Dead Woods (32 page)

Lina and Max looked at each other. “In your vacation home?”

The man nodded.

“But, Klaus,” his wife said, “Lukas wouldn’t take a vacation now . . . when Philip is dead, and we have to arrange everything, with the funeral and all the paperwork.” His wife’s scolding voice made Klaus Birkner slump down again. “What do you really want from him? You’ve already talked with him; he told me that. He’s told you everything.” Her voice had become shrill, almost hysterical.

Max smiled at the woman. “A few additional questions have come up. Could you describe how to get to your house? And could we borrow the key?”

“But why do you want . . . ,” Frau Birkner began, but her husband interrupted her.

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

“But, Klaus, you can’t go to Hohwacht now! It’s almost four and it will take forever for you to come back home. Remember, your heart!”

Klaus Birkner patted his wife’s arm and got up. “Don’t worry, I’m all right.” The drops of perspiration on his upper lip told a different story.

“Herr Birkner, it really isn’t necessary for you to come with us,” Max said. Lina could see that he was torn. It was obvious that Herr Birkner wanted to talk with them alone, but they didn’t know what was waiting for them in Hohwacht. It wasn’t a good idea for him to come. “You can’t leave your wife alone now.”

Birkner seemed to sense their indecision. “If you don’t take me along, I’ll drive there myself.” He looked at his wife. “My wife’s sister is on her way here.” Gisela Birkner had started to cry again. “She’s better with it anyhow . . . Consoling and so on.”

Max sighed.

Lina looked at the figure slumping next to her on the backseat of the car. The sudden burst of energy he had shown upstairs a few minutes ago had dissipated. Klaus Birkner looked tired, but it wasn’t a short-term tiredness caused by recent events that overwhelmed and exhausted him. It was a deeper fatigue, one that penetrated his very being, one that had grown over many years and had left deep wrinkles on his face. The car ran smoothly as they left the city against traffic, and the air conditioning kept the interior cool. Traffic was backing up on the incoming lane. Max had called Hanno before they left, asking him to arrange for the local police in Hohwacht to keep the house under inconspicuous surveillance. Sitting in his little garden, Hanno cursed them for begrudging him—that was his term for being disturbed—a quiet Sunday.

Klaus Birkner had heard part of the conversation but didn’t react. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Tell me about Philip, about Philip and Lukas,” Lina said in a low voice.

Nothing happened for quite some time, but eventually the man opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “Lukas never had a chance against Philip. Philip was the older one, the better one, the favorite of his mother, of his teachers, and of women.” He looked at Lina. “You never met him, but . . . he had a way of interacting with people. If he liked you or needed something from you, he tried to win you over, put on his charm, made compliments, and listened to you very attentively . . . But poor you if you had nothing to offer him. In time, that meant my wife and me, and Lukas.” He turned away and looked out the window. “He could ignore you to such an extent that you yourself started to believe you didn’t exist. He could be very hurtful and make you feel like the lowest of the low. Gisela . . . my wife, was suffering a lot these past few years—especially since he was together with Katja, even though it wasn’t her fault. Philip didn’t change. He’d always been like that, but after meeting Katja he no longer had any use for us at all.” Klaus Birkner furtively wiped his eyes. “You can’t imagine how he treated his mother! She’s spending hours in the kitchen cooking and baking because the boy’s coming for a visit, and he just looks at the roast, looks down his nose, and says he can’t eat such muck anymore; he’s used to better stuff. I mean”—his voice got slightly louder—“you might think that to yourself, but you definitely don’t say it to your mother, to her face.”

Lina recalled that Katja Ansmann had described exactly the same incident this morning. “How did your wife react to that?” she asked quietly.

Birkner shook his head. “She fought back her tears and smiled. ‘The boy doesn’t mean any harm,’ she’d say, or ‘The boy’s had a bad day. You can’t expect him to weigh his words. He didn’t mean it; it’s a misunderstanding.’ Well, you heard her yourself today. She’s equally protective of Lukas. ‘Lukas would never hit a woman.’” The last sentence dripped with sad mockery.

