Nemesis: Innocence Sold (25 page)

Wartberg gave her the perfect segue. “Now that we’ve cleared up that part, will you finally tell me how Mario died?”

Sandra began with Pat’s call the previous day and his amazement at the fact that no personal protection had been arranged.

“That’s just unbelievable,” Wartberg said, and again his rage broke loose.

“That’s what we thought, too, and we took on the personal protection ourselves.”

“Unsuccessfully, unfortunately,” Wartberg said with regret.

“That depends on how one sees it. A friend of ours was injured in the course of the attack but managed to overcome three attackers and save Berger’s life. Officially, your partner died as a consequence. The doctors identified the cause as a stress-related symptom as a result of the attack.”

“Officially?” Wartberg asked in a brittle voice.

“The attackers had help from within the medical center. We could no longer guarantee his safety there. I’m sorry we couldn’t let you in on this, but deception was necessary. Berger’s safety was an absolute priority.”

When Wartberg remained silent, Sandra resisted the temptation to turn around. The car didn’t offer much of a private sphere, but she wanted at least to give him a few minutes to process his feelings.

Wartberg’s words surprised her. “It makes no sense. I hope we can make progress together.”

His teeth were clenched so hard that his jaw muscles ached, but he couldn’t turn his gaze away from the photo. He refused to think about why the sight of the blond American wouldn’t let him go. He had devoted only a brief glance to the information regarding the other men who thought they could take him on. They were of no interest to him and would soon discover that it had been a mistake to challenge him. In the case of this American there was something different, though he couldn’t, or rather didn’t want to, figure out why. He ignored the internal voice he didn’t want to admit was right in saying that the youthful laugh and unfettered joy in life attracted him. All his life he had succeeded in controlling this part of his personality with an iron will; nothing about that would change. To a controlled extent, he allowed himself the rewards he had earned, but this was something different.

It was a pure stroke of luck that Reher’s driver had decided to follow the blond man for some yards and that, disguised as a tourist, he had managed to take some pictures of the little group that had enjoyed their Italian meal in high spirits. In this way the cowardly fellow had somewhat made up for his failure to help Reher and had avoided punishment for the time being.

The blond man’s nerves were admirably steady. Less than an hour before, he had taken on Reher, truly no easy man to beat. Nothing of the danger he had confronted showed in his laugh. Not the slightest tension was evident in any of the photos, only obvious pleasure in the food and the company.

“Daniel Eddings.” He spoke the name like a caress. Rage at his weakness extinguished any other feeling. “I’m looking forward to our encounter. You’ll have no reason to laugh when I’m finished with you,” he said to the photo.

He forced himself to calm down until his pulse was once again within the normal range, and then he analyzed why he had reacted so violently to the American. Treasury? No chance. He agreed with his contact person at the LKA in Lübeck: Eddings belonged to the FBI or a similar organization. No accountant or tax expert would have dispatched Reher so easily. The information from the clinic suggested that Eddings had extensive medical knowledge. Despite his youthful appearance, the American possessed abilities that demanded his respect.

With his eyes closed, he leaned far back in his desk chair. His gaze fell on the picture in the silvery, shining frame that harmonized perfectly with the color of his flat-screen monitor. His wife and two children. That was real life; his skill in business had earned him the respect of his father, who would never discover that one pillar of his son’s success stood on an unusual foundation.

With a gesture of contempt, he swept the printouts containing information on Sven Klein and Dirk Richter into a large pile. Economic crime unit? They were nothing more than an annoyance.

A fly circled him and landed on the edge of his espresso. He patiently waited until the insect was moving across the surface of the desk. With a well-directed blow, he killed the pest. The thought of doing the same to Richter and Klein appealed to him. The two would come to realize that there are boundaries you don’t cross. Eddings and his little girlfriend were a different matter, worthy of his personal attention. Afterward his thoughts would no longer circle around the American. He could depend on the silence of Weinreich and the two spoiled brats and also on Reher keeping his mouth shut. There were, then, no unsolved problems.

