A Fear of Dark Water (28 page)

It was not at all what Fabel had expected. But what he had expected was that Föttinger’s widow would not be alone. He was right.

At first, given the grandeur of the surroundings, Fabel assumed that the stocky, impeccably neat man with the shaven head and the goatee beard who opened the front door to him was the butler. But it was apparent from his tailoring and demeanour that this was no manservant. He showed Fabel into a huge, bright drawing room. Another, younger, man stood over by the far wall, next to a grand piano. He too was wearing a business suit, but his was grey and not of the same quality. The younger man was made distinctive by the contrast between his pale complexion and his extremely dark, short hair.

The only other person in the room was a woman of about thirty-five sitting on a rosewood settee. She was slim, with shoulder-length wavy hair of a vibrant auburn brushed back from her delicately modelled, pale and lightly freckled face. She wore a simple, black, sleeveless dress that clung to her slim figure in a way that only the most expensive fabrics could and her poise was so perfect that she gave the impression of sitting on the settee without actually touching it.

Fabel’s first impression of Kirstin Föttinger was that she was made of fine china.

In terms of attractiveness she was the equal of Föttinger’s mistress, but hers was a totally different type of beauty. Where Victoria Kempfert was the kind of woman men desired, Kirstin Föttinger was like a fragile, beautiful, expensive object to be collected and preserved. And there was something about her, thought Fabel, that made her seem otherworldly.

‘I’m glad you could make time to meet with me, Frau Föttinger,’ he said. ‘I know you must be in shock after what has happened.’

She smiled a polite porcelain smile. The truth was that she did not seem to Fabel to be in a state of much shock at all, and less grief. Perhaps it was a forced composure that had temporarily robbed her of expression.

‘Frau Föttinger has taken something to help. A mild sedative prescribed by her doctor,’ said the older man who had led Fabel into the drawing room.

‘And you are?’ Fabel turned to face him fully.

‘Peter Wiegand. I’m a friend of the family. I was also a business associate of Daniel’s.’

‘Peter Wiegand? You’re the deputy leader of the Pharos Project, aren’t you?’

‘I have worked with Dominik Korn for close to thirty years. My principal role is Vice President and Director of Operations of the Korn-Pharos Corporation. But yes, I am also active in the Pharos Project. Both Kirstin and her husband are members of the Project, so I am here to lend my support and comfort at this difficult time.’

‘I see.’ Fabel looked pointedly at the other man.

‘Oh, sorry …’ said Wiegand. ‘This is Herr Bädorf. He is our chief of security for the group. I felt, given the violent circumstances of Daniel’s death, that I should bring him along.’

‘For the group?’ Fabel spoke directly to Bädorf. ‘Does that mean for the Korn-Pharos Corporation or for the Pharos Project?’

‘I am not a member of the Project,’ said Bädorf. Fabel noticed he had a southern accent. Swabian, he reckoned. ‘I work for the Korn-Pharos group of companies. Believe it or not, Principal Chief Commissar, one is not obliged or even pressured to join the Project just because one works for the Corporation.’

‘I see,’ said Fabel again. But he remembered what he had read in Menke’s file on the Project; the rumours about the Consolidation and Compliance Office, which sounded as if it had something to do with mergers and business etiquette but which was actually the secret police of the Pharos Project. As Fabel looked at Bädorf he was pretty sure he was in the presence of a Consolidator. And a senior one at that. Fabel had had to phone ahead to arrange this meeting and he had known that, in doing so, he was giving the Project the opportunity to have someone present to coax the right responses from Kirstin Föttinger.

Fabel turned to the newly widowed redhead. ‘Frau Föttinger, I wonder if I might speak with you in private …’

‘I would rather that Herr Wiegand and Herr Bädorf remained here. Herr Wiegand has been a great support to me.’

‘As you wish. May I?’ Fabel indicated the armchair opposite Frau Föttinger. It had been worth the attempt, but Fabel had known there was no way he would have been allowed to question Föttinger’s widow without someone from Pharos being present. She nodded and he sat down.

