Forty Hours: A breath-taking thriller

by Kathrin Lange

  “Shh!” She pushed her way out of his hug. “Don’t be ridiculous!” Her eyes were very large and very red, but she was no longer crying. Trembling, she took a deep breath.

  “Do you know any details …” he began.

  She shook her head and cut off his question. “No. They’re still operating. One doctor came by and told me that he had third- and fourth-degree burns.” Her voice faltered. “It doesn’t look good, Faris.”

  Faris wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the seat in the niche. He perched next to her on the edge of an uncomfortable piece of furniture made from steel mesh.

  “I’ve always known that this could happen,” Christa whispered. “I knew it when I married Paul, but I didn’t want to accept it.” She blinked, then turned her head to look at Faris. She was so pale that he could see the fine network of blue veins across her cheeks. “Why do we ever feel invincible? Do you know what the last thing was, that I said to him this morning?”

  “He isn’t dead, Christa,” Faris said very quietly. She didn’t seem to even register his presence.

  “I complained! Because once again, I had to help him find his keys.” She stopped talking to listen to something that only she could hear.

  “Have you told anyone about this?” he asked. “Someone who could stay with you?”

  She nodded mechanically. “My sister will be here any minute.”

  “Good.” Faris concentrated on the throbbing in his ears.

  “We postponed our vacation,” Christa resumed, and suddenly tears started to trickle down her cheeks. “Did you know that? I was mad, but Paul said that we could go just as easily next month.” She made a sound that reminded Faris of the whimpering of a small child. “He said that we will have many opportunities to travel.”

  Faris closed his eyes. He didn’t know if it was only minutes or hours that passed until the door to the operating rooms swung open. A doctor in green scrubs approached them.

  “Mrs. Sievers?” he asked.

  “Yes?” Christa stood up, a fearful look on her face.

  The doctor fixed his eyes on her, and at that moment, Faris knew. He pushed himself onto his feet as well.

  Christa, however, gazed at the doctor full of desperate hope. “How is he?” she whispered.

  “He had extensive third- and fourth-degree burns,” the doctor said, adding a long medical explanation to this. Numerous incomprehensible words obscuring what he obviously didn’t want to say. He eventually fell quiet and looked sad.

  Christa stared at him in bewilderment. “And that means?”

  Faris stepped closer, preparing to catch her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the door to the corridor swing open and Tromsdorff enter.

  The doctor took a deep breath. “That means that there was nothing more we could do for him.”

  “But when will he get better?” Christa cried out.

  At that moment, what Faris wanted to do more than anything was to scream at the top of his lungs, but he refused to give in. “He’s dead, Christa,” he said softly. The realization of what his words meant hit him at full blast.

  “No!” All at once, Christa spun around and stared at him out of wild eyes. “Don’t say that!” Suddenly her voice was no longer quiet and whimpering, but aggressive. “He can’t be dead!”

  Faris wished he could agree, wished he could hold her tight and tell her that everything would be alright again. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to her. He gazed pleadingly into the doctor’s eyes. Help me! he demanded silently from him, and finally the man pulled himself together.

  “I am very sorry,” he said unhappily. “We couldn’t do anything else for your husband. The injuries were too severe.”

  Christa’s reaction was worse this time. Faris watched, as the words she heard reached her brain. Watched as she realized that she would never see Paul again, as she struggled against this truth and eventually lost that fight. Her body buckled with almost uncanny speed. Her skin was practically gray, her lips pale. “No!” she whispered. “Say it isn’t true, Faris!”

  He was silent. There was nothing that could alleviate her anguish.

  “You were supposed to watch out for him!” she suddenly screamed. Her words struck him all the harder because he knew that his guilt was much greater than this. The bomb had been planted for him. Paul had died in his place.

  Faris tried to swallow the pain in his throat. “Christa, I …” He fell into hopeless silence.

  “It would be best for me to leave you on your own,” the doctor mumbled. He hurried back to the operating rooms, and the sound of the swinging door as it closed cut off the sound of his rapid steps.

  Christa’s fists were clenched, and Faris hoped that she would punch him. But she didn’t. All she did was stare at him, her eyes now welling as she whispered: “Why are you still alive, and he …” She broke off as Tromsdorff reached for her elbow.

  “Come with me,” was all he said. Nothing more. His voice was as thin as paper. He led Christa to the metal chairs and she slowly sank onto one of them. On the other side of the room, the door swung open, and a man and woman rushed inside and headed straight toward them.

  Her sister and brother-in-law, Faris assumed. As he watched them tend to Christa, sitting down to the right and left of her, wrapping her in their arms and attempting to console her, his feeling of loneliness returned; the one that he had felt for the first time earlier that day at Niklas’s apartment.

  He took a step back, and then another.

  And finally he turned around and left. Tromsdorff followed him.

  Chapter 23

  Wrapped in the night’s darkness, Ira sat outside the hospital entrance in her car. After taking a taxi home from the police precinct, she had climbed into her own car and driven over here.

  For a long time, she stared uncertainly through her lowered window at the hospital’s illuminated glass entrance door, but then it opened, and Detective Iskander appeared. His walk no longer exhibited any of the strength that she had previously perceived in it. He seemed on the verge of collapse.

