Dead Woods (23 page)

“How about paying Lukas Birkner a visit?” he asked.

Lina looked puzzled. Why didn’t she think of that? “Let’s do it,” she said, grabbing her knapsack.

The little storefront office was closed and the rooms behind the large windows were dark. A handwritten sign was displayed in the window. “Closed due to a death in the family.”

“Let’s try them at home,” Lina suggested.

Since the sun was shining, a not-very-common occurrence this summer, they walked the short distance. The apartment was near the office, in a building from the 1980s. Frau Birkner’s voice on the intercom was hesitant, but when she heard who wanted to speak with her, she clicked the door open.

Their apartment was on the third floor. Frau Birkner was waiting for them in the doorway. Lina could hear television voices in the background—it seemed to be a talk show—but otherwise the apartment was quiet.

“Who’s here?” Lukas Birkner shouted.

“The woman from Major Crimes and someone else,” his wife responded.

Max introduced himself politely and showed his badge. “May we come in? We would like to ask your husband some questions about his brother’s school years.”

The woman let them in reluctantly and went to the living room ahead of them. Light pine furniture, a seating set with burgundy upholstery, friendly curtains without net liners, and flowers on the windowsills. A toy bulldozer lay on one of the chairs and a children’s book on the sofa. Frau Birkner collected them and self-consciously held them in her hands. “The children are with my sister,” she said softly, “so Lukas can . . .”

Without paying attention to her, her husband got up from the sofa and turned the television off with the remote control.

“Did you find my brother’s murderer?” he asked by way of a greeting.

“No, not yet, Herr Birkner,” Max answered calmly. “We are right now looking for old schoolmates of your brother and hope you might help us along.”

Lina and Max sat down on the two chairs, while the Birkners let themselves sink onto the couch.

“Is it true that your brother was in the same clique as Julia Munz, who was later killed?” Max asked.

“Philip had nothing to do with her death,” Birkner snapped at them. He put a hand on his wife’s knee, but it wasn’t a tender gesture.

Max chose his words carefully. “I didn’t imply that he did, Herr Birkner. We are currently simply interested in students with whom your brother had contact then, who his friends were, and possibly who he might have quarreled with.”

“Philip had no arguments with anyone,” Birkner replied as fast as before. “He was liked by everyone.”

Lina saw that Sonja Birkner frowned briefly. Her husband didn’t notice.

Without responding to the remark, Max asked patiently, “Did you also belong to your brother’s clique?”

“Of course I did. Philip and I were very close and often did things together with the clique.”

“Who else belonged to it?”

“Christian Bischoff, Maike Haubach, Miriam Haase.” He thought for a moment. “Björn joined us on occasion. Björn Boysen, Miriam’s friend. But that was the nucleus; others joined in every now and then.”

“Was Daniel Vogler one of the people who occasionally joined in?”

“Daniel Vogler? That guy?” Lukas laughed briefly and smacked his hand on his wife’s knee, as if someone had made a bad joke. “Julia would never have tolerated that guy in the clique.”

Max tilted his head. “Why not?”

Birkner shrugged. “He just didn’t fit in with us. You know, we partied all the time. Something was always happening; we had tons of fun. Daniel, he was such a geek. He constantly sat in front of his computer instead of spending the afternoon with friends.” He grimaced. “Julia lived on the same street as he did, so it was inevitable that they sometimes walked to school together in the morning. She tried sometimes to have a conversation with him, but he simply wasn’t able to open his mouth. As I said, a nerd.”

Sonja Birkner got up abruptly, mumbled an excuse, and left the room.

Lina followed her with her eyes, but Lukas Birkner didn’t seem to notice his wife’s reaction. Max nodded slowly, as if he understood completely what Birkner had just described.

“Did you know that Herr Vogler was employed by your brother’s company?”

It was the first time Lukas Birkner seemed rattled. “At Inoware? No, Philip never told me that. But sure, he never thought about anything other than computers, our little math genius.”

“Math genius?” Max asked.

“Yes. Daniel skipped two grades. He was some kind of super brainiac. You know, a champion in math and physics, but a loser when it came to sports.” He rolled his eyes. “He was in my class for a couple of years. You can’t imagine how our teachers constantly portrayed him as a shining example, especially after he won one of those math competitions. Just awful.” He shrugged. “And he landed in my brother’s firm? How funny is that?” But Lina could see that it gnawed at him, not to have known about it. He, his brother’s confidant.

“Can you remember the names of some students who were friends with Daniel Vogler?” Max asked.

