Deep Pain

by Marcus Hünnebeck

  “In you go!”

  “I’m supposed to get in there? My hands. I can’t—”

  “Dead or alive. Take your pick.”

  She came closer. Then she opened the rear passenger door. “Gotcha. I was just trying to distract you. Sit in the back.”

  Almost relieved, Till climbed into the back seat.

  Spannberg threw the door shut, slammed the trunk, then got behind the wheel. She put the pistol in her right jacket pocket—out of reach for Till, thanks to the handcuffs. They got on the road, and for the first hundred meters the killer kept silent. Till noticed her wandering gaze. She seemed agitated.

  “We’re turning ourselves in,” she said at a red light.

  Had he misheard her? “You’re surrendering?”

  “Yes. It’s all meaningless now.”

  “Then where is Ms. Borke?”

  “She’s going to the police as soon as it’s clear that they won’t just shoot me. That’s why I need you. We’re going to a police station where I’ll surrender. Unfortunately, you’ll serve as a shield until they accept my surrender without force of arms. I’m afraid the cops will take revenge for Krumm’s death.”

  As he listened to her story, Till couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He feared Spannberg was wearing an explosive vest. How did that fit in with the plan to surrender? “That’s reasonable,” he said. “I’m glad you decided to surrender.”

  “I hope the judge will take into account what happened to me in his decision.”

  “Going directly to the Rikskrim then?” Till asked, even though she was headed the wrong direction, away from the criminal investigation department.

  “I’m not insane!” she said. “They would definitely slaughter me. No. I’m taking you to David’s Watch. There are always lots of people there on Friday nights. It gives me a certain amount of security.”

  She looked in the rearview mirror. Till smiled, although he did not feel like it.

  A lot of people out on Friday nights, he thought. Was that her plan? To blow herself up in a large crowd of people? But then why head for a police station? There were plenty of other places that were busy on Friday nights. Tons of places where she wasn’t in danger of being surrounded by dozens of policemen.

  Till closed his eyes.

  Of course. She was targeting police officers.

  “What’re you thinking?” Spannberg said.

  “Huh?” Till opened his eyes. “Oh, just a little woozy still. Hit my head pretty good on that radiator.”

  “Better not throw up on me,” Spannberg said.

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  ***

  Ten minutes later Spannberg drove into the Reeperbahn garages. They were a mess. Three quarters full, with more cars constantly arriving, and people scrambling around, rushing here and there to their parked cars.

  An explosion down here would probably result in significantly fewer casualties. Till wondered if he should risk his life here to save other innocent people.

  He thought of Antje. Was there an afterlife where soulmates could reunite? The thought comforted him.

  Spannberg took a deep breath. “I’m going to get you out and I’m going to shove this gun in your back. Don’t try anything stupid, you got that?”

  “Got it. You’ll shoot me.”

  “Exactly.”

  And then they’ll shoot you, Till thought.

  Spannberg’s plan made no sense. He had to act. He would rather die here in a poorly lit underground garage than help a mad killer blow up dozens of innocent people on the Reeperbahn.

  Spannberg got out and opened the door for him. She kept one hand in the left pocket of her jacket. Till had watched her put the gun in the right pocket. So was the detonator on the left?

  “Let’s go!”

  He climbed out with difficulty.

  Spannberg withdrew the gun. “To the stairwell. Over there.”

  Nearby, two young men exited a black Audi. The passenger looked over at them. “Look at those two!” he shouted.

  “Faster!” hissed Spannberg.

  “What is this? Some kind of perverse game?” The Audi driver laughed.

  Spannberg lost her nerve. She pointed the pistol at the men and fired. They cried out in fear and ducked behind the car.

  “Go on!” yelled Spannberg. “Or you’re dead!”

  An idea formed in Till’s mind. They reached the empty stairwell.

  “Up you go!” she said.

  If the bomb exploded in here, only two would die. Till had to sacrifice himself to save innocent people. He put his foot on the first step. Spannberg prodded him with the gun. Slowly he climbed the stairs. At the last step, Till put his foot on the edge of the concrete and pushed off backwards. Spannberg tried to dodge him, but Till slammed into her, and they both tumbled down the concrete stairs.

  Spannberg screamed, part agony, part rage. Till grunted as the edges of the steps punched and kicked him in the ribs, the hip, the shoulder. One scraped his head. At the bottom, he landed on Spannberg’s legs. She groaned.

  Struggling to react through the pain, Till rolled around, trying to get into a better position. Spannberg’s left hand was no longer in her jacket pocket. Next to her left foot Till saw a cylindrical detonator with a red button, which had apparently tumbled out of her pocket when she fell. He tried to scoot it towards him with the tip of his foot.

  Groaning, Spannberg lifted her head. She realized what he was up to and grabbed for the detonator.

  Till wriggled, crawling farther on top of her.

  “Get off!” Spannberg yelled.

  Her fingertips were mere inches from the red button. Till struggled forward until he could look her in the eyes. Her fingers touched the cylindrical device, and Till headbutted her. Right in the face. She screamed out, sputtering blood as it gushed from her broken nose. She bucked underneath him. So he headbutted her again. This time, Till almost blacked out.

  He shook it off and looked down at Spannberg. She was unconscious.

  With his foot Till pushed the detonator out of her reach.

  “Shit, that hurts,” he said.

  At that moment someone opened the parking garage door. Hesitantly, the Audi driver peeked into the stairwell.

  “Call the police,” Till said quietly. “Chief Inspector Dorfer of the LKA. The woman in question is Franka Spannberg. Get Dorfer.”

  “Fucking shit!” one of the men said.

