A Slow Death (Max Drescher Book 1) (23 page)

Hands on hips, Max stared at the floor, waiting for his own rage to pass.

‘Where’s the cash?’ has asked finally. ‘Is it downstairs?’

‘The three million dollars?’ Marin grunted from behind his papers.

‘Yeah, the three million dollars that is the root cause of all this bloody carnage. Is it back in Evidence?’

‘Eichel took it to Gesundbrunnen. Which is all the more reason for you to leave it well alone.’

‘What did you let him do that for?’

‘Why not?’ Marin countered. ‘However, you look at it, this is more his case than ours.’

‘I was – ‘

‘What do you care?’ Marin stared at Max over his papers. ‘Let Eichel nab … Scaramanga.’

‘Kappel.’

‘Whatever his fucking name is, is this guy really a big criminal mastermind? Or is this all just a figment of your overactive imagination?’

‘That’s what Terium told me.’

‘How very reassuring.’

‘He was undercover for a long time.’

‘That doesn’t mean he knew much.’

‘He knew that Kappel was the main prize.’

‘Even if he is, Eichel wants the glory of making the arrest. Let him have it – it shouldn’t really matter to you anymore.’ Marin returned to his reading. ‘And, if he happens to come up empty, then the flak’s all his, too.’

Max shook his head. ‘It’s all just a game of pass the parcel to you, isn’t it?’

Eyes glued to the page, the Kriminalkommissar pretended he hadn’t heard that last remark. ‘I was happy to be rid of that money; almost as happy as I’ll be to be rid of you. It was truly cursed, don’t you think?’

After long pause, he looked up.

‘Max?’

For several moments, Marin stared at the open door.

‘Max?’

Rising out of his seat, he scanned the room beyond his office, searching in vain for the Kriminalinspektor.

42

After the end of World War II, the district of Gesundbrunnen found itself part of the French sector of West Berlin. Its residents lived in the shadow of The Wall, which ran along the Nordbahn railway line, unceremoniously cutting neighbourhoods and even streets in two. Bernauer Straße became famous as the site of various audacious escape attempts by East Berliners trying to make it to the West either by tunneling underneath the Wall or by jumping from the windows of nearby apartment blocks. Little more than a year after the Wall had fallen, the area had yet to establish a new identity. It was a place waiting for things to happen, which made it an interesting place to be a cop.

‘What exactly do we know about Kriminalkommissar Bruno Eichel?’ Ignoring his various aches and pains, Max bounded up the stairs leading to Exit 4 of Pankstraße U-Bahn station, emerging into the sullen sunlight of the busy street. A young accordion player busking in front of a sparsely occupied coffee house offered up a truly horrible rendition of the Mili Vanili hit,
Girl You Know It’s True
, causing passers-by to grimace and smile in equal numbers. A thin looking mongrel at his feet encouraged a few softer hearted souls to toss the odd coin into a paper cup on the sidewalk. Max hurried past the would-be musician and his dog without reaching into his pocket. Ignoring the rumbling of his stomach and the range of appealing smells coming from the café, he focused on PD Gesundbrunnen on the far side of the street. ‘What’s the gossip?’

‘I asked around a little,’ Michael replied, struggling to keep up with his boss as he dodged the relentless stream of oncoming pedestrians. ‘There’s not a lot, really.’

‘There must be something,’ Max huffed. ‘There’s always something.’

‘Well, Eichel has been on the Force for almost sixteen years. He was part of the department’s fast-track leadership programme, back when they first set it up.’

‘Just like our little friend Theo Oster …’

‘That’s right.’

‘Is he out of hospital yet?’

‘Dunno. He’s not back at work, that’s for sure.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Max grunted, skipping round an old guy who was creeping along, carrying a large hessian sack full of empty beer bottles.

‘Since graduating Eichel’s career has been solid, rather than spectacular. He made Kriminalkommissar before he was thirty –’

‘That seems spectacular enough to me,’ Max quipped.

‘There’s no suggestion that any he’s going any further, though.’

‘Oh? Why’s that?’