  His boss was beside him. Superintendent Tromsdorff.

  Neither of them noticed her. They came to a stop underneath a tree that grew in a circular bed in front of the hospital entrance. It looked like some supernatural power had frozen Faris mid-stride. For several minutes, he simply stood there, motionless; his eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of him, his fists balled tightly. At his side, Tromsdorff looked helpless.

  “Faris,” he said. “Talk to me.”

  With an excruciatingly slow motion, Detective Iskander lifted his head, but said nothing. The light from the streetlights fell wan and cold across them both.

  Ira became aware that she was eavesdropping. She rolled up her window. Detective Iskander – Faris, she corrected herself in her thoughts – said something. Tromsdorff nodded soberly.

  For a while, the two men faced each other, until Faris finally sank down wearily onto the small bench under the tree. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

  Tromsdorff continued to talk to him. Without looking up, Faris shook his head.

  Tromsdorff said something else, and again Faris shook his head, energetically this time. When he looked up, his eyes flashed angrily. He lifted one side of his jacket under which the grip of his gun flashed.

  His boss held his hand out expectantly, and as he did that, Ira rolled her window back down. She simply had to know what was going on.

  For a third time, Faris shook his head. “You gave it back to me,” Ira heard him declare. “You knew what that meant.”

  “Hell, Faris!” Tromsdorff threw his hands up helplessly. “I’m just worried about you!”

  “You don’t need to be. Focus on the case instead.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Faris lowered his head between his knees as if he suddenly felt nauseous. Ira could see the tension stiffening his neck and jawline. He’s about to explode, she thought, horrif
ied at what she saw. But Faris didn’t explode. Quite the opposite.

  In an increasingly quiet and completely expressionless voice, he said: “I just can’t, Robert. The rest of you will have to catch this bastard. I’m finished.”

  The final sentence sent a surprisingly sharp jolt through Ira’s chest.

  “If he calls and you’ve sent a bullet through …” Tromsdorff didn’t complete the sentence as Faris furiously jerked his hand into the air. “Alright,” Tromsdorff said, more placatingly.

  “He won’t call me again,” Faris said. “He blew up the summer house after tracking me down through my phone. He thinks I’m dead.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his regular phone. With an extremely weary gesture, he handed it to Tromsdorff. “I turned it off after Paul …”

  Something crossed Tromsdorff’s face. He was about to say something but decided against it. He accepted the phone with a glance – and turned it back on. He then handed it back to Faris. “Call a taxi, go home, and try to get a little sleep. It’s been a damned long day! But please leave your phone on. The guy might not call back, but I don’t want to take that risk.”

  Faris drew one more deep breath. His lips grew pale as he did, as if the movement of his ribs pained him. “Sure.” He looked up at his boss. “Catch the bastard!” he whispered hoarsely.

  Tromsdorff reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, but then hesitated and lowered his arm.

  Ira thought she could see Faris’s loneliness, like a gloomy aura that surrounded him.

  “Will you be alright?” Tromsdorff asked. “I can call Anisah.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Faris stood up. He met Tromsdorff’s eyes. His boss studied him for a long moment before nodding.

  “Call me if anything happens!”

  Faris didn’t respond.

  “Faris! Did you hear me?”

  “Yes.” Faris rubbed his face with both hands.

  Tromsdorff was about to turn away when Faris pulled his gun out of his holster and held it out to his boss on an open palm. “Just in case,” he said.

  Tromsdorff glanced swiftly around to see if anyone was watching them. Ira noticed that he looked extremely relieved. “Thank you.” He was almost whispering. Taking the gun from Faris, he stuck it into his suit pocket.

  After Tromsdorff disappeared, Faris stood under the tree for a while without moving. A low-hanging branch brushed against his cheek, but he didn’t seem to feel it. After a small eternity, he gave himself a shake. He was about to walk off, when four young men appeared, walking toward him. They were wearing baggy pants and baseball caps, and they looked like they recognized Faris.

  Faris paused.

  For a moment, he looked unsure about what to do next. But then he straightened his shoulders and marched right at the gang.

  In the light of the street lamps, Ira saw the delighted grins that spread across the faces of the teenagers. They spread out a little and walked toward Faris in a wide line.

  “Idiot!” Ira didn’t spend much time considering her options. She shoved the key into her ignition and started the engine. She flipped her car around as quickly as she could and reached Faris when he was about ten paces away from the teens.

  She hurriedly leaned over and opened the passenger window. “Mr. Iskander!”

  He looked over at her. There was something dark in his eyes that gave Ira a chill. But then he recognized her. “Ms. Jenssen.”

  She gazed out of the windshield at the teens. “Would you like a lift somewhere?”

  Faris turned back toward the gang. “No thanks!”

  Ira glanced from him back to the young men. “That won’t bring your partner back!” she said softly.

  He blinked. The darkness in his eyes vanished. “No. You’re right.” His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket.

  The teens said something among themselves and decided to go back the way they had come. Once they vanished around the corner, Ira breathed in relief. “I can take you home if you like,” she offered.

