Dead Woods (11 page)

“How long . . . have you known each other?” Lina asked, looking at the boy.

The two women exchanged a glance. “We’ve been friends for about four years,” Frau Riemann finally said.

“Oh,” replied Lina, looking at Katja Ansmann. “So you’ve known Frau Riemann longer than Herr Birkner?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

After exchanging another look with Katja, the councilor left with the two-year-old boy. Katja followed them with her eyes as they returned to the child’s room and said, before Lina could ask, “Philip knew that . . . that there was someone other than him, but he didn’t know who. Evelyn didn’t want him to.” She looked at Lina. “Philip and I had a very open relationship. I know that he, too, had an occasional lover.”

Lina studied the woman. She knew two couples who lived in open relationships, who satisfied their sexual needs with several partners while at the same time being committed to each other and acknowledging their bond. However, she’d never have expected such an arrangement from Katja Ansmann. This was a woman who, by all appearances, met all social conventions to a tee, a woman operating within a very conservative environment that frowned on deviations from the norm.

“Why did you lie when asked where you were Thursday night?”

Katja Ansmann shrugged. “Out of habit. Evelyn and I don’t want our relationship known. Whenever we meet, we always have an alibi—a lecture, an event—for the family, for friends, for strangers. I didn’t know that the IHK lecture was canceled. Otherwise I’d have told you the truth then.”

Or you’d have looked for another event on the Internet
, Lina thought. It was possible that the lesbian management consultant with the stellar Hamburg family background indeed had reasons to provide a bad alibi, but Lina was not prepared to remove her from her list of suspects. She looked at her silently. If her father’s hint was true and the Ansmann & Son Bank really was going under, the consulting firm, a daughter company, would be affected, as well. That gave Katja Ansmann a strong motive to kill her domestic partner in order to cash in his life insurance policy. When Frau Ansmann impatiently cleared her throat, Lina pointedly looked around the room. “I’m sure this apartment doesn’t come cheap. Do you own it or lease it?” Lina asked.

Katja Ansmann seemed taken aback, as if such a question were inappropriate. “We bought the apartment about two years ago, shortly before Leon was born.”

Lina nodded slowly. “When one buys real estate, some owner’s equity is usually required. I assume you got a loan from a building and loan association?” She managed to say it with a straight face.

“A building and . . . No, of course not.” Katja Ansmann just barely avoided turning up her nose. “My parents helped us out. My father owns the Ansmann & Son Bank.”

Lina wore her poker face. “And what about Herr Birkner? Did he also contribute?”

“With what? His firm was doing quite well, but he had absolutely no assets.” She grimaced. “And then there was the bankruptcy.” It was apparent how much she had resented that. Lina could imagine its effects on their domestic life—so soon after the boy was born.

“Well, fortunately he found a job quickly,” Lina said with a smile.

Was it her imagination or did Katja Ansmann actually blush? “One of my business partners was looking for a new associate at the time. I made the contact.”

“And Herr Birkner really didn’t inherit anything unexpectedly? He didn’t win the lottery?”

“I don’t know what you’re driving at, but I can assure you that he didn’t contribute anything to the apartment. Yes, his firm landed some lucrative assignments”—the right corner of Katja Ansmann’s mouth drooped slightly, as if she pitied Lina, who never saw the kind of money she herself dealt with every day—“but he could never have afforded this apartment with his income.” With a quick laugh, she said, “He invited me to dinner, every now and then . . . or to the opera.”

Lina studied Katja Ansmann again without saying anything. Could this woman have laundered the money her partner got for sabotaging a client? After all, she had lied, without blinking an eye, about her activities on Thursday night. And she had managed to keep her affair with another woman secret for four years, which pointed to some facility with deception. Maybe this woman had other secrets. On the other hand, would she have needed money from a data theft to bankroll this apartment? Two years ago, her father wasn’t close to bankruptcy yet. Or was he?

“Have you thought about what you’ll be doing with the life insurance money?” she asked amiably at last. Finally Katja Ansmann seemed stumped. Her face turned pale, then red, and she opened and then closed her mouth. Lina couldn’t deny that she felt satisfied.

Katja Ansmann took a deep breath. “No, I don’t know yet,” she said tersely. “It’s a little early for that.”

“Early? Lukas Birkner, the brother of your deceased friend, told me that you had asked him about the life insurance this morning.”

