Nemesis: Innocence Sold (15 page)

“Call him.”

“I can’t. I don’t know his number; it’s stored in my phone, but unfortunately the battery’s dead and the charger’s in my apartment. And he hates it when I call him at work. I’ve done it twice, and both times it was really complicated to get him on the line. Besides we talk on the phone mostly on weekends; during the week we send each other e-mails.”

“Then we’ll get it later, or we’ll buy an appropriate charger, or you’ll send him an e-mail from my computer.”

“I have to move back into my apartment again at some point. Do you think they’re still after me?”

Daniel stopped and let a bicyclist pass who had apparently confused the narrow sandy path with a racetrack. Then he gently took hold of Sandra’s shoulders. “You cannot mean that seriously. Has it occurred to you to think about what that strange detective charges per day? Somebody is damned serious, and as long as we haven’t put every one of the people behind this out of action, we’ll only enter your apartment the same way as last night.” Sandra’s mouth opened; he laid a gentle finger on her lips. “Don’t argue about this. I’m not kidding around, and you’re intelligent enough to realize I’m right.”

Various feelings were reflected in Sandra’s expression before she reluctantly nodded. “I just don’t want to be a burden.”

“Nonsense. You’re not. If you were, I’d tell you. But I can understand your feeling of dreaming. I felt the same way when I joined the team.” He summarized the events that had led to his move to the East Coast, not leaving out his failed attempt to arrest Jake and Mark as arms dealers, before telling her of his last visit to the West Coast. “In my case, of course, other reasons are behind it, not a misogynistic, macho wannabe, but the effects were very similar. So I understand you. Really,” he said.

“I believe you, and I’m sorry about the business with your father.” They walked next to each other in silence. After cautiously looking to the side, Sandra said, “I’m unbelievably happy you snatched the pepperoni pizza away from me yesterday, and thank you for being so open. I wouldn’t have expected—” She broke off in embarrassment, but Daniel sensed what she wanted to say.

He rolled his eyes. “You mean, you wouldn’t have expected that from a SEAL? What do you think we are? You have no idea how tedious it can be when everyone attacks you with questions you’re not allowed to answer. I just had that problem in Coronado again. They’re nice people there, but they ruin everything with all their questions. That’s why we usually spend our time among ourselves and keep our mouths shut otherwise.”

Sandra chewed on her lower lip. “And how does it work with Dirk, Sven, and Stephan?”

“With them it’s never been a problem. In the first place, they’d never ask questions we can’t answer, and second, we trust them, so they find out most things anyway.”

“I never saw it like that. Damn.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just said good-bye to about ninety-nine questions I was actually planning to ask you.”

The immediate understanding and simultaneous regret were typical of Sandra. He smiled and nudged her. “Go ahead and try it. If I don’t want to answer, you’ll know. And think about whether you can live with there always being some things I can never talk to you about.” His brow furrowed, Daniel corrected himself. “Well, maybe when I’m seventy-five and our great-grandchildren are running around.”

“Our great-grandchildren? You nut!”

That sounded more amused than outraged, and he could live with that.

In the meantime they had reached Wallstraße, and Daniel grimaced. “Do you like it comfortable or quick and exciting?”

He didn’t realize the question was ambiguous until he noticed Sandra’s outraged look. He smiled and raised his hands. “Sorry, I mean, I’d rather find
that
out for myself. I mean the route. We can walk along the street up ahead or take a shortcut past a water mill.”

“Water mill?” Her shining eyes gave Daniel the answer he had hoped for.

“Come on.” He took her hand and drew her toward him. After a few paces, they heard the loud rushing of the foaming water making its way through a dam. They crossed over the water on a wooden walkway with a wobbly railing, but not without taking some time for the view of the whirling white-green mass under them.

“I’m sure that would be nice and refreshing,” Sandra shouted into his ear over the noise.

“Go ahead—if you go under, I’ll save you and give mouth-to-mouth a try,” Daniel said and avoided a mock kick, laughing. “Well, come on. On we go. By the way, this used to be unbelievably important, and five mills were going at once. You have to ask Pat about the rest; he knows it all inside and out.”

Sandra looked at the cobblestones a few feet under them, but then she declined Daniel’s help and jumped. “You don’t seem to listen to him especially well,” she said.

“How could I? The Irishman talks almost nonstop. I actually prefer to jog without long conversation. Jake almost shot Pat at one point when they had to run ten kilometers together because he hates talking when he runs.”

