Dead Woods (29 page)

“Apparently it wasn’t.”

Max was silent for a moment. “Do you know the name Markman Solutions?”

“No.”

“This company profited from the data leak at Wesseling & Kröger. And then they paid substantial sums to various consulting firms, all of which belong to someone called Holger Thies.”

“Really?”

“Holger Thies has been dead for thirteen years.”

“I’d guess there are other people with that name.” Daniel Vogler was studying his fingernails again.

Max contemplated the man. If he’d been careful, nobody would be able to prove he had anything to do with the data and patent theft. If anyone had the skills to eliminate digital traces, it was Daniel Vogler. He said, nevertheless, “Did you really believe you’d get away with it, Herr Vogler?”

Daniel Vogler shrugged. For a moment, Max was reminded of Niels Hinrichsen, who shrank back the moment one came too close. Max took a deep breath.

“Let’s talk about the evening Philip Birkner died. Where were you Thursday night a week ago?”

“At home. I was working.”

“Weren’t you in the Niendorfer Gehege to meet Frau Leyhausen and her friend at a concert?”

“No.”

“So you didn’t see your girlfriend flirt with Philip Birkner?”

“No.” Vogler raised his voice for the first time. “I worked that evening. I wasn’t anywhere near the forest.”

“We’ve got a witness.”

“Who must be lying. I was logged in at the university’s computer center and was working. You can check it.”

“Just as you were logged in this Tuesday?”

Daniel Vogler was silent.

“Someone saw you with Frau Leyhausen on Tuesday.”

“We met,” Vogler finally admitted. “We went out to eat, and then I went home to work some more.”

“When was that?”

“No idea. I didn’t check my watch. I was home around eleven or half past eleven.” The waitstaff at Miro’s, the restaurant close to Jenisch Park, where they remembered Franziska Leyhausen and Daniel Vogler, had said the two left around ten thirty.

“Did you leave at the same time?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“Franka wanted to take the subway, so we walked together through the park for a while. At some point, I went straight and she turned right. That’s the last time I saw her.”

“You let your friend walk through the park alone? It was already dark at ten thirty.”

“So what?” Vogler shrugged. “Franka wasn’t afraid. Do you have any idea how often she ended up in remote areas for her work?” He wiped his face with a hand.

Max looked at the man in silence. Was it possible he was telling the truth? He seemed absolutely exhausted, but that was no wonder. Being arrested takes quite a bit out of you. Max could imagine that the surroundings bothered Vogler, a man who described himself as unsociable and as someone who preferred being left alone. He must suffer under the constant regimentation, maybe more than others.

“Why didn’t you tell us on Wednesday that you had seen Franziska Leyhausen on Tuesday?” Lina asked. It was her first question and Daniel Vogler studied her, frowning, as if he had just become aware of her presence.

“I don’t like to discuss my private life with strangers,” he eventually said.

“What did you talk about with Frau Leyhausen on Tuesday?”

“She told me what happened in the forest that night; that she fought with a strange guy.”

“What else?”

“Nothing more.”

“Didn’t she tell you why she had a fight with the man?”

“No.” Daniel Vogler looked at his ring finger with great interest.

“And you didn’t ask her about it?”

“No.”

Max said nothing. He had to admit that he was impressed by Vogler’s laconic way of parrying questions.

“Franziska Leyhausen told you that she met Philip Birkner on Thursday evening and that they were making out,” Lina said. At first, Max was annoyed about her blustering approach, but then he saw that Daniel Vogler was frowning.

“No.”

“Yes, she did. You know: giggling, smooching, groping . . . The usual.” Lina had leaned forward. “She enjoyed it. She told me that on Tuesday.”

“No.”

“She wanted to go into the forest with Philip to look for a quiet little spot. You know . . . where the two would be left alone.”

“No.”

“They ran through the woods holding each other tight, and Philip kept on kissing Franka. He stroked her hair. And Franka kissed him, too.”

“No. Stop this.”

“Then he grabbed her breasts and—”

“I told you to stop!” Daniel Vogler covered his ears. He had pinched his eyes together, and he bent forward.

“She told you all of that on Tuesday, didn’t she?” Lina continued without taking her eyes off the man, who was now swaying back and forth on his chair like a child. “Maybe you were watching when Philip touched her, her breasts, her back, her ass . . .”

“Stop it! Please!” Beads of sweat covered his forehead, and he was gasping for breath.

