by Nigel Price
“No, Ernst. As I said, when I passed it in the car park, I thought it was just a guy walking his dog, so didn’t think it important enough to note the plate. And by the time I saw the car again, it was out of range and bolting. It looked like something American. A big, fat gas-guzzler. There can’t be that many on the local roads.”
Hafner thought about it. Drank some coffee. “That is true. It shouldn’t be too hard to trace it. Leave it with me.”
“Of course. I have every confidence in you. While you’re about it, why not check out the firing point? The empty cartridge cases might still be there. I can’t imagine he had the nous to pick them up.”
“That is an excellent suggestion. We will do that. You can leave it to us, Harry.”
“There might be prints on them. And they might identify the type of rifle, which – if it’s licensed – might lead you straight to the little shit.”
Hafner returned Harry’s cold smile. He put down his cup. “We know how to do our job.”
“I have no doubt. As I said, I have every confidence in you. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you in action. Throughout the exercise. Which went like clockwork.”
The two men appraised one another.
“How is the report going, Harry?” Hafner asked at last. “You must have finished it by now.”
“Just proof reading. Spell-checking all those superlatives. All that praise.”
“Then why not go home? Back to England?”
“And the shooter this morning?”
“We will take care of that.”
“Oh I’m sure you will.”
“It was some madman. It might be best for you to leave here and go home. It might be safest.”
Harry got the message.
“Isn’t it a requirement for me to stay? Help with the investigation?”
“I know how to reach you.”
Harry got the message. Again.
“In the meantime it is best to leave the investigation to the police,” Hafner continued. “Go home, Harry.” He added another smile. “Unless of course you are staying around for a certain lady?”
“Ingrid?”
“Ah,” Hafner pushed back his chair and stretched out his legs. “Does she complicate your decision?”
“In what way?”
“Making it more difficult for you to leave?” He reached across and patted Harry on the arm. “Women, eh? What a merry dance they lead us. How is that working out?”
“The way we met was hardly the perfect first date, but we seem to get along. Which means I’m in no hurry to leave. So for now I’d thought I’d stick around. To see where things go.”
Hafner weighed the statement. “Yes, the circumstances were indeed strange.” Then something occurred to him. “Oh. I almost forgot. I have something for you. It’s in the car. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He got up, went down the steps and disappeared towards the parking area. Harry had half a mind to run.
He sat with his coffee. Waiting.
Hafner came back with a briefcase. He sat down, opened it and rummaged around inside. As he did so, he said, “I see your Jaguar’s as shiny as ever. I wish they’d give me a car like that.”
“It’s hired, Ernst. As you know. I own shit.”
“Ah here we are,” Hafner said, pulling a document from his briefcase. He smiled at Harry. For a moment it was as if the old Ernst had returned. Chummy as ever. “But wouldn’t you like to own more than shit?” He slid the document across the table. Harry looked at it.
“Go on, take it.”
“What is it?”
Hafner sighed. “Pick it up and see for yourself.”
Harry did. He held it gingerly as if it was dusted with anthrax spores. “What’s this?”
“Can’t you read even simple German, man?” Hafner grinned. “It’s the registration document for your Jaguar XJ.” He leaned closer. “Your Jaguar, Harry.” He dug in his briefcase again. Another document. “And this.” He slid it across too.
Harry wondered whether to punch the policeman now or save it up for the end of the conversation. There again, the guy did have a holstered pistol on his belt.
“It is a ferry ticket from Zeebrugge to Dover. First class. So you can enjoy the drive to the coast and take it home. Yours to keep. A small token of our appreciation for the invaluable service you have performed for our insignificant little airport.”
Harry looked at the ticket. “A ferry ticket to Dover? How generous of you. No deposit in a Swiss bank account?”
“Is that what you want? Switzerland is such a cliché. Liechtenstein, yes. But not the Swiss.”
Harry realised that, unlike Ingrid, Hafner didn’t do irony. He thought Harry was haggling over price.
“I don’t want a fucking ferry ticket to fucking Dover.”
“And the Jaguar, Harry.” The man still didn’t get it.
“In return for what?”
Hafner sat back again. “Go home, Harry. Forget the woman. Do the report. That’s all.”
“What was in the plane, Ernst?”
“Go home to England, Harry.”
“What was in—?”
“Nothing was in the Gott verdammt plane!” The mask slipped. Hafner was red in the face. The next second he was back in control. “There was nothing in the plane.”
“Where’s the body now?”
“Which body?”
“You know full well which fucking body.”
“What the hell does it matter? It went to the bloody mortuary in Soest hospital. It’s been cremated. Or soon will have been. It was just some stupid bloody stowaway.”
“What the fuck’s going on, Ernst? What have you got yourself into?”
Hafner shoved back his chair and stood up. It fell over. He quickly picked it up and composed himself. One hand went to his holstered pistol. Harry prepared to move.
Laughter came from the dining room. A group of hotel guests were being teased by Herr Fischer. Hafner closed his briefcase. He prepared to leave.
“Go home.”