  He shook his head. “No need.” And he just walked off.

  Feeling a little insulted, she watched him walk down a row of residential yards and then turn down a narrow path that led into a small park. She was making a fool of herself. She hardly knew this man, so why did she feel like she needed to take care of him? It couldn’t just be because he had sad eyes, could it?

  You and your Mother Theresa Syndrome, she could still hear Thomas say with a laugh. You’ve always had a thing for broken men.

  “Dammit!” she exclaimed as she pulled out her car key and followed Faris into the darkness.

  *

  She found him on a bridge that spanned an artificial duck pond. He was resting his arms on the wrought iron railing and staring unseeingly into the murky water, which was illuminated by several old-fashioned lamp posts scattered around the pond’s edge.

  She hesitantly approached him.

  He didn’t turn to face her, but she could tell he had noticed her by the stiffening of his shoulders.

  “Does your profession require you to get on people’s nerves?” he asked.

  She flinched and suddenly felt like a stalker. “No,” she replied as nonchalantly as possible as she joined him on the bridge. The water below their feet smelled brackish. One lonely duck was swimming around, and it didn’t look particularly happy to be there.

  “Why are you following me?” Faris still hadn’t looked at her.

  She rubbed her nose. “Maybe I had a feeling that I needed to prevent something stupid from happening.”

  He finally shot her a sideways glance. Even in the dim light from the lanterns, she could see that his eyes were reddened. “Did you know that this was the first day they gave me back my gun? I’ve been suspended from service for a while now.”

  Shit, Ira thought. He had caught sight of her at the hospital entrance. He must think terrible things about her!

  She nodded sympathetically. She had enough experience talking to people in mourning to know that it was helpful to stick to topics they brought up themselves. “Why were you suspended?” she asked cautiously.

  “Because I beat up a neo-Nazi.”

  “Oh.” The sound slipped out of her mouth before she could hold it back. She thought about the young gang from earlier.

  Faris’s gaze was inscrutable. She could hardly bear the expression in his eyes. “He called me a bomber.”

  “I understand.”

  He turned away from her to watch the duck that now swam underneath their bridge. “No,” he contradicted her quietly. “You don’t.”

  “You might be right.” She fell silent, searching for some point of connection for her next words. “What happens now with the culprit you’re looking for?”

  He laughed. It was a strained, angry sound, but it was obviously a laugh. It sounded so wrong that Ira had to gulp. “You mean now that I’m incapable of chasing him?” he asked.

  “You are too hard on yourself. You just lost your partner. I don’t think anyone is asking that you fire on all pistons right now.”

  He turned his head and gazed at her. Despite all the sadness, his gaze was questioning. She suppressed the turmoil that he generated within her. “Everyone else in the unit is searching for the man. They don’t need me.”

  “You don’t really believe that!” Ira studied him intensely, then altered her tack. “Or if you believe it, part of you doesn’t want to.”

  His eyes flashed in surprise. Good grief, they really did look a lot like Thomas’!

  “You should be a police officer,” he said. “You have good observational skills.”

  “I’m a minister.”

  “Hmm.” Faris stared once more at the water. A light breeze swept through the trees, and Ira felt cold.

  “Why do you think that your colleagues suddenly don’t need you anymore?” she pressed.

  At first, she was afraid that he wouldn’t answer, but he eventually sighed. “He tracked me down, and then he deliber
ately set off the bomb that killed my partner. After that, I just turned off my phone. Before that, he always called after he blew something up. If he did that this time too, then he must think that I’m dead.”

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to her. She took it, unsure what she was supposed to do with it.

  “Click on the message I received this morning.”

  Cautiously, she did as he asked. She was aware that he was watching her as she did this, and she wondered what he was thinking at this very moment.

  *

  Faris didn’t know exactly why he wanted to show this pushy pastor the crucifixion video. Perhaps he just wanted to shock her enough to make her go away. But somewhere in his heart, he was glad that she was there. Of course, he had given his gun to Tromsdorff out of fear that he might blow his brains out during the night, but who knew what the future might hold?

  He watched with mixed feelings as Ira clicked on the video link and then watched the video of the crucifixion. By the end of it, she looked so pale and transparent that he felt like a jerk.

  “The bomber sent me that this morning,” he explained, taking the phone back from her. “And since then, he’s been hounding me from place to place, and each time I get there too late, a bomb goes off somewhere.”

  “He’s playing games with you?” Faris didn’t reply to this.

  “But since the bombing at the garden colony, he hasn’t contacted you,” she continued. “That means he can’t be sure if you’re dead or not.”

  He looked at her in surprise.

  “Your phone would show if he’d tried to call,” she added. “So.”

  He stuck the phone back in his pocket. It felt as if it were burning a hole in in it, and he didn’t know which was worse: the fact that the bastard could call any minute, or the waiting to see if that would happen.

  “You said yourself that your colleagues care.” Ira carefully laid a hand on his arm, which rested on the railing. She seemed puzzled when he didn’t pull it away, but he simply felt as if he would never be able to move again, for as long as he lived. “You should try to sleep a little. You said that the attack will take place during the papal Mass tomorrow evening. There are still a few hours until then.”