“The male in the photograph,” Walther said. “We’ve identified him.”
“Correction,” Starke chimed in. “We have identified him.”
“Yes, sorry,” Walther said, “Senior Chief Inspector Starke and his team have identified the male in the photograph. His name is Ronald Bäcker, a warehouseman in his early forties. No police record so far.”
“Bäcker has lived at his current address for twelve years,” continued Starke. “We suspect he’s not an accomplice, but rather someone who’s in danger. That is, if the woman at his side turns out to be Franka Spannberg.”
“How do you know he’s not an accomplice?” Krumm said.
“We don’t know for a fact,” Starke admitted. “But common sense suggests he’s not. Why would a resident of Leipzig, who has been rooted in one place for many years, help a murderess from Hamburg?”
“Makes sense,” Dorfer said.
Krumm looked at him in surprise. His partner had just stabbed him in the back.
“A total of eight parties live in the building,” said Starke. “With the help of information from Hamburg and the help of social media, we found a tenant who currently lives in Scotland for professional reasons. Marcel Mohr. My colleague Mückenberg got in contact with Mohr. At the beginning of January, he sublet his apartment to one Theresa Schumann. She paid in advance for the first six months. In cash. Unfortunately, Mrs. Schumann forgot to register as a resident at the Citizens’ Office or even to write her name on the bell. According to Mr. Mohr, she previously lived in Halle. We are currently checking to find someone in the city who matches her description.”
“Sounds pretty suspicious,” said Dorfer.
“And fits the timeline,” Krumm said. “Did this Mohr mention how he found her as a subtenant?”
“He had posted an ad on the supermarket bulletin board.”
Krumm paid silent respect to Buchinger’s abilities. If he found Spannberg, I’m certain he can track down Sandra.
“So she may be using two apartments as a retreat,” Röder said. “Both are next to each other on the first floor.” He snapped his finger. Immediately another policeman stood up from his chair and stepped to a projector connected to a laptop. “We have been analyzing a Google Earth picture of the area,” explained Röder. “In this block, all first-floor apartments have their own garden plot. Unfortunately Bäcker is a proud tenant of such a unit.”
Krumm frowned at the garden terraces, seeing a gap in the plan already forming. Till Buchinger had said he would watch the building for Spannberg’s movements, but most likely he was observing only the front of the building. There was no guarantee that Spannberg was still on-site.
“We’ll post two officers here with a clear view of the backyard.” Röder marked the spot with a laser pointer. “We’ll storm both apartments in teams of four.”
“Has the search warrant been issued yet?” Dorfer asked.
Röder shook his head. “We’ve decided to interpret the legal principle of imminent danger in our favor. We’re storming the apartments without a court order. Because in case of doubt, we would not be issued a permit, given the facts.”
Krumm considered what this decision meant if the unknown person was not Spannberg. At least in this regard he was glad that the Saxony LKA took responsibility. “What teams did you put us on?” he asked.
Röder smiled. “I actually only mobilized eight task forces because I was afraid you couldn’t keep your feet still.”
“Certainly not,” Krumm confirmed.
“You and your colleague can cover the back to prevent escape.”
“No,” Krumm said.
“No?”
“Chief Inspector Dorfer and I are not familiar with the place. The danger that we won’t prevent the murderer’s escape is much too great.”
Röder crossed his arms. “The teams for the raid are well attuned to each other. They train for such situations routinely. You would be like a foreign body.”
“I’ve been a police officer for over fifteen years and have made numerous arrests. The Hamburg LKA must be present during the raid. Anything else is out of the question.”
Röder stepped to one of his people and whispered something into his ear. The man replied just as quietly.
Finally, he nodded. “I don’t mind. I’ll integrate you as the fifth member of the team storming Bäcker’s apartment. We’ll assign your partner to Senior Chief Inspector Starke. They’ll watch the back.”
“Agreed,” Dorfer said.
“Put me on the team for the Mohr apartment, and you’ve got a deal,” Krumm replied. He wanted to be the one who locked the handcuffs around Spannberg’s wrists, and he assumed she was more likely to be in her own apartment.
“No deal,” Röder said. “Bäcker’s apartment, or you’re out.”
“Ludger, leave it alone,” murmured Dorfer.
Krumm narrowed his eyes. “I don’t mind.”
12
After more than two hours of radio silence, Till received a call from Chief Inspector Krumm. “Are you still watching the house?”
“Of course,” Till said. “Since our last contact, three residents have come home. No sign of the woman or her companion.”
“You only see the front?”
“Just the front. Is there a back way out?”
“Unfortunately, yes. The Leipzig police identified the man in your photos. His name is Ronald Bäcker. There’s a garden plot belonging to his apartment. It provides an exit point to a parallel street.”
“Shit!”
“Not to worry. Even if you had known, it would’ve been impossible for you to observe both sides.”
“What’s your next move?” Till asked. On the other end of the line, he heard engine noises. Apparently, Krumm was no longer in a police station.