‘Dunno,’ Michel admitted. ‘I haven’t been able to dig that far yet.’

‘Fair enough,’ Max replied, not making much of an effort to hide his irritation.

‘He’s moved around different parts of the city on a regular basis, arriving at Gesundbrunnen three years ago. This is the longest stretch he’s had in any one place in his career so far.’

‘Any notable successes?’

‘Not really. He was involved in the investigation that caught those bank robbers up in Hermsdorf a while back.’

‘The one where they had the shootout outside that launderette? That was fairly spectacular.’

‘The press loved it but, in reality it was a bit of a fuck-up. They were supposed to take the gang down while they were off the street but something went wrong. Three of the robbers were shot, one fatally. Two women doing their washing were cut by flying glass while they were cowering behind the tumble dryers.’

‘Like I said, spectacular.’

‘The Mayor went crazy and the brass ordered an investigation.’

‘Maybe that’s why Eichel’s career has stalled,’ Max mused.

Michael shook his head. ‘I doubt it. The guy in charge was a Kriminalkommissar out of Savignyplatz called Brehme.’

Max made a face. ‘Don’t know him.’

‘Apparently, he’s a good guy. Anyway, after the Board of Enquiry he was placed on three months’ leave. When he came back, he was shunted off to some administrative job up in Spandau.’

‘And Eichel?’

‘Eichel didn’t face any punishment. I’m not sure if he was even formally interviewed.’

Max frowned.

‘That’s not all that surprising. It wasn’t his case. They had a team of more than fifty officers on it in the end. They caught the guys. Despite the fuss, only a few heads needed to roll.’

‘And Eichel’s wasn’t one of them. He seems to know how to dodge the shit.’

‘The Kriminalkommissar has an unblemished, if rather undistinguished police record,’ Michael agreed, ‘most of it spent behind a desk.’

‘A civil servant, rather than a cop,’ Max muttered.

‘Cops
are
civil servants,’ Michael pointed out.

‘Don’t be so pedantic,’ Max snapped, ‘you know what I mean.’

‘Whatever he is, no one seems to have that much to say about Eichel, one way or another.’

Max could feel his sugar levels dropping, and his mood darkening, with every step. He would have to get something to eat soon or his brain would stop functioning properly. ‘What about his private life?’

‘Again, there’s nothing much to report. He’s single – ‘

‘Divorced?’

‘No, he’s never married. There’s an apartment in Schmargendorf; nothing out of the ordinary by all accounts but he does have taste for the good life – restaurants, holidays and so on. There’s no evidence of any of obvious problems with drink, drugs or gambling. No money worries that I’ve heard about but, with no family, who’s to say he can’t afford a decent lifestyle? One of the guys I spoke to said that they thought there was family money. His grandfather owed a factory of some sort in Karlsruhe.’

‘That’s handy,’ Max grunted, not very happy at the thought that Eichel might be clean after all. ‘But why would he ride around in a red Porsche?’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a bit flashy for a cop. Asking to draw attention to yourself. Inviting people to ask questions.’

‘If he bought it second-hand, it might not have been that expensive. Or maybe he’s making monthly payments on it.  There are various different ways you could explain it.’

Max stepped off the sidewalk to let a woman with a stroller come past. ‘So,’ he sighed, ‘we’ve got bugger all on this guy.’

‘It’s not like we’re going to get a warrant to check his bank statements.’

I
know someone who could manage to get them for me,
Max thought,
no questions asked.
That, however, would take a week, at least, not to mention a fistful of cash. A week. He would be retired by then. Jumping back on to the sidewalk, he lengthened his stride.

Twenty metres further on, they came to a halt at the junction of Bornholmer Straße. Waiting for the traffic lights to change, Max glanced down the road in the direction of the old border crossing. It had been the first checkpoint to open on the evening of November 9, 1989, allowing East Berliners to freely enter the west of the city for the first time since 1961. Not for the first time, Max wondered if things might not have been better if it had stayed closed.

