by Lars Schutz
Timo had suggested that Gero had an accomplice. What if Stefan hadn’t merely been Gero’s friend – what if they’d been in it together? And if Stefan was capable of abusing children, what else was he capable of?
He thought of Katharina and shy little Maik. They’d already been through so much, and now they were in terrible danger. His stomach twisted. He had to warn them before it was too late.
And Tamara. Tamara and Tugba. Everything was connected. A web of madness and guilt. Tyres screeching, the Mercedes pulled up outside the old barn opposite his family home. The building, which had been a ruin even when Jan was a child, had always held a grim fasciation for him.
Among the boys it had been a test of courage to creep inside. The locals had told countless horror stories about the place.
Today one of them seemed to be coming true.
Jan remembered meeting Stefan out here.
How could he have been so blind?
72
The padlock opened with a click. Tugba took the metal clip out of the keyhole. She had to restrain herself from simply letting it fall. For countless hours she’d worked on the lock with the clip, which was now completely bent. She’d lost faith ages ago. Now she resisted the impulse to simply tear the wooden door open and leave her prison. She hadn’t seen her tormentor for a while, but he could appear at any moment.
By now pain had overwhelmed all other sensation. Her whole back was on fire. The scraped tattoo must have become infected again. Whenever she touched the wound, her fingers came away sticky with pus and blood. A rattling, convulsive cough had settled in her lungs. Must be the bitter cold. When it gripped her, she spent minutes hunched and wheezing. A constant throbbing in her skull drowned out nearly all clear thoughts. Her knees were bloody from being perpetually huddled on the floor.
As gingerly as her trembling fingers allowed, she slid the bolt of the lock out of the rusty body. She pushed the door open. The hinges creaked almost inaudibly.
She listened, holding her breath. All she heard was the blood thudding swiftly through her veins.
She put one bare foot outside the cage, leaving the six square metres of blood and despair.
The basement was murkily dark. Only a few streaks of light fell through the chinks in the trapdoor. She edged forwards, moving agonisingly slowly. Her outstretched hands knocked against a table. Fumbling across the surface, her hands found a leather-bound book. A bottle of ink. A handle. She grabbed it. A knife!
She’d never injured another person. Never been in a fight. But if she bumped into her tormentor, she would strike. Without hesitation. Use the last of her strength for one final, desperate attempt.
Holding the jagged knife tightly by its leather handle, she climbed the ladder. She had to get out. Find help, it didn’t matter where. Hopefully the place he’d kept her wasn’t too remote.
She pushed the trapdoor open a crack. The floor above the basement seemed to be a kind of workshop. Stacks of crates and pallets against the walls, full of spare parts and tools. Directly in front of her were rusty barrels. Hooks hung on long chains from the ceiling. Behind one workbench she thought she could see a motorbike or a scooter. The smell of oil and metal, faint in the basement, hung thickly in the air.
She could see no one. Apart from the howling wind that streamed around the building, all was silent. The windows were too dirty to see outside.
She blinked several times, until her eyes were completely accustomed to the brightness, then she pushed the trapdoor open and took the last few steps into the workshop.
There was no hint here as to what was going on in the basement. On the wall hung a plain calendar beside posters of topless women posing next to cars and motorbikes. In one corner stood an old pinball machine. No signs of a struggle. No sign of the other woman.
Finally, her gaze fell on the wooden door of the workshop, the white paint peeling off in long strips. It was ajar.
The icy pressure around her chest relaxed. For an instant the pain faded.
A way out.
She walked towards the door.
But her footsteps weren’t the only ones. Behind her. He was behind her. He must have been there the whole time.
She wheeled around, jabbing with the knife. Missing. Effortlessly he dodged the blade.
Tugba felt something cold around her neck. She kept lunging with the knife, but at that moment the thing tightened.
A chain!
