Nemesis: Innocence Sold (26 page)

“Of course, that’s why I’m here. I just wasn’t sure if it was all right with you.”

“No problem. I’ll probably refrain from using the rack and hot needles; otherwise you’d just have to close your eyes.” He yawned as he stood. “When I’m done with them and have taken care of the paperwork, I’m going to sleep for an entire day.”

“Finish your coffee first, and give yourself a five-minute break,” said Natascha, and Sandra agreed. It was clear from looking at Sven that he had barely slept the last few nights. She knew it wouldn’t be possible to take care of the paperwork in a few minutes.

“If you say so.” Sven dropped back onto his chair. He responded to a knock on his door with a growl.

Matthias entered. His gaze swept immediately to the plate of cookies; then he drew Sandra into his arms. “Man, girl. You’re getting up to things. Are you doing all right? Everything OK? Is Doc behaving himself? I’ve already made clear to him what’s going to happen if he’s not nice to you.”

Sandra enjoyed the big hug; then she remembered Sven and the prosecutor. “I’m sure Daniel trembled with fear when he heard your threat,” she said with a smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. But I still don’t have my phone back, and I’ve hardly had time.”

“Don’t worry about that. The short e-mail you sent yesterday said plenty. At least after that I knew you were still alive. But I’ve just been with Stephan, who thought I’d find you here, and he was nice enough to give me a brief summary—extrabrief, one might say. But I liked your move with the taxi. Finally arrived, right? I’m glad.”

Sandra shrugged and pushed the cookie plate over to him. “Admit it, you smelled them, right? These are different from the ones you usually eat, so enjoy them.”

Matthias grabbed a cookie. His shining eyes made her smile. “Are you here officially or unofficially?” he asked, recognizing the prosecutor’s presence for the first time.

“Good morning to you, too, Matthias. If you like, I can forget your unconventional methods for five minutes and concentrate on the result.”

“It’s quite harmless, anyway. Daniel’s carrying on in Stephan’s office. He and some colleagues are going over various materials and looking for connections and so on. But they have another starting point. Daniel’s just spoken to Tom on the phone; Tom’s established a connection between Martin and Jake. Now they’re sitting in Doc’s modest hut and speaking computer jargon to each other while Tom runs around outside with Kaspar,” Matthias said, not eating the last vanilla cookie.

“Who’s Kaspar? Oh, it doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

The prosecutor’s last comment was made in reference to the tempting pastry with the dollop of red marmalade in the center, which she took from the almost empty plate.

Sandra followed her example, and, in spite of Matthias’s dachshund look, grabbed the next-to-last cookie for herself and pushed the last one over to Sven. “Think of your figure,” she reminded Matthias before she answered Natascha’s question. “Martin’s my brother, and Kaspar’s his dog. A trained police dog that was supposed to have been put to sleep following an injury because he was allegedly no longer suited for active duty. As if—he’s now completely well again. His dog handler was just an idiot. Martin had participated in the mission and practically adopted him; since then the two have been inseparable. He was worried and showed up at our place yesterday.”

“Who? The dog?” Sven asked, needling her.

Sandra smiled and waved this off. The short break and the harmless banter had obviously done Sven some good. She made a mental note to cross-examine her brother later. He must think she was pretty stupid if he thought she hadn’t noticed his gun. She didn’t believe in his “harmless computer evaluations,” but for the time being she was thankful for the fact that he and the SEALs were getting along well, even if they clearly enjoyed keeping their real jobs secret from one another—men and their silly games.

“Are you laughing at me?” Matthias asked, his hand on the door handle.

“No, I was just thinking about the silliness of men in general.”

“That would make me laugh, too. We should talk about that in detail sometime,” Natascha said, following them into the hall.

“Since there’s nothing more to eat here, I’ll mind my own business again. Let me know if you need any help. And give me a call if you have cookies this nice to offer in the future.” Matthias waved and strolled to the elevators.

“And I’ll make myself comfortable next door. I’ll leave the direct contact to you,” the prosecutor said and opened the door to the room next to the interrogation room, in which she would be able to follow the interrogation through a one-way mirror and hidden microphones.

Sven nodded and turned to his uniformed colleague. “Thanks for your patience. There’s a thermos of coffee in my office that’s still half-full; clean cups are on the windowsill.”

