The Alphabet Murders

by Lars Schutz

  A lanky young man in jeans and a leather jacket emerged. Early twenties, give or take. He was pushing an acid-green moped, and his beanie was drawn down low over his forehead.

  ‘Morning!’ He raised a palm from the handlebars and waved. ‘Do we know each other from somewhere?’

  Jan needed only a brief glance at his face to realise they definitely knew each other. With those high cheek bones and dark eyes, he looked like a younger copy of his brother Gero.

  It was Maik. His nephew. The last time he’d seen him, he’d been hip-height and still playing with building blocks.

  ‘I think we know each other better than you imagine.’ Jan walked across, his hand outstretched. ‘I’m your uncle.’

  Maik shook hands. A weak pressure that spoke of uncertainty and didn’t suit his strong build.

  ‘I only have vague memories of you.’ A reticent smile crept across Maik’s face. ‘But I’ve certainly heard a lot about you.’

  For a moment that felt like an eternity, they merely looked at each other in embarrassment. Jan’s eyes fell on the moped.

  ‘I had one like that. In matt black. The small petrol tank always got on my nerves, though. How far can you get on that?’

  ‘A full tank is enough for a ride to Burger King and back.’

  Jan grinned. Out here, young people measured distances not in miles but in the distance to the next pillar of civilisation.

  ‘Is that still in Hachenburg?’

  Maik nodded, smiling.

  Something about the young man irritated him. How much he resembled Gero. Jan felt like he was having a conversation with the past.

  ‘I was just about to drive to Marienberg,’ said Maik, trying to hide his local accent. ‘Pick up a few spare parts.’

  ‘Oh, is something wrong with it?’

  ‘No, no. I just like tinkering with mopeds. I’ve set up a little workshop in the barn. Do repairs for friends sometimes.’

  ‘Fair enough, then I won’t keep you.’

  Maik swung onto the bike and pulled on his racing-striped helmet. Only his blue eyes – exactly like Gero’s – were visible. They were fixed again on Jan.

  ‘I saw you. On the TV,’ said his nephew. ‘You’re here because of the murders.’

  Jan nodded.

  ‘I hope you collar the bastard. We knew Herr Lünner, the reporter. He interviewed my little sister once about her school.’

  With these words he flicked down his visor and the engine growled into life. Stepping on the accelerator, Maik jolted off towards the street.

  Jan stared after him, blinking.

  He had a little sister?

  25

  Gero’s wife Katharina greeted him formally, but it wasn’t anything like as bad as he’d imagined it might be.

  ‘When I heard you were helping out with the investigation, I thought you might show up here,’ she said, guiding him down the corridor.

  The years had left her somewhat broader, but the extra pounds suited her.

  Weight and hair colour might change, wrinkles might appear and skin fade, but some features always remained the same. For Kathi Grall it was her full mouth, her large, dark eyes and her black mane of hair, which made her look Spanish. Jan could certainly see why his brother had fallen for her back then.

  ‘You’ve got thin,’ she said. ‘You look almost emaciated.’

  ‘I’m vegan. And I’ve never eaten that much.’

  ‘Vegan—’ she repeated. In her mouth it sounded like he was part of some cult. ‘Er, would you mind taking off your shoes?’

  ‘Over the years I’ve seen my fair share of what people are capable of doing to each other. Believe me, at some point you stop wanting anything more to do with blood, death or captivity.’

  He removed his trainers and put them beside the other shoes in the hall. Among them he saw a pair of men’s shoes that clearly didn’t belong to Maik.

  ‘You remarried?’

  ‘I have a boyfriend.’ She showed him her hand, on which she still wore the ring Gero had given her on their wedding day. ‘I swore I’d never marry again after him. And I’ve kept that promise.’

  ‘It wasn’t an accusation—’

  ‘Fine.’ She waved a dismissive hand as she led him into the open-plan kitchen. ‘You can meet Stefan – he’ll be here any minute. He always drops in on his lunch break. He’s rather late now, actually. I thought it was him when you rang the bell. He can be so forgetful sometimes.’ She laughed a fraction too hysterically. ‘Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?’