“No idea. I don’t think he had any friends.” Lukas Birkner shrugged. “He liked to stay by himself. He isolated himself most of the time.”

“The party, the one after which Julia Munz was killed—did you attend that one?”

Lukas Birkner shook his head. “No. Philip and I were away with our parents, in Hohwacht. Our father celebrated his birthday in our vacation place, so we had to go with them.”

Max nodded and gave Lina a questioning look. She checked her notes. “Herr Birkner, do you have any idea what became of the other members of your clique? Do you know whether all of them still live in Hamburg?”

Birkner frowned. “Christian went to college after his community service; he didn’t do military service. I think he studied process engineering or something similar. I’m sure he’s finished by now. Maike went to study in the United States. I haven’t heard from her in ages. And the other two . . .” He shrugged. “I have no idea what became of them. You have to understand, they were all one year above me, so I never attended their class reunions or stuff like that.”

A short time later, Lina and Max were on the street again. They walked to the busier street where they had parked and where Lina had seen a bakery.

“I wonder what Frau Birkner would have told us if her husband hadn’t been there,” Lina said while they walked toward the car. She was chewing on a croissant and had a cup of coffee in the other hand. Max clicked the key fob and the car in front of them flashed.

“It must have been something about Daniel Vogler,” Lina continued, “and about Philip. She doesn’t seem to agree with everything her husband says.”

Max nodded. “But she doesn’t want her husband to know.” They looked at each other. “Do you think she’ll call us on her own?” As always, they had left their business card, along with the request to call if they remembered anything else.

“I doubt it. She’s had my card since Monday.” Lina looked around. “Doesn’t Frank Jensen live around here?”

Max nodded. “Let’s go and ask him if he knew that Birkner and Vogler knew each other.”

Less than five minutes later, they were standing in front of the semidetached house on the quiet side street. It looked just as depressing as it had last time, but Frank Jensen opened the door after the first ring. He was clean-shaven and wore clean clothes. He must have noticed Lina’s astonished face because he said, with a shrug, “Hard to believe, I know.” As he had done before, he disappeared into the house without bothering to check whether his visitors followed him.

The house smelled of cleaning solutions. Lina could see two large cardboard boxes through the open living room door, a broom was leaning against a wall, and in front of it was a full garbage bag. The kitchen was tidy and clean, but the little camping table and stool were still the only furniture.

Frank Jensen raised his shoulders apologetically. “Sorry I can’t offer you a seat. My wife took everything when she moved out.” But instead of taking the only seat himself, as he had last time, he remained standing. “Have you checked my alibi?”

Max nodded. “Yes.” He didn’t mention that it did not completely clear him.

“And? Where was I?” Jensen asked, attempting a grin. When there was no answer, he raised his shoulders again, slightly embarrassed. “Dumb question. You’re probably not allowed to tell me. But in all honesty, I still don’t remember.”

Max said calmly, “You were in one of the bars you told us about.”

Lina made a show of looking around. “Things have certainly changed here,” she said with a smile. “So things are looking up for you?”

“Yeah, well . . . ,” the man replied. He ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous gesture that reminded Lina of the picture of misery he had been just a few days ago. “You know, when you showed up here that time, it scared me. And then this blackout . . . Not to know whether I killed someone or not.” He shook his head. “That was a wake-up call.” He looked from Max to Lina and back again. “I didn’t kill Philip, did I?”

Max hesitated, not long but long enough for Jensen to go pale. “We are not absolutely sure yet, but in my opinion, you don’t have to worry, Herr Jensen.”

That didn’t seem to calm the man. He patted his shirt pockets for cigarettes, took one out, and lit it. He took a few deep drags before calming down. Then he looked at Lina and finally, belatedly, answered her question. “I’m moving out next week.” With a crooked smile, he said, “This house isn’t the right place for me, you know . . .” Smoking hastily, he added, “By the way, I’m moving away from Hamburg. I hope that’s all right. My parents own a house with a separate apartment near Hannover. That’s where I’ll stay for a while. Who knows, maybe I really can start over again. New city, new happiness, or something like that.” He looked around as if his failure were the kitchen’s fault. “Around here I can’t recover. Funny, actually. You’d think that in a large city like Hamburg you could always find a niche.” He shook his head. “But, no, Hamburg and I just don’t click.”

Lina and Max looked at each other. It was possible that the man was deceiving himself big-time, but a hopeful new beginning was certainly better than drinking oneself to death.

Frank Jensen noticed that he was the only one talking. He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray and said, “Now then, if you didn’t come to arrest me, why are you here?”

