The Last Temptation (37 page)

‘Nothing much to see,’ Berndt said. ‘Most murders look like a slaughterhouse. But this? Clean up the print powder and you could do dinner for six.’

‘Any indication that he went anywhere else in the house?’

‘Nothing was disturbed, according to the boyfriend. So no, he didn’t go through her knicker drawer and wank on the bedspread, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

Tony could think of nothing polite to say in response. Instead, he went to the window and looked down the garden to the woods beyond.

‘Nothing there either,’ Berndt offered. ‘We checked to see if he’d been watching her from the woods, but there was no

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sign that anybody had been near the back fence.’

‘I don’t think he stalked her. Not physically, anyway. It was her mind that interested him, not her physical presence,’ Tony said, half to himself. He turned back and smiled at Berndt. ‘Thanks for bringing me out here. You’re right, there’s nothing much to see.’

‘Detective Becker said you wanted to look at the crime scene photographs. Is that right?’

Tony nodded. ‘If that’s possible.’

‘They’re running an extra set off for you. We’ll have to go down to headquarters to collect them. And then, if there’s nothing else, I can drive you back to the airport. There’s a flight just after two, but if we don’t make that, there’s another one an hour later.’ No offer of lunch, Tony noted. Cooperation with Europol clearly only went so far.

‘That would be fine.’ He smiled. ‘I look forward to being back in Berlin in time for tea.’

Berndt looked at him as if he had just confirmed everything he thought about the eccentric English. Which was exactly what Tony had intended. If Berndt was going to remember anything about this visit, better that than anything else.

Petra bounced into the squad room^m the balls of her feet. So far, the operation against Radecki was going to plan. And she had great expectations of what this morning would bring. Even the sight of The Shark staring gloomily into a computer screen wasn’t enough to dampen her good spirits.

‘What are you doing?’ she said, crossing to her desk. ‘I thought I told you to check out Krasic’s associates?’

He looked up, his narrow pinched face expressing indignation. ‘That’s what I’m doing,’ he said. ‘Somebody told me that Krasic has relatives around the city, and I’m trying to

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track them dowfi Ihrough official records. With something like this, Krasic might trust family more than his fellow crims.’

It wasn’t a bad idea. Petra was both surprised and impressed. Maybe they were going to make a cop out of him yet. ‘Good thinking,’ she said. ‘Any joy?’

‘Not so far. I’m having to cross-check all sorts of stuff, it takes ages. How’s your operation going?’

‘Fine.’ She booted up her computer and headed straight for the Europol section of their database. This was where any bulletins from Den Haag ended up. To her satisfaction, there was a message with that morning’s dateline.

‘You want a coffee?’ The Shark asked.

‘Are you making fresh?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Then I’ll have one.’ She opened up the bulletin. There was some boring admin stuff at the beginning. She scrolled through it and halfway down the second page she found what she was looking for. REQUEST FOR INFORMATION FROM POLICE IN REGIO LEIDEN, HOLLAND, she read. ‘Yes,’ she hissed softly.

It was short and straightforward:

Detectives in Leiden, Holland, investigating a murder are concerned that the killer may be a possible serial offender. They have asked us to circulate member forces with details of the offence with a view to comparing any similar crimes in other jurisdictions. The victim was Pieter de Groot, a professor of psychology at the University of Leiden. His body was found in his home, bound and naked. He had been tied to the desk in his study, on his back. His clothes had been cut away from him. The cause of death was drowning. The method appears to have been by insertion of a funnel or tube into the mouth, into which water was

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poured. There was postmortem mutilation, which took the form of the scalping of the victim’s pubic area. The genitals themselves were undamaged.

Member forces ofEuropol are requested to check their files of unsolved homicides to see if there are any similar offences outstanding in their jurisdictions. Information should be passed directly to Hoofdinspecteur Kees Maartens at Regio Leiden, with a copy to the Europol Intelligence Section.

Petra couldn’t help smiling in satisfaction. She was rereading the text when The Shark loomed up at her elbow. ‘What’s that, then?’ he asked, placing the mug by her left hand.

‘Europol bulletin,’ she said.

‘You’re the only person I know who bothers with that bumf.’