“You’re quite a bunch.” Sandra looked at the tables and chairs pushed together next to the mill. “It’s too bad this place is closed. I’m starting to get hungry.”

“So am I. Right next to Pat’s building there’s an Italian restaurant—their pizza’s famous.”

“You’re a pepperoni pizza junkie, Lieutenant. It’s terrible that a doctor stuffs himself with such unhealthy garbage. First pizza or first the photographer?”

“First work, then pleasure, of course. Otherwise you’ll give me a lecture or some such crap.”

CHAPTER 15

Twenty minutes later, nothing remained of their relaxed mood. Sandra’s suspicious gaze wandered over the facade of the old-town building. “The house Pat lives in seems like a mansion in comparison to this.” She studied the names next to the doorbell buttons and snorted. “Fourth floor. Had to be. Narrow, stuffy stairwell and no elevator.”

She stepped back and shook her head. “Take a look at this. On the ground floor someone’s made an effort—perhaps a bit poor, but caring and orderly, probably Turks or Eastern Europeans. On the second floor there are elderly people who’ve probably lived here their entire lives and carried their own coal upstairs from the basement long ago. Above them students—you can see that easily from the racing bike and the empty case of beer on the balcony—and then the photographer. If you ask me, his apartment seems the strangest. Everything taped up and the windows not cleaned. And he takes the photos for the day care center? I don’t believe it.”

Daniel looked over the windows and balconies in disbelief. “How do you see all that?”

“Oh, that’s easy: the pots of herbs, the children’s toys, the type of curtains, and so on and so on and so on. Something else angers me much more: nothing’s changed since the time of the Hanseatic League.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, earlier, merchants erected huge facades behind which much smaller houses were hidden. Outward appearances were what was important. And nothing has changed about this. At the Malerwinkel, where Pat lives, everything’s supernice, pricey, modern, and expensively renovated. Everything shines and looks fantastic. Of course that’s what the tourists go past. They don’t often wander into this hole. I bet the owner of the building is making all kinds of money on the rent but hardly does anything to maintain the building. And the authorities don’t care, as long as things look all right elsewhere. Oh, man, I could just . . . Let’s visit this photographer. I’m in just the right mood to ask him who he sold Tim’s picture and name to.”

The building’s front door was ajar, and on their way to the fourth floor, Daniel looked for clues that would confirm or refute Sandra’s appraisal of the inhabitants. He grinned when the curtain behind the door of an apartment moved and a white-haired, elderly lady looked curiously out at them. “Not bad, Sherlock,” he said.

On the next floor, Sandra pointed to a poster on the apartment door. “I didn’t know Che Guevara was still in fashion, but I’m betting students are sharing this apartment.”

“Right again,” he said. “Wait a second.” Daniel stopped on the stairs and squinted.

“What is it?”

Their steps on the worn wooden stairs would have been easy to hear, not to mention their conversation. Though he had no specific reason, all of his instincts warned him that something was wrong. He put a finger to his lips and was already feeling for his gun as he analyzed the situation. From the apartment on the ground floor he smelled garlic and onions that made his stomach grumble. Now, his subconscious had perceived something that didn’t belong here. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight smell of gun oil. He mouthed the words
Cover me
and waited for Sandra’s nod before he put his back against the wall and slowly pushed forward. Whoever was waiting for them upstairs was armed and already knew they had become suspicious, thanks to the sudden absence of their steps, which up to that point had echoed through the stairwell. If the uppermost floor was constructed like the others, then beyond the next tight turn of the stairs would be a landing with access to the apartment. The photographer probably expected them to look around the corner slowly and with caution.

With the Sig in his hand, Daniel ran up the last stairs and threw himself forward. A shot boomed, and the bullet lodged in the wooden banister high above him. Before the shooter could take aim again, Daniel had rolled away and recognized the man standing in the open door of the apartment. Large, gaunt, gray haired: the guy who had followed Sandra in the supermarket. Daniel’s foot shot up from his half-prone position and struck the wrist of the gray-haired man. The gun clattered to the floor. In the hall of the apartment, Daniel could make out a doubled-up body. He didn’t need a degree in medicine to interpret the pool of blood correctly. Whoever lay there was already dead.

“Stop, don’t move. Police.”

The gray-haired man was impressed neither by Sandra’s gun nor by her command; he charged at her like a soccer player.

