Forty Hours: A breath-taking thriller

by Kathrin Lange

  The gray man began his tedious analysis, but before he reached the end of his first word, Tromsdorff muted the report. “We need to discuss this among ourselves,” he muttered.

  Chapter 28

  The bell of the Church of the Passion struck nine as Ira left the parsonage to run the previous night out of her bones. She ran through the morning-chilled air, wrapped in her thoughts. When Faris had left, she had sat for a while longer at the kitchen table, just staring into space. Out of her wallet, she pulled out the business card for the Da Rossi restaurant. She flipped it over and jotted down a few words on the back of it.

  I enjoyed it. Call me when you are on the other side of all this.

  As soon as she wrote this, the two sentences struck her as silly and adolescent. She crumpled up the card and tossed it in the garbage can. With that, she left Faris’s apartment.

  Once she got home, she went to bed, but wasn’t surprised when she couldn’t fall asleep. By the light of day, she found the words on the back of the card embarrassing, and she wished that she could return to Faris’s apartment and fish the card out of the trash can.

  It pained her that Faris had called out the name Laura in his dream, but she warned herself to remain reasonable. She encountered Faris in a moment of weakness and grief. That had been very obvious from the way he had clung to her last night.

  She increased her pace. She usually ran the first kilometers at a modest tempo, but today she felt a need to run flat out, to run for all she was worth, so she took long, loping strides through the park until she was wheezing, and her sides hurt.

  After an hour, she was drenched in sweat, so she set off for the parsonage. With weak knees, she walked into her office.

  “Good morning, Veronika.” Ira reached for a towel that was hanging close to a small sink in a corner.

  “Good morning.” Veronika studied her skeptically. “Is everything alright?”

  At that moment, Ira was glad her face was overheated, since she had the feeling that the events of the previous night were written across her face. If she weren’t beet red already, she would have flushed at this question. “Just needed to get away from the world for a little while,” she replied with a smile, hoping that Veronika would believe her.

  To her relief, the secretary’s thoughts seemed to be somewhere else. “Hmm. Okay. That police detective called, by the way. What was his name again?”

  Faris! Ira almost declared, but she caught herself. “Iskander?”

  Veronika nodded. “Exactly. He asked if we knew anything about Werner Ellwanger having an illegitimate son.”

  “And? Do we?” Ira poured coffee into a cup from a discount shop. It was decorated with a kitsch picture of a puppy. As she added a shot of milk to it, she listened to what Veronika was saying.

  “At first, I wasn’t sure, but the question started me thinking. I asked around a little, among the old women of the congregation, you know. There were some rumors. Ellwanger supposedly had a cleaning lady once, a young thing from the East – Poland or Russia or wherever. No idea what she was doing here in the first place, considering the Iron Curtain and all. But anyway, there was a rumor that Ellwanger got this woman pregnant. That must’ve been at some point in the mid-seventies. She upped and vanished all of a sudden. Probably went back home to have her baby.”

  An illegitimate child. Ira had to forcibly banish all the images of Ellwanger hanging on the cross. She took a deep breath. Her heart rate, which had been elevated because of her run, was now calming down, and the sweat on her body had started to dry.

  “I then decided to dig a little more.” Veronika smiled like a cat who had just eaten a canary. “One of the old ladies remembered the cleaning woman. Even her name.”

  *

  Less than a minute later, Ira was sitting at her office desk as she reached for her phone. Paul Sievers had given her his business card, and she hoped that someone would answer if she dialed this number. Her fingers trembled slightly as she punched it in. The thought of hearing Faris’s voice at any moment set her nerves on edge. She felt the same way she had that day when she thought that Thomas was leaving her.

  It only rang twice before a man picked up the phone. “Marc Sommer here.”

  It wasn’t Faris.

  Disappointment sat in her stomach like a stone.

  “Ira Jenssen,” she replied. “Is Detective Iskander there?”

  He was on the phone so quickly that he must have been standing right next to his colleague. “Ira?”

  “Faris, hi.” She glanced over at the door. Good, she had closed it! Veronika wouldn’t be able to listen in. Her cheeks grew warm, and she didn’t know if that was due to her memory of the previous night or the sound of his voice. She pulled herself together. “My secretary found out the name of the mother of Ellwanger’s illegitimate son.”

  Did her voice really sound that raw?

  “What is it?” He sounded electrified.

  Only because of the information, she warned herself.

  She consulted the piece of paper she had jotted the name down on. “Ludmilla,” she said. “Ludmilla Mechow.”

  *

  The name lit a fire under Faris. “Thanks, Ira!” he exclaimed, before hanging up without saying goodbye.

  “Gitta!” he shouted as he strode across the War Room. “Show me the list of museum victims!”

  She had already opened the file in question by the time he reached her office. His head was buzzing, and he had to blink several times in order to see clearly. He quickly skimmed down the list until he found the right entry.

  Mechow, Ludmilla.

  He had been right.

  Triumph spread through his chest. Finally a breakthrough!

  “The bomber’s mother,” he murmured. “She was killed in the museum.”