‘That’s why I’m the only one around here who’s going places, Shark.’ ^

He leaned over her shoulder, reading the bulletin. ‘Wow. That sounds nasty. Typical of the Dutch, though. Too dumb to solve their own murders so they try to play pass the parcel with them.’
p>

Petra scowled. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s extremely smart of the Dutch to read the message of this crime and understand that this has all the hallmarks of a potential serial offender. And very courageous of them to ask for help.’

‘You think?’

She tapped a key to print out the relevant page of the bulletin. ‘I don’t think, I know. And you know what’s most interesting about this murder, Shark?’

‘I’m about to find out, right?’ He moved to one side and perched on the edge of her desk.

‘You should know already. Because we’re all supposed to

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read the stuff that is referred to us by our regional colleagues here in Germany. Just like we’re all supposed to read whatever Europol sends us.’

He rolled his eyes back in his head and groaned. ‘Yeah, yeah. Look, I skim it, OK?’

‘Sure, we all do^ that sometimes. But there’s stuff in there that we should be paying attention to. Like a murder five weeks ago in Heidelberg? Ring any bells?’

He frowned. ‘Some small-time drug dealer, wasn’t it?’

‘That was their excuse for handing it on to us. But it was obvious that it wasn’t a drugs hit.’

‘That’d be why I didn’t pay much attention,’ The Shark interrupted defensively. ‘No interest to us.’

‘Murder should always interest a cop. I did read it, Shark. And that’s what makes me think that the man who killed in Leiden had done it before in Heidelberg. And he’s done it since in Bremen.’ She got busy with the mouse and pulled up the Leiden report, then sent a command to the printer to make a hard copy of the file. ‘Which is why I am going to earn myself some Brownie points by bringing it to the attention of the boss.’ She got to her feet, picking up her coffee, and walked across to the common printer. She gathered together the sheets of paper and waved cheerfully to The Shark. ‘Don’t let me keep you from Krasic,’ she offered as a parting shot.

She found Plesch in her office, going through expenses claims. She gave Petra a grateful smile. ‘Petra. Bringing me facts, instead of these fictions, I hope?’

She shrugged and dropped into the chair facing Plesch. ‘More speculation than hard fact, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh well, never mind. It’s still a welcome distraction. What’s on your mind?’

She placed the print-outs in front of her boss. ‘Europol

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bulletin this morning. The Dutch police are looking for possible connections to a murder they’ve got in Leiden. It so happens that I was reviewing unsolved murders last week, in the run-up to this undercover operation. Just to see if there were any we might be looking to connect to Radecki and Krasic. I came across a case in Heidelberg that looked vaguely promising, so I asked them to send me a full report. When I went through it, it was clearly not one of ours. But then when I read the details of the Dutch murder, all the bells started ringing. I checked it out, and there are some very striking points of similarity.’

Plesch picked up the papers and read them, her expression deepening to a frown as she noted the common ground between the two cases. ‘Jesus Christ,’ she said when she got to the end.

‘There’s more,’ Petra continued. ‘There’s been another murder in Bremen. I pulled the files on it because it reminded me of the case in Heidelberg. The MO is identical.’

Plesch raised her eyebrows. ‘The same weird, fucked-up bastard?’

‘Looks like it. So what do we do?’

Plesch shrugged. ‘We get on to Heidelberg. It looks like that’s Case Zero. They probably haven’t read their Europol bulletin out there in the sticks. They’ll have to liaise with this Dutch cop through Europol. And talk to the people in Bremen.’ She blew a breath out through pursed lips. ‘Rather them than me. What a nightmare. All that red tape and diplomacy.’

‘Couldn’t we keep hold of it?’ Petra asked.

‘On what basis? It’s not organized crime, it’s not our remit.’

‘We made the connection. We’re experts in intelligence analysis. We’re used to working with Europol.’

‘You’re kidding me, right? As if you haven’t got enough on

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your plate with Radecki. Come on, Petra, this isn’t our kind of thing, and you know it. Let me call the chief investigator on the case in Heidelberg and set the ball rolling. You’ve done a good job, spotting this. But you’ve got to let it go now.’