“We’ll be there in about eight minutes. Two teams. A coordinated storm on both apartments. I’ll be on one of the task forces. Meanwhile, my partner will keep an eye on the back with an officer from Leipzig.”
“So we’ll have a smarter way to approach this in a few moments.”
“Let’s hope so. How far are you from the front door?” Krumm asked.
“About fifty meters,” Till said.
“Get as far away as possible. We can’t have you inadvertently obstructing police action. But it would be good if you could keep your eyes on the entrance until we arrive.”
“All right. Good luck,” Till said.
Krumm fell silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. “As soon as this is over, we need to have a quiet talk.”
Till smiled. “You can simply transfer the reward to my account,” he said.
“You’ve earned a lump of money for sure. But maybe I have another job for you. We’ll talk.”
Krumm started speaking with someone in the background and hung up. It was not difficult to predict the job he had in mind. However, Till would refuse the chief inspector’s order—or lead him down a dead end.
No time to think about that now, though. Till concentrated on the upcoming raid. He figured the police would storm both apartments simultaneously. As familiar as Spannberg seemed to be with this Bäcker guy, they couldn’t rule out the possibility that the killer was staying with him. Did she pretend to have feelings for this guy?
Till looked in the rearview mirror. He spotted some parking spaces behind him. As Krumm had directed, he planned to back up to the end of the road and watch the police approach from there.
13
“We’ll be arriving at the scene in a minute,” the head of operations said in Krumm’s ear.
Krumm’s pulse increased. If their assumption was correct and Spannberg had not left the house, the hunt, which had lasted for over a year, would finally be over. However, they could not give the murderer any chance to escape. As soon as the emergency vehicles arrived on-site, she would notice. So everything had to fall into place quickly.
“W
e took up position at the parallel street,” Frank Starke said over the radio.
“Understood,” said Röder, who was in charge of the operation.
Krumm nodded, satisfied. No way could the murderer escape unnoticed. Of course, they could not rule out that Spannberg was working her magic tricks again. The explosion in Hamburg and the provided e-bike were warning enough for them.
Nevertheless, the task force had decided in favor of a violent raid. The first team to enter would be protected from explosions at least partially by shields and bomb suits.
“Thirty seconds. We’re about to turn onto the street.”
Krumm breathed deeply. Adrenaline flowed through his body. Arresting the serial killer would give his career a boost. And after that…
“Now!”
The task forces turned onto the side street. Their destination was the fourth house. Two emergency vehicles parked in front of it, splashing blue light in all the windows. Doors slipped open, and police officers jumped out. One of them charged the front door with a battering ram. He swung. The door flew into the hallway.
Men with shields and bomb suits took point, moving slowly in their heavy clothing. Krumm positioned himself at the back of the team assigned to Bäcker’s apartment.
The apartment was in the hallway in front. Krumm unconsciously held his breath as the policeman in the front line swung out with the battering ram. Here, too, one blow broke the door wide open. Krumm let out a shaky breath. No explosion. They hit Spannberg’s apartment next. Again, no explosion.
The men in bomb suits cleared the way. Three policemen entered each of the rented apartments and secured all rooms one after the other. They met with no resistance.
Krumm’s euphoria faded. Had Spannberg fled the apartments already? Were they back at the beginning again—chasing shadows, with no idea where the murderess had fled to?
“Hands up!” yelled one of the policemen. He had reached the bedroom door but had stopped at the threshold, gun pointed at the bed. “Hands up and stand up slowly.”
Krumm caught a glimpse past the policeman to a person lying in bed. Clearly a man. Clearly dead. He noticed another detail as well. On the bedside table lay a dried-out rose petal.
“I think he’s dead!” shouted the policeman in front. “We have a dead male in Bäcker’s apartment!”
“I’ll take a closer look,” said another officer.
“Don’t be frightened, I’ll follow you,” Krumm said.
Together they approached the bed. With his pistol, the Saxon nudged the motionless body. Krumm covered him. Nothing happened.
“I see red marks and blue discoloration on the neck.”
“Must have pissed her off,” Krumm suggested.
The other officer felt for a pulse, then shook his head.
Since the body lay on its stomach, no clear identification was possible. Krumm holstered his gun.
“We need to identify him. I’m turning him over.”
“Agreed,” confirmed the local policeman.
Krumm pushed his arm under the dead man’s left shoulder and lifted.
14
The last few hours seemed like an eternity to Spannberg. After strangling Bäcker, she had made the necessary preparations. At noon she left the house, wrapped in thick winter clothes and wearing a backpack containing the most important belongings. But instead of taking advantage of her head start and disappearing from Leipzig, she lay in wait not far from her apartment. Her escape could wait. She had other plans first.
Once she was done here, she would return to Hamburg as soon as possible to resume her vendetta. Quickly and mercilessly. But not without causing some confusion first.
When she saw the grey car turning into the street, Spannberg’s intuition was confirmed. The private investigator had returned. From a safe position, she watched as he headed for a parking lot not far from the front door. The man did not leave the car, his gaze turned stubbornly to the front.