“So it didn’t surprise you?” Lina asked.

Birkner was silent for a long time. By now they were on the Autobahn toward Lübeck and making good time. It was overcast; gray clouds had chased away the summery blue.

“No. You just needed to watch how he treated Sonja. Not any different from the way Philip treated us.” With a heavy sigh, he continued, “But it didn’t matter what I might say against Philip or Lukas, Gisela always took their side, especially Philip’s. Always—and not just against me.” He took a deep breath. “When he beat up other kids in the past, when there were fights at school, when Philip and Lukas were in a fight—it was never Philip’s fault. He just had to smile at my wife and she believed him. Every time, no exception. It was pointless trying to talk with her about Philip. She defended him tooth and nail.”

“And Lukas?” Max asked from the driver’s seat when the man stopped talking.

The older Birkner shrugged helplessly. “I never understood it. Philip pestered and tortured him, but Lukas always admired his older brother. He was his hero, and, like my wife, he tolerated no criticism of Philip. Maybe,” he added, “it was because of the crumbs Philip tossed to him every now and then: an afternoon on the soccer field, bar hopping with his big brother, an expensive gift, a patronizing pat on the shoulder. This started early in their lives. By the time he was in school, Lukas was ready to do anything for Philip, and as a reward, he was allowed to hang out with Philip and his friends every now and then.”

“You mean with Julia Munz and her circle?” Lina asked.

Birkner nodded tiredly. “Yes, and despite the fact that Philip actually stole his brother’s girlfriend. Not even that kept Lukas from admiring his brother.”

Lina and Max exchanged a glance in the rearview mirror. “Lukas and Julia Munz once were an item?”

The man nodded again. “Philip only met Julia through Lukas. Of course, I didn’t know all of that at the time. I was still working then and you don’t tell parents anything at that age, anyway. But years later, it was at some kind of family celebration, Philip made fun of Lukas because he once stole his girlfriend.” He turned away again and looked out the window.

Lina considered what she had learned about Julia Munz so far and was certain that the girl didn’t mind being stolen. On the night of her murder—shortly after she had separated from Philip—she had flirted with several boys. But Philip had an alibi for that night. “Can you remember the evening when Julia Munz was killed?” she asked quietly.

Birkner didn’t respond but continued to look out the window. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead again and he had clasped his hands together so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Lina leaned toward him a little.

“I was celebrating my fifty-third birthday that day, in Hohwacht,” he finally said in a flat voice. “I grew up there, and since my mother’s death we’ve been using her house as a vacation home. The boys were there, too. That had been my wish.” Lina could see that his sons had fulfilled that wish only grudgingly. To go to a stuffy hick town on the Baltic Sea with your parents in the middle of summer—how shitty can it get? But it wasn’t the unenthusiastic presence of his sons that made the father turn even paler than before. He continued so quietly that Lina had to bend forward some more in order to hear what he was saying.

“Next morning I saw that someone had used the car during the night. Both boys already had their driver’s licenses and the keys had been on the key rack. Anyhow, I don’t know for sure who it was—or whether they drove together—but whoever drove, according to the odometer, had driven two hundred and seventy kilometers.” He swallowed. “That’s the distance to Hamburg and back.”

Chapter 20

“Why didn’t you tell that to the police at the time?” Lina asked. As they passed Lübeck, the traffic was picking up. Dark storm clouds covered the sky.

For a long time, Klaus Birkner was silent. “Nobody asked me. I was away on the job a lot of the time. They asked my wife once if she could confirm Philip’s statement. Of course she could! If she’d seen one of her sons commit a murder, she’d have lied for him. But she actually didn’t know that someone had used the car during the night.”

“And you never spoke with your wife about this? Or with your sons?” Lina asked. By now the sky was an almost uniform dark gray. “Did you ever have a hunch which of your sons . . . ?” she asked quietly.