He wrenched at it mercilessly. The links began to squeeze her throat. The knife slipped from her fingers and landed with a clatter on the concrete floor. Her legs thrashed. She tried frantically to get her fingers between the chain and her neck, her screams choked. Everything went blurry.
Her arms dropped. Her lungs constricted. At last her legs gave way. As the blackness descended, all she could feel was the burning ‘G’ on her back.
73
‘Try again!’
Ichigawa rolled her eyes. ‘This is the fourth time. Jan’s not picking up.’
Stüter kicked over one of the office chairs. The one time he actually needed that profiler weirdo, and he’d switched off his phone.
‘I spoke to him earlier. He was going to Wolfstein. Maybe he doesn’t have any reception up there.’
‘Or he’s going to his family home and walking straight into the killer’s arms.’ He leant against Ichigawa’s desk and lowered his gaze. ‘Like Rabea. Like Daniel.’
It had been Miriam, of all people, that goth girl Grall had found God-knows-where, who had discovered the crucial information by sheer chance.
‘Right, I want everybody’s attention!’ Stüter took a deep breath and peered around the room. It was up to him to brief the team for its upcoming mission. They had no time to lose.
‘Frau Wyler was interested in Ekiz’s commitment to social causes,’ he began, holding up the teacher’s CV. ‘She came across a list of people who applied to the literacy course Frau Ekiz was running. On it is Maik Grall – Jan Grall’s nephew.’
A tapestry of whispers rippled through the team. Stüter rolled his eyes and rubbed his upper arms. Finally, Ichigawa called them to order with a rap on the desk.
Nodding gratefully, Stüter continued. ‘All this time we’ve been assuming the killer is deeply embedded in the world of books and letters. Somebody who maybe worked in the literary or media industry.’ Stüter lowered his gaze, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. ‘We neglected one possibility entirely: what if it was someone who had nothing whatsoever to do with that? Somebody excluded from that world – who had developed an intense hatred for it.’
Ichigawa cleared her throat. ‘May I take over for a moment?’
She tapped the files underneath her arm. ‘We’ve assembled as much information as we could about Maik Grall. After his father’s accident, he became increasingly withdrawn. He started having such serious problems in school that he’s functionally illiterate.’
‘And he still managed to get a licence for that scooter? How did he pass the theory test?’ asked one of the officers, who was flipping through the documents.
‘You can apply to do it orally,’ replied Ichigawa. ‘Maik Grall has trouble forming and reading words, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid.’
Even now, the murmuring hadn’t died down. The words ‘Jan’ and ‘Grall’ kept reaching Stüter’s ears. He raised his hand.
‘Before this goes any further, we’ve got to address the elephant in the room,’ he sighed. ‘Strictly speaking Grall should no longer be a member of this team, partly because of the conflict of interest but also for his own safety. As it happens, however, he’s currently the person most familiar with the circumstances and people in question. So, he stays.’ His eyes swept across their ranks.
Ichigawa picked up the thread. ‘Maik Grall had more than one connection to Tugba Ekiz. He also helped out at the wildlife park. Opportunity enough to get the animals used to him and practise killing them. It also explains how he was able to dump the body of our first victim
in the bison enclosure. On top of that, his father had an extensive collection of hunting weapons. This was enough to get a search warrant.’ Ichigawa folded her hands behind her back. ‘There’s also imminent danger, so SWAT are already on their way. It’s time we prepared ourselves to go in.’
When she was finished, she went over to Stüter. ‘We’ve tried Jan several times now. Either his mobile’s switched off, or—’
Stüter grunted.
The protective layer of professionalism that surrounded Ichigawa crumbled for the first time. ‘Do you think something’s happened to him?’
‘No, I don’t want to believe that,’ he replied. ‘The place he was last known to be is Grosse Wolfstein. Let’s hope he didn’t drive straight to see his family and that he didn’t bump into his nephew. If only we could warn him somehow.’
74
The clouds stretched above the house like the roof of a leaden sarcophagus. Only the muted thunderclaps from the storm some kilometres away broke the silence.
