Dead Woods (31 page)

“And you never asked for details? I mean, you once worked as his consultant. I’d have thought you would be interested in how Inoware was doing.”

“Of course I asked him, but he always just told the same story: it was Frank Jensen’s fault, and that was the end of it for him.”

“It was you who helped him get the new job, wasn’t it?”

Katja Ansmann sighed. “Of course. That’s all I needed, for him to hang around the house all day and live off me. It was shortly after Leon’s birth.”

Lina studied the woman. She not only seemed to know exactly what she wanted, but also to have the courage to simply take it. Lina didn’t know whether to admire Katja Ansmann for her unusual relationship with Philip Birkner or to be repelled by the fact that she had more or less bought the man. In the final analysis, it didn’t matter what she thought as long as the two of them were content with the arrangement. “Did Herr Birkner ever express any doubts about Frank Jensen’s guilt?”

Katja Ansmann shook her head. “No. At least not to me.”

“Did he ever mention the name Daniel Vogler to you? I mean, in connection with the bankruptcy of Inoware?”

More head shaking. “No. But again, Philip almost never talked about it.” Another tiny smile appeared on her lips. “You shouldn’t forget that we didn’t have your average relationship. We easily discussed art, theater, or Hamburg politics, but avoided personal topics.”

No wonder, then, that she knew nothing of Birkner’s past, of the murder of Julia Munz, or of his attending the same school as Daniel Vogler.

“So you also didn’t know that Philip raped a classmate when he was seventeen?” Lina watched Katja Ansmann carefully.

Katja turned pale. She put one hand over her mouth, and Lina could see that she was truly shocked. “Excuse me?”

“During our first conversation you said that Philip had no enemies, until you remembered his former employee, Frank Jensen.” Lina was quiet for a moment. “Please consider the question again. Is it really impossible for you to imagine that your . . . domestic partner might have alienated people from time to time?”

Katja Ansmann closed her eyes. She raised her shoulders as if she were cold and rubbed her arms, most likely unaware of the gesture. Finally she nodded and looked at Lina. “Oh, yes, I can imagine it quite well. To me, Philip was always very charming and helpful—the perfect gentleman, an elegant old-school gentleman.” She laughed. “Even my mother was taken with him, and she’s a stickler for etiquette.” Then she turned serious again. “But I suspect that he acted quite differently with people who were of little use to him. I didn’t meet his parents or his brother often. We limited contacts with our families. But the way he treated his brother . . . and his parents.” She shook her head. “Unbelievable. He openly showed them that he despised them. He once refused to eat his mother’s Sunday roast, saying that he was now used to gourmet cooking and could no longer eat such stuff. His mother had to bite her tongue and his father gasped for air, but neither said anything. It also didn’t change how they treated him. They continued to adore him, especially his brother and his mother.”

“Did you ever ask him about this?” Lina asked.

“Yes, but he made light of it. He said that his mother really couldn’t cook and I should be glad that he saved me from having to eat it. I didn’t pursue the matter since it wasn’t really my business how the Birkners treated each other.” She was silent. “Thinking about it now, I believe that was the last time I visited his parents.”

“Did he treat his brother equally roughly?”

Katja Ansmann nodded. “I already mentioned that he often told me to say he wasn’t home when his brother called and that he stood him up regularly.” After a short pause, she continued. “That also happened on the day he died. Lukas called shortly after Philip had left. Philip often made derogatory remarks about Lukas because he’d only managed to become an insurance agent, and not even a very successful one. But on the other hand,” she added after a pause, “they often went out drinking together.” She looked at Lina. “I never really understood how the two really felt about each other. As I said, we avoided discussing personal matters.”

“Do you know any of Herr Birkner’s friends, male or female?”