  ‘Coffee, please. Black,’ said Jan absently. He was absorbing the atmosphere. Although the kitchen barely resembled his childhood memories, he felt like he’d come home. The family photos on the walls, the obligatory plate of homemade Christmas cookies on the table, the kitschy décor.

  Not a single photo of himself or Gero, he noticed. His eyes rested on a family portrait taken in a studio before a white-and-grey background. Kathi and a small, chubby-cheeked girl were beaming broadly, as though the photographer had just cracked a joke. Maik, who wore a black slouchy jumper, reminding Jan of his own fashion rebellion, was only half-smiling.

  ‘Emilia, that’s our daughter’s name. Four years old. A clever little thing.’ Kathi threw a capsule into the coffee machine and pressed a button. The black brew flowed with a gurgle into the cup.

  Jan directed his attention to the fourth person in the photograph. Kathi’s new life partner. The hulking man was twice as wide as she was. His dark suit made it impossible to tell whether his size was due to fat or muscle mass. His shoulder-length hair was tied back neatly into a ponytail, his beard trimmed. There was not the trace of a smile to be seen on his lips.

  Jan squinted. He was overcome with a feeling of déjà-vu. He pictured the man without his beard and ponytail, and at least twenty kilograms lighter.

  Stefan. A common name. Could it be him?

  ‘Is your boyfriend the Stefan? Schomar’s Stefan?’

  ‘That’s the one!’ said Kathi, pottering around the kitchen. ‘I didn’t know you remembered him.’

  ‘Of course, he was one of my brother’s best friends. They got their hunting licences together,’ said Jan, settling down on the corner bench. He added under his breath, ‘I remember a lot. Too much.’

  She put the cup of coffee in front of him on the table, then sat down herself. ‘Life goes on. Stefan was there for me, right from the beginning. Comfort, support, everything. And at some point, we decided to build something together. He’s a divisional manager at WW Insurance in Bad Marienberg. Very considerate. Kind.’ She sighed. ‘But where there’s light, there’s always shadow.’

  Jan leant forwards. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maik. He was six when Gero died. Just after he started school. It wasn’t good for him. He’s always had problems at school. Like you. The first one in the family to go to university, even though you struggled with concentration when you first went to school, and you nearly had to repeat a year.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘It gave me hope.’

  For a moment Jan shut his eyes. He’d never been able to concentrate on anything or anybody at school. Life and all its stimuli had rained down on him mercilessly. Back then he’d not known how to spread a protective shield across his mind.

  ‘I met Maik outside. He seemed quite bright.’

  ‘He is,’ she said with a surge of pride. ‘There’s no one quicker at working with his hands. He’s always had these little odd jobs. But nothing permanent’s ever come out of it.’

  He slumped inwardly. Guilt crept like a worm into Jan’s guts, eating at his chest, deep into his heart. ‘It didn’t have to be like that.’

  Kathi shook her head. ‘You know what I think? You’re the only one of us who hasn’t escaped the past. For whom life didn’t go on.’ She threw out her arms. ‘Look at you! Gaunt, harassed, constantly dealing with murder and death. You’ve tortured yourself with guilt since Gero’s death – and it only exists in your head!’

  ‘But
you weren’t there!’ thundered Jan, leaping to his feet. He bumped into the table and the cup tipped over, its contents pouring across the surface. ‘You didn’t see it. Experience it. You – you——’

  She hadn’t known what he’d known. And she could never find out.

  Kathi stared at him, her eyes wide.

  ‘I should go.’ His fingers trembling, he righted the coffee cup before hurrying out of the kitchen.

  She called after him, ‘You’ll never be at peace with yourself this way!’

  His trainers jammed under his arm, he flung open the front door. As he did so, his head almost collided with Stefan’s chest.

  ‘Jan? I don’t believe it!’ roared the bear of a man, whose build was even more colossal in reality.

  ‘I was just on my way out.’ He made to push past Stefan, but the man blocked his path.

  ‘Hang on, let me look at you! How long has it been? Oh man, you could do with a little meat on your bones.’