A knock at the door. Then the door flew open, and his two wild blond rascals raced toward him. Smiling, he bent down and pulled his daughter and son onto his lap.

“We’ll take the interrogation room off our corridor,” Sven said.

“And how do you imagine proceeding?” Damn, that sounded too aggressive. “I just mean whether I should follow along from the room next door,” Sandra said.

Sven smiled and loosened up, as he held the glass door open for her. “You’re going to be there. The room’s all the way at the back, past Dirk’s office.” When Sandra raised an eyebrow at the sight of the uniformed colleague who had taken up a position there, Sven smiled. “Now don’t tell me you expected this.” “I’d never dare criticize you, honored Inspector. Who are you going to start with?”

“Then Daniel’s teaching methods do work?” Sven looked serious again, too soon for Sandra’s taste. “We don’t have a lot to choose from. Frank, a colleague, has taken on the others. As expected, they didn’t have much to say. Pros through and through. They gave up what they knew in order to get the prosecutor’s office to tread lightly on their cases. For them, this was a job like any other. All of them have a military background and are working as mercenary wannabes. They couldn’t think of anything about their client. Everything was arranged through a middleman, known only by a first name. Continuing to ask about this will be unproductive. The only interesting thing was their mission: in addition to the obvious, they were supposed to make sure nothing happened to Daddy’s sons.”

To Sandra it was obvious Sven already had a suspicion he was following up on, but what was equally obvious was that he didn’t want to talk about it. A few days ago, she would have insisted or been annoyed by his reticence; now she was silent.

Once again, he seemed to see through her and winked. “And? How’s the mood?” Sven asked the policeman.

“Our mood or the man in there?” he said. “I could use a coffee, and the curtain’s coming down in there. First arrogant, then enraged, now calm. Sixty minutes of insecurity and boredom probably don’t appeal to the gentleman.”

“Sven?” The shout came from the other end of the hall. A colleague hurried toward them. “Change of plans: Tannhäuser wants to see you—immediately. He’s already called back Dirk, too.”

“Shit. I was afraid of that. I switched off my phone for exactly this reason. Can’t you just say you didn’t see me?”

“Forget it. Little Walter’s already thought of that and threatened to pick you up herself.”

“Shit,” Sven said, embroidering the curse with some interesting details in English. For a moment he hesitated. “Sandra, this is Frank Placiesky, who’s something like my reluctant secretary. He’s the one who’s been nice enough to take on the other guys from the moor. Frank, Sandra Meinke. She actually works for Stephan, but she’s helping us with the thing with Tim.”

Rumors spread through police headquarters at light speed, so Sandra wasn’t surprised her uniformed colleague was putting his oar in. “Is the guy in that room involved in the thing with Tim?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sven said. “And please do me a favor and don’t let anyone go in there, period. He needs to continue to stew.”

“What about his lawyer?”

Sven took a deep breath. “If I’m not mistaken, we’ll meet him when we meet Tannhäuser. I hope we’ll be back soon and be able to take this guy on.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him. And for Tim’s sake I’ll be especially nice to him.”

CHAPTER 25

On their way to Tannhäuser’s office, Sven informed Sandra of his agreements with the prosecutor’s office and the MEK.

“How did you know things were going to go like this? And when in the world did you get all that done?”

“Last night, when everyone was asleep. I got an earful for calling people that late, but it was worth it.”

“Go on through,” said Ms. Walter, Tannhäuser’s secretary.

Sven stopped and looked at all the coffee cups on a serving tray. He looked at Ms. Walter, who winked at him. “He would certainly have offered you coffee, but not his visitors. It was also only under protest that he moved to the conference room.”

“Great,” said Sven. “Sorry, Sandra. You can’t yet know how to assess our boss’s mood. It’s very simple: coffee and conference room, and all is right with the world. If you sit right in front of his desk and are addressed only by your last name, that’s like a storm warning. In between there are some intermediate stages.”