Frau Ansmann laughed contemptuously. “Oh, did he? I’d called Philip’s parents to discuss the funeral, but he picked up. He never liked me; the feeling is mutual. During the conversation, I remembered the life insurance, and so I asked him about it.” With a mocking smile, she added, “After all, he was the one who forced the policy on us. Eventually Philip relented and said we should sign it so his brother would leave us alone and collect the few euros of his commission.”

Lina nodded. “How was the relationship between your partner and his brother? Did they get along?” She wanted to find out whether Philip really would have shared his secrets with his brother, as Lukas Birkner seemed to assume.

“I have no idea.” Katja Ansmann shrugged. “I don’t think they saw each other very often. A few times Philip asked me to say he wasn’t here when Lukas called on the landline instead of on the cell phone. Or he simply forgot their appointments.” She thought for a moment. “Lukas was his little brother,” she said as if that said it all, as if little brothers were a necessary evil. Then she looked at her watch. “Do you have more questions, Frau Svenson? Otherwise I’d suggest we continue another time. Unless there’s something important . . .” With a weak smile, she continued, “You can imagine that my girlfriend and I don’t have much time together. It’s really annoying to lose some of it.”

Lina nodded slowly and put her notepad away. She got up and put her knapsack on her shoulders. She smiled when she was saying good-bye at the door, but then—her hand already on the door handle—she asked, “Before I forget, is it true that your father’s company is about to go bankrupt?”

Katja Ansmann’s reaction was even more violent than when Lina had asked her about the life insurance. She turned and had to hold on to the wardrobe. She staggered, saw that Lina was staring at her, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders. She opened her mouth to reply, but Lina gestured that it wasn’t necessary.

“That’s all right, Frau Ansmann. It was just a question.”

Chapter 9

Lina got up in a good mood on Monday morning, took a shower, and drove to police headquarters after a quick breakfast. Yesterday, after her visit with Katja Ansmann, she had driven to her place in Ottensen, the district where she had grown up and where she still felt most at home despite the various changes it had undergone, from endearingly quirky to snobby chichi. She had no idea whether any of her colleagues had been in the office on Sunday afternoon, but she didn’t care, either. After her talk with Frau Ansmann, she felt so euphoric that she followed up on her original plan for the Sunday and arranged to meet Lutz at the Elbe.

Sitting in the subway, she wondered how long it would take to get a search warrant from the judge. She could hardly wait to turn the apartment in Rothenbaum and the office of the management consultant upside down. In her eyes, Katja Ansmann was very suspect, much more so than Frank Jensen.

She cheerfully greeted Max in the office, tossed her knapsack on the floor next to her desk, and fired up the computer. Max looked up and frowned. “What happened to you? Are you in love?”

Lina laughed. “No, but I found out some interesting facts about Katja Ansmann yesterday. She has—”

Max raised a hand. “Stop. Before telling me every little detail, you should probably see Hanno first. He’s already asked for you.” He motioned to the half-open door to the neighboring office.

“That’ll work. I wanted to talk with him anyhow,” Lina said. And with that, she jumped up again. She had almost reached the door, when Max said in a low voice, “Don’t be too excited. He didn’t look very . . . happy.”

Slightly more subdued, she knocked on the door and entered her boss’s office. She had no idea what to expect, but she figured she must have forgotten some crummy regulation, filled out a form incorrectly, or ruined a document with her abominable scrawl. She left the door open and walked toward his desk, smiling. “Mornin’,” she said, before she saw Hanno’s expression and her good mood flew out the window.

“Why don’t you close the door,” he said.

Ouch. Lina turned back and closed the door carefully, as if it were made of the thinnest glass. She sat down on the visitor’s chair in front of the desk and tried to interpret Hanno’s mood. All she saw was that there was trouble.

Hanno Peters stared at her for a while, but such games got nowhere with Lina, not even if they were played by her boss. She raised her chin and stared back. He finally shook his head and propped his elbows on the desk.

“What kind of mischief did you get into this weekend?” he asked her.

Lina fought to keep it together. While she was small and looked younger than twenty-nine, she wasn’t a naughty teenager, as Hanno seemed to think. With his sixty-one years, he was old enough to be her father, but she was not going to tolerate this tone. “I was working,” she replied curtly.

Hanno was sighing. “And why did you go to Katja Ansmann’s?” He looked at a piece of paper in front of him. “And why did you insult and threaten her?”

“Insult and . . . Where does that come from?”