Jan climbed the steps to the front door. If he was right, then Stefan had intended to be caught. The killer hadn’t left the pieces of sycamore bark by accident.
He knew he’d never finish his alphabet.
He wanted a confrontation. A clash. A grand finale.
Jan had no gun. He could only hope he’d be able to catch Stefan off guard before it was too late. Just so long as Maik and Kathi were safe. On Jan’s last visit, the patio door had not been locked. It was his only chance.
Keeping close to the wall, he crept around the house and peered through the window in the door into the living room.
Kathi was sitting alone at the dining table with a cup of tea, staring in concentration at her tablet. Relief imploded in Jan’s chest. He knocked cautiously against the glass.
She jumped and looked up.
A noiseless, ‘Jan?’ She walked over and pushed open the door. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you ring the bell?’
He grabbed her arms and whispered, ‘Where’s Stefan?’
‘Upstairs, I think. What’s wrong?’
‘I’ll explain everything, okay? My colleagues will be here soon too.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘You’ve got to trust me. Stay down here and stay calm. Is that okay?’
Her lips trembled and her eyes had a glassy sheen. ‘Wha – what’s wrong?’
‘Like I said, I’ll explain everything. Where’s Maik?’
‘In the barn. Tinkering around with a scooter.’
‘Okay, he can stay there for now. That’s fine.’
Slowly he let her go, then took two steps back and held out his hands reassuringly. He still had the element of surprise. Just so long as she didn’t call out to Stefan.
‘Everything’s fine. I just need to talk to Stefan.’
He kept walking backwards through the living room, only turning when he reached the corridor. Taking three steps at once, he climbed the staircase. There was no going back.
He stormed down the hall towards the study, the place his brother had already filled with his darkness.
The door was ajar.
Jan’s last fight was so long ago that he could only hazily remember it. Some kind of set-to in a Bochum bar. He was no fighter. Stefan was a broad, powerfully built guy. If he wanted any chance at all, he’d have to be quick.
Jan barged open the door shoulder blade first. The impact of his own movement nearly swept him off his feet.
Stefan Schomar leapt out of his leather chair. Before he could make any more coordinated movement, Jan lunged. With a force he’d never have believed he was capable of, he slammed the Alphabet Killer against the wall.
Stefan’s head left a blood-red mark on the white woodchip paper.
‘Jesus, Jan!’ he groaned. ‘What the hell was that for?’
‘Don’t give me that!’ He planted himself in front of Schomar. ‘Just tell me why you did it.’
‘Wha – what am I supposed to have done?’
Jan pressed him against the wall. ‘You killed all those people. You left sycamore bark at the crime scenes. It was always about me, wasn’t it? Always about Gero. Then why the alphabet, Stefan? Why?’
‘Are you completely nuts?’ yelled Stefan, his eyes wide and his rosy face contorted. ‘What would I want with you? And what bark?’
Jan was beginning to doubt himself – but that was probably exactly what Stefan wanted.
‘And what about the shotgun? With all the equipment? Why didn’t you bring back the gun from the search?’
Something in Stefan’s eyes crumpled. His breathing slowed. ‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Of course not,’ said Jan acidly.
Stefan sighed and gestured to the right. ‘It’s to do with him.’
Above a bookcase hung a picture of Ernest Hemingway. On the shelves were several of the author’s novels. Evidently Stefan was a big fan. The first connection that came to Jan’s mind between Hemingway and guns was his death.
‘Dying standing up,’ he murmured.
‘Yeah, that’s how he did it. Put the barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger.’ Stefan bit his lip, suppressing tears. ‘You can never tell Kathi.’
‘Don’t worry—’
‘You’re right. I wasn’t at the search. I was in the forest. Alone. Just me and the gun. I wanted to do it the same way as him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there aren’t many days now when I feel anything at all. I’m not living; I haven’t lived for a long time. And I know what it would do to Kathi and Emilia. But I can’t any more, I can’t live – but then, as I was standing there in the snow, I couldn’t do it.’