“Ernst, I can’t sign off the report. Certainly not now. You know that.”
“No I don’t know that. Please, Harry. I am asking you as a friend. For the last time.”
Harry stood up too. Squared off in front of Hafner. Two documents and two coffee cups sat on the table between them.
“Sign off the report, Harry. Drive your new car to Zeebrugge and take it home.” He put a car key on the table. “The spare. I used it to put a little something extra in the glove compartment as well.” He smiled. “Do they still call it that?”
Harry stared at him, hard and cold. “I won’t take the bribe, Ernst. Big mistake.”
“Who’s bribing? It is a gift. Our appreciation. Nothing more. And yes, it would be a big mistake. Not to take the gift. We are of no significance. What are we to you?”
Polizeihauptkommissar Hafner slid his chair under the table, straightening it. Everything neat and tidy. Alles in Ordnung.
“Go home, Harry. Live.”
Eighteen
When Hafner’s car had gone, Harry went back up the steps. Herr Fischer was bobbing around, pretending to do this and that.
“Is everything okay, Herr Brown?”
“Yes, everything’s fine,” Harry answered. There was no point terrifying the hotelier with tales of snipers and murderers and frozen bodies and severed hands and corrupt police officers. Herr Fischer was a man who wanted an untroubled life, the better to run his homely Gasthof.
“The police officer and I have been working together at the airport on the project I have been running. We were discussing that.”
“Ah!” Light dawned, peace returned. All was well. Herr Fischer went away to polish his glasses.
Harry went back to his room. One look around the dead space was enough to tell him it was the last place he wanted to be just then.
Go home to England. Fuck that.
He picked up his jacket and car keys and went out.
&nbs
p; The Jaguar cruised up and over the ridge, avoiding the Müller’s farm road. Heading north as he came off the ridge, he saw again the view of the north German plain, the steeples of Soest’s churches puncturing the morning sky.
The XJ purred like a cat. His for the taking. He reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. All the usual clutter had been removed and in its place was a fat package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. Harry stared at it, half wondering if it was about to explode. With just his right hand, he used a sharp edge on the spare key fob to stab a small hole in the paper and expand it into a tear. The face of a bank note peeped out. An American dollar bill.
Expanding the tear showed it to be a hundred dollar bill. There were whole wads of them. It was stuffed. Harry had trouble keeping his eyes on the road. The package sat there, smouldering into his brain.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He shook his head clear. Then slammed the glove compartment shut.
He found a parking spot near the optician’s and went inside. He didn’t like interrupting Ingrid while she was at work, but hoped he could at least arrange to come back later and meet her for lunch.
The receptionist looked up, a plastic smile of award-winning teeth equal to the ad posters in the window. Harry asked if Frau Weber was available.
Without the slightest change to the smile, the lips barely moved as she answered, “Frau Weber isn’t in this morning.”
“Oh.” Harry pondered. “Is that usual? I mean, is she supposed to be in?”
The expression ever so slightly iced. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I am a friend.”
More ice. “I am afraid Frau Weber is not in this morning.”
“I know. You just said that. Is she ill?”
“Can I help you?”
Harry looked up to see a man watching him from an inner office. The door had been open and Harry supposed the white-haired gent had heard the exchange. Harry repeated his question, keeping his tone polite.
The man turned out to be a human being. He glanced sourly at the back of the robot with the wondrous teeth. He smiled an apology at Harry. “You are a friend?”
“Yes.”
“Frau Weber called this morning to say she couldn’t come in today. She said it was some small matter involving the police.” He held up a hand when he saw Harry’s face. “She assured me everything was fine. She didn’t say more than that.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, turning to go.
“You know how to find her?”
“Yes, thank you.” And he was out of the door.
The suburban roads were a confusion of signs and turnings and speed cameras. Having failed to find his way to the house from memory, he pulled over and gave the satnav a finger-stabbing. Polite but firm German commands were cut short with each stab, interspersed with a returning blast of English, two words of which featured prominently. Finally the device cooperated and Harry set off again.
Somehow the satnav exacted revenge, for the route it took went on forever. Harry kept his calm and at last pulled up outside Ingrid’s house. At the far end of the road, he saw the rear of a police car driving away. Ingrid was still walking back to her front door having seen them off.
She turned at the sound of the Jag. A look of relief melted the taut frown of a moment before. Harry was out of the car and at the gate. Ingrid met him.
“Are you all right?” he said. “I went to the optician’s and they told me there had been some problem?” He glanced at the corner where the police car had disappeared.
“I’m fine, Harry. It’s okay. We’re both fine.”
“We?”
“Come inside.”
She shut the door behind them. Harry looked up the stair well. Silence.
“He’s at school now. My mother’s just taken him back. She came round to help so I could go into work.”
“What happened?”
They sat at opposite ends of the sofa. “You remember yesterday that Thomas said a red car was following us?”
“Yes.”
“It came back. This morning Thomas went off to catch the school bus as usual. I said goodbye to him and was getting myself ready to leave for work when I heard the front door open. I shot downstairs, not knowing what to expect, but it was only Thomas. He’d come back.”