Nobody said anything for a while and Daniel Vogler slowly calmed down.

“Did Frau Leyhausen tell you what happened between her and Philip Birkner last Thursday?” Max asked in a low voice.

Daniel Vogler was still slumped over. With his hands covering his face, he slowly nodded.

“Did Frau Leyhausen know that you knew Herr Birkner from school?”

Vogler shook his head.

“So she also didn’t know what Birkner had done to you?”

Max could feel that the man was ready to close up again. “She couldn’t know that Philip had touched you the same way as he now touched your girlfriend.”

Vogler cringed.

“It must have hurt to see them like that,” Max said.

The beads of perspiration on Vogler’s forehead trembled.

“To hear Philip’s voice, to see him, to watch Franka responding to his touch . . .”

“I didn’t see them! I wasn’t there. I didn’t see them!” Vogler was now swaying frantically, and he pressed his hands against his face so violently that the knuckles stood out white. His left index finger was bleeding. “She told me about it. Everything! That she and Philip . . . Philip!” With a choked cry, he continued, “With Philip, with this, this, this . . .” His voice trailed off.

“What happened after you left the restaurant with Franziska Leyhausen on Tuesday?” Max asked.

“We went to the park. She was still talking about it. She didn’t stop. Again and again she told me that she went to the woods with Philip. How she . . . and how they . . .” He swallowed. “How they had kissed. How . . .” He was swaying back and forth again.

“And then?” When Vogler didn’t answer, Max said, “Did she tell you what Philip did with her?”

“Again and again. And again she was telling me about it. I couldn’t hear it any longer. I told her to stop, but she didn’t. She just talked and talked. She had had quite a bit to drink, so her speech was slurred, then she cried, and then she talked about Philip again.” His movements slowed down. “At one point, she started to giggle and then wanted to kiss me. Me! Kiss me! After having been with Philip, such a . . . such a . . .” Daniel fell silent.

“And then?”

Daniel Vogler remained silent.

Chapter 18

Portuguese restaurants and Brazilian bars shared the little street below the Michel, the landmark Protestant church, and at this time of day it smelled heavenly, of coffee and fresh rolls. The squawking of seagulls and the occasional tooting of a steamboat drifted over from the nearby harbor and mixed with the traffic noise of the main highway that managed to change its name three times in less than five hundred fifty yards. This was a feat even for Hamburg. One of the names was St. Pauli Landungsbrücken.

Lina didn’t have to search for a long time before she found the small café. The first tourists were already sitting outside in the sunshine, and Lina cast a yearning glance toward their milk coffees, espressos, and latte macchiatos. She locked her bicycle and went in. Dim light and soft South American music surrounded her. She walked by the glass counter on which tapas and sweet rolls were enticingly piled high, and took three steps up to the back room, which was empty in weather like this, except for a woman who sat by the window in the back and stirred her espresso. Katja Ansmann was in jeans and pumps today, her outfit completed by a white blouse and a light blue blazer. Her makeup was perfect as always, but even in this dim light and even though her back was to the window, Lina could see dark circles under her eyes. The corners of her mouth pointed downward, as if it were too much of an effort to lift them for a smile.

This morning Lina’s cell phone had rung just as she had gotten up. She didn’t know the number on the display. So she had cleared her throat, pressed the button, and answered with her last name.

“Good morning, Frau Svenson.” She knew this cool, cultivated voice. “Katja Ansmann here.” And after a tiny pause, “I’d like to meet you.”

“Really?”

Frau Ansmann had sighed softly. “In private, if possible.”

Lina had to admit that she was curious. “Well, all right. Can you come to headquarters tomorrow morning at ten?”

“I’d like to see you today and would prefer a more neutral location, maybe a café downtown or whatever you suggest.”

Sure—a private conversation at police headquarters. It had been worth a shot. The investigation was more or less completed and Hanno had given them the day off. While Daniel Vogler hadn’t confessed yet, it was just a matter of time before they would have enough evidence to nail him without a confession, especially once the DNA analysis of all three crime scenes was in.

Katja Ansmann looked up when Lina entered and made the few steps to her table. They nodded without saying anything. As soon as Lina sat down, the waiter came and she ordered a latte macchiato.

The hissing of the espresso machine could be heard from the front room, but otherwise it was quiet. The women measured each other silently: Lina, alert and curious about what the other woman might want from her; Katja, vigilant and skeptical about whether she had made the right decision.