“Answer my question first. What did you want from her?”

“My investigation led to some questions I hoped she could clarify.”

Hanno’s bald patch seamlessly ended in a sleek short haircut, and he had carefully nurtured the belly one could see behind the desk. He had been a policeman for a long time, more than thirty years. He now scrutinized the short, energetic person in front of him. “And that couldn’t have waited until today?”

Lina shrugged. “I was curious how she would react.”

“React to what?”

“For example, to the fact that I knew she lied about her alibi. She claimed to have been at a lecture when she was actually with her girlfriend.” Hanno was listening. “Or to the question about what she plans to do with three million in life insurance money.”

Hanno raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure about that?”

“I am, indeed.” Lina briefly told him what she had found out on Sunday, but didn’t mention her father’s call. She made a point to tell Hanno the name Evelyn Riemann.

“You mean the Evelyn Riemann who . . .”

Lina nodded.

Hanno dropped back into his chair and exhaled audibly. “And Frau Ansmann is the daughter of Johannes Ansmann from Blankenese?”

Lina nodded again and Hanno frowned while perusing the notes in front of him. “May I finally find out what this is all about?” she asked.

Hanno leaned back in his chair. “The chief of police himself called me this morning. He asked whether a Lina Svenson who, as far as he knew, was assigned to my division was investigating the Birkner murder case. When I confirmed that, the chief of police instructed me to prohibit Inspector Svenson from contacting Frau Katja Ansmann, domestic partner of the deceased Philip Birkner, and to assign other detectives to future interrogations in the Birkner case because Frau Svenson had approached the witness in ‘an insulting and threatening manner.’”

“That’s not true,” Lina said, defending herself indignantly. “And by the way, since when does the chief of police interfere in an ongoing murder investigation?”

“When he thinks he has reason to do so,” Hanno said brusquely. “Someone complained to him that his officers—in this case a female officer—behaved improperly. It’s then actually his duty to step in immediately.”

So far, Lina had never seen the chief of police intervene when “his officers” behaved improperly, for example during a raid near the Reeperbahn, on the Kiez.

“I doubt that came down through regular channels,” Lina said as she imagined Katja Ansmann reaching for the phone the minute she had left.

“No comment,” Hanno said. “I have here a complaint and instructions from the very top. That’s enough for me.”

“But I didn’t insult or threaten anyone!” Lina could feel her stomach contract in anger, but she managed to control herself. “But I did confront her with the fact that she had lied.”

Hanno looked serious. “The question is, of course: Did you unearth a crucial point or is she just touchy? She lied about where she spent the evening. Okay, that was wrong, but she gave a good reason. And then there’s the life insurance. I admit, that sounds suspicious.” He frowned. “But Katja Ansmann’s family has money, lots of it. The three million from the life insurance is probably no more than chicken feed to her. She really doesn’t need to get herself into trouble for that.”

Lina evaded his gaze. If she told him about the impending insolvency of the Ansmann & Son Bank, he would want to know how she found out. And that was something he wasn’t supposed to know. Ever. But she couldn’t just hold on to the story, either. “I believe that her father’s bank is about to go under. I mean, I’m pretty sure of that.”

Hanno frowned. “What gives you that idea?”

Lina shrugged. “It was a long shot,” she said very casually. “You know, banking crisis and so on . . . I simply threw it out there. She almost fainted. I swear—there’s something going on. The Ansmann & Son Bank is in dire straits at least.”

Hanno gave her a suspicious look. “A shot in the dark? Well, well.” When Lina said nothing, he frowned. “You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?”

“No.” She met his gaze.

He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A soft murmur of voices could be heard from the adjoining room. Tensely, Lina waited for her verdict. Hanno wanted no trouble; that much was clear. He wanted to serve the last few years before his retirement quietly, and nothing was further from his mind than upsetting the chief of police.

“Well, all right. Try to get your hands on some numbers about the bank. I don’t know. Balance sheets, annual reports. There must be something. Maybe you were on the right track with your long shot. But until we have proof of insolvency, we sit tight. That goes for you, especially. Stay away from Frau Ansmann.”

“But . . .”

“There’s no
but
. This is an order.”

Team meeting. Hanno begins, “Let’s recapitulate. Frank Jensen has a motive, the right shoe size, and a shaky alibi. It looks similar for Katja Ansmann: motive, right shoe size, uncertain alibi. The unknown woman from the Waldschänke hasn’t come forward so far, and Tanja Fischer, possibly Philip Birkner’s lover, couldn’t be reached, either.”