She shook her head. “No. He often went out by himself and I never knew where and with whom he spent his time.” A little smile. “And vice versa. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

Chapter 19

The sand was soft, the air was warm, and it was very noisy. Sensing the presence of ten thousand others, Lina was lying next to Lutz on the bank of the Elbe, enjoying the Sunday afternoon, or what was left of it. Laughter and the clinking of glasses could be heard from the nearby beach bar.

She waited somewhat impatiently for a sense of “weekend” to set in, but thoughts of Daniel Vogler, in custody not more than three miles away, bothered her. Lina had mixed feelings about this man. On the one hand, she found him arrogant and unlikable, and he probably was responsible for three deaths. But on the other hand, he had been treated abominably. Lina shivered recalling what Björn Boysen had told them. She could understand someone being out for revenge. She just had to imagine something similar happening to her. She sighed. But it wasn’t allowed, even if one left moral implications aside. While the urge to administer personal justice was understandable, it was also the direct path to despotism and the law of the jungle.

She picked up the water bottle next to her. It was Sunday and she had the day off, so she could have treated herself to a beer, in celebration of the concluded investigation, but something kept her from it. Something gnawed at her—something someone had said—but she couldn’t put her finger on it. All evidence suggested that Daniel Vogler killed three people . . . but . . . Lina stared at the blue sky above her. Blue with a hint of gray.

Weekend—almost a minivacation.

And she was thinking about work.

She was lying on her back with her head in the crook of Lutz’s arm, her hands folded over her belly. Only when Lutz mumbled, “Stop fidgeting already!” did she notice that she had been drumming her fingers all along.

“Sorry,” she said and turned to one side.

Daniel Vogler had most likely killed Franziska Leyhausen, probably also Philip Birkner and Julia Munz. He had a motive for all three murders, and his alibi, at least for the most recent crime, wasn’t worth a dime. Lina rested her head on an elbow and looked out over the Elbe. Large container ships passed by leisurely and created huge waves.

“Man, can’t you relax for once? It’s your day off!” Lutz groaned. He shielded his eyes with a hand and looked up at her. “I thought you solved the case, Miss Marple.”

Lina let herself fall back again. “Sorry. I just can’t unwind.”

The sky was still there.

Who other than Daniel Vogler had a motive? Frank Jensen, all right. But he was so drunk at the time of the crime that he probably had problems finding his way home. He would never have made it all the way to the Niendorfer Gehege. Katja Ansmann? Lina grimaced. Her favorite enemy, that’s what Max had called her. But by now not even Lina believed that she had anything to do with Philip Birkner’s death. She briefly thought about their meeting this morning. It was actually easy to discuss things with her. Amazing how she had arranged her relationship with Philip . . . Lina couldn’t help but acknowledge the woman’s savvy. This didn’t alter the fact that she was one of
them
—one of Hamburg’s moneybags, ready to show off her lineage, proud of representing the Hanseatic spirit. Lina could vividly picture the few contacts she had with the Birkners; worlds collided. However, she could not imagine that Katja Ansmann would have snubbed the parents of her domestic partner as rudely as Philip had. She probably was more subtle. Tiny barbs wrapped in polite phrases: “I’m sorry, but Philip has an important engagement. You were supposed to meet? Lukas, I’m really sorry, but Philip is busy right now . . .”

Suddenly, Lina sat up straight in the sand at the Elbe. The water in the bottle she had held in her hand splashed all over her thighs and Lutz’s stomach. With a gasp, he, too, sat up quickly. “What the hell . . . Damn, Lina! What’s the matter with you today?”

Lina didn’t answer but grabbed her knapsack and fished out her phone.