Klaus Birkner looked through the window. “The morning after my birthday, both boys were noticeably quiet. Lukas was bleary-eyed and his hands were shaking.” He swallowed. “He had a fresh scratch on his forehead. When my wife asked him about it, he said he must have run into a bramble. At that point, Philip piped up and said they’d left the house during the night and had gone to the beach. And indeed, there were some prickly bushes on the way there: wild roses, hawthorns, and blackberries.” The parents hadn’t asked further questions. When the father noticed the odometer numbers later that day, he had secretly smiled about his two sons, going for a ride together. They only found out about the murder of the girl a week later, when they returned to Hamburg. Klaus Birkner started to think about it and watch his sons more closely. Lukas stayed home more than usual that summer and hardly ever met with friends, while Philip did an internship in a software firm and seemed to blossom. Several times Klaus Birkner meant to ask his sons whether they had anything to do with the death of the girl, but he always lost courage at the last moment.

Lina tried to imagine how it must be to live with a suspicion like that—one son, or both, responsible for someone’s death. She couldn’t imagine it. It was quiet in the car; all that could be heard was the sound of the motor.

“So you don’t know for sure if one of your sons . . . ?” Lina asked.

Klaus Birkner looked down. “Something had changed between the two of them. Yes, Philip had always been more successful and had always pestered and bothered Lukas. But before, Lukas had fought back at least sometimes, had argued with his brother, or had occasionally not done what Philip wanted him to do. But afterward . . . he seemed to be totally under his brother’s thumb. Philip gave the orders, and Lukas obeyed.” He took a deep breath. “Until then Lukas was a good student, same as Philip. But in his last year, his grades deteriorated from one moment to the next. He just barely managed to pass the exit exam.”

Klaus Birkner was looking through the window again. They were passing endless cornfields. “I’m sure Philip knew that Lukas was somehow involved in the death of the girl—either because they drove to Hamburg together, or because he caught Lukas coming back to Hohwacht late at night.” He closed his eyes. “And he made sure Lukas knew he was in his hands.”

“And Lukas had no way to stand up against him without giving himself away,” Lina said quietly.

Klaus Birkner nodded silently.

During most of the year, fewer than a thousand people lived in Hohwacht, a little vacation village on the Baltic coast, but at the height of the tourist season that number increased substantially. The Birkners’ little house had once been outside the center of town, but now was part of a vacation home development. The little street was usually deserted, but now a small crowd of curious onlookers had assembled behind the police cordon.

“That’s not what I’d call inconspicuous surveillance,” Max mumbled.

A policeman waved them through after Max showed his badge. Tourists in shorts and sandals were curiously looking inside the car with Hamburg plates.

It was easy to spot the Birkners’ vacation home because a police car stood in front of it. Lukas Birkner’s dark blue BMW was parked in the driveway. An HSV sticker was displayed on the trunk. The doors and windows of the house were closed and the curtains drawn.

A group of uniformed officials stood around a police van with Holstein license plates. The officer in charge, Ralf Hansen from Lütjenburg, welcomed his colleagues from Hamburg with a strong handshake. He looked at the lopsided pair with raised eyebrows, slightly longer than necessary at Lina’s disheveled hair and rumpled T-shirt. Then he greeted Klaus Birkner, who was staring at the house.

Max motioned toward the assembled police and the police cordon. “What’s that about?”

“Security measures,” the sturdy man with close-cropped hair said curtly. “So nobody gets harmed.”

Max took a deep breath, very deep, and exhaled slowly. In case Lukas Birkner was in the house—the car in the driveway indicated he was—and if he hadn’t done away with himself before, he very well might have done so by now.

“How long have you been here?” he asked Ralf Hansen.

He looked at his watch. “For about . . . ten minutes.”

“Did you see anyone inside?”

“Negative.”

Max took another deep breath and then turned to Klaus Birkner. “Please give me the key.”

“I’m coming in with you.”

“No.”

“This is my house, and I have the right to come with you.”