“And? Have you ever landed right in front of his desk?”

“Ever?” Sven said, making Sandra and Ms. Walter smile. “Tannhäuser was already my boss when I was working undercover for the drug unit. There are some disadvantages in being known that well by your boss.” He opened the door and turned to Sandra. “But also some advantages.”

Other than Tannhäuser, three men and a woman looked at them from the conference room. Tannhäuser and Senior Prosecutor Friedrichs, a stocky man in his fifties, stood. With a slight delay, the other men followed their example and greeted Sandra and Sven. Given the suits and BlackBerrys on the table, Sandra assumed they were attorneys. She didn’t know the men but was familiar with their names. The criminal defense lawyer Hans Ludewig was among the most expensive and unfortunately also the best the Hanseatic city had to offer. His colleague Jörg Bohnsack had positively embarrassed the Hamburg police a few weeks before and, due to a few minor errors by some of her colleagues, achieved an acquittal instead of a certain conviction. Sandra didn’t like it at all that two high-profile attorneys were taking on the defense. Sven had apparently counted on this, and Sandra hoped he knew a way that wouldn’t end in their being forced to release the bastards.

With tense anticipation, Sandra greeted the prosecutor Natascha Berg. When they had last encountered each other, Natascha had refused to initiate proceedings against Mark and had rejected each of Sandra’s accusations. Her behavior at the time had been legally unimpeachable, but Sandra had noticed during their dealings that the prosecutor had a friendly relationship with the SEAL, and she doubted her objectivity. Back then Sandra had hated going up against the tight phalanx of Sven and Natascha Berg; today, she was counting on their bond. In other circumstances, she would have laughed about the change of sides; now, she sat calmly and returned the prosecutor’s smile.

“We’re still waiting for two gentlemen who should be here any moment,” Tannhäuser said. He was obviously not interested in small talk, and he blocked every attempt by the older attorney to make conversation, while Sandra thought about who they might be waiting for. Dirk was a sure bet, and she hoped the other man wasn’t Daniel. By this time, she knew how he would react to this meeting. Extreme irritation would be putting it mildly.

Her concern was unjustified; Dirk entered alongside Kerlinski. The detective nodded to the attorneys and greeted Tannhäuser and the representatives of the public prosecutor’s office much more heartily. With this, the fronts were established, but apparently this wasn’t enough for Kerlinski. Almost effusively, he turned to Sven and Sandra and thanked them once again for their help. Sandra wisely refrained from explaining that she had been sleeping on Daniel’s couch when his daughter had been rescued.

Dirk and Sven followed the drama with neutral faces; only their eyes betrayed that they were enjoying the show. This would be interesting.

Sandra’s gaze fell on the prosecutor, who managed to conceal her amusement behind a businesslike expression. After reaching a wordless agreement with her superior, she took over the moderation of the conference. “Since we all have busy schedules, we should get right to the point. I don’t have to point out that this way of proceeding is extremely unusual. But given the urgency of your request, my boss and I have agreed to this meeting. I must also admit that what you’ve hinted at here has made me curious. The accusation of arbitrary police action and the claim that the arrested suspects should receive a reward rather than be sitting in a jail cell has naturally gotten our attention.” She tapped a fat file folder sitting in front of her. “Are you certain we’re talking about the same case?”

In Sandra’s view, this statement was a clear victory. It was thanks to Sven that every regulation had been followed to the letter, and the attorneys found accusing them of procedural errors to be a hard nut to crack. Within a few minutes, Ludewig switched tactics and attacked Sven, as the highest-ranking police officer other than Tannhäuser, directly, accusing him of incompetence and a serious misunderstanding of the situation: his clients had in fact only been attempting to rescue the girl themselves when they were arrested by the police.