“Thanks, Sven. Let me know when it’s time for him to go back.”

“Will do.”

If someone had asked Sandra to describe the interrogation room, only the word
gray
would have occurred to her. Gray furnishings; the gray slats of an outside blind that was controlled from the next room; light-gray walls; and a dark-gray carpet whose pattern was much too small to brighten up the dullness. Theoretically, the room was supposed to serve as a conference room, but Sandra now understood why Sven and Dirk preferred their own offices despite the cramped dimensions. The interrogation room was well suited for plunging even a cheerful Rhenish person into a depression.

The hours of waiting hadn’t agreed with Sebastian Kamps; his skin seemed to have already adjusted to the predominant gray tone. He wore his brown hair about as long as Daniel’s, but while in the case of the SEAL every strand fell casually by nature, Sandra could see that this man wore an expensive designer haircut and would have bet anything that he spent more time on his hairstyle than she spent on hers.

Sven took the chair across from Kamps; this left the place next to him for Sandra. She adjusted the uncomfortable plastic chair so she sat at the head of the table between the two men and could easily keep both of them in sight without having to contort herself.

Sven opened the interrogation with the usual formalities. Neither the information regarding the recording of the conversation nor the mention of personal data seemed to interest Kamps.

He stared at the gray tabletop and tugged at the sleeve of his burgundy sweater. It was only after a long while that he granted Sven and Sandra a brief look. “Do you want me to die of boredom? Hasn’t my attorney told you there’s a misunderstanding? I want out of here!”

Unimpressed by the outburst, Sven opened a file folder. “A few minutes ago, your attorney realized he was defending a lost cause. You waived your right to have an attorney present for this conversation. If you should change your mind, tell us. We’ll attempt to reach your attorney and will then continue the conversation together.”

“You mean I should waste even more time here? I want my phone back. I can’t even listen to music in here.”

Sandra bit her lip in order to remain serious in the face of his complaint.

“Does that mean you wish to refrain from waiting for your attorney?” Sven asked.

“It means exactly that. Let’s get this over with.” The arrogant surliness concealed his insecurity inadequately. His repeated blinking and constantly moving hands spoke volumes. “We wanted to help the child. This is all a misunderstanding,” said Kamps, repeating the words of his attorney.

Sven looked at Kamps coldly until Kamps turned away. “I’ve already told you that your attorney has realized this version is complete nonsense. Do you have such a bad memory that you don’t recognize me? I was there and saw you threaten my partner. You’ll have to do without his watch. Save me and yourself time and irritation, and stop the nonsense. Not even my confused ninety-year-old grandmother would buy your story.”

Kamps sat up straighter and visibly fought not to lose his composure. “So that was your partner. That’s very nice; I’ll bring charges of gross bodily harm against him. I should be in a hospital.”

“The doctor declared you well, and you got what you deserved. Would you rather he had put a bullet in your head?”

“That was unjustifiable cruelty. But it fits with your criminal inclinations.”

Instead of responding to the accusation, Sven stood with a contemptuous grin and perched on the edge of the table. This allowed him to look down on Kamps. “I’ve already told you that your attorney’s pulled out in response to this nonsense. Do you really think those doctored photos fooled anyone? Come to your senses. Another tip: my colleagues are in the process of taking your apartment in your parents’ house apart. The technicians have your computer and your phone. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found interesting e-mails and texts. A confession will only reduce punishment if we haven’t gotten the information by some other means, and the same goes for your buddy’s statement.”

Although Kamps remained silent, Sven’s very cold declaration had clearly gotten to him. “You’re not allowed to carry out that search,” Kamps finally protested, much less convincingly than before. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“Why?” asked Sandra. “We’re talking about kidnapping and at least two cases of attempted murder. In these circumstances, we’re permitted to do a lot. Another tip: judges and prosecutors appreciate early confessions. If your buddy spills the beans before you, you’ve given up a valuable chance. You’re not going to convince anyone that there was a misunderstanding, but we would immediately believe that you lost control of the situation. Do you really want to spend the next twenty years in prison? Man, you don’t want all that to happen.”

The difference between Sven’s mocking expression and Sandra’s words of understanding was clear. It was only human for Kamps to concentrate on the woman who was offering him the beginnings of a way out. With a friendly smile, Sandra spread her hands. “Let’s start with something very simple. Why the meeting place on the Brenner Moor? You live in Hamburg, right on the Alster. There would have been dozens of equally remote spots that were much closer.”