“No. Herr Birkner, please be reasonable. We don’t know what we’ll find inside. Please wait out here.” He looked at the man seriously and without hiding his concern. Klaus Birkner looked back at him and then pulled a key ring with two keys from his pocket and handed it to Max. He was about to say something, but just silently lowered his head.

Max went to the entrance door and Lina followed without a word. He rang the bell. No answer. He knocked on the door, and when there was still no response, he put in the key, turned it, and slowly pushed the door open.

They were standing in a tiny hallway. The kitchen on the right was empty. A steep, narrow staircase, two steps down the hall, led to the attic, and the living room was straight ahead. They had brought a cool draft to the musty corridor. Lina stepped ahead of Max. She saw the couch right next to the door with a rumpled woolen blanket and two crumpled pillows. Empty beer cans, potato chips, and empty cookie bags were scattered on the table. The floor was covered with garbage. A small garden was visible through the panoramic window. There was a gate through a three-foot-high cedar hedge. The gate was open now, as was the door to the patio.

Lina had never seen Max so angry, but even now he didn’t lose control. His voice sounded polite, cool, and detached—but there was no trace of his usual friendliness.

“I hope for your sake that the man isn’t doing anything stupid,” he said in a low voice to Ralf Hansen, who had followed them and now looked at the open door in disbelief.

“But . . .” The officer in charge swallowed whatever he had wanted to say when he saw the look on Max’s face.

“And now put an end to your ‘security measures’ and send your people out on a search. Alert the coastguard and other colleagues. The man we’re looking for is thirty-three years old, about five feet seven, and obese.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where does that go?” Lina asked, pointing to the gate.

“To the beach.”

Max and Lina briefly looked at each other and then started to run. Strong gusts of wind whirled up sand and leaves. The sky had turned so dark that the streetlights sputtered on. A narrow footpath started behind the gate and ended in a small street. Lina quickly looked left and right. A few families hurried to their vacation homes, loaded with beach equipment, but no fleeing Lukas Birkner was in sight. A steep coastline cliff started on the other side of the street. Gnarly, crooked oaks held onto the meager, sandy soil for dear life. Scattered vacationers frantically gathered their belongings and tried to escape the gathering storm on a steep path. Max and Lina dashed past them. When they arrived down at the beach, they looked around again. The sky was as dark as coal, with only a few lighter patches. Leaves, sand, and twigs were chased around by the wind. To the left was the guarded beach of a holiday resort with canopied wicker beach chairs. The red flag on the flagpole stood out straight in the wind. To the right, the cliffs continued, and the beach became rockier and seemed more natural and unspoiled. Few people were still around on either side. On the left side, a man was fighting with a tarp, probably from a beach shelter. A woman was chasing her beach towel on the right, and in the distance a man was tottering along quickly. His white shirt was shining in the eerie light of the storm. The air smelled like sulfur.

Max and Lina looked at each other and then ran to the right. Lina wore sneakers and shorts. The sand, driven along by the wind, was biting her legs. To their right, cliffs reached up sixty feet and on their left the normally tame Baltic Sea had turned into a raging ocean. Foaming whitecaps ate up the sandy beach. As she was running through one of the waves that came far ashore, Lina could feel its pull and a stone hurt her ankle. Max was running a few steps ahead of her. The man ahead of them made only slow progress, and a few times it looked as if he would fall.

The wind’s roar filled Lina’s ears and the thunder sounded like a threat. She couldn’t remember when she had last been out in such a storm, so far away from any shelter.

She heard shouting and whistling behind her. When she turned around, she saw someone running after her in an orange high-visibility vest. She couldn’t see whether it was a man or a woman. The person was frantically waving a little red flag and was constantly pointing toward the cliffs. Lina looked to the right. Just ahead of them, a little tree was tilting dangerously to one side on the sandy cliff. In a matter of minutes, it would tear loose and fall down on the beach. Lina tried to catch up with Max, but he was at least twenty yards ahead of her, sprinting. The man they were chasing turned around. Lina recognized Lukas Birkner, whose pale face was lit up by the first lightning bolt. His cheeks were almost as bright as his shirt. He turned again and started to run, surprisingly fast. Lina could now see masts of dinghies swaying wildly in the wind ahead of them. In fair weather, they probably lay on the beach, which was broader here. A wooden staircase led up the steep cliffs, and during the next lightning flash she also saw some buildings on the edge of the cliff. She even could make out a word, just barely, on a flag on one of the masts:
school
. A sailing school. That’s why there were all these small boats around—dories for beginners. Did Birkner want to escape in one of those tiny things?