‘I know this is a very painful subject, Frau Föttinger, but were you aware of the relationship between your husband and Victoria Kempfert?’

‘I knew nothing about any such relationship until told about it after Daniel’s death.’ Her answer actually sounded rehearsed.

‘Do you know Victoria Kempfert?’

‘We have never met.’

‘Do you have any idea why someone would want to harm your husband, or kill him?’

‘I was led to believe Daniel’s death was an accident …’ It was Wiegand who spoke. ‘Well, not an accident, but I thought the intent of the attackers had been to set fire to the car while Daniel was inside the café.’

‘Frau Föttinger?’ Fabel ignored Wiegand’s interruption.

‘No. Not on a personal level. Daniel was not the kind of person to make enemies. But it’s possible that some groups would view him with some distrust, because of the company’s activities.’

‘Such as?’

‘Föttinger Environmental Technologies is a leader in sea-based carbon-capture technology. And Daniel was a key mover and organiser behind the GlobalConcern Hamburg summit.’

‘Why would anyone object to carbon capture?’

‘It’s the way we do it. Daniel perfected a more efficient way of iron seeding.’

‘Iron seeding?’

‘Perhaps I can explain,’ said Wiegand. ‘It was in this area that Herr Föttinger’s company cooperated with the Korn Corporation. Iron seeding is exactly how it sounds: it involves seeding deep ocean with iron dust.’

‘For what purpose?’ asked Fabel.

‘Put simply: to trap atmospheric carbon dioxide at the bottom of the ocean. The theory has been around for a time and there have been trials – with mixed results. I would guess that even officers of the Polizei Hamburg are aware that the main danger we face on the planet is the increase of CO
₂
in the atmosphere, leading to catastrophic global warming. The two main causes are emissions into the atmosphere and deforestation, which is reducing the Earth’s biosphere’s ability to process carbon dioxide. What do you know about plankton, Herr Fabel?’

‘Whales eat it. That’s about it.’

‘There are two types of plankton: phytoplankton and zooplankton. Effectively, phytoplankton is microscopic plant life, zooplankton is microscopic animal life. The principle of iron seeding is that the iron dust seeded into the ocean acts as a fertiliser. It causes an explosion in the population of phytoplankton. And phytoplankton, because it’s plant based, employs the process of photosynthesis: it absorbs carbon dioxide and releases oxygen back into the atmosphere. In fact, even as it stands, a huge percentage of the planet’s “breathing” is done by phytoplankton. The theory is that by increasing the volumes of phytoplankton in the ocean, we can take up the slack created by a reduction in rainforest and other large vegetation on land. In many of the tests, there have indeed been massive increases in the levels of phytoplankton. The process of photosynthesis also creates organic materials, sugars, which cause the phytoplankton to sink out of the light and into the dark levels of the ocean, effectively locking up the carbon in the sea floor. The irony is that this dead plankton would, over geological time, eventually become mineral oil.’

‘So why isn’t everyone running out to do this?’ asked Fabel.

‘There is a problem. Put crudely, plants make oxygen, animals make carbon dioxide. Zooplankton, which
creates
CO2, also lives in the sunlit levels of the ocean, and it feeds on phytoplankton. That has meant that in some of the iron-seeding trial areas, the zooplankton has increased in equal proportion to the phytoplankton. It threatens to neutralise the benefit of iron seeding. That is why, with some segments of the eco-protection community, iron seeding remains a controversial topic. Some see it as a danger, not a remedy.’

‘Enough to earn Herr Föttinger enemies who are willing to kill?’

Wiegand shrugged. ‘You’re the policeman, Herr Fabel.’

‘If this iron seeding is so controversial, why were you and Föttinger Environmental pursuing it?’ asked Fabel. He became aware that he was not questioning the person he had come to question, but allowed himself to be deliberately diverted for the moment.

‘Because if we can iron out the problems, if you’ll pardon the pun, then the benefits are potentially enormous. It could literally save all our lives. The other reason is that Daniel’s researchers are close to developing potential fixes. They are adding elements to the mix that would speed up the process, causing the phytoplankton to sink much faster. Zooplankton cannot survive below three hundred metres, so if we can drop greater amounts of phytoplankton below that level after photosynthesis but before the zooplankton has a chance to feed on it, then we have our solution.’

