A Fear of Dark Water (27 page)

‘Yes?’

‘A limp. I’m pretty sure the guy had a limp. Or at least there was something stiff about the way he walked.’

‘Thanks,’ said Fabel.

The skinny waiter shrugged and went back to cleaning tables.

* * *

Fabel’s next visit was in Harvestehude. An impressive Wilhelmine building faced with white stucco tried to hide behind a screen of manicured shrubs and trees. Fabel found the name he was looking for and rang the bell.

‘Polizei Hamburg …’ he said into the entry system in answer to the crackling voice. ‘I’d like to speak to you, Frau Kempfert.’

‘Let me see your ID,’ the voice said. ‘There’s a camera above the entryphone.’

Fabel held his card up to the bulbous electronic eye and there was a harsh buzzing and a click. He pushed open the heavy door and made his way up an ornately tiled stairwell to the apartment building’s third floor. An attractive, dark-haired young woman eyed him suspiciously from her doorway as he approached.

‘I told the other officers all I know.’

‘You know, Frau Kempfert, everybody always says exactly that same thing. But I like to hear it all for myself. And, you never know, something might always come back to you. Do you mind?’ Fabel nodded towards the apartment behind her.

‘No …’ Unsmiling, she moved to one side to admit him. ‘Come in.’

The young woman led him along the long hall into a corner lounge. It was huge and bright with French windows that opened out onto a small balustraded balcony. Fabel guessed from what he had seen on the way in that the flat probably consisted of this room, one, maybe two bedrooms, a kitchen-diner and a bathroom. The architecture was typical Harvestehude: echoing a more formal and elegant age with high ceilings, huge windows and the odd bit of ostentation in the plasterwork. The flat was not big, thought Fabel, but it would still be pricey. The furnishings and artwork were brightly coloured to contrast with the white walls. It all suggested a sophisticated sense of taste.

Victoria Kempfert dropped into a huge red armchair and made a perfunctory gesture towards the sofa, indicating that Fabel should sit. I get it, he thought, I’m taking up your time. Fabel had learned to be suspicious of people who overstated how much of an inconvenience it was to have to talk to the police. Generally speaking, if someone had lost their life, witnesses were only too willing to give you their time. They were helping you make sense of an often senseless death; doing that, for most people, was a way of restoring the universe’s natural balance.

‘You usually came back here after your lunchtime meetings?’ asked Fabel. ‘You and Herr Föttinger, I mean.’

‘Yes. We came back here and fucked.’ She held Fabel in a defiant gaze, her eyebrows arched.

‘I see,’ said Fabel matter-of-factly, noting it down in his notebook. ‘And where did you and Herr Föttinger fuck? In the bedroom or here, where I’m sitting?’

Victoria Kempfert’s expression darkened even more. She was clearly bursting to say something but, for the moment, she could not find the words.

‘Listen, Frau Kempfert,’ said Fabel. ‘I know that you have had a terrible experience, and you’ve made your distaste for police officers clear. But I’ve been a murder detective for a long, long time. There is very little that this world has left to throw at me that could shock me, so petulance and adolescent language isn’t going to set me back on my heels. But if you want, we can keep the conversation at that level. How often did you and Herr Föttinger fuck here?’

She dropped her eyes. She was a beautiful woman. Strong features and a mane of thick, dark hair. Not unlike Susanne. And very much, he realised against his will, his type.

‘Daniel and I would come here every week – every Wednesday – after lunch. We’d see each other maybe one other time during the week, depending on our schedules. He was away a lot.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry if I was being … it’s just that after seeing that, seeing what happened to him …’ She bit her lip and something in her eyes hardened again. It was clear that she was determined not to cry.

‘I do understand,’ said Fabel, more gently. ‘Did the police officers you spoke to give you details of victim support?’

‘I don’t need
counselling
, Herr Fabel. I’ll get over it. Eventually.’

‘Did you see the attackers?’