A single decker bus rumbled slowly past, bouncing across a succession of potholes, its exhaust fumes leaving a nasty taste in his mouth. Resisting the temptation to spit into the gutter, Max brought his thoughts back to Kriminalkommissar Eichel. ‘What else have we got?’ he barked. ‘What about women?’

‘He is not deficient in that department,’ Michael smirked. ‘There’s a girlfriend in Halensee and another one in Hansaviertel.’

‘So he’s a busy boy, then.’ The traffic lights finally changed, catching a grey BMW in no man’s land, straddling the pedestrian crossing. Glaring at the driver, Max slalomed around the vehicle before jumping onto the sidewalk on the far side.

‘The overall impression I get is of a bloke just getting on with his life.’

‘He is on the wrong side of this.’

‘We don’t know that.’

‘
I
do.’

Michael fought to keep his position on Max’s shoulder. ‘Look, just because he beat you up, doesn’t mean he’s behind all this.’

‘
Arnold Kappel
is behind this,’ Max pointed out, ‘but Eichel is involved.’

‘Maybe.’ Michael sounded less than convinced.

‘Definitely.’

‘Maybe you should have told Marin what happened.’

‘Why? He would have buried it. Or maybe even tipped off Eichel that we are coming after him.’

‘Oh, so you think Marin is in on this too?’ Michael’s voice rose, reflecting his increasingly irritation with his boss’s speculative theories.

‘Nah,’ Max conceded, ‘most probably not. Marin’s too lazy to be corrupt. But he wouldn’t do anything to help us. We have to sort this out ourselves.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the sergeant. ‘And, remember, Kappel is the actual target. Eichel – if he goes down in the course of this investigation – is just collateral damage.’

‘Collateral damage?’

‘Let’s hope so,’ Max cackled.

‘I just hope that your replacement is a bit less emotional about things.’

‘Emotional? Me?’ Max pointed at the bruises on his face. ‘The bastard had his goons beat the shit out of me.’

Michael grunted something that vaguely approximated an expression of sympathy. ‘You take it all too personally sometimes.’

‘Next time something like this happens to you,’ Max retorted, ‘see how personally
you
take it.’

‘I’m just saying.’

‘Okay, okay. So, you’re just saying. Who do you want to replace your over-emotional, self-obsessed soon to be thrown on the scrap heap colleague?’

‘To replace you?’ Michael suddenly sounded sheepish. ‘I haven’t really given it much thought. You’re irreplaceable.’

‘Ha fucking ha.’

‘Seriously, I don’t know. I’ll take whoever I’m given, I suppose. It’s not like Marin’s gonna call me into his office and allow me to choose from a selection of half a dozen possible bosses. I’m just the help. I know my place. So, I really don’t care who I get.’

‘You liar,’ Max grinned, ‘I know you; you’ll have all the runners and riders lined up. I bet you’ve been busy dropping hints to Marin before I’m even out the door. Who do you want?’

Michael tried to change tack. ‘There’s loads of talk about budget cuts coming up in the department. If that happens you might not get replaced at all.’

‘But who do you
want
?’ Max persisted, enjoying his colleague’s obvious discomfort at having to discuss the topic.

‘Well.’ Michael blushed slightly.

‘Yes?’

‘I had another chat Ulrike Baachaz the other day.’

‘The buxom blonde?’

The sergeant’s cheeks went a deeper shade of red. ‘She’s a good cop.’

‘I’m sure she is.’

‘But she’s going through a difficult patch. Apart from anything else, it looks like she’s gonna get a divorce. She’s talking about coming back to Stresemannstraße.’

‘I’m sure Sarah would be delighted to have you working with the lovely Ulrike,’ Max sniffed. ‘Good luck explaining that at home.’

‘It’s just a possibility.’ Michael said defensively. ‘And, in the end, it won’t be my decision.’ He pointed towards to the stone steps leading to the entrance of the Polizeidirektion building. ‘Anyway, I will worry about all that later. What’s the plan here?’

‘We’ve got to reclaim the money,’ said Max, as he started up the steps. ‘The money will lead us to Kappel.’