Deep Pain

by Marcus Hünnebeck

  Spannberg opened the app and called up the three different live feeds. Everything was fine. She switched to the recording from half an hour earlier. Habitually, she set the playback to four times the normal speed. At first, everything seemed normal. But then something caught her eye, and she had to switch back to normal speed.

  The neighbor from the first floor, Bäcker. He had entered her apartment. Her living room. Her bedroom. Digging around in her things as he went. Holding her panties up to his nose. Spannberg trembled uncontrollably. This seemed like another violation to her. He examined her bras before he left the room. Thanks to the camera in the hallway, she saw him go into the bathroom, where he spent an amazing amount of time. Only after three minutes did he return with a satisfied smile on his face.

  Cold crept into her body. She began to run in place to warm up a little.

  Not this time, she thought. You will pay for this.

  On the way back to her place, she wondered how Bäcker had gotten into the apartment. At home, she planned to check the video on a larger screen. Did he have a key that she didn’t know about? In the end, that was only a small problem. More urgent was her desire to punish him. As soon as her time in Leipzig came to an end, he would pay dearly for having violated her privacy and the sanctity of her home.

  February

  1

  “The exit at Leipzig Central Station is on the right in the direction of travel,” the computer voice informed the train passengers.

  Till Buchinger reached for his travel bag and lifted it out of the ICE’s luggage rack. In the last few weeks, he had discovered traces of Spannberg that pointed to the large Saxon city, Leipzig. However, he had no tangible evidence, which was why he hadn’t spoken to Krumm since visiting the chief inspector at his office. Till joined the queue of passengers disembarking in Leipzig.

  In recent years, two assignments had led him here. He was looking forward to seeing the impressive station again. In his eyes, it was one of the most beautiful central stations that Germany had to offer. As usual, he checked out his fellow travelers, who were engrossed in conversation. He recognized some as Saxons by their accent, whereas others seemed to be tourists.

  For a woman like Franka Spannberg, Leipzig would be an ideal haven. In 2019, the city had exceeded a population of six hundred thousand, which made it much easier to remain anonymous. In addition, there was not yet a shortage of living space.

  Till wanted to do research on-site. He could not rule out the possibility that he was wrong about Spannberg settling here. And even if Till was right, maybe he still wouldn’t track her down because she had already fled. Still, he had found a starting point. Johnathan would have been proud.

  The ICE stopped, and seconds later the doors hissed open. Till got out, took a few steps onto the platform, and enjoyed the ambience for a while. The high hall of the terminus station, in combination with the low number of passengers, created a relaxed atmosphere. In contrast to Leipzig Central, other large city train stations, like the one in Hamburg, were as chaotic as a dovecote.

  Till had booked—initially for one week—an apartment with three rooms, situated in the Gohlis district of the city. He loved ample space, so he rarely stayed in hotels. Till also had reserved a rental car. He would need it to reach Gohlis and to move freely about the city.

  At the station’s car rental office, three employees served their customers. Till lined up at the middle counter. When the customer to his right turned away with her car keys and parking garage card in hand, the man behind the counter offered Till a tight smile.

  “Welcome. What can I do for you?”

  “Buchinger. I have a reservation.”

  The employee typed in the name. “And I found you. I need your driver’s license.”

  Till put it on the counter. After a few seconds the man turned to a cupboard behind him, opened a drawer, and took out three keys.

  “You have selected the category ‘Golf or similar.’ I could offer you a Golf, an Astra, or a C4. Since you’re participating in our loyalty program, I also have favorable upgrade offers.”

  “The Golf class is enough. What colors are the cars?”

  The employee frowned. “Uh, hold on.” He reached for the keys and entered the license plates into his PC. “The Golf is black, the Astra is gray, and the—”

  “Then I would like the Astra please. I like gray cars best.” Till smiled. His experience taught him that such vehicles stuck out the least in city traffic.

  ***

  Half an hour later Till entered the spacious apartment. At first sight, it looked just as advertised. He put his large travel bag in the bedroom and took out his laptop. In the living room he found a note providing the wireless password. Till started the computer and checked the quality of the network. After a short test of the connection speed, he shut down the laptop with satisfaction. The owner of the apartment had fast internet.

  In the bedroom he packed his clothes in the free compartments of the closet. In the last few weeks, after intensive research, he had succeeded in filtering out a name. The email address he had coaxed out of the cell phone provider had helped, but he suspected Frank Müller was a fake name that Spannberg had used solely to establish a burner phone. Till needed real names, and he thought he had found one. The person in question was probably a man from Leipzig who sublet his apartment, but Till wasn’t certain about this. Four other Leipzig residents with the same last name had bubbled up in his search. So he would go to every address and have a look around. Although Google’s Street View had already given him some clues, the internet could not replace an actual site visit.

  After stowing his things, Till picked up the phone and called Jessica. She was his life insurance for the next few days.

  “Have you arrived?” she asked.