“When you were questioned on Saturday, you mentioned a former colleague, Daniel Vogler,” Max said. “How did he get along with Philip?”

Jensen looked surprised. “Good. Why?”

“So there were never problems? Quarrels? Never bad vibes?” Lina chimed in. “Think about it a little.”

Jensen looked out the window at the garden. A sandpit sat abandoned in the sunlight in front of a privet hedge. “I never noticed any bad blood between them. Once, when I came back from lunch early, I heard them discuss how to best solve a particular programming problem. Daniel occasionally had a know-it-all attitude, you know, and in the end Philip gave up, irritated. ‘Oh well, you’ve always been the one who knows it all, haven’t you?’ When they saw me, Philip explained that they knew each other from school. I hadn’t known that before.” He looked at Lina pensively. “Now that you ask me, I remember that the two never quarreled, but . . . they were always very reserved with each other. What I mean is that Philip always treated Daniel very politely and correctly, as if he wanted to make sure he didn’t alienate him—or as if he felt uncomfortable in his company.” He was thinking some more. “At the time, I thought it was because he didn’t want to lose him, because Daniel was a true genius. Awkward in dealing with people, but with computers . . . incredible.”

Lina leafed through her notepad and found the key words she had written down about Vogler. “Do you know what he’s doing now?” she asked. When Jensen shook his head, she said, “Something with high-dimensional Markov network processes in nonergodic spaces. Something like that. I didn’t understand a word.”

Frank Jensen looked at Lina. “What is he doing?”

“He works on Markov network processes in nonergodic spaces.” She shrugged. “Sorry, I couldn’t take notes fast enough.”

“And where does he work?”

“At the university. As a mathematician.”

“Hm.” Frank Jensen scratched his head. “Are you sure?”

Max and Lina exchanged glances. Nobody had checked Vogler’s testimony so far. “Why would that be unusual?”

Frank Jensen frowned. “Honestly, I can also only guess what those words mean, even though I did come across them when I was a student. But I’m surprised that a computer scientist would spend his time doing that. If I’m not mistaken, we’re talking about basic mathematical research here, and that has as much to do with his work at Inoware as the development of space travel has with driving a compact car.”

“Daniel Vogler isn’t just a computer scientist, but also a mathematician,” said Lina.

“Well . . .” Jensen shrugged. “Then it’s even more strange that a mathematician ended up in Philip’s little firm.”

Max and Lina looked at each other again. “After you found out that the two had gone to school together,” Max asked, “did the topic ever come up again?”

Jensen shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”

“Would some of your other colleagues know more about it?” Max asked. “Maybe they found out during breaks, or over a beer after work, or something like that?”

Jensen was contemplating. “I can’t imagine that with Daniel. He’s your classic loner. He mostly kept to himself and hardly ever talked about personal matters with colleagues. Philip, on the other hand, he was a communication talent, had charm, and could win you over in no time. It’s possible that he told someone.” Then he brightened up. “You should talk with Tanja, Tanja Fischer. She was the girl Friday, a secretary, but she called herself assistant to the manager since that has a better ring. She and Philip got along well.” He paused for a moment. “Unusually well. At least until Philip took up with the Ansmann woman.”

Chapter 15

On the way back to headquarters, Lina said, “That clique they had, Julia and Philip—we should look into it.”

“What makes you think so?” Max steered the car through the gathering rush hour traffic. “Aren’t most kids in some kind of clique?”

Lina looked at him. “Daniel Vogler obviously wasn’t part of one. Neither was Sonja Birkner, at least not that particular one. She told me that on Monday,” she explained after seeing Max’s inquisitive look.

“The clique and the loner. Isn’t that one of the typical scenarios for bullying among students?” Max signaled and turned into the parking lot in front of headquarters. “But Lukas Birkner would never allow even the hint of a shadow on Philip Birkner’s brilliant image.”

“If that clique indeed bullied Daniel Vogler, he’d have good reason to hold a grudge against Philip Birkner,” Lina concluded. “Who knows how he craved revenge all those years.”

“But according to Frank Jensen, nobody noticed anything two years ago.”

Lina shrugged. “Maybe Vogler knows how to control himself.”

Daniel Vogler seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Alex and Sebastian didn’t find him either at work or at home. Hanno now put both locations under discreet surveillance.

When Max sat down at his desk with a cup of tea, Lina was on the phone.