“That wasn’t my idea. I didn’t even know that place was there.”

“What about your friend? Arne Binder. Did he know the moor? You know your friend had attracted attention before for his behavior with children, right? Back then it was dismissed as silliness, but today it looks different, of course. Were you planning to share the girl?” Sven snarled at him. Kamps tugged at the sleeve of his sweater and jerked back in fright when Sven leaned forward. “Can’t you tell how you’re being tricked and used? Whatever you’ve been promised, the promise won’t be kept. Where are your expensive attorneys now? The man who got you into this is sitting at home laughing it up. I can imagine what he promised you: the ultimate kick. A nighttime confrontation on the moor from which only one victor would emerge and the girl as the prize. The ending no doubt surprised you, but not the man who got you into that situation. Wake up.” The flat of Sven’s hand slammed onto the table just inches away from Kamps’s.

In a significantly calmer and more friendly manner, Sandra said, “Take advantage of your chance to cooperate with us. You’re not going to get a better one. You’re a banker, after all. Analyze the facts: you, in here—the man who put you here, out there, free.”

Kamps’s mouth began to twitch. “What if I don’t have much to say?”

“What’s more important than the information is the willingness to cooperate,” Sven said. “Just start talking.”

Without further objection, Kamps followed this instruction, and after only a few sentences Sandra had to make an effort not to display her horror.

CHAPTER 26

Michael Kerlinski hadn’t said a word since Dirk had convinced him to take the Audi because he wanted to avoid having Kerlinski’s all-terrain vehicle recognized and attracting unwanted attention or tails.

During the relatively short drive to the Hamburg city center, he needed to get Kerlinski to cooperate with him and remain objective. His anger wasn’t the ideal basis for a conversation with the newspaper publisher. Searching for the right words, he noticed too late the black van parked at the edge of the road. A red light flashed.

He looked at the speedometer and cursed. Just over fifty miles per hour. That would be expensive and with bad luck would bring him four weeks of annoying comments from his wife and partner. Unfortunately, the matter at the scene wasn’t yet behind him: from the shoulder, a uniformed policeman commanded him to stop with an unambiguous gesture of his traffic paddle. Dirk stopped behind an ancient police VW bus. “Fuck!”

“Why are you getting so upset? Show them your ID, and they’ll let you go.”

Dirk interrupted his attempt to pull his wallet out of his suit jacket. “You don’t seriously believe that. You ought to know me better.”

“Apparently I don’t know you at all.”

The policeman knocked on the window. Dirk again fought with the inner pocket of his suit jacket, lowered the window, and handed over his driver’s license and identification to the policeman, who already seemed impatient. “Thank you. I assume you know why we stopped you. Please get out and go over to my colleague in the bus.”

Dirk restrained himself from making an irritated comment. He could do without a lecture on the dangers of inappropriate speeds.

In the bed of the bus, a provisional desk and two folding chairs had been set up. “Sit down,” said an older officer with a full beard.

Dirk surveyed the tight space and forced himself to smile. “Thanks, but I’d rather stand. What did your radar show?”

“Fifty-one in a thirty. Do you realize how much greater your braking distance becomes when you exceed the speed limit by that much? What are you going to do if a child runs in front of your car and you can’t stop in time? Are you going to tell the mother you were on your way to an important business meeting when you apologize to her?”

Dirk remained silent.

His reaction did not appeal to the officer. “You’ll have four weeks to think about complying with traffic laws before you’re allowed to get behind the wheel again, and if you attract negative attention again in the next twelve months, it’ll get really unpleasant.”

“It already is,” Dirk said.

Amazingly, the officer ignored the comment and concentrated on something going on behind Dirk. Alarmed, he turned around. A uniformed policeman walked around the Audi and looked into the interior. Then he came over to them. “Access to the owner information is restricted,” he informed his colleague. “The same goes for the driver.”

“Why?” asked the bearded officer, turning to Dirk with newly awakened interest.

“What does that have to do with the fact that I drove too fast? You have my personal details and the photo. The fine will get there.”

“Open the trunk,” the younger policeman said.

“Without a search warrant?”

“Are you a lawyer? General vehicle inspection.”