  “Yep,” Till said. “Just got settled in, and I’m headed off to the first address.”

  “Please stick to the plan,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get back to you as soon as I leave.”

  “And be careful,” she said.

  Till ended the conversation. The agreement between them was unequivocal. He would call or text Jessica regularly. If he didn’t get back to her, she would alert Chief Inspector Krumm immediately, so that he could arrange everything else.

  ***

  For each of the addresses, Till had planned a one-hour stopover and added another quarter hour for travel time. After a ten-minute drive, he parked the rental car about five hundred meters from the first destination. He set the countdown on his cell phone to fifty-five minutes, then got out and looked around.

  In this part of the city, five-story apartment buildings lined up side by side. From his location he could see as far as the park. In front of the houses, many bicycles were chained to stands, some of them children’s models. Obviously a family-friendly area. A single woman would stand out here. But if she was in hiding with an accomplice, a neighborhood like this one would be ideal.

  Till slowly approached the determined address. On the way, he passed a bakery and a small health food store, but not a branch of the drugstore chain that Krumm had pointed out. The front door of the apartment building was closed. He pulled out his cell phone and photographed the name placards in the panel of doorbells. He would have preferred to look at the mailboxes inside, but they were behind a locked door.

  Since he had ample time, he continued to look around the neighborhood. Till checked the map on his cell phone. He found a larger supermarket, but no drugstore. He walked to the market. Usually supermarkets like this offered a pinboard where customers could advertise things for sale and places for rent, but Till couldn’t find one of the boards here, neither in the entrance, nor in the checkout area.

  Thoughtfully, he left the supermarket. His initial feeling that Spannberg had not landed in this neighborhood intensified. He strolled back to the apartments and passed the front door again. Still locked. He was a little annoyed that the mailboxes were ha
nging in the hallway. Inspecting foreign mail was often very helpful in his job. For the time being, though, he did not want to ring the doorbell of a neighbor to gain access to the hallway under false pretenses.

  ***

  At the third stop on his tour of Leipzig, Till became confident that he had landed in the right area. Not least because he passed a small shopping center on the way, which housed both the drugstore chain and a supermarket. The individual buildings did not seem as homogeneous as in the two previous districts. Here, a newcomer would attract less attention. He again parked half a kilometer away and started the countdown. Then he strolled off at his leisure.

  Previously, at the second house he had checked, the mailboxes had been mounted on the outside, but had given him no clues. At this current address, the boxes were again hanging in the hallway. He photographed the bell plates. Then, to avoid arousing suspicion, he left, heading for the shopping center. Till entered the drugstore and walked to the aisle with the soap products. There was only one package of the private label left. Other brands seemed to be less popular. Till took the bar of soap and stood at the checkout. In front of him, a mother with a toddler was unloading a full shopping cart onto the conveyor belt. The toddler was “helping.”

  “Go ahead,” the woman said, letting Till cut in line.

  “Oh, thank you.”

  The cashier scanned the soap. “Forty cents.”

  “I would’ve liked to buy more,” Till said. “There was only one package on the shelf. Did someone beat me to it today?”

  “I don’t know,” said the woman without looking at him.

  Asking her more questions seemed hopeless. Till paid and left the drugstore. He entered the supermarket next door and inspected the entrance. Near the shopping carts, there was a pinboard with index cards attached to it. On most of them, supermarket customers offered things for sale. Baby carriages, skates, or a children’s anorak. Some even offered their services, like housecleaning or babysitting. There also was an index card advertising a cheap two-room apartment for rent.

  Till turned away and left the supermarket. He would have tipped clients to look for subletting offers here. Subletting had the advantage that, although required by law, one did not necessarily have to register with the office, so that one’s name would never appear in any official records.

  ***

  Back in his apartment, Till researched the inhabitants of the house that seemed the most suitable for Spannberg’s hideout. Using his picture of the doorbell panel, he searched for each name in an online phonebook. Whenever he found a result, he searched the net for more information.

  A woman named Agnes Weller seemed the most promising. She lived on the top floor of the building and regularly uploaded photos to her Facebook profile. She was an elderly woman who owned two cats and was a big bookworm. In addition, the building she lived in belonged to the Leipzig municipal landlord, the LWB. Till picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” a female voice answered.

  “Good evening. This is Theo Klein,” Till said. “Is this Mrs. Weller?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wonderful. I hope I’m not disturbing you. Mrs. Weller, I am calling on behalf of the LWB. That is, your landlord. But don’t worry, it’s not bad news.”

  Mrs. Weller laughed nervously. “I hope not.”

  “I promise. I just would like to ask a few questions. First, are you comfortable being our tenant?”

  “Yeah, I really like living here.”

  “Wonderful! Are repairs usually carried out to your satisfaction?”

  “Fortunately, I haven’t had anything broken in a long time.”

  “So much the better. How well does the janitor do his job?”