“Thank you for agreeing to come on such short notice,” the management consultant finally said. “I assume you haven’t caught Philip’s murderer yet.”

“No,” Lina replied without mentioning that Daniel Vogler had been jailed since yesterday. Let her be in the dark a while longer.

Katja Ansmann sighed and picked up the little spoon as if she were going to stir her espresso again, but put it back down almost immediately. “I understand. You probably aren’t allowed to tell me about the status of the investigation. That’s fine.” She took a deep breath. “The reason I asked for a meeting concerns another matter anyhow. I have nothing to do with Philip’s death, as you will determine for yourself sooner or later, but I would like to ask for your utmost discretion regarding my father’s precarious financial situation.”

The subtle insult made Lina clench her fists under the table and she inhaled as inconspicuously as she could. She had nothing against rich people, whatever Max thought, but she couldn’t stand arrogant rich people. “I can assure you that we don’t expose anyone unnecessarily,” she replied politely. “However, I have absolutely no influence on what our public relations department communicates to the media.”

Katja Ansmann grew pale. “Does that mean it’s already in the records that my family’s bank is threatened by bankruptcy?”

Lina leaned back and studied the woman in front of her. How difficult it must have been for her to meet Lina today and to talk about this topic. She should be satisfied to see her opponent humiliated like that, but, to her surprise, she felt compassion instead.
Max could explain this to me
, she suddenly thought, and thinking of Max immediately calmed her. She breathed in, looked in Katja Ansmann’s anxious eyes, and said, “No.”

Stunned, the other woman said, “No? But . . .”

Just then, the waiter arrived, bringing Lina’s macchiato. She smiled at him with exaggerated friendliness and decided to give him a generous tip later for his perfect timing.

“I thought,” Katja Ansmann said in a low voice as soon as he had left, “that everything you find out has to be documented.”

“We . . . we have some discretionary powers,” was Lina’s vague reply. The true reason why nothing about the possible bankruptcy was mentioned in the files was nobody’s business, especially not this woman’s. Before Ansmann could ask more, she added, “Your father’s bankruptcy so far only appears in a few notes as a wild speculation, with a large question mark.” With a mocking look, she added, “You’re the one who’d know whether the chief of police was informed about it. You probably know him better than I do.”

The puzzled expression on Ansmann’s face had grown even stronger. “The chief of police? I don’t understand . . . You made a similarly strange remark last time. I didn’t understand it then, either.”

“Just stop pretending!” Without meaning to, Lina had become louder, and Katja Ansmann cast a concerned glance in the direction of the front of the café. Lina continued in a lower voice, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Or are you going to deny that you complained to the gentleman about me and tried to have me taken off the case?”

Katja Ansmann leaned forward a little and said quietly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I never complained about you to the chief of police. I don’t even know the man.”

Lina frowned. The woman sounded convincing and seemed genuinely puzzled. “Did you talk to anyone about the investigation?” A lightbulb went off. “For example, with your friend. Couldn’t she . . .”

“Evelyn would never take such liberty and would never do anything behind my back. But,” she looked at Lina pensively, “I did tell my father about it, and he knows lots of people. It wouldn’t surprise me if the chief of police were one of them.”

Lina grabbed the sugar dispenser, poured the white crystals over the foam of her macchiato, and began to stir both into a sweet mixture. “Could you imagine your father lodging a complaint without your knowledge?”

Katja Ansmann nodded without the slightest hesitation.

“Does he know about this meeting?”

Katja Ansmann hesitated for a moment before shaking her head.
Interesting
, Lina thought:
like father, like daughter
. She slowly took a spoonful of the sweet milky foam. It was exactly right and covered her tongue like soft silk. She almost sighed with pleasure and her expression must have revealed her delight, because Katja Ansmann looked at her skeptically as if she weren’t sure that Lina was all right. What was the purpose of the meeting, Lina speculated, if the daughter didn’t tell her father about it? She said out loud, “What is it you want from me?”

Katja Ansmann watched Lina take another spoonful, as if she were sorry about only having ordered an espresso, which was long gone. “I wanted to ask you a favor,” she finally said softly.

Aha
, Lina thought.
Now we’re getting somewhere
. She realized how difficult it was for the woman to ask her for something. She put down the spoon and looked at her attentively.

“May I ask you to appeal to your father to keep his knowledge of the bankruptcy quiet?” Katja asked.

“Excuse me? What makes you think I have any kind of influence on my father?”