The Niendorfer Gehege was extremely crowded on sunny weekends. All the parking spots were taken, so cars parked bumper to bumper in the streets, and the paths were so crowded that walkers established a system of right-hand walking. If any little group stopped because one of them had to tie a shoelace, a son wanted to show his father, or a daughter her mother, an interesting, gnarly specimen of a tree, or granny’s knee gave out again, traffic jams developed immediately. Herds of bicyclists and joggers then tried to avoid the jam by veering left and right and in the process drove over each other’s feet or obstructed other bikes. At the game enclosures, one couldn’t find an open spot directly at the fence. The line for pony rides went all the way to the parking area, the Waldschänke was more than busy, and children’s shouting echoed through the undergrowth, which was trampled down to bare soil in places. Fathers and mothers called their offspring and now, around noon, jet planes thundered above all of this almost every minute and made conversation impossible.

That’s recreation in a German megalopolis in the twenty-first century.

Max had stopped, deep in thought in front of remnants of the police tape. After saying good-bye to Niels Hinrichsen—he had assured him again that he had done an excellent job and had helped him a lot—he had strolled through the little woods. He had consciously put one foot in front of the other, allowed his breath to flow freely, and tried to ignore the crowds around him. He found it difficult today to calm his thoughts. Maybe he’d have managed at home or in the dojo, where he meditated regularly, but here, where his attention was diverted, his thoughts constantly returned to the last conversation with Niels Hinrichsen.

“The evil man was fat,” he had said.

Daniel Vogler was anything but fat.

Had Niels been mistaken? It was at night, dark, and he was afraid. Or were they mistaken, and Daniel Vogler hadn’t killed Philip Birkner at all?

But then, who did?

Max couldn’t get these questions out of his mind. He walked along the wide paths of the Niendorfer Gehege, patiently waited when there was a jam near the playground, evaded extended families, and suffered being sniffed at by a white golden retriever. Ten yards ahead of him, a thirtyish couple discussed the problems in their relationship, and did it so loudly that everyone, if they’d wanted to, could have taken sides.

The first suspect he came up with was, of course, Frank Jensen. But the man had an alibi. Max was convinced the computer programmer had nothing to do with Philip’s death—unless he had faked his hangover for his and Lina’s sake last Saturday. Max frowned.

“Damn it, it’s our vacation,” the woman of the fighting couple hissed.

Then there was Lukas Birkner. He was definitely fat, but he idolized his brother, and, besides, he’d been on vacation at the time of the murder.

“You know I can’t afford to do it,” growled the man in front of him. “I’m self-employed, in case you forgot!” Then his tone softened and he put his hands around his partner’s shoulders. “Don’t be like that, honey. You enjoy a few beautiful days and I’ll come and visit you on the weekend. That’s also . . .”

Max stopped so suddenly that a little boy running closely behind him almost bumped into him. The boy’s mother grabbed his hand and dragged him away from Max, whom she measured sternly.

“Can’t you be more careful? Don’t you see how crowded it is?” she scolded.

Max looked slightly irritated at the mother and then at her little son, but in a friendly tone said, “I’m sorry.” The mother had already left to catch up with her husband and two other children.

Lukas Birkner idolized his brother, a brother who had humiliated him when they were youngsters, who had made fun of him behind his back, and who made others make excuses for him so he didn’t have to take his calls. His brother, the one who was successful, while Lukas had failed, and who had made a pass at his wife at least once.

Max turned around and ran toward the Kollau.

She had just pulled out the phone from her knapsack when it rang. Lina grinned when she looked at the display.

“It was Lukas Birkner,” she said without saying hello. The stunned silence on the other end was like a dab of sweet whipped cream on her ego.

“Are you a clairvoyant?” Max finally said.

“I’m not, but you must be. I was just about to call you.” She felt Lutz’s hand on her back and shook it off.

“I was in the forest again this morning, with Niels Hinrichsen. He actually did see the murder . . . and he said that the killer was fat,” Max told her.

“Lukas Birkner is fat,” Lina confirmed. “And he most likely was in the city at the time of the murder.” She had gotten up and moved a few steps away from Lutz so he couldn’t hear her. After all, it was police business.

“How do you know?”

Lina lowered her voice. “From Katja Ansmann,” she said without further explanation. “And you?”