‘No … yes … I mean I didn’t know they were the attackers then. The bastards just stood and watched Daniel burn. To start with I thought they were just passers-by like everyone else, then I saw they had ski masks or something on. Over their faces. I didn’t even know it had been an arson attack to start with. I didn’t know what had happened.’

‘Was there anything you particularly noticed about them?’

‘Other than the ski masks? Nothing. I was too busy watching Daniel. And then … Why would someone do that?’

‘What I need to establish is if they had intended to do what they did. A lot of expensive cars get torched in the Schanzenviertel. It could be that that was their sole intention.’

‘I don’t know …’ Kempfert said slowly, her eyes unfocused as if replaying the scene in her head. ‘It was the way they waited. Watched. One in particular.’

‘That could be a sign that they were shocked by the consequences of their actions.’

Kempfert shook her head vigorously. ‘That’s the thing … You asked if there was anything I particularly noticed. Well, just before he jumped on the back of the motorbike and they made off, I could have sworn the guy in the ski mask … I could have sworn he was
laughing
. You don’t do that if you are shocked by the consequences of your action.’

‘No … probably not. But, believe it or not, it can be the result of shock. Or psychological conditions. Paradoxical laughter.’

‘There was nothing paradoxical about it. That bastard was laughing at what he had done.’

Fabel regarded her for a moment.

‘How long had you been seeing Herr Föttinger?’

‘A couple of months. Maybe three. It was all coming to an end, though.’

‘You knew he was married?’

‘He made no secret of it. I made no secret of the fact that I didn’t care. We met through business. I design websites and I’d done some work for his company. But that had stopped months before our relationship started. He hired someone else. Then, about ten, twelve weeks ago, I met him at a business event. You know, the usual rubber-chicken dinner with flow charts and Powerpoints for dessert.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ said Fabel. ‘Not my natural environment, as it were. So that’s when you started to see him?’

‘About a week or so later he phoned me and asked me to lunch. We started to see each other each week, but it was becoming …
tiresome
.’

‘In what way tiresome?’

‘On the face of it, Daniel was charming and interesting. But there was something missing. It was like he was all veneer and nothing beneath. I know this sounds weird, but even when we were intimate it was like he was on his own. In fact, there were times it became
unpleasant
. It was like I didn’t exist for him in any real way. That’s mad, I know. But that’s why there was no future for us.’

Fabel thought about what she had said; it was almost exactly how the waiter had described Föttinger. ‘What do you know about Herr Föttinger’s business?’

‘Just what I found out through working on its website. Environmental technologies. Daniel was involved in all types of carbon-capture technology. He was supposed to be involved with this GlobalConcern Hamburg summit – you knew that, didn’t you?’

‘I’d heard.’ Fabel paused for a moment. ‘What about Frau Föttinger? Was there ever any suggestion that she knew about her husband’s relationship with you?’

‘What? Hell hath no fury? No, I don’t think Kirstin Föttinger paid for someone to torch Daniel’s car because she knew about us. Trust me, she’s not that
engaged
.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘In some ways she was very like Daniel, but more so, if you know what I mean. Daniel’s wife was the
real
environmental freak. And I mean extreme. She’s a strict vegan and believes that we should make
zero
impact on the planet. She got involved in some group with weird ideas. I mean really weird ideas. Daniel was involved with them too, but not in the same way she was. I think she dragged him into it to start with. The sad thing is I think that at one time, not so long ago, Daniel really loved her. The way he put it to me was that she simply disappeared … faded away. I don’t think he would ever have got involved with me if she hadn’t gone all weird. The funny thing is I sensed the same thing happening to Daniel. He was fading away. Becoming weird.’

‘Group? What kind of group?’ asked Fabel, although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

‘More of a cult,’ said Kempfert. ‘They call themselves Pharos, or something.’

Fabel nodded slowly, looking down at his notebook. A deliberate movement to conceal from Victoria Kempfert the significance of what she had just told him.

‘You say he was involved with this group too, but not to the same degree?’