Hanno Peters looked around. Lina Svenson sat near the door with crossed arms. She was still mad at him. Max Berg sat with legs crossed. He looked awake and relaxed in his open jacket, as if he and not Alex Osterfeld had just come back from vacation. It was the first day back in the office for the latter, but he looked as if he had worked all weekend, with dark circles under his eyes. Sebastian Muhl lolled in his chair with a slight grin. He sensed that Hanno and Lina were on the outs, and he liked that.

“Sebastian, did the security videos from the subway stations show anything?” Hanno asked.

With an air of importance, Sebastian straightened up. “Possibly. A group of young hooligans ran wild at the Niendorf Markt station. They harassed a woman who got out of one of the trains. That was around eleven. The tapes don’t tell us how the story ended, since the whole gang left the station. Our colleagues in uniform didn’t know about the harassment, but did know the gang—the local tough-guy wannabes. I’ll get their names today, at least for the ones who have a record.”

“Good. Stay on the story. Max, did you hear anything new from forensics?”

“Yes, they really hustled this weekend,” Max replied. “They found one of the weapons that was used, a sturdy wooden stick—horse chestnut. They found tiny traces of blood and some hair on one end and were able to secure DNA evidence from the other.”

“You mean, if we find the perpetrator, we can nail him with this?” Hanno asked.

Max nodded. “At least one of the responsible parties. Fact is, though, the death blow was not executed with this stick.” He looked at his notes. “Hartmann also found out that the replanted plant is an Aaron’s rod.” He smiled, recalling how disappointed Hartmann had been that Max already knew that. “They also paid close attention to the footprints at the crime scene and have determined that, apart from the dead man, at least three other people were there around the time of the murder.” Max took a sip of tea. “One wears size 41 shoes, one size 43, and the third one size 44.” Max looked up. “Hartmann came across something strange. In some of the prints of the size 43 shoes, they found traces of fiber from a plant that grows near the brook, the Kollau, several hundred meters away from the crime scene.” He looked at his notes. “It’s called Himalayan balsam, to be precise. It doesn’t grow at the scene of the crime itself. So it seems that the person in size 43 shoes went to the brook while everything went on and came back again. One can assume that this person dug up the Aaron’s rod, went to the Kollau, washed it there, and then returned and replanted it.”

They tried to imagine the scene, but it didn’t make sense to any of them. Who would dig up a little plant in the middle of the night, in the middle of a fight, clean it, and then plant it again?

Max continued, “Before he died, Birkner was on his knees, possibly before he received the fatal blow. They found handprints that definitely are the dead man’s. While there are tracks of size 43 and 44 shoes above those prints, there are none from the size 41 shoes.”

“Since Birkner was also kicked in the balls,” said Lina, “it’s possible that he sank to his knees after that and propped himself up with his hands.”

The men all grimaced, thinking about it. “That’s it,” said Sebastian. “That hurts like hell.” Then all were silent for a moment.

“How do the autopsy results mesh with the evidence at the scene?” Alex asked.

Hanno fished for the mail he had received on Saturday. “Two wounds on the back of the head, most likely caused by the weapon retrieved from the scene and three wounds on the right upper temple, which were caused by a still unidentified object. Hartmann guesses it was a steel pipe or a heavy flashlight.”

They mulled over the info and tried to imagine what happened. “Looks like one of your typical group attacks,” Sebastian said. “One of them starts and then lets his two buddies finish. My money’s on the juveniles from the subway station.”

“How many were there?” Hanno wanted to know.

“Six.”

“And what were the other three up to in the meantime?” Lina interjected. Sebastian shrugged.

“Isn’t it possible that one person did all the hitting?” Max suggested. “He or she grabs a stick and beats the man twice, isn’t satisfied with the result, and looks for another stick. Maybe that’s why that person went down to the brook.”

“In the middle of beating someone to death? And then he decides, since he’s there anyway, to wash the plant?” Hanno shook his head. “No. Unless he was at the brook twice. But your basic point is correct: we don’t know how many people were beating the man.”

“Or how many people were there,” Sebastian said. “It’s possible that all six from the subway station were there, but only three attacked Birkner. The others waited on the path and that’s why we found no tracks from them.”

“I can’t imagine that the youngsters had anything to do with it,” said Lina. “How does the replanting fit in? Why would they do that?”