“Shit.” Instead of firing, she tried to evade the man by moving back, missed the step, and landed hard on the next landing.

With a quick look, Daniel noted that only her pride had been injured. “There’s a dead man up there. Call your colleagues. I’ll take this one.”

Gripping the Sig, he ran down the stairs. On the ground floor, a girl of perhaps fourteen walked out of an apartment and came toward them. With wide eyes she pressed herself against the wall to let them by, but the gray-haired man had other plans. He grabbed her and held her in front of himself like a shield, his arm around her throat.

“What now, cop?” he asked and exchanged his choke hold for a switchblade he pressed so hard against the girl’s throat that drops of blood appeared on her pale skin.

The door of the apartment was jerked open, and a woman let out a shrill scream followed by a flood of Turkish words. It was clear she was the girl’s mother.

“Nice and easy. You’re not going to get anywhere this way.”

“You want me to slice her up?” The gray-haired man turned his head slightly in the direction of the ground floor. “Shut your mouth, old lady. Otherwise I’ll cut your throat, too.” He dragged the girl down the last stairs while the mother cried loudly.

“Calm down. Go back into your apartment. We’ll take care of your daughter. Police.” Sandra’s calm voice was quite close. Surprisingly, the Turk obeyed. Daniel could now hear only muffled sobbing.

Although the girl’s fearful face didn’t leave him cold, Daniel coolly calculated his chances of a clean shot. The teenager wasn’t an ideal shield for the tall bastard. But regardless of whether Daniel hit him in the shoulder or the head, the danger that the guy would cut her jugular vein in a last reflex was too great.

“Can you shoot?” Sandra whispered.

“Negative. Too risky.” Daniel’s search for an alternate plan ended abruptly when he heard a shrill, recognizable whistle from the street, causing him to smile. “Stay back, and leave it to me,” he told Sandra.

Daniel lowered his weapon, put the safety on, and stowed the Sig in his holster. “All right. What do you want?”

“To begin with, who are you? I noticed you yesterday at the supermarket.”

Daniel stepped closer. “And how do you want to do this? By scaring the girl half to death?” Daniel told him in English what he thought of him.

“Son of a . . . ? What are you saying? Speak German, and throw your gun down. Hurry up. The same goes for her back there.”

“Daniel?” asked Sandra.

“Of course. We’re happy to do what our friend here asks. After all, we don’t want him to get nervous and hurt a child.” Casually, he drew his Sig, but kept it in his hand, deliberating, while he heard Sandra’s gun land on the ground behind him. Snorting contemptuously, he threw the Sig right at the man’s feet, trusting that the man would be unable to resist this chance. Indeed, the man’s gaze remained practically glued to Daniel’s weapon. Daniel spread his hands in invitation. “Go ahead and take it. Or should I first explain to you how it works? Aren’t your knife and the girl enough to take on me?” Daniel stepped closer and was now within reach of the knife. Behind him, Sandra gasped. An ugly grin betrayed the gray-haired man’s intentions before he drew back to attack. But he had miscalculated. Daniel effortlessly evaded the stab; then Pat was behind the guy and sent him to the floor with a blow to the neck.

The girl’s paralysis gave way to tears, and Sandra grabbed her and held her tightly. “You can come out—everything’s all right!” she shouted to the mother, who had waited behind the door and now rushed to her daughter.

Pat bound the gray-haired man with plastic handcuffs and held him down when he tried to turn over. “Nice and easy. It’s all over.”

While Sandra took care of the mother and daughter, Pat gave Daniel a reproachful look. “Damned risky game, Doc.”

“As if you wouldn’t have done the same.” They exchanged grins. “Search him.”

“Already on it,” said Pat as he threw Daniel an object the size of a pack of cigarettes.

“External hard drive. We should take a look at the contents before we turn it over to Sandy’s colleagues.” Next, a wallet appeared. “Hartmut Reher. No pleasure to have made your acquaintance,” Daniel told him and threw the wallet on the ground.

He and Pat reached for their weapons when the door of the building was unexpectedly jerked open and two uniformed police officers stormed into the hall.

Sandra’s voice once again had an overtone of command that Daniel recognized. “LKA. The situation’s under control.”

“Oh, shit. Looks like some monkeys escaped from the zoo,” Pat whispered to Daniel, keeping his Sig in his hand. The Irishman immediately understood Daniel’s impatient look. “They already took on Dirk when he wanted to go see Tim. Incompetent fools.” Pat paused. “Or worse: corrupt pigs. Look behind them, twelve o’clock.”