“Great.” Dirk thought about the mess of bulletproof vests and extra ammunition in the Audi. They had only stowed his rifle and Sven’s machine pistol properly. It was time to reveal that he was in law enforcement, too. “Before there are any misunderstandings,” he began and was about to take out his LKA identification from his suit jacket.

“Stop! Don’t move!” the younger policeman yelled.

“Damn it, not so loud,” Dirk said when he realized that the Sig on his belt had become visible when he had pulled back his coat. “Take it easy. I’m just going to take an ID card out of the inner pocket and won’t get too close to the holster. All right?”

He waited for the policeman, whose hand was on his service pistol, to nod. “LKA. I have a right to carry the weapon. Could we bring this matter to a close now, please? The ID also explains the mess in the trunk. Please don’t shoot right away when you see the two vests and the extra ammo. It got damned late last night.”

The bearded officer turned the identification card in his hand, examining it. “I think it’s no longer necessary to take a look in the trunk. What do you say, Max?”

“No, thanks, we’ll dispense with it.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Sorry, the sight was a bit of a surprise. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was driving too fast. I’ll pay the fine, listen to my partner’s annoying comments for a while, and that’ll be that.”

“You actually meant it.” Michael’s voice suddenly came from behind them. “Why don’t you tell them you were up all night saving a child, and that you’re once again out to find the guys who kidnap and sell children?” Dirk had no chance to respond; all of Michael’s frustration burst out of him. “Why would you rather walk for four weeks than use your damned ID card? What kind of shitty world is this?” He turned half around and struck the sliding door of the van.

When he drew back to strike again, Dirk held him back. “Come on, Michael. My colleagues are not criminals. They’re just doing their job. Leave the vehicle alone.” Not until Michael had himself more or less under control did he turn to the policemen, who had watched the private detective’s performance in shock. “I’m sorry. He’s a bit beside himself. Yesterday his daughter was kidnapped. We did free her, but the matter’s not yet resolved. We’re now on our way to see a guy who’s somehow involved.”

“Is he your partner?”

“No. A civilian who’s helping us. We need to move on if we’re not going to be late. Is everything taken care of?”

The policemen exchanged looks. “It is. But from now on either comply with traffic laws or put your flashing light on the roof. Understood?”

Dirk raised both hands. “I got it. Have a nice day.”

Instead of driving directly to the publisher’s high-rise, Dirk turned into the parking lot of a McDonald’s, ordered two cups of coffee at the drive-through, and drove on. It wasn’t until he had reached the street Bei den Mühren, which runs directly along the border of the free port and offers an impressive view of the Hamburg Speicherstadt, that he stopped on the shoulder for a brief coffee break.

“Let me guess: a lecture about self-control and so on. Do you think they’ll delete your picture?” Michael said.

“I don’t know. If there are no consequences, I suppose I should be grateful to you. No one’s left cold when children are involved.”

“How does that fit? On the one hand, you don’t follow the rules; on the other hand, you don’t use your ID to get out of it. How did you get into this? I don’t want to know who your friend works for, but how’d you get to know each other? He’s hardly an accountant.”

Dirk laughed. “Yes, in fact that’s exactly what he is.” When Michael appeared insulted, he continued: “Really, we got to know each other at an audit. The client for the investigation was the LKA—Sven, my current partner. When the thing heated up, I didn’t do badly, and I stayed with it afterward. You know I practiced karate and other martial arts for years, and before that I held high marks with weapons in the army.”

“I did a little research last night. Your investigation had to do with Al-Qaida, right? And you’re the one who had a hard time in that connection.”

Dirk was about to deny this assumption but instead decided to tell the truth. “Actually, my participation shouldn’t officially show up anywhere, but you’re on target. Without my friend—you met him yesterday—I wouldn’t have survived.” Dirk’s hand tightened around his coffee cup when he remembered his hours in the terrorists’ power; taking a deep breath, he forced himself to loosen his grip. Since then he had gone through considerably tougher things; nevertheless, there were images he couldn’t forget.

“Is your friend a German? Or an American? Is he the actual boss of Daniel Eddings?”

“Come on, Michael, leave it. If he’d wanted you to know his background, he’d have told you. They’re friends of Sven and mine who were ready to help you.”

Lost in thought, Michael stared at the lid of his coffee cup. After taking a sip, he tried to smile. “I envy you for having such friends. I don’t mean their mysterious job, which I can more or less imagine, but that they’re there for you.”