“So what did you find out?” she asked eagerly, pen in hand. She listened, occasionally said, “Really?” or “Hm,” and took notes every now and then. Finally she said, “Is that unusual? . . . Okay, I get it . . . Yes, I will . . . You can bet on it. Thanks.” Then she put down the receiver and looked at Max.

“That was Marita Schön from White-Collar Crimes,” she explained. “She went through the Markman Solutions file once more and noticed that the company engaged an unusually high number of management consulting firms: twenty within a year and a half.”

Max whistled quietly. “If Markman Solutions were an individual, I’d say: definitely too many therapists.” He sipped his hot tea. “But why did she only notice it now? The files have been with them for some time, haven’t they?”

“Because Marita is the only one working on it.” Lina shrugged. “The case wasn’t high priority, at least not until now. Marita said she’ll check out the consulting firms and keep us posted.”

Max rocked in his chair, deep in thought. “Let’s assume that Markman Solutions indeed hired someone for some industrial espionage. In that case, it would be smart to make several small payments.” He grimaced. “But no fewer than twenty consultants? Wouldn’t they have figured this would stand out if anyone checked?”

Lina shrugged. “Nobody checked so far. And if I hadn’t asked . . . the file could easily have vanished in the piles of unsolved cases. You know how short-staffed we are.”

And how limited the chances for success. About forty percent of all German companies fall victim to white-collar crime each year, but the culprits manage more often than not to hide their tracks to such an extent that nothing can be proven, even if there are sufficient grounds for suspicion, and the investigations just peter out.

“Anyway,” Lina said. “It ties in with the story Vogler told us. The alleged profits from poker games with which he claims to have financed his apartment could really be payments from Markman Solutions, hidden under the term
consultations
.” She snapped her fingers. “Now I remember! When we talked to him, something seemed not quite right; I had a strange feeling. That was it: Daniel Vogler claimed to have won the money in poker, but Franziska Leyhausen thought he’d inherited it.” She told Max about her conversation with Frau Leyhausen.

“Couldn’t she have made a mistake?” Max asked, dubious.

“It’s possible, but it could also be that Daniel Vogler no longer remembers what story he told her. Or maybe he hadn’t yet concocted the poker story at the time—if it is a tall tale.”

Max frowned. “It’s illegal to play poker for profit on the Internet. So he wouldn’t necessarily claim this method for laundering his fees for industrial espionage.”

Lina shrugged. “Or do it just for that very reason—because it’s so absurd. Besides, what’s the probability of being nailed for playing poker? I’d say almost zero. And what kind of penalty are we talking about?” She went online. “Up to six months of incarceration or a monetary penalty of what the culprit would earn in hundred and eighty days. Well, whoopee. A real deterrent.” She looked at Max. “This would also explain Markman’s payments to several consulting firms. The amounts range from ten to twenty thousand euro. If you get twenty payments in that amount, the apartment is half paid off.”

Max was not convinced. “You can win that much at poker?”

“Who knows? But don’t forget: Daniel Vogler is quite good at math.”

They were about to call it quits for the day when their colleagues who were surveying Vogler’s apartment called. The target had just driven up and entered his apartment. Since Sebastian had already left, Hanno had sent Alex and a forensics team to search Vogler’s place. A short time later, two policemen delivered the suspect to headquarters. Regular business hours remained an illusion.

Daniel Vogler didn’t look up when Lina and Max entered the interrogation room, but examined his fingernails, as if he hadn’t seen them in a while and had forgotten that they existed.

“Good evening, Herr Vogler,” Max said when he sat down across from the man. Lina mumbled a brief greeting.

Vogler neither raised his head nor said anything in return.

“We have a few questions.” Max leaned back and said, “Where have you been today?”

“At my grandmother’s.”

“The entire day?”

“More or less.” Only when prodded, did he say in a monotonous voice that his grandmother lived alone at the southernmost tip of the city. “She’s ill. I visit her regularly and see that things are all right. Both of my parents are dead. I’m her only relative,” he added.

“And where were you last Tuesday night?” Max asked.

“At home. I was working.”

“Were you logged in at the university computer center?”

“Right.” Daniel Vogler sounded bored.

“Did you talk with Franziska Leyhausen or did you see her?”

“No.”

Max waited a few seconds before saying, “Franziska Leyhausen was found dead this morning, in Jenisch Park.”

Vogler said nothing. Lina watched him as he inspected his fingernails again. “When . . . and how did she die?” he finally asked without looking up. Lina shivered.

“She died Tuesday night. She was murdered.”

Vogler lifted his head and looked first at Max and then at Lina. “You were looking for her yesterday, weren’t you? So she was already dead then?”

“Looks like it.”