  *

  After Faris had hung up without saying a word, Ira sat for a while at her desk, staring at the sheet with the children’s handprints. She had given him a major clue, she consoled herself. That was the only reason he had hung up so rudely. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with her personally.

  And also nothing to do with last night.

  She suppressed the feeling of warmth that spread through her stomach whenever she thought about that. Deep melancholy washed over her, and she felt like a naive teenager.

  “It was just sex, Ira Jenssen!” she said, under her breath. She reached for her coffee cup and stared at the puppy. Maybe she should get herself a dog.

  With a sigh, she set down the mug and pushed herself up to her feet.

  Veronika glanced up questioningly as she opened the office door.

  “I’m going to the graveyard for a moment. The sexton asked me to decide if he should take down two trees there.”

  Veronika didn’t seem to believe her. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  Ira nodded. “Of course! Why wouldn’t it be? In case you need to reach me, I’m taking my phone along.”

  She reached for her jacket and left the office without any additional explanation. Of course, she had simply used the meeting with the sexton as a pretext. She just needed a little fresh air to clear her head of all the disturbing memories from the night before. At this time of day the graveyard was usually empty. She would be able to think through things clearly there.

  She zipped up her jacket even though it wasn’t cool, and she set off toward the graveyard entrance. A delivery van she had never seen before was parked in front of the small nursery located right inside the gate. She toyed with the idea of asking the owner of the nursery if he was expanding his motor pool, but this van was painted in such an eye-catching violet that it didn’t fit even slightly with the company’s other vehicles. The garish thing probably belonged to someone who was visiting the grave of a deceased relative. It was an odd time to do that, but then again, she was here too.

  She strode down the path that ran between the graves. The constant noise that the metropolis made seemed quieter to her now that she was on the other s
ide of the tall walls. She loved the peaceful atmosphere of this place. This was where she did her best thinking.

  Past a row of birdhouses that had been mounted to the wall in the shape of a pine tree, she walked aimlessly for a few minutes. She passed mausoleums and simple graves with marble gravestones.

  A squirrel scampered across her path.

  In the distance, she heard the iron gate screech. Someone must have entered the graveyard behind her. She didn’t pay any further attention to the quick, energetic footsteps, but concentrated on one of the old grave inscriptions. A quote from Corinthians was carved above a bas relief of Christ’s head.

  By His power, God raised the Lord from the dead, and He will raise us also.

  Ira had to think about Detective Sievers and about how she wished she could convince Faris of the truth of this Bible verse. But she had a hard time believing it herself. She shook her head.

  “What good are you as a pastor!” she chided herself.

  The rapid footsteps faded away.

  All of a sudden, Ira felt silly for having crept over here to lick the wounds that Faris had inflicted.

  Annoyed at herself, she decided it was time to return to the office.

  *

  Laura woke up to a pounding headache and the unpleasant sensation of being on a rocking ship. The air around her smelled like old vomit. A regular, nerve-wracking beeping penetrated her consciousness. Her stomach lurched, but she didn’t need to throw up. She lucked out on that, considering that her mouth was stuffed with a thick gag. There was a metallic taste in her mouth.

  What had happened?

  She remembered stepping out of her car at the hospital parking lot. Despite the glow stick which she had been allowed to keep as a toy, Lilly had thrown a fit as she was leaving, and Laura was running late for work. That was why the only parking space she was able to find was in the far rear corner of the doctors’ parking lot, where tall bushes shielded it from the street.

  The last thing she recalled were the footsteps. Steps that seemed to be right behind her. Before she could turn around, someone had placed something over her mouth and nose. She had registered the scent of something sharp and medicinal, and that was all …

  Now, her hands and feet were bound, and whoever overpowered her had done a good job of it. She was tied up like a Christmas present. Slowly, her mind began functioning again. She had been abducted. A memory flickered in her mind: Faris! He had tried to reach her on the phone to tell her something. Had he been trying to warn her?

  She groaned, because her skull felt like it was about to explode.

  Where was that beeping coming from?

  A bomb?

  Fear shot through her body, and she tried to sit up. She reached the halfway point, but then couldn’t stop herself from tipping backwards and banging her head – hard. Stars danced in front of her eyes as the nausea intensified. She inhaled as deeply as she could. Her nostrils constricted. Panic tightened her throat, but then she realized that she could still breathe freely and easily. This helped to calm her down. If only that annoying beeping would stop!

  She rolled over awkwardly. She was surrounded by dim light and a chill that emanated from the surface on which she was lying. With her fingertips, she felt along that surface. Tiles, apparently. She could feel the grooves between them. The swaying motion subsided, and she realized that she wasn’t on a ship. But where was she?

  As she tried to focus on the direction from which the beeping came, veils rolled across her eyes. She had to blink to clear her vision.

  The sound was driving her crazy. She wrenched herself back and forth and caught sight of the outline of some device. She saw a blue surface – and white lines that were flitting across that surface from left to right. This looked familiar to her for some reason, but the veils over her eyes were too thick for her to really see what it was.