“Sure. Will you tell me now why you’re reacting so violently? Your family’s safe, and in a few hours you’ll be with them. What’s wrong, Michael? Why the distrust and rage? Because they tried to pin that crap on you? That went completely wrong. Sven told me they probably just wanted to rattle you. Do you think there could be something to that? It almost looks as though Sven could be right.”

Michael kneaded the almost empty cup as though he would like to crush it. “You’ve picked the perfect spot for our conversation.” With his damaged coffee cup, he indicated a building a few yards away. “The Zippelhaus is over there. One of the best and unfortunately most expensive restaurants in Hamburg. For years I’ve been meeting Walter Weinreich there once a week. He and my father were friends, and when my father died, he took over his role to some extent. He was always there for me. He gave me the strength to go into business for myself when police work no longer did anything but get on my nerves. He’s the godfather of my first son and comes to every family party. My only ‘crime’ was making a call to him about who I was supposed to observe your policewoman for. You were right; it was a personal favor for him, not an official assignment. I had a bad feeling from the beginning, and I was right to have one. But I thought it was about an affair or something; that’s why I wanted to take care of it myself. Since I got the call from my wife yesterday, saying they had my daughter . . . Dirk, you can’t imagine what I’m thinking about. My intellect tells me he’s involved and has conned me, but I can’t believe it and don’t want to.”

Finally, Michael’s contradictory behavior made sense. “That’s too much. I had no idea.” Dirk hoped that would be enough; he didn’t know how Michael would react to sympathy.

A self-deprecating grin flashed across the private detective’s face. “How would you? I didn’t want to believe it myself.”

“Come on, let’s get it over with. Even though we might not like the result, anything would be better than all this brooding.”

“You’re right. When this is all over . . . we should meet up. This constant
Thanks
and
Sorry
is somehow too little.”

“Hm. Well, Sven and I know the fish place around the corner, but we haven’t yet been to the Zippelhaus.”

“We can change that,” Michael said.

A secretary with a short dress skirt and low-cut T-shirt led them into her boss’s empty office. When she was leaving the room, Dirk inconspicuously watched as she threw back her blond hair and returned to the outer office with swaying hips. Apparently not inconspicuously enough.

“Be careful. Her boyfriend’s a boxing promoter, and she has a black belt in something. That shouldn’t be a problem for you, but nevertheless . . . How’s Alex, by the way?” Michael asked.

“It doesn’t hurt to look. She should be on a magazine cover.”

“That’s true. Walter came to know and value her at a shoot.”

Dirk bit back a question about which qualities the publisher valued in particular. Smiling, Michael said, “You’re wrong; she’s his assistant and has an MBA.”

“An assistant like that would be something for Sven and me, too.”

“I doubt it. There’s one thing she can’t do: make coffee. It’s undrinkable, but maybe she ruins it on purpose so she doesn’t have to do it.”

The open confession about his friendly relationship with Weinreich seemed to have done Michael good. Much of his tension had dissipated. When Weinreich joined them, offering a lengthy apology, the private detective managed a slight smile. “Thanks for taking the time.”

“On the phone it sounded urgent.” Weinreich’s warm smile cooled when he turned to Dirk. “We haven’t had the pleasure. Walter Weinreich. And you are . . . ?”

Before Dirk could answer, Michael said, “Dirk Richter. We worked together an eternity ago. He’s an accountant but now works primarily for the LKA in Hamburg.”

“LKA? I hope you’re not here due to our little misunderstanding about the young lady.”

“Indirectly, I am.”

The publisher ignored Michael’s questioning look toward the conference room.

Dirk read the nonverbal communication and formed an impression of Weinreich. In combining a white polo shirt with his dark-blue suit, he had found a clever combination of a casual and a formal style. His dark-gray hair and suntanned skin made him appear younger than midsixties; his deep blue eyes betrayed his mood with astonishing openness. While they had at first appeared darker and warmer, the considerably lighter blue now reminded him of Jake’s penetrating gaze, which had earned him his nickname. If Michael felt uncomfortable due to the sudden coldness in the publisher’s behavior, he didn’t show it.

“Who did you inform yesterday about my inquiry?” the detective asked.

“Why? Do you think you’re going to get a different answer in the presence of the LKA? It’s not a crime to privately gather information about someone.”