“Do you already know who did it?” Vogler asked.

When neither Max nor Lina answered, Vogler shrugged and again scrutinized his fingernails.

“Herr Vogler,” Max said quietly, “It’s just a matter of time before the DNA results from the scene of the crime will be back.”

No reaction from Daniel Vogler.

Lina tried to suppress the uneasy feeling she had about this man and looked at his gaunt figure, his pale face, and his stringy hair. She tried to imagine Franziska Leyhausen with this man. “How did you meet Frau Leyhausen?” she asked.

Vogler measured her. “Through an Internet site.” He shrugged again. “We tried it for a while, but it simply didn’t work out.”

“Who ended the relationship?”

“Both of us,” Vogler stated, “by mutual agreement, as they say.”

“But you remained friends?” When Vogler nodded, she continued. “How often did you see each other after that?”

“Every week or two. We went to the movies, concerts, and things like that.”

“Did Frau Leyhausen mention the events of last Thursday?” Max asked.

“No. Last Wednesday she called and asked whether I was interested in the concert at the Waldschänke. That was the last time I spoke with her.” He sounded quite unmoved by the death of a good friend—or maybe he hadn’t yet absorbed the news.

“Herr Vogler,” Max asked, “do you still remember Julia Munz?”

Not at all impressed by the sudden change of topic, he said, “Yes.”

“What kind of relationship did you have with her?” Max asked.

“We were in the same grade for a while. She was one of those dumb girls, the ones who just giggle and only think about parties.” Vogler shrugged. “We didn’t have much contact.”

“Didn’t she sometimes annoy you, tease you . . . maybe bully you?” Lina probed.

With a dismissive gesture, Vogler said, “Sure. There were those stupid remarks every now and then. For people like Julia I was the geek. They couldn’t stand it that I had more brains than they.”

“How exactly did your classmates bully you?” Max wanted to know. “What did they do or say?”

It was the first time Vogler seemed to consider a question seriously. “That’s a hell of a long time ago. No idea. Well, there was the occasional stupid chatter, but I can’t remember details.” He shrugged. “In retrospect, it really wasn’t important. Kids’ stuff.”

Lina doodled on her notepad. Vogler was definitely too mellow about everything for her taste. She recalled the boy in her own classroom who had been unlucky enough to be targeted as a nerd and a black sheep. Even now, more than fifteen years later, she remembered some of the pranks they’d played on him and found them anything but harmless. The boy had never been part of the classroom community, and however hard he tried, he never fully belonged.

But were such feelings of being excluded a strong enough motive for murder? And what reason would Vogler have had to kill Franziska Leyhausen?

The air in the little room was sticky and Lina had to suppress a yawn. Max cleared his throat, nodded, and said, “Good, Herr Vogler. I think that was it for now. We’ll talk again tomorrow.” By then they’d have initial results of the house search and, with some luck, news from forensics.

“So I can go home now?” Daniel Vogler was getting up.

“Unfortunately not,” Max said. “You’ll have to spend the night here.” He sounded as if he really were sorry. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

Daniel Vogler looked nonplussed for the first time.

“So what’s your impression?” Hanno asked soon afterward. He was slouching in his desk chair, hands crossed behind his head, and behind him dramatic black clouds darted across the evening sky, as if the scene had been sped up.

Lina grimaced. “A creepy type. But so far we have no evidence he had anything to do with the murders. There’s just the suspicious coincidence that he knew both Philip Birkner and Franziska Leyhausen.”

“And Julia Munz,” Max added.

“But why would he kill Leyhausen?” Hanno asked.

“Maybe she knew that he’d killed his former classmate and former employer?” Lina suggested. “Maybe she saw him Thursday night? Or maybe he told her more than he’d planned.”

Hanno rocked back and forth in his chair and frowned. “You talked to the friend of Frau Leyhausen, this Barbara So-and-so, didn’t you?” he asked Lina. “Why don’t you speak with her again? Maybe Leyhausen told her who else she’d talked with about Thursday night.” He checked his watch. “Nine o’clock. Where’s Alex?”

It turned out that Alex had driven straight home from Vogler’s apartment. When Hanno called his cell phone, he was just having dinner with his family. He reported, mouth half-full, that the search turned up nothing important—at least nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. There was no blood-crusted steel pipe, no muddy size 44 shoes—even though that actually was Vogler’s size.

When Hanno put down the receiver, he mumbled something about willful subordinates and stared gloomily at Max and Lina.

Lina grinned. “What are you mad at me for? I always do what you tell me to do.”