To avoid getting too cold, Spannberg ran down the alley several times and returned every quarter of an hour. She had just arrived back at her observation post when the private investigator started to move his car. He parked farther away from the entrance to the apartment building, as if to make way for something. Or was that just to avoid her detection?
Spannberg waited. Less than ten minutes later, blue light competed with the coming twilight. Again she had drawn the right conclusions. She put down her backpack and put her pistol in her jacket pocket. From the windows in the surrounding buildings, curious residents looked out as cops breached the apartment building.
Back during the prison riot, when Spannberg had been at the mercy of the prisoners, she had wished to blow up her three abusers, even if that meant her own death. She had even wished to burn herself up in a hot ball of fire. In the years since then, she had gathered a lot of useful knowledge thanks to the internet. She had learned how to build booby traps with amazing aptitude. Not one attempt had failed. Over time, she had matured into an expert in explosives. Making a bomb vest was now as easy for her as blowing up a moped with explosives and a remote trigger.
As easy as setting up a trap that only exploded with the reduction of pressure. For example by lifting a lifeless body.
Spannberg lay in wait for the deadly detonation.
15
Waiting safely in his car, Till watched the raid on the apartment block, hoping the police succeeded in taking Jonathan’s killer out of circulation. The task force gained access and disappeared inside.
The next few minutes dragged on. Till kept expecting the police to lead Spannberg out in handcuffs. He would immediately inform Jessica and buy a return ticket to Hamburg for the next day at the latest.
He was so intent on the building that the explosion jarred him badly. Window panes burst and poured out smoke.
“My God,” Till whispered.
The back driver’s-side door of his car opened. Till reacted, but too slowly. The woman was already sitting in the back seat, threatening him with a pistol.
“Hello, Till.”
He recognized the murderess immediately, although she wore a cap and glasses. “Hello, Franka.”
With her free hand Spannberg buckled herself in. “Leipzig is becoming too hot a place. Drive. Away from the cops.”
“Forget it.
“If you don’t start the engine, you’ll join your wife and your best friend in the ground. On the count of three, Till. One. Two.”
“Okay,” he said and turned the ignition key. “Where to?”
“Our paths part in Berlin. The faster we reach the Autobahn, the better.”
“Berlin?”
“I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Till backed into a driveway and got turned around. With one final glance, he saw police fleeing the shattered building, chased by plumes of black smoke.
“Don’t worry,” Spannberg said. “The explosive force was not very powerful. Probably no more than one or two deaths.”
Till drove. “One or two innocent cops.”
“Maybe, maybe not. And, innocent? You use that word rather thoughtlessly. Was your friend Jonathan innocent?”
He shot her a nasty look in the rearview mirror. “Of course he was.”
She smiled joylessly. “Over there on the left,” she said at the next intersection.
Till put on the blinker, waited for the traffic to flow, and followed instructions.
“Why did you kill Jonathan?” he asked.
“He was a danger to me. Could have given my safehouse away to the cops.”
“I’ve ratted you out to the police.”
“So technically it’s not my fault if cops just died. As indicated earlier. Innocence is a complicated concept.”
“Bullshit!”
“Do you see the freeway signs? We’re going to Berlin.”
Till pulled into the corresponding lane. Spannberg had fastened her seatbelt. No chance of taking her
out with an abrupt braking maneuver. But would the gun fall out of her hands during such a maneuver? A very remote possibility.
Would he really have to drive her to Berlin? Or would she direct him to an empty rest area and execute him there with a shot to the head?
“No roadblocks yet. That’s good,” she said.
Till merged onto the highway.
“Berlin Central Station,” Spannberg said. “The sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll be rid of me. You can continue your life in peace. And I emphasize living it in peace. Better not come looking for me. It only endangers your well-being.”
Was she trying to inspire hope for Till’s survival? She hadn’t convinced him.
“Why did you kill Jonathan?” he asked again. He had a feeling it wasn’t just about keeping him quiet.
Spannberg did not answer, not immediately. She was staring at him in the rearview, holding the pistol so low that other motorists couldn’t see it. This would be a strenuous trip for her too. Did she realize that they would be on the road at least an hour and a half, maybe two? That was a long time to keep your eyes on someone.
“Jonathan had helped one of my tormentors track down his ex,” Spannberg finally said. “As a result, the guy severely injured the woman and went to prison for the first time. Without Jonathan, the man might never have ended up behind bars. Maybe…” She shrugged, avoided his eyes in the mirror for a second. “Maybe he would never have assaulted me,” she said.
Could that be true? Jonathan never mentioned that one of his assignments had such grave consequences. Had he deliberately concealed it? Had he even known about the connections at all?
Till switched the blinker on and gave the car some gas as he pulled into the left lane.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” said Spannberg. “But we shouldn’t be stopped by cops for speeding. It wouldn’t be healthy for you.”
16
To facilitate the necessary evacuation of the apartment building, Frank Starke and Bastian Dorfer got out of the way and waited at their vehicle outside. With every second that passed, Dorfer’s certainty grew that something had happened to his partner in the explosion.
Deep Pain Page 10