Sandra stared at the attorneys in disbelief. She hadn’t expected such nonsense from them. She almost choked as she kept herself from making a comment to this effect.

Tannhäuser leaned back, surprisingly calm. “That’s all you have? Your wild theory conflicts with the statements made by my incredibly competent colleagues.”

The younger attorney, Bohnsack, obviously felt uncomfortable and seemed more interested in a message he had received on his BlackBerry.

Ludewig raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “One could certainly interpret the events of last night in this way, and doing so would help us all.”

“Why us?” Natascha Berg asked. “To me, this looks like an airtight case. I don’t have the slightest doubt that the custodial judge will decide in our favor. Do I really have to explain the concepts of risk of flight and risk of suppression of evidence?”

After receiving a prompting look from his colleague, Bohnsack spoke for the first time. “No. Thank you very much, Madam Prosecutor, that will not be necessary. But we wanted to offer you an opportunity to keep the identity of the client you arrested and treated extremely brutally last night from becoming known to the public. It seems obvious to us that the police have attempted to distract attention from the true perpetrator and even to help this perpetrator.”

Puzzled, Sandra looked at the attorneys. This was turning more and more incomprehensible. Bohnsack seemed not to be feeling particularly well when he removed some photographs from his file folder. “I’ll confine myself to the short version. Our clients were offered an opportunity to purchase the girl, as it were. The gentlemen responded to this offer and hoped they’d be able to resolve the matter on their own and subsequently hand the real perpetrator over to the police. Call it youthful arrogance. My clients couldn’t suspect that these perpetrators are on very good terms with the police and that they would end up in the sights of the public prosecutor’s office and the LKA.”

The only explanation for this plea that occurred to Sandra was so crazy she almost choked when she took a breath. “You’re suggesting that—”

Her gaze strayed to Kerlinski, who had gone chalk white and interrupted her: “Have you gone insane? What is it you’re suggesting? I’m supposed to have . . . ?” With every word, the private detective had gotten louder until he was roaring without restraint, and Sandra couldn’t blame him.

“Take it easy, Michael. We’ll take care of this,” Dirk said to restrain him when the detective leaned far across the table.

Unimpressed by Kerlinski’s self-righteous outrage, the attorney pushed the photographs over to Tannhäuser. “I think these pictures speak for themselves. Take a look, and then let’s talk about what we can do to make this embarrassing situation go away.”

From where Sandra was sitting, she was able to look at the photographs alongside Tannhäuser. She recognized Kerlinski immediately; he obviously seemed to be perpetrating an offense against a blond girl who was at most five years old. In the background, Sandra could make out a narrow strip of sand, gray-blue sea, and clouds that would have been at home in a picture book. The action was taking place in front of a roofed wicker beach chair. She looked at the barely visible shadow in front of the beach chair and shook her head. Without respect for hierarchy or the police chief’s horrified silence, she grabbed the photograph and contemptuously threw it to the attorneys. “I’d like to repeat Mr. Tannhäuser’s question from a few minutes ago: Is that all you have? Just these obvious fakes you probably slapped together last night? Just because someone knows how to use an image-editing program, you cast doubt on the involved officers’ mission report? You see how the sun’s shining out from behind the clouds over the sea? Now please tell me why the shadow of the beach chair suggests the sun’s just passed the zenith. A cheap photomontage! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Doesn’t the principle of due diligence apply to attorneys?”

With the last sentence, Sandra attempted to reestablish the professionalism she had abandoned. When the silence continued, she began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Then the prosecutor laughed. “You have a sharp eye. One can tell you’ve dealt with such material—more than my highly paid colleagues on the other side of the table.”

Ludewig ignored the prosecutor and instead looked intently at the photos. Finally, he nodded. “You’re completely right. I must apologize; perhaps you’ll understand that I wasn’t particularly inclined to take a closer look at the photos than necessary, but it would have been better if I had done so.”