“From a couple arguing in the woods,” Max said. “They planted the idea. Then I called Sonja Birkner and she confirmed that she was away with the children in a vacation house on the Baltic Sea and that her husband only came for visits on weekends.”

Lina stretched her face toward the wind. The sky was becoming overcast. Another thunderstorm was predicted for the evening. Then she looked at Lutz, who was sitting now and pointedly looking at the Elbe, and not at her. The beer bottle in his hand was empty. “How is Sonja Birkner?”

“She’s doing better. She’s home again and seems to have made a decision. The judge issued a restraining order. Her husband isn’t allowed to enter their apartment.”

“Does she know where he’s hanging out?”

“No, but she thinks he’s with his parents.” Max was silent and Lina heard a car door close. “Where are you right now?”

Lina told him. Lutz got up and went to the beach bar to get another beer.

“Can I pick you up somewhere?” Max asked. They agreed to meet at a convenient subway station.

“Later,” Lina said, ending the call.

Lutz was still in line at the beach bar when Lina came up to him and poked him in the side. “Listen, I’ve got to go.”

“Well, that was obvious,” he said without hiding his frustration.

Lina sighed. “I’m sorry, but it really is urgent.”

“Sure.” He moved a few steps forward. “Is Max going to be there, also?”

“Yes, since it so happens that we’re colleagues. Why do you ask?” She pushed her knapsack a little higher and let the key ring dangle on her index finger.

“Just asking,” Lutz shrugged. “Well, have fun,” he added and turned to the counter.

“Stupid idiot,” Lina hissed and stalked away through the warm sand.

Lina had just ended her phone call, when Max stopped next to her and she got in. While still putting on the seatbelt, she said, “We should have checked Birkner’s alibi long ago. Crap!”

Max signaled and rejoined the traffic. “He actually never denied anything. We just simply didn’t ask him.” He shook his head about the extent of their stupidity.

They were lucky there was no marathon, or celebration for the harbor, or bikers’ parade going on this weekend. The streets were pleasantly empty.

“By the way, I was just talking with Katja Ansmann again,” Lina said when they had to wait at a red light. “Lukas called last Thursday, just after Philip had left the apartment. She said that since Lukas called so often and Philip stood him up equally often, she paid no attention to it. That’s why she never mentioned it before.”

“But how did Lukas know Philip was in the forest?” Max asked, frowning.

Lina shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he saw him by chance and trailed him.”

“Without making his presence known?”

“Maybe he wanted to find out what Philip was doing when he was standing his brother up.”

“He watches him at the concert with Franziska Leyhausen, follows them into the woods, and then beats his brother to death? But why?”

“The way Philip treated him,” Lina said. “Maybe Thursday night was the last straw.”

Max didn’t say anything. Seeing a parking spot in front of the apartment house of Philip and Lukas’s parents, he took it and killed the motor.

All windows and doors were closed in the Birkner apartment despite the warm and humid weather, and it felt hot and sticky inside. Since the death of their son, Gisela and Klaus Birkner had visibly aged. The man’s face was ashen and he was perspiring freely. His wife seemed worn out, as if she had lost at least ten pounds.

Lukas Birkner wasn’t with his parents and it turned out they didn’t know he had beaten his wife so badly that she’d ended up in the hospital. They also didn’t know that he was barred from entering their home.

“That must be a misunderstanding,” Gisela Birkner said. She was sitting on the sofa very straight, her hands nervously folded in her lap. “Lukas would never hit a woman! He’s a good boy.” She started to cry.

Her husband sat next to her, staring at the floor.

“Do you have any idea where your son might be?” Max asked gently.

The woman looked up. “But what do you want from him? He hasn’t done anything. Why can’t you leave him alone? First Philip, and now . . . He loved his brother so much. They were inseparable, those two.”

Klaus Birkner mumbled something. He cleared his throat, straightened himself a few inches and tried again. “Hohwacht. He could be in Hohwacht.”