  Stefan’s effusiveness completely overwhelmed him. The giant was watching him intently, and Jan took the opportunity to study him as well. Stefan looked significantly more tired than in the family portrait, with bags under his eyes almost bigger than the swollen eyes themselves and skin that was sickly pale.

  ‘You really won’t stay? Kathi has a lentil stew left over from yesterday, with sausage. A dream.’

  ‘No, I’m really sorry. I’ve got a meeting to go to. I’m vegan, anyway. I don’t eat any animal—’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jan! You don’t need to explain to me what a vegan is. This isn’t a total backwater.’ Stefan stretched out his arms, knocking into the doorframe with his briefcase. ‘How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘I can’t talk about that, I’m afraid. I hope you understand.’

  ‘Of course, but I’m allowed to be curious.’

  They edged past each other. Now Stefan was standing in the house and Jan, still in his socks, was on the ice-cold path. Now Jan saw Stefan smile for the first time, he realised why he hadn’t done so in the family photograph: it looked horribly forced. Unnatural. Like a studied performance.

  Exactly like everything else about Stefan. The effusiveness was nothing but a mask for the tension behind it. Jan fixed his gaze on Stefan’s watery eyes. What was he hiding? ‘So, why don’t you come over for a beer or something one day?’ Stefan shrugged. ‘For old times’ sake. I’m just looking through Gero’s old things. Maybe you’d like to take a peek too.’

  This time the mere mention of Gero’s name hit Jan like the crack of a whip. He winced.

  ‘Sure, I’ll drop by some other time!’ He waved at Stefan and Kathi, who had come into the hallway, then turned to leave.

  He walked to his car in his soaking wet socks. His heart was pounding against his ribs.

  ‘You’ll never be at peace with yourself this way!’ Kathi’s words shot through his mind.

  How could he ever be at peace with himself? He’d killed his brother.

  26

  ‘Nihal Ekiz, correct?’ Rabea sat down opposite the woman at the plastic table. ‘My name is Rabea Wyler, behavioural investigative advisor with the Rheinland-Pfalz State Office of Criminal Investigations. You’re Tugba’s sister?’

  The little woman nodded, her gaze fixed on her lap. Her hands were tucked between her thighs.

  ‘I still don’t understand why your colleagues in Montabaur sent me to you.’ Frau Ekiz’s deep smoker’s voice was at odds with her fragile frame. ‘You’re on the big investigation team, aren’t you?’

  ‘Listen—’

  Ekiz looked up. Tears shimmered in her eyes. ‘Do you think something’s happened to my sister?’

  Rabea held up her hands reassuringly. ‘This is just routine. At the moment we’re checking all missing persons reports in the area. Everything else is just speculation.’

  That wasn’t quite the truth, but Rabea needed Nihal Ekiz focused, not hysterical. The young Turkish woman’s hands were no longer in her lap; now she was fiddling with the small gold ring in her nose.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m sitting here. I don’t want to believe it.’

  ‘That’s what everybody thinks when they find themselves in this situation.’ Rabea knew what she was talking about. She thought of her entry in ViCLAS. Of a blood-flecked raincoat, the final sign of life. Of waiting, afraid, which turned at last into the numbness of certainty. ‘I promise you, we’ll do everything in our power to find your sister. But you’ll have to tell us absolutely everything you know. Everything.’

  Ekiz brushed her dyed-blonde fringe back from her forehead and sipped at her plastic cup of water. ‘I understand. Where should I begin?’

  Before Rabea could answer, the door of the improvised interview room – which was actually nothing but an old office – opened. Anita Ichigawa bustled in, introduced herself briefly to Ekiz, then lowered her mouth to Rabea’s ear: ‘Do you have any idea where Jan’s got to?’

  ‘He didn’t want to tell me. And he should have been here half an hour ago.’

  ‘Strange. Can you text him again?’

  Rabea nodded. Anita’s gaze wandered to Ekiz. ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’

  It wasn’t like Jan to be late. Was it time to start worrying? Why had he been acting so mysteriously?

  where are you? I could use you at Ekiz’s sister’s interview, she texted him.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said to Nihal Ekiz, leaning forwards onto the table. ‘It’s best to begin with the last time you saw your sister.’