“You should apologize to Mr. Kerlinski,” said Ms. Berg.

Visibly discomforted, the attorneys avoided the reproachful looks and showed great interest in a painting on the wall that depicted a four-mast vessel in a storm. Sandra expected a continuation of the sham battle, but she was mistaken: Ludewig pulled himself together. “That didn’t go optimally,” the otherwise well-spoken attorney said, stating the obvious.

The senior prosecutor, who had held back until now, stood up and looked at the attorneys with disapproval. “Despite the fact that we’re on opposite sides in court, I’ve absolutely always appreciated your work up to now. If I consider how many very busy people’s time you’ve wasted, ‘annoyed’ is much too weak to express how I feel. I’d like to make reference to the moral aspect of this, but I’ll skip it. If you would like to say anything more, please do so.”

Sandra didn’t expect the prosecutor’s appeal to be successful, but it was. Supporting himself with both hands on the table, Ludewig pushed himself upright and found his smile again. “I must indeed apologize for the waste of time, particularly because we, in contrast to you, will be able to bill our clients for it. Off the record: after I’d listened to the facts the first time, I made it clear to our client that the chances of success were extremely small. I received the photos only this morning.”

Bohnsack took over seamlessly: “We both should have been less trusting—I’ll admit that—but I won’t apologize for doing my job.”

After a frosty farewell, the two attorneys left the office. Senior Prosecutor Friedrichs took his farewell, mentioning a follow-up meeting; Dirk and Kerlinski went off to make another attempt to confront the newspaper publisher.

“Let’s see if we get farther than the parking lot this time,” Dirk said and earned a smile from his superior.

A few minutes later, Sandra was once again standing in the hall off which Sven and Dirk’s offices and the interrogation room lay. Now, however, she was accompanied by the prosecutor, who had joined them without explanation.

Sven pointed at his office. “You still have something—or am I wrong?”

Natascha Berg gave them a forced smile. “I’m not here to admire the view. Five minutes and I’m gone—or not.”

Despite the implied threat, Sven politely held the door for her and laughed after taking a look at his desk. “Ms. Walter’s great—or our boss wanted to show us he’s satisfied.”

A seductive selection of cookies and a thermos of coffee stood where his files normally were. Also a silver pitcher of milk and a sugar dispenser. “Well, make yourselves at home,” Sven said and reached for the phone to thank Tannhäuser’s secretary.

Sandra took it upon herself to pour coffee for everyone and calculated how long she would have to jog to burn off one of the chocolate cookies. Then she shook this thought off. Cookies from a supermarket looked different; these were more likely to have come from an expensive Hamburg confectionery. She would be crazy to let this opportunity slip away; she helped herself.

Natascha Berg did the same. “That’s going to take at least two miles, but these things are worth it,” she said.

“Do you run, too?”

“No, Nordic walking, and please don’t make any remarks about the sticks. A friend and . . .”—after hesitating, the prosecutor smiled—“and Pat take care of that. I’m really glad nothing happened to that hothead this morning. Sven, my compliments on the files. Your efforts have paid off.”

Sven nodded and stretched. He grimaced when a vertebra cracked. “God, I need a vacation.”

The mention of Pat made Sandra absolutely sure that the prosecutor knew of the involvement of the SEALs in their investigation. Sven ate a cookie and stared at the ceiling. “It’d be easier if we just killed all those guys.”

Natascha pressed her hands against her ears. “I don’t want to hear that. Understood?”

His brow furrowed, Sven’s gaze wandered from the cookies to the prosecutor. “Why not? I thought I was talking to Tim’s godmother. The strict prosecutor would never sit here and grab my last chocolate cookie away from me, would she?”

“I didn’t; there were only three. Keep your hands off the vanilla cookies because I like those, too, and make sure that you continue to operate respectably within the confines of the law. Understood?”

Sven saluted. “Yes, ma’am. But right now those sonny boys are on my agenda. Do you want to watch?”