Before Petra could argue further, the door burst open without ceremony and The Shark stood there, pink-faced and bright-eyed. ‘Sorry to butt in, ma’am,’ he gabbled. ‘But this case that Petra showed me the bulletin about - something’s just come in on the Wire. It looks like there’s another one. Only in Koln this time.’^^^

Petra had been right about the boat, Carol thought. This was no rich man’s party toy. It was a wooden motor launch, perfectly proportioned, with a sloping roofed cabin amidships. Tadeusz told her he’d bought it as a virtual wreck because he’d fallen in love with its sleek clinker-built lines. He’d had it restored to its former glory, and now it was an immaculate museum piece that was as functional as when it had been built in the 19308. Gleaming brasswork and polished mahogany caught the light wherever Carol looked in the small cabin. No space was wasted; the three-sided bench had slots for the table to drop into it, making a narrow double bed. The bulkheads had stowage space built in, using every nook and cranny without adversely affecting the elegant proportions of the compartment.

Above and behind the cabin, a tall, morose man leaned on the wheel, waiting for the word from Tadeusz to cast off. ‘He doesn’t speak more than two words of English,’ Tadeusz had said as he helped her aboard. ‘He’s a Pole, like me. We’re the best sailors in the world, you know.’

‘I think we English might want to dispute that,’ Carol said.

He inclined his head in rueful acknowledgement. Today, he looked nothing like the serious businessman she’d seen so far. Dressed in jeans and a thick fisherman’s jersey, a woollen cap jammed over his hair, he resembled every other waterman

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she’d seen on the short walk from the car to the boat. Only his hands were a giveaway, smooth and uncalloused by hard work. ‘Let me show you my boat,’ he insisted, ushering her below. He stood back, waiting for her to take it in.

‘She’s a beauty,’ Carol said, meaning it.

‘I suspect she was built for someone quite high up in the Nazi party,’ he admitted. ‘But I’ve never researched it. I think I’d rather not know. It might spoil her for me if I knew too much about her past.’

‘A bit like a lover, then,’ Carol said, her wry smile taking any flirtatiousness out of the remark. The irony of his comment ___^ was not lost on her; that he too made his money from misery seemed blindingly obvious. For Tadeusz to paint himself as higher up the moraltotem pole than the boat’s putative original owner was, she thought, repugnant. Such ethical blindness would make it easier for her to play her devious game, however.

‘I suppose,’ he said, his answering glance amused. ‘So, a drink? Then we’ll go up on deck and I can play at being a tour guide.’ He opened one of the wooden hatches and revealed a tiny fridge containing beer and champagne. ‘It’s too small for full-sized bottles,’ he said apologetically, holding up a half-bottle of Perrier-Jouet. ‘This OK?’

A few minutes later, they were sitting on the stern bench, champagne glasses in hand as the helmsman cruised gently out of the Rummelsbergersee into the broad reaches of the River Spree. ‘Are we talking business today, or just getting to know each other better?’ Carol asked.

‘A bit of both. I wanted to show you the city from a different perspective, and I thought maybe you could tell me something more of your plans.’

Carol nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’

The boat swung left and turned into the mouth of a lock.

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As they waited to go through, Tadeusz told her tales of the commercial barges. How they’d shifted twenty thousand tonnes of rubble a day during the reconstruction of Potsdamer Platz. How a routine customs inspection had revealed a bargee’s dead wife buried in the coal bunker. How the river police were called the duck police.

‘You seem to know a lot about life on the waterways,’ Carol said as they sailed on through Kreuzberg towards the Tiergarten. The trees that lined the canal were heavy with blossom, lending an air of romance to what was, after all, a commercial transport route.

‘A certain amount of my business depends on the waterways,’ he said cautiously. ‘As you’ve discovered for yourself, I like to know who I’m dealing with, so I’ve talked to many schippermen over the years. Having the boat makes it easy for me to be among them for legitimate reasons.’

‘Surely you don’t cruise all over Europe? It would take ages.’

‘Usually I have the boat lifted out of the water and towed to where I want it to be. Then I do a little cruising, and a little business.’ He smiled. ‘All very unsuspicious, no?’

Very clever,’ she acknowledged, pleased that her masquerade was finally beginning to produce some hard information.