  ‘That was two weeks ago. I’m a hairdresser in Koblenz, and I live nearby. She’s in Montabaur. We try to meet up every other Sunday. Grab brunch, bake together or something.’ She swallowed drily. ‘But in the meantime, we’re always texting on WhatsApp and stuff, of course. I got the last message from her on Friday evening. At first, I thought nothing of it. We’d already agreed to meet up on Sunday.’

  Rabea nodded. Absolutely understandable.

  ‘But when I went to the bar on Sunday evening, Tugba never showed up.’ Ekiz picked at her pastel-coloured acrylic nails. ‘I called loads of times. No response. Then I drove to her apartment and rang the bell, but nothing.’

  ‘You arrived at the police station in Montabaur at four in the morning. What were you doing until then?’

  ‘Well, obviously I didn’t instantly assume the worst, although I did have a bad feeling. I called everybody on her list of friends, I called my family. It just isn’t like Tugba to pull a vanishing act like this.’

  ‘At some point you decided you had no option but to go to the police.’

  ‘Yeah. And now I’m sitting here.’

  Rabea was taking notes on her iPad, although the pauses in the conversation were more important to her than what she was writing down. She needed time to organise her thoughts. Worst case scenario, Tugba Ekiz had been in the hands of the Alphabet Killer since Friday. Her chances of survival depended on what letter he’d allocated her, assuming he was keeping her prisoner like Zanetti.

  ‘Did your sister ever mention being afraid of anybody over the past couple of weeks? Anybody stalking her?’

  ‘No, not a word. I mean, she’s a teacher through and through. Her colleagues and her parents love her. Absolute sunshine.’

  ‘Did she have a boyfriend? Anybody she was seeing?’

  Nihal Ekiz hid her trembling hands under the table once more. ‘If so, she never mentioned it to me. I don’t know if she would have had time, given how dedicated she was to her job.’

  Rabea ran through her list of remaining questions with the hairdresser, but nothing salient cropped up.

  They’d have to search Tugba’s apartment, maybe even visit her place of work. The killer must have left clues somewhere.

  ‘You’ll let me know as soon as you know anything?’ asked Nihal Ekiz as Rabea walked her down the corridor.

  ‘Of course, we—’ She broke off when she saw Jan. He was crouching on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. His face was the colour of
the chalk-white wall. His shirt was hanging half out of his trousers. His whole body looked as though gravity were dragging him earthwards with greater force than normal.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Köllner, who had just come to escort Ekiz outside, stood there open-mouthed.

  ‘Family stuff,’ whispered Jan feebly. He pulled himself upright, holding onto a cupboard. His legs wobbled. ‘Are you finished already, Rabea? Shall I help you with the interview?’

  In half a second Rabea was beside him, taking hold of his arm. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘I’m all right, trust me,’ he replied, but meekly allowed her to support him while she sent Köllner away with Ekiz.

  Everything about him was screaming for help.

  ‘Okay, first I’m taking you somewhere you can rest,’ she said, dragging him into the car park outside the station. ‘Then you’re going to tell me quietly and calmly why coming home has knocked all the stuffing out of you.’

  27

  Café Wäller was the beating heart of Bismarckstrasse in Marienberg. People flocked to the round, glass-windowed space in order to see and be seen. On top of that, they had delicious cakes and coffee.

  Rabea closed her lips around the first forkful of chocolate torte, shutting her eyes for a moment. The more stressful the situation, the more she needed sugary treats. The torte tasted divine. A catastrophe for her figure, but a culinary first-aid kit for her nerves.

  As usual, Jan limited himself to an espresso, which he drank in tiny sips. He still looked dishevelled. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt rumpled.

  ‘I’m supposed to unburden my soul now, I guess,’ he whispered to his espresso cup.

  ‘Don’t put it so dramatically.’

  It was early afternoon, and the first pensioners were drifting in for their ritual coffees. Servers and patrons knew each other by name here, and if somebody didn’t show up then their neighbours would be asked whether everything was all right. Rabea had grown up in the Swiss countryside – she knew the social wickerwork of a place like Bad Marienberg all too well.