Depression guessed Jan. Probably untreated. It explained Stefan’s inconsistent behaviour – and ruled him out as the killer.
‘I’m sorry, I really am so sorry.’ Jan reached out his hand and helped him up. ‘I know a colleague I can recommend – wait, you didn’t have anything to do with the films my brother made, did you?’
‘What films?’
Jan believed him. Stefan had been simply a friend of his brother’s, not his accomplice. And certainly not the Alphabet Killer.
But if it wasn’t him, then who was it?
His eyes wandered around the study, past the Hemingway portrait and a map of Westerwald to an educational poster of the alphabet.
‘Is that for Emilia?’
Stefan shook his head.
It was at that moment that Jan heard the sirens.
75
‘Test me!’
The chain slackened a fraction. Tugba drew a rasping breath into her lungs. Everything was spinning. She blinked. What did he want from her?
He tugged her back. She choked, her bare feet scrabbling over glass shards and metal splinters.
‘The alphabet! The letters! Test me.’
Test him? How was she supposed to do that?
On one of the workbenches she could see a rusty spanner about the length of her arm. If only she could take a step towards it . . .
A pointed blow. A single pointed blow.
‘The—’ she coughed, ‘the first letter?’
‘A!’
‘A like—?’ she rasped.
‘Ape.’
‘Go on, go on!’
‘B, C, D, E, F, G!’
He recited the letters fervently. A prayer. A creed. His rattling, sometimes too high voice echoed through the workshop.
The alphabet had distracted him. She only needed a few centimetres. No more. Tugba braced herself against his grip, balancing on her tiptoes.
‘H, I, J, K, L, M!’
She managed a few tiny steps forwards; he was so engrossed in the alphabet that he let himself be led. Now. It was her only chance. He wouldn’t give her another one.
She stretched out her arm as far as she could. Her shoulder ached, the muscles stretched to the edge of what was bearable. The tips of her fingers brushed the end of the spanner.
It wasn’t enough. Fuck, it wasn’t enough.
>
‘N, O, P—’
He paused. Had he noticed?
She threw her whole weight towards the workbench, but instantly he jerked her back and swore incomprehensibly.
But it wasn’t she who had drawn his attention. He froze. It was like he’d heard something. He breathed shallowly.
Tugba tried to ignore her pounding heart and listen. Engines – there had to be several vehicles. Tyres crunching through snow. Followed by the slamming of car doors.
Somebody was coming. For her?
‘Heeel—’ Before the word was fully out of her mouth, he clamped his hand over her lips, gripping her jaw with his sweaty, oil-smeared hand and jerking her towards the back of the workshop with the chain.
‘ “G”. Now it’s time for “G”.’
76
The SWAT team came storming out of three vans, every movement perfectly orchestrated. HK-MP5 machine guns at the ready and reinforced Plexiglas shields braced, they swarmed outside. Masked intruders in the place Jan had once called home.
‘Jan! Explain to me what the hell’s going on here!’ Kathi’s voice sounded like the howl of a mother wolf desperately defending her young.
She followed him out of the house and grabbed his shoulder. Stefan remained in the corridor, his arms around Emilia.
Jan wheeled around. ‘Kathi, please stay indoors. It’s not safe for you here!’
‘Not safe?’ She slapped him. Pain prickled on his skin as though she’d seared him with a branding iron. ‘Did you see what you did to Stefan? And now – now you want Maik!’
He reached for her wrists. The situation was overwhelming him. It was too much. Just too much.
‘Let! Me! Go!’ spat Kathi, her usually friendly, round face twisted into a grimace. ‘I want to see my son!’
Before their tussle could escalate, two more vehicles appeared in the yard – a police car and Anita’s Audi.
Both officers from the police car dashed up the steps and held Kathi back.