There was a bang behind her. Before Lina could turn around, she was hit on the head. Everything turned black.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw something glowing orange in front of her. Someone was holding her head and seemed to be checking whether she was injured. Behind the orange, the sky was still gray, almost black. The wind howled without pause and the Baltic Sea, that tiny bathtub, was thrashing at her feet. Part of her was lying on a little tree, which had been up on the cliff until a short time ago, when it almost caused the murder of a police officer. Lina was drenched. The young woman kneeling next to her watched her with a mixture of relief and annoyance.

“Don’t you know how dangerous it is to run under the cliffs in a storm? Are you crazy?” The woman had to scream to be heard.

Max. Where was Max? Lina sat up. She was dizzy, but it got better after a few moments.

The volunteer of the life-saving organization—
DLRG
it said on her vest—held her and helped her get up. When she tried to guide her toward the staircase as fast as possible, away from the danger zone, Lina broke away from her. She looked toward the boats of the sailing school. No Max. No Lukas. The woman grabbed her arm and tried to pull her toward the staircase. Lina pulled out her phone from her jacket pocket, but it was dead. Drowned.

“Come with me. We’ve got to get away from here,” the woman screamed into her ear. “The cliffs might slide down any minute.”

Lina tore herself away again. She flashed her badge—at least that was waterproof—in front of the woman’s nose.

“Major Crimes, Hamburg. Where are the two men who were running in front of me?”

“What men? I’ve only seen you. And now you’ve got to come with me.”

Lina’s stomach contracted. She ran toward the boats. The DLRG woman followed her, screaming.

The rain had started. First, just a few heavy drops—a few seconds later a curtain of rain pelted them and limited visibility to a few feet. The woman behind her shouted something and grabbed her shoulders.

Lina turned around. “Do you have a cell phone or radio?” She continued before seeing her nod, “Order reinforcements! Men, boats, helicopters, whatever. Two men are missing. A suspect in a crime and a police officer.”

The woman opened her mouth to say something, but Lina just shouted, “Get on it!” She could hear the panic in her voice and took a deep breath to rein in her fear. She ran through the knee-deep water from boat to boat and shouted Max’s name. She looked down the beach, but could hardly see her hand in front of her face. The sea was like a foaming cauldron, and she was unable to say where the sea spray ended and the rain began. She stumbled over an anchor chain and fell headfirst into the water. It was freezing, but it helped get rid of the remnants of her dizziness. She held on to a boat that was violently bobbing up and down and managed to get to her feet. The waves had every intention of pulling her down, but she refused to be knocked over and stared all the while into the white, roaring chaos. Lightning strikes came one after another, and the thunder didn’t stop at all. Lina thought she saw a large, white mass to her right, maybe thirty yards or more away from the beach, something dancing up and down in the high waves. She waded closer to the shore and then ran toward the shape. The DLRG woman followed her. She had seen the white spot as well and pointed to it. She held a radio device in her right hand, but Lina could only hear fragments of what she screamed into it. Her focus was the white spot in the whitecaps. The glaring flash of lightning finally showed her the small boat, tossed about by the waves and always disappearing in troughs. Lina tried desperately to see the boat. Were Max and Lukas in this boat? Or just one of them? Was that a head? Was it an outstretched arm? The mast of the boat pointed heavenward like a straw—something drowning men could hold on to. Thirty yards or so, but unreachably far. Did Max know how to swim? Sure, but how good was he? Lina fought the impulse to jump into the water and swim toward the boat. She turned to the DLRG woman.