“But . . . he discussed my family’s situation with you, which made me think . . .”

Lina couldn’t help herself. She had to laugh. This woman obviously believed that she and her father sat cozily together discussing the secrets of Hamburg’s business elite. When she saw Katja’s flabbergasted expression, she shook her head and put a hand over her mouth, but it was no use. The image of her only meeting with her father was still there: he in elegant, sophisticated attire and she at the height of her punk phase—hatching plots in the Ohlsdorf cemetery. She controlled herself and wiped away tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, still grinning, “but I hope this makes you realize how absolutely absurd such a scenario is.” She shook her head. “Whatever gave you the impression that my father and I were that close?”

Katja Ansmann seemed peeved about Lina’s laughing fit, but also couldn’t deny that she was curious. “Your sister suggested something like that,” she said. “Or rather, your half sister. Johanna Steinhagen is a good friend of mine.”

“Oh,” Lina replied. “And what makes Johanna Steinhagen think so?”

Katja Ansmann was studying Lina with obvious interest. “Do you know that you and Johanna met once?”

Lina nodded. “You mean at the Hamburg-wide meeting of pupils?”

Katja Ansmann nodded, also. “Johanna told her parents that she apparently had a double in Hamburg. Your name was probably mentioned. She didn’t think more about it, but Meinhart Steinhagen must have guessed that he had another daughter about whom he’d had no knowledge. Years later, Johanna stumbled on a folder in which her father had collected information about you—starting soon after that meeting of students.” Katja Ansmann picked up her espresso cup, was disappointed to see it was still empty, and ordered some mineral water. “She told me about it. By then she had long forgotten your meeting, but when she saw the documents, she remembered everything. It didn’t make much difference to her. So she had a half sister; so what? She had long suspected that her father hadn’t stuck too closely to his wedding vows over the years, and she had often assumed that there were some other children of Meinhart Steinhagen out there.” The waiter brought her mineral water and Katja waited until he disappeared again. “One or two years ago, Johanna by chance overheard your father on the phone with you. He called you ‘dear.’ At first she thought he was on the phone with his mistress, but then he used your name, and Johanna concluded that you and your father were in contact and must be close.” She paused. “He has never called Johanna ‘dear.’”

Lina felt uncomfortable. Her father had collected information about her? He never addressed his first-born daughter, who lived with him, with the dumb term of endearment he used for her. She felt as if she were part of a game without knowing its rules—a game in which she was just a pawn. She shivered. For a long time she stared at the cold foam in her cup, until she noticed that Katja Ansmann was waiting for a response. She looked at her and saw again that her eyes were gray, but a hint of green was visible today. “Do you know my father?” she asked in a low voice.

Katja Ansmann nodded. “Our families are close friends and an uncle of my mother is married to a cousin of your father.” This meant that across thousands of corners Lina was somehow related by blood or marriage to Katja Ansmann. Something in her wanted to laugh, cry, and scream—all at the same time. “I’ve known Meinhart Steinhagen my entire life.”

Lina now thought about meeting her father at the Ohlsdorf cemetery, at the family crypt, and about the feeling of connectedness she had experienced for a brief moment. This woman had known her father her entire life while she . . . Well, she had Christian. She was ashamed as soon as the thought had popped into her head. Christian was her father; she never wished for another one. Yet . . .

She took a deep breath. “I’ve seen my father exactly one time,” she said with a firm voice. “It was a few weeks after this student meeting.” She told Katja what she had told Max: there was no further contact after that meeting, but Meinhart Steinhagen had been calling her every now and then for the past few years. “I don’t know exactly why he does it, but I know that he’s up to something.” She shrugged. “I just know it.”

Katja Ansmann leaned back and exhaled audibly. “I absolutely understand you,” she said. “Meinhart Steinhagen hardly ever does anything without an ulterior motive.”

“You don’t like him?”

“No.”

Lina smiled. With this answer, the woman had gained some likability. To her surprise, Katja Ansmann smiled back.

“Since when did you actually know he was my father?” Lina asked. Only now, as she gradually relaxed, did she realize how stressed she had been.

“Since you mentioned my father’s threatened bankruptcy,” Katja Ansmann replied. “I did notice the resemblance with Johanna before, but would never have suspected that you’re her sister.”

Lina took a sip of her now-lukewarm latte. “The question remains why he told me about it,” she said. “He pretended that it was to show he trusted me, but I didn’t buy that for a moment.”