  The chemical taste in her mouth gradually faded.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. The blue surface was now in perfect focus. The lines running across it formed little sine waves.

  A cardiac monitor!

  With a jerk, she sat upright. In front of her, a huge shadow rose into the air. Her eyes widened. A scream welled inside her, but the gag prevented her from making more than a toneless groan.

  Like a stone outcropping that might fall on her at any moment, a wooden cross loomed over her head. And on the cross – her mind was reluctant to accept this fact – hung a man.

  *

  “Faris?”

  Gitta’s voice was so flat that Faris knew, instantly, that she had learned something bad. Tromsdorff had sent two officers to the TV station that had received the confession video from the bomber, but the clues dried up there. Several computer techs were now busy analyzing the video file. In the meantime, Faris had returned to the case wall where he was considering who their unknown caller could be. Along with Tromsdorff and Shannon, he had developed several theories that he had then discarded. Marc had joined them and given them his two cents before going back to Alexander in the interview room. And throughout, they had waited for a response to the request for assistance that Gitta had sent off to Ukraine.

  By this point, it was noon. Just twelve hours remained.

  “What is it, Gitta?” he asked, setting down the marker he had been twirling for several minutes and walking toward her. He came to a stop at her doorway. She was staring up at him with huge eyes.

  “I know who Ellwanger’s illegitimate son is,” she gasped.

  The name was up on her computer screen, and it seared itself into his retinas.

  It couldn’t be! Never!

  As if it were far away, he heard his phone start chirping, but he was incapable of answering it. All at once, the puzzle pieces fell neatly into place. All at once, he understood all the bizarre, illogical things that the stranger had done. All at once, everything made horrible sense.

  With trembling hands, he picked up the phone, but his voice failed him.

  “Faris,” the caller said in the now familiar distorted voice. The tingling in Faris’s stomach turned into sheer ice.

  How could he have been so damned blind?

  His voice sounded flat and hoarse as he said: “You fucking bastard!”

  PART THREE

  Hour 29 to Hour 40

  It is finished.

  (John 19:30)

  Chapter 29

  He is exhausted. His last reserves are rapidly decreasing, and even the IV drip that Alexander had put in – the one that was supposed to help him make it until the Lord appeared to him – can no longer keep his strength up.

  He has to make his peace with the thought that his plan has failed.

  Devotion to Jesus Christ instills in believers the desire to know Him intimately and to identify with Him.

  He recalls these words from one of his books. Could he really have been wrong about this?

  “Alexander,” he whispers, hoping that the boy can hear him. “You have to take me down.”

  There is movement close by. Someone is there. He can feel it, even though his eyes keep failing him and all he can see is darkness.

  He hears a muffled sound. Almost as if someone has a gag in their mouth.

  Werner tries to inhale. He can barely do that anymore.

  “Take me down!” he begs.

  And then he feels a hand, warm and comforting, on his thigh. He tears his eyes open.

  “Lord?” he groans.

  The warm hand is quickly snatched back. “You miserable asshole!” a voice hisses, one that sounds vaguely familiar.

  Alexander? He isn’t sure.

  “Help me,” he implores.

  “No,” the voice says close to his ear. He can feel breathing against his neck.

  “Take me down!” He wants to scream, but he is past that point. “My God!”

  The voice at his ear starts to laugh. It is a hate-filled, triumphant laugh.

  “It is time,” the voice says.

  He
doesn’t understand. “For what?”

  “Time for you to die,” the voice says.

  A door rattles shut.

  He feels alone. Completely alone.

  This time he doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t scream.

  He starts to weep.

  *

  The caller chuckled. “I take it you’ve finally figured out who I am.”

  The eyes of everyone else in the room rested heavily on Faris. He pinched his nose and tried to pull himself together. It took a moment before he was able to utter the name. “Niklas.” His knees were trembling.

  “Very good.” The distorter was turned off, and Hesse’s familiar voice was suddenly speaking into Faris’s ear. “How did you figure it out?”

  “Why, Niklas?” Faris could only whisper. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the other team members clustered around him. It looked as if they wanted to build a protective wall around him, and he was grateful for that.

  “We’re about to get to that,” Hesse demurred calmly. “First, tell me how you discovered who I was.”

  Faris met Gitta’s eyes. “I didn’t. Gitta learned that your mother was one of the museum victims. Listen, Niklas, I understand that you blame me for her de …”

  “You never change,” Hesse cut him off. “Always ready to bear the guilt of the world on your own shoulders, aren’t you?” He chuckled, a sound that sent goosebumps down Faris’s back. It made Hesse feel like a stranger, like someone that Faris had never met. The person on the other end of the line was no longer the friend he had known for so long. At some point in the previous months – during that time he had refused to tell Faris about – Niklas Hesse must have turned into someone else. And talking to this other person felt to Faris like gazing into an unending chasm. To keep himself from plunging into it, he kept his eyes on Gitta.

  “Why have you done all this, Niklas?” he asked again.

  “Oh! We’ll have plenty of time to chat about that, old friend. But for now, I just want you to do what I tell you.”