and she’d give you a black eye and a fat lip. We don’t have anything like that. But it’s more authentic if everything’s real. What do you think?’
‘I-I could put a bandage on my face.’ Svenja suggested. But he shook his head. ‘No, no, that won’t do. They’d see through it right away. Seems you’ve never seen a face beaten to a pulp, right? It has to swell up and crack. We can’t fake that. The best thing would be for me to punch you a couple of times.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘please don’t.’
She was afraid of what he’d do, but then had an idea. ‘I think it should look like you’re treating me well. Why am I keeping the log, gaining weight and keeping in shape? How would it look if my face has been beaten? The criminals might be afraid, but that’s not the way to convince people like Ubbo Heide that you’re doing the right thing.’
Her clear logical reasoning made him think. ‘OK, let’s try it. Do you know your lines?’
She was afraid she couldn’t learn the speech by heart. There were so many names. ‘I don’t know. I’ll certainly get tangled up. Can’t I have a piece of paper to read from?’
‘Yeah, but it looks much better if you do it without. It makes it seem more spontaneous. And don’t try to play any tricks on me and smuggle any messages into the text. If you do that, then you can read everything aloud once again, but this time with a split lip and a black eye. OK?’
She nodded.
He took up his position behind the camera. ‘OK, let’s go. The show can begin. We’re making history now, and it’s like in Lotto, you’re pulling names out of a hat and telling them who’s won. But the prize isn’t money. Instead, it’s death or a trip to prison.’
She began. ‘My name is Svenja Moers. I’m doing time in this prison for my crimes.’ She pointed to the bars. ‘The courts acquitted me even though I killed my two husbands. A fair penalty also awaits you. The executioner will get you. One after another. Unless you face up to your crimes and confess! If you fear the shame and want to avoid the courts, you could choose suicide and face divine justice instead. But hurry, otherwise the executioner will get you and take off your heads like he did Yves Stern and Bernhard Heymann. I’ll read the names aloud now: Volker Janssen. Joh
annes Kleir. Professor Ludwig. Susanne Sarwutzki—’
‘Sewutzki, not Sarwutzki!’ he scolded. ‘Now we have to do everything again!’
*
Weller saw the message on his screen while he was listening to Ubbo Heide.
Volker Janssen’s lawyer smelled – Weller now remembered – like motorboat oil. It was said of the man that, ‘If all the criminals he got off were jailed overnight, then in East Frisia they’d regret having closed the prison in Aurich. They’d need another wing added. Lawyers like him save the state lots of money because so many criminals are running around free. But it’s not good for the victims – former or future.’
According to the message, the lawyer had advised Volker Janssen that because he was now without an alibi he should deny the killing in Syke, but instead cast the incident in Bensersiel in a different light. He claims now that yes, there was sexual intercourse with mutual consent, but the woman was clearly ashamed after the fact and didn’t want her boyfriend to think she had cheated on him, which is why – inspired by press reports – she’d made up an attempted rape and while doing so, was very precise in matching her descriptions of what had happened to what she had read about the murder in Syke. Which made it his word against hers.
As soon as Weller read who had been hired as the defence and the statement the lawyer had produced, he knew that Volker Janssen would leave the courtroom a free man.
Weller caught himself hoping quietly that the executioner might snatch Janssen before he got his next victim. Weller bit his lips so he wouldn’t say anything.
He could practically smell that lawyer and his terrible aftershave.
Ubbo Heide explained. ‘We don’t know exactly what that supposed journalist, Kowalski, has heard. Maybe there are bugs elsewhere, and one careless statement by any of us could lead to a sick mind like his to monstrous conclusions. Regardless of what he knows, we have to take all of that into account when luring him into our new plan.’
‘He wants to be close to you, Ubbo,’ Büscher said with almost envious respect. ‘He’s even searching for recognition from you. If he senses he can get that somehow, he’ll do exactly what he needs to get it.’
Ubbo Heide nodded. ‘I think so too.’
‘Which is why,’ Weller demanded, ‘you, Ubbo, should be part of the conversation at any rate. We’ll fetch the sweets, put the tin on the table and then—’
‘He’ll go berserk if he realises that we’re tricking him. And then we’ll all become his targets. We only have one shot, people. We have to take good aim.’
Rieke Gersema hadn’t decided for herself whether this was legal or not. She’d have to sell it all to the press later as spokesperson. But she said nothing, only hoping that everything would work out.
*
They had given up trying to develop a screenplay, writing sentences that people would actually say. It all sounded fake, memorised. No, he’d catch on straightaway. It needed to flow through conversation. It was supposed to sound light, impromptu, spontaneous. No complex, polished sentences. No rustling of paper, no reading from the script.
Ubbo Heide was pale around his lips and highly focused.
Rieke Gersema had asked to come along. She didn’t want to speak, just listen. Ann Kathrin had been against it, but Ubbo Heide had agreed. ‘Perhaps she can learn something. At some point we’ll no longer be here, and we are role models for many, despite our failures and our fears. You can only learn if you’ve seen others act.’
They were now down on the ground floor of the police station in Norden with a view of the market square. Rieke entered the room with the mint tin, shaking it well to wake the device if necessary, and to get the eavesdropper’s attention. She opened with the words, ‘I’m sorry, Ubbo. I was at Ten Cate. They didn’t have any more marzipan seals. Sold out. But maybe you can make do with these mints from Bochum.’
Ubbo Heide groaned. ‘What, they don’t have any more marzipan seals? And no nougat balls either?’