With her identification in her hand, Sandra was talking to the two policemen, who had made no moves to lower their weapons, becoming increasingly angry.

Quickly, Daniel followed Pat’s prompting and caught a glimpse of the profile of a blond man who had observed them attentively through the open door while speaking on his phone and now turned away very fast.

“I’ve had enough,” Daniel said. “Get lost, we’ll meet at your place.”

When Pat hesitated, offended, Daniel relented. “And thanks for your perfect timing. I’m just really mad because of these two sons of bitches. It’s unbelievable.

“Stop it now,” he said to the policemen in his best officer’s tone, and they were silent for seconds. “Sandra, please look around upstairs,” he said in a considerably more friendly tone before he again turned to the two policemen. “If you haven’t done so already, call the crime scene unit and an ambulance for the girl. Otherwise, keep your mouths shut. What’s this all about? I feel damned inclined to agree with my friend’s assessment.” When neither policeman responded, Daniel glared at the two men. “Put your weapons away now, or I’m going to get seriously angry!” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Pat leave. It would have been a nightmare if Pat had had to identify himself as a member of the Navy to an overzealous policeman.

“You can . . . ,” the older man began, but the younger man grabbed his arm.

“Leave it. I can already hear the cavalry. This was just a misunderstanding. May I ask who you are? A colleague?”

“Eddings, LKA,” Daniel said, listening to the sirens grow louder. Not much time had passed since Sandra had placed the emergency call, and he wondered how these two jokers had reached the scene so quickly. His mood was still at a low point when an Opel with police lights stopped directly in front of the door to the building. Mario Berger jumped out. His surprise at seeing Daniel was evident.

“Stroll through the old town?”

Daniel lacked the patience for banter. “On the fourth floor you’ll find a photographer, Skolaski. We wanted to speak to him about photos of Tim, the son of Dirk Richter. When we arrived, a man, presumably Skolaski, lay dead in his apartment. The presumed murderer attacked us and eventually took a girl hostage but finally got the short end of the stick, as you can see. However, I have the impression that your very capable colleagues would have loved to have shot Ms. Meinke and me, if there hadn’t been witnesses.” He gestured toward the mother and child as well as an elderly lady who had been watching from the stairwell for some time.

The officer was silent, and nothing remained of his previously humorous manner. The white-haired lady hurried to Berger with her walking stick in her hand. “Are you in charge here? This is a scandal. Those two degenerate airheads in uniform treated the people who saved Sulay’s life like criminals.” She raised her stick, narrowly missing Berger’s chin, and pointed to the stairs. “I saw everything from up there because I was waiting for Sulay. And I can describe to you in detail how the young man and his red-haired friend saved the day with great skill. And I watch enough crime dramas to know what a risk he took. His young lady was completely pale while he provoked that gaunt product of a failing society until he was attacked himself and Sulay was finally safe.”

Berger’s smile returned. “You weren’t a teacher by any chance?” he asked with amusement.

“Elisabeth Koch. Forty-five years of German and social studies. Why do you ask, young man?”

“Because you remind me of my aunt and the expression
degenerate airheads
, while it may be accurate, is fairly unusual. Where’s your red-haired friend, by the way?” he asked Daniel.

Daniel shrugged and wisely abstained from answering.

Sighing, Berger again turned his attention to the former teacher. “Captain Mario Berger of the Lübeck District Office of Criminal Inspection, Ms. Koch. I will take charge of this case, and it will be a pleasure for me to take your statement personally afterward. No need for concern; I appreciate the actions of my two colleagues and will take the time to deal with the behavior of certain other colleagues.” He looked coldly at the two uniformed men. “You will have to answer some questions, gentlemen. Plainclothes last time, now in uniform? I’m curious to hear the explanation for that and to find out why you always show up and act as if colleagues were the real criminals. Get out of here before I have you arrested. If I need you, I’ll know where to find you.” The threat was understood; the younger man had beads of sweat on his forehead, and he seemed to want to say something, but he was prevented from doing so by his partner. “A classic misunderstanding, one I would say is understandable given the behavior of these Rambos.”

The policemen turned away, and the younger one seemed seriously worried—and he had good reason to be. Berger understood Daniel’s look correctly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get them. They did have a reasonable explanation for what happened at the hospital, but for this they don’t.”