‘Well, yes. But, from what I could gather, they didn’t believe in degrees of involvement. You had to give yourself totally to Pharos. It creeped me out a bit. More than a bit. Daniel was a bright guy. He had great ideas but didn’t have the money to back them up. His wife was loaded, though. She bankrolled him to start with but he built up his business to become a leader in the field. The price he had to pay was to become a member of Pharos. He used to joke about it.’ Kempfert frowned. ‘Then he stopped. In fact, he stopped joking about anything much.’

‘He changed?’

‘He was changing. I told him to get out while he could. I could tell that a big part of him really wanted to, but every time I met him it was like that part of him was getting smaller. As if a little more of his personality – a little more self-will – had been sucked out of him. That’s what I meant when I said it was all getting tiresome.’ She paused. ‘Listen, Herr Fabel, I wasn’t that much into Daniel. Even at the start. It was fun –
he
was fun – to begin with, but then it all got a little tired. And the weird stuff with this group that he and his wife were involved with.’

‘You wanted out?’

‘I told him at lunch. Right before that happened to him. Can you imagine how that makes me feel?’

‘You weren’t to know, Frau Kempfert. How did he take it?’

‘Well. So well, in fact, I could have let it damage my ego. It was as it he didn’t care. Actually, more like he was relieved.’

As Fabel crossed the street to his car, he did not need to turn to know that Victoria Kempfert was watching him from her window. She had been all prickles; defiant to the point of hostility. It was, he knew, part of the denial process that followed a trauma such as the one she had experienced. But there was more to it. There was something she had wanted to tell Fabel but had been too unsure or afraid to voice. Instead she had ring-fenced it with verbal barbs. He took his cellphone out and hit the speed dial for the Murder Commission, before realising that this was the replacement phone and did not have the number stored. It took him a moment to recall it and key it in: the irony of technology making life easier was that you forgot how to do things for yourself. He got hold of Anna Wolff.

‘Anna, I need you to run a couple of checks for me. And I need them quickly.’

‘Okay, anything for our number one suspect. The last time you had someone checked they ended up dead.’

‘When this is over, Commissar Wolff, I’m going to have you transferred to Buxtehude where the highlight of your week, of your month, will be a bicycle theft.’

‘Oh no!’ she said with mock horror. ‘That’s too far away from Billwerder prison. I’ll never get to visit you. Who do you want checked out?’

‘The guy who was burned in that arson attack in the Schanzenviertel. Daniel Föttinger. And the woman who was with him, Victoria Kempfert.’

‘Okay. You heading back in?’

‘I’ll be in later. I’ve got another house call to make.’ Fabel used his remote to unlock his BMW and slid in behind the driver’s seat. He checked his rear-view mirror. Yes. Still there. ‘Anna, there’s one more thing I need you to run through the computer. And keep this to yourself. I’m being followed. A new VW four-by-four. A Tiguan, I think. It’s been popping up in my rear-view mirror all day. I suspect it’s either one of ours or a BfV team. I just want to make sure.’

‘Shit … you don’t think anyone really suspects …’

‘I doubt it,’ said Fabel, ‘but they’re maybe keeping tabs on me
just to keep things straight
, as Criminal Director van Heiden would say.’

‘Index number?’

Fabel strained to make it out in the rear-view mirror and read it out to Anna.

‘Give me a couple of minutes,’ she said.

Hamburg’s architecture tells you in a very discreet, decorous way that this is a city where some serious money is made. Daniel Föttinger’s house lay where Nienstedten became Blankenese and somehow managed to scream massive wealth quietly. It was set in four hectares of some of the most expensive real estate in Germany. Given the business Föttinger had been in, Fabel had expected it to be the same kind of ultra-modern zero-carbon set-up as Müller-Voigt’s house in the Altes Land. Instead it was an elegant white aristocratic nineteenth-century villa with green shuttered windows and a double-storey aviary-cum-conservatory on its east side. Its grounds were laid out like an English park, its lawns punctuated by century-matured oaks.