“Why?”
“He looked a bit frightened, and he was holding a bunch of red carnations. He said he had been walking to the bus stop when that red car had pulled up alongside. The driver had started to talk to him.”
“Bloody hell!”
“It freaked him out. He said the driver had tried to be friendly, and had then handed Thomas the flowers and asked him to give them to me.”
“To you?”
She nodded. Harry could see that retelling the story was taking its toll.
“So you called the police?”
“Immediately. That was them just leaving when you arrived.”
“What did they say?”
“They were very concerned. Although I think they were a bit relieved that the man hadn’t tried to get Thomas into the car. When Thomas told them about the flowers, stupidly they seemed to relax. One of the fucking idiots even smiled and tried to make a joke of it. Can you imagine?”
“Shouldn’t you have kept Thomas at home today?”
Ingrid looked exhausted. Her face was drawn. “Why just today? Tomorrow too? The whole week? I called my mother and she came straight round. We talked it through with the policemen and agreed it was best if he tried to carry on as normal. My mother insisted on going with him. I wanted to, but he would be as safe with my mother as with me.”
“Did Thomas get the car number?”
She looked at him. “Harry, he’s just a kid. He’d had the wits scared out of him.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” And he recalled his own failure to get a number plate earlier that morning. He hadn’t been so sharp, and he was supposed to be trained and observant.
The last thing he felt like doing right then, was telling Ingrid about the attempt to kill him and about Hafner’s offer. However, it was all tying up. He felt it in his blood. So he told her everything.
She listened from her end of the sofa, her face pale. “Can I see the ring?”
He took it from his pocket and held it out for inspection. “Alexander the Great,” he said.
“What would the value of something like this be?”
“Hard to say what a collector would pay, but I’d guess up to ten thousand dollars.”
“So not a fortune but not bad either.”
“Correct. What’s more interesting is what it says about the stowaway. A man who owned a ring like this shouldn’t have needed to stow away by crawling into the undercarriage of a jet,” Harry said. “He would surely have had the money to buy a ticket and have a seat. So who was he, and why did he have to travel like that? And on that particular aircraft, which I’d guess he recognised.”
“Recognised because it was unmarked, and you don’t believe he chose it by chance? God I need a brandy,” Ingrid said, “I’m trying to take it all in along with Thomas’ red car this morning and the red fucking carnations.”
She got up and went into the kitchen. When she came back she carried a tray with a bottle and two glasses on it. She poured and handed one to Harry.
“So,” she started. “What do we do? You say Ernst is crooked and the police I’ve just seen didn’t take it seriously. The two jokers who came here this morning were useless. They looked upon the whole thing as a big joke in the end. Some stalker infatuated with me, giving my son flowers to pass on to me.” She glared at him. “I didn’t find it funny. Who knows what he could have done to Thomas? If the police aren’t going to take it seriously, I bloody well am.”
Harry agreed. “It’s linked,” he said. “The thing is, at the moment I can’t prove any of it.”
“The car registration documents and ferry ticket?”
“Hafner’s not that stupid. There wou
ld be an explanation.”
“You said there was more in the car?”
“A package of hundred dollar bills.”
“How many?”
“Do you want to help me count them?”
“You haven’t done so yet?”
“I didn’t have time. I came straight here when your friend told me about the police and you.”
He went out to the car and got the package. Back on the sofa he laid it on the table which Ingrid cleared of everything else. They both looked at it.
“Well, open it,” she said.
Harry removed the string and opened the paper. Bundles of notes tumbled out. Ingrid picked one up and leafed through it. It was a strap of hundred dollar bills.
“How many are there?”
Harry did a quick count. “A hundred grand. US dollars.”
“Jesus,” Ingrid said quietly. “In cash.”
The tumbled pile sat on the table like an unexploded bomb.
“Okay,” she said, her voice under tight control. “At first I thought you were a bit mad. I put it down to your history. Assumed you saw crises and conspiracies everywhere.”
“And now?”
“What do we do, Harry?”
Harry tore his eyes away from the pile of cash. “Ernst said the stowaway’s body had either been cremated or was going to be very soon. I want to have a look at it before they destroy it and all the evidence along with it.”
“You want to what?”
“I want to see the body. Ernst told me where it is. So it’s a simple matter of getting into the mortuary of the hospital in Soest.”
“But it will be horrible.”
“It might tell us something about who he was and where he came from. Which might tell us what is going on.”
She was silent. She waved a hand at the pile of dollar bills covering her coffee table. “Shouldn’t we just call the police and—?”
“And what? It was a Chief Inspector who gave them to me. Who’s to say how many more are involved? After the shooting I dialled 110. Hafner appeared. Like an ugly great genie. Ingrid, we have no idea who else is involved or how far this spreads.”
“Whatever this is.”
“Exactly. I just feel, before they burn the body I need to have a look at it,” he added. “I’m no forensic scientist, but I might get something from it. I want to go to the mortuary.”