‘I see. Do you have rivals … competitors in this area?’

Wiegand laughed. ‘No one who would kill to get ahead. The environmental-technology industry does not work that way. The planet always comes before the profit.’

Fabel turned his attention back to Kirstin Föttinger. He ran through the usual questions, establishing as detailed a chronology of the dead man’s movements as possible. When Fabel was finished, he went through what he had been told.

‘Going by what you have told me, Frau Föttinger,’ he said, ‘your husband spent – in fact, both of you regularly spent – upwards of six hours an evening on the internet or otherwise using computers?’

‘That’s correct,’ she said blankly, the porcelain face devoid of any hint that such behaviour should be considered odd. ‘It was part of his work and who he was. Who I am, as well. We both liked to remain connected.’

Fabel nodded and let it go, but made a mental note to discuss with his team the possibility of getting a warrant to examine Föttinger’s computers. No, it would be futile. By the time the Polizei Hamburg’s experts got into the computers, the Pharos Project’s even better experts would have removed anything that might have proved embarrassing for the cult.

‘Your husband knew Berthold Müller-Voigt quite well, I believe.’

‘Not well. Naturally, they encountered each other frequently.’

‘But Herr Müller-Voigt was a director of Föttinger Environmental Technologies …’

‘A non-executive director. Berthold’s function was one of adviser.’

‘I would have thought that that would create a conflict of interest for him as Environment Senator.’

‘He lodged it with the Senate as a declared interest. In any case, our company does not operate in the Hamburg area. There are no contracts to be awarded or the like.’

‘But you do understand that I have to examine any connections between your husband and Senator Müller-Voigt?’

‘Do you really think there’s a connection?’ asked Wiegand. ‘They died under different circumstances, didn’t they? Poor Daniel’s death may not even have been intended and, from what I’ve read, Berthold was murdered by someone he had let into his home.’

Fabel turned to Wiegand and held him in his stare for a moment. The agenda behind the last remark was clear: Wiegand knew, somehow, that Fabel had been in Müller-Voigt’s house shortly before he died.

‘I don’t know if there is a connection or not,’ said Fabel. ‘Yet. I take it you knew
Berthold
too.’

‘As a matter of fact, I did. Obviously our paths crossed because of our mutual involvement in environmental affairs.’

‘I see,’ said Fabel. ‘Did you ever meet his partner? Meliha Yazar?’

‘I can’t say I did,’ said Wiegand, with nothing to read on his face.

‘Frau Föttinger?’

‘The name is not familiar,’ she said. ‘I thought that Berthold was not exclusive with anyone. He had a reputation as a ladies’ man, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

Fabel thanked Kirstin Föttinger, expressed his sympathy for her loss once more, and took his leave of her. He knew he was a character leaving a stage: nothing about the interview had been natural or spontaneous. There was nothing more to find out here. As he had on the way in, Peter Wiegand made sure to act as Fabel’s escort as the detective left.

‘Your
society
intrigues me, Herr Wiegand,’ said Fabel as they reached his car. ‘Tell me, do you really believe in the Consolidation? That you can all be uploaded onto a mainframe?’

‘Herr Fabel, every religion, every belief system, has a central tenet that is open to a multitude of interpretations. Whatever the belief system, some adherents will hold that tenet to be literal, some to be figurative. In any case, for all I know all of
this
…’ He made a sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate the house’s parklike gardens, the trees and everything beyond. ‘Maybe all of this
is
the Consolidation. Maybe this isn’t true reality and we’re all just self-aware programs in a post-human generated environmental model. But if this is reality, and I firmly believe that it is, then it is coming to a close if we do not do something radical, and do it quickly.’ He paused and looked at Fabel as if assessing him. ‘You are welcome to visit us, Herr Fabel. Have you seen the Pharos, our headquarters here, out on the coast at Hörne? In fact, it’s not very far away from Berthold Müller-Voigt’s house. And I believe you have been there.’