‘No,’ Rieke said, ‘Jörg Tapper came personally and said that he’d bring over the first batch when they’re ready. The tourists have practically emptied the shop. It was a huge run—’
Ubbo Heide winked at her. She was doing well. It sounded believable and everyone who knew Ubbo knew that this sounded like him.
Ubbo reached for the tin, removed a mint, and cracked it loudly between his teeth. The culprit would have heard it if he was listening in on the conversation.
‘If I have to make decisions like this or listen to such awful news, then I need marzipan for my stomach. Nothing else really helps, but thanks, Rieke. Could you please leave us alone now? I have to discuss something with Ann Kathrin – just the two of us.’
Rieke Gersema opened the door and then closed it loudly, but she stayed in the room and took a seat. She placed her index finger over her lips and made a gesture as if she were locking them closed.
‘I’d quit now if I wasn’t already retired, Ann. I’ve never felt so helpless and clueless.’
Ann Kathrin cleared her throat. She looked intensely at Ubbo while she spoke and tried to read his face, whether she was doing it right or if it was too artificial. Her own voice sounded strange, but Ubbo looked at her encouragingly. He even gave her a thumbs up.
‘Birger Holthusen was our last chance to catch Willy Kaufmann. That’s why he killed Holthusen on Langeoog. But we can’t prove it. The judge will see it as self-defence, if anything. A former cop attacked on the beach, who defended himself and—’
‘That means the deaths of the two children, Steffi Heymann and Nicola Billing, won’t be avenged!’ Ubbo Heide spat out the words as if they were choking him.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what it means. There’s no judge who would want to reopen the case. We already failed with our indictment back then, against Heymann and Stern. We don’t have the slightest chance against Kaufmann. It’s all so long ago. Witnesses no longer remember and Kaufmann neutralised the only witness for the prosecution.’
‘That means he will get away unpunished?’
‘Yes, that’s what it means. And what’s worse, the executioner has beheaded two people who were innocent. The real child murderer is still running around free.’
‘Yes. We have to let Kaufman out of detention and back to his holiday flat in Langeoog. He’s already asked me,’ Ann Kathrin said, about the ferry times. That was his first concern.’
‘And what do you think of it, Ann?’
‘What?’ she answered. ‘I’m going to try to get the executioner and liberate Svenja Moers. The thing with Kaufmann is meaningless. We won’t get anywhere with that.’
Ubbo Heide hit the arm of the wheelchair with his fist, making it squeak oddly. ‘What upsets me the most,’ he complained, ‘is that Kaufmann is one of us. He worked closely with me. He took advantage of his investigative work to make Heymann and Stern take the blame for the whole thing. No wonder I ultimately failed in court with that case and stood there like a fool. How am I supposed prove a murder by two people if it wasn’t them? My God, he must have had a laugh in court! He didn’t care if the two were acquitted or convicted. The main thing is that he didn’t get involved.’
Weller ripped open the door, contrary to the agreement, and stood in the hallway, gesturing to Ann Kathrin to get her to come out. She answered by shrugging her shoulders and making a face. Ubbo Heide clutched his head, as if asking himself how anyone could be so stupid as to barge in at this moment.
Weller pointed to the tin of mints and waved again. Whatever it was seemed so urgent that it couldn’t be delayed any longer. Weller only very rarely behaved like this, and then never without reason. Ann Kathrin hardly recognised him.
She went out into the hallway. They stood outside, whispering with their heads together. ‘He’s released a video on YouTube announcing that he’s going to kill them all. The entire list from Ubbo’s books. Svenja Moers read the list aloud. Forty-one names in total. We thought we were hunting him, Ann. But he’s hunting us.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ Weller replied, ‘we’ve already got that far. Charlie Thiekötter, our computer nerd, said there are two possibilities: either the computer’s in the German chancellor’s office, or the killer has tricked us again. Although I think our government is capable of many things, I think in this case the killer just wants to show us what he’s capable of.’
*
It was as if his mother were in the room, laughing at him. He was familiar with the feeling from his worst nightmares. He felt very small, trying to defend himself, firing justifications like an antiaircraft auxiliary fires a barrage against the approaching bomber squadron, knowing something would be destroyed.
Yes, that’s how he felt every time his mother got at him, in her sneering way.
‘That’s not right, Mum,’ he said to the wall. ‘They’re lying. They want to make a fool out of me, embarrass me and force me to give up. I didn’t execute the wrong people! They’re just saying that to—’
He felt terrible when he was like this and only wanted to get out of the situation. He’d never manned a flak gun, had never run to the bunker under a hail of bombs. He only knew about these things from his grandmother’s stories. She’d helped out with the anti-aircraft service. But it was as if she’d passed her fitful dreams to him on her deathbed. Like this house which had first been left to his parents, and then to him.
The attack came in the dark. You just heard the terrible humming in the air. By then the bombs had already started falling.
He took the big bread knife out of the knife block and cut a deep flesh wound in his left bicep. It felt good to see the blood flowing. It brought him back to reality. He wasn’t part of that war generation. Those were all old family experiences, not his own. He had to get rid of those thoughts. Exorcise them.
As a child he had cut himself when the dreams from his grandmother’s stories had become overwhelming. It usually helped.
On the one hand, he wanted to bandage his arm so that he wouldn’t lose too much blood and so the wound wouldn’t become infected. He still had so much planned. He needed his strength. On the other, it was wonderful to watch the blood pulsing out. He still had so much life inside him.