  “Mr. Körner? Really great. A nice man. We’ve known each other for ten years now.”

  “Great. Looks like we hired the right guy.” Slowly Till worked toward his real goal. The first few questions had only served to dispel mistrust. “Now, Mrs. Weller, what can you tell us about the community within the building? Any difficulties with any of the other tenants? Does anyone stand out as unpleasant?”

  She was quiet for a second.

  “By the way,” Till said, “I assure you that all information will be treated confidentially.”

  “No,” Mrs. Weller said, “nobody lives in the house who doesn’t follow the rules.”

  “Oh, you’re very lucky then. We often hear horror stories, and it’s frightening just listening to some of them. Okay, Mrs. Weller, just a few more questions. This time of year, regular occupancy in our units can be very important. Heaters should not be switched off for too long during cold periods. But sometimes tenants disappear for a longer vacation, to spend the winter in the south for example, and then the heating pipes freeze and burst in sub-zero temperatures. In your building, do you know, are all tenants regularly present?”

  Weller hesitated. “Well, I don’t know whether or not Mr. Mohr has been home. He mentioned he might go abroad for a year on business. And actually, he asked if I knew anyone who might be interested in his apartment while he’s gone. It’s fully furnished.”

  “When was this?” Till asked.

  “Just before Christmas, if I’m not mistaken. I can’t say I’ve seen him since.”

  “Thank you,” Till said. “I’ll look into that. Have you ever come across anyone you didn’t know in the hallway?”

  “No. Not that I remember. If you want, I can ring his doorbell. Find out who’s staying there.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but this is our job. You’ve been a big help. We’ll take care of the rest. Now, I just have one last question. Do you have any suggestions or requests to your landlord?”

  “No additional payment of service charges. I wouldn’t object to a refund.”

  Till laughed. “I’ll make a note of that in your records. Mrs. Weller, I wish you a magical evening.”

  “You too.”

  Till ended the conversation. A huge smile had spread across his face. He had no proof yet that he had tracked down Spannberg, but he was confident. There was still no reason to inform the chief inspector, especially at this hour. Besides, Till wanted to collect a little more information first. Over the next two days, he would watch the apartment building and sneak some pictures of the residents. With a little luck he would also spot his target. Only then would it be time to notify Krumm.

  Till checked the status of his cell phone battery. Still twenty percent. Enough to call Jessica one more time.

  2

  Learning the habits of her neighbor took Spannberg fourteen days, as she could only observe him secretly. Since Bäcker would recognize her at first glance, it was too risky to shadow him. She limited herself to lurking behind the door or waiting by the window. Besides, she had maintained her jogging routine to avoid arousing suspicion.

  During that initial week when he had violated her privacy, Bäcker had always been present during the day. Last week, however, he left the house in the morning and returned late in the afternoon. Then on Monday, he stayed home in the morning and went shopping only once after lunchtime. At least he had not used his key a second time to snoop around her place.

  Spannberg no longer feared that he had uncovered her identity. Bäcker seemed to be simply a pervert who liked to rummage around in women’s things and steal their panties. Spannberg shivered at the thought. She managed to steady herself, calmed by the assurance that, unlike countless other pigs who terrorized women, Bäcker would receive punishment.

  She had already bought a bottle of wine last week. Although she suspected that he was a beer drinker, the white wine was part of her plan. Spannberg looked at herself in the mirror. The light blue jeans emphasized her slim legs, and the white blouse was one of the few pieces that hugged her upper body. In addition, the black bra shimmered slightly through the blouse’s fabric. Since the hem of the blouse hung over her waistband, Bäcker would not notice the bulge of the switchblade in her trouser p
ocket.

  She hated to take this step, but having to live in the same building with him for a second longer seemed unbearable to her. By invading the apartment, he had degraded her to a victim.

  Spannberg entered the bathroom and applied the bright red lipstick as a last measure. “You can do it,” she whispered to herself. “If it goes well, the pig will be dead before midnight.”

  She tried to banish the icy look from her eyes, tried to melt it with a smile. Satisfied, she turned away, grabbed the bottle of wine, and tucked the apartment key in her pocket. Before she left the apartment, she looked through the peephole. The hallway lay in darkness. Spannberg turned on the hallway light, scurried to Bäcker’s apartment door, and rang the doorbell. She smiled again, although she was foaming with anger. It took an unusually long time before she noticed a shadow disturb the beam of light that radiated from the peephole. A few more seconds passed. Didn’t he want to open the door for her? She held the wine bottle up to show her intentions.

  “Wait,” said Bäcker, his voice muffled by the door.

  Still, it took him a long time to finally open up.

  “Hello, Mr. Neighbor,” she said melodically. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I want to apologize.”

  “For what?” He sounded surprised.

  “I’ve been living in Marcel’s apartment for over a month now, and apart from our brief encounter a few weeks ago, I never introduced myself. That was rude. I’m Theresa Schumann.”