  46

  Once again Sandra Borke looked at the time on the computer. Why had no news outlet reported a devastating explosion on the Reeperbahn? What was taking so long? Had Franka lost the courage to press the detonator? Or had something gone wrong?

  Sandra had intended to use the chaos after the explosion to flee the city. As soon as a bomb exploded at David’s Watch, all available police forces would be dispatched there. Enough opportunity for Borke to leave Hamburg behind without fear of increased police controls.

  Now she wondered if she had made a mistake. One after the other, she refreshed the news sites. No breaking news. No breaking news.

  “Shit!”

  Borke opened Google and searched for “Livecam Reeperbahn.” The first result led her to a weather cam in St. Pauli. She called up the homepage, then had to sit through a thirty-second advertisement. Afterwards the camera feed appeared. Apparently the camera sat on the roof of a hotel, about one hundred meters above street level. Allegedly it showed the famous harbor district of St. Pauli, the Reeperbahn, and the huge field of the Heiligengeistfeld. Borke didn’t notice anything in the panorama that would indicate an explosion.

  Something had gone terribly wrong. Once again she updated the news pages. No breaking news.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  She folded up the laptop. She would disappear anyway. Of course, she would take the explosive vest with her. It could still be useful. She ran into the bedroom and put it on. Anyone who dared to approach
her would pay for it with death.

  Before she left the bedroom, she looked out the window onto the main street.

  “Oh, please don’t,” said Borke when she saw what was outside.

  47

  Fortunately, Till Buchinger knew his way around Hamburg and was certain he knew the location of Spannberg and Borke’s hideout. Although stricken by his fight with the killer, he gave the address to police by phone. Dorfer rushed there with five policemen. The house looked just as Buchinger described it.

  Dorfer consulted with the task force on the scene.

  “If Borke’s in the house, we have to assume she’s wearing an explosive vest. And maybe other booby traps.”

  “Then why don’t we send a robot into the house?” a policeman asked.

  “It’ll be hours before the bomb squad gets here. By that time she could be long gone.”

  “How soon can we get a thermal imaging camera?” asked another officer.

  “Takes too long, too. Besides, that only proves there’s someone in the house, not who. I’m going in. We’ll be all right if we’re careful.” He took a battering ram from the truck. “You guys stay here until I break down the door. Two men watch the garage. I don’t want her getting away from us.”

  Since he was untrained in handling the battering ram, it took Dorfer a total of four blows until the front door finally popped open. He put the ram aside and waved three men over. “I’ll go first. You cover me. Keep your distance in case I set off a trap.”

  Dorfer entered the house. It was sparsely furnished. Less places for Borke to hide at least. Room to room he worked his way forward, crouching at every threshold to look for tripwires.

  Suddenly music began. He raised his right hand and pointed in the direction of the sound. It took a few seconds before he recognized the song. A Queen classic. “Who Wants to Live Forever.”

  In light of the situation, the music unnerved him. “You wait here,” he told the other officers.

  “You’ll have no backup,” one of the men said.

  “I don’t think I need that.”

  He worked his way forward, using every doorframe and wall as cover. The volume of the music increased. The song ended, but not the music. The next song was also by Queen. “The Show Must Go On.”

  “Is that you, Chief Inspector Dorfer?” a female voice said.

  He pressed himself against the doorframe and peered around the corner.

  A double bed stood in the middle of the room. On it sat Sandra Borke. The music came from the laptop next to her. She had strapped on an explosive vest. Except for the vest, she was only wearing white underwear. He saw no firearm.

  “It’s me,” he said.

  He stopped at the threshold and pointed the pistol at the woman. Now he noticed the cylindrical detonator in her hand. Six or seven meters separated him from the bed. How strong would the explosion be? A lot of explosives hung from the vest.

  “Put the detonator down,” Dorfer said.

  “Did you arrest Franka?” she asked.

  “I’m not telling you. Unless you put down the detonator.”

  “That’s answer enough.”

  Freddy Mercury sang about how the show must go on, even if his heart is breaking.

  “Why?” Dorfer asked.

  “Love,” answered Borke.

  Her thumb twitched. Dorfer stepped back, threw the door shut, and jumped to the side. In the bedroom the explosive charge detonated. The shock wave blew the door out of its frame.

  48

  During the first four days that Chief Inspector Dorfer spent in the hospital, Till visited him every afternoon.

  Both men had been lucky. Till only had a bruised rib, two sprained wrists, and a mild concussion. He had already been released the following day. Bastian Dorfer had to stay longer in the hospital because his shin was fractured twice. The door had caught him in the legs. His ribs had also suffered fractures.

  Every day, Dorfer’s colleagues informed him at his bedside about their meager progress. Ever since Franka Spannberg had learned of her partner’s death, she maintained an ironclad silence. In prison, she was put on a suicide watch. No one doubted she would be found guilty in the upcoming trial. A life sentence was also inevitable.

  “I feel sorry for her,” Till confessed.

  “After all she did to you,” Dorfer said.

  “How deep must the pain have been? For her to be able to…”

  “No.” Dorfer clasped the triangular handle over his bed and straightened up a little. “Of course she’s lived through hell. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. But what do the people she killed have to do with it? Nothing at all. No matter how deep her pain, she had no right to do it.”

  “I know,” Till said.

  “Then don’t talk that shit in here!”

  Till grinned.

  “What?” Dorfer said.

  “You’re feeling better already, aren’t you?”

  “Why?”

  “Yesterday, you wouldn’t have been able to get this upset,” Till said.

  “Yesterday you didn’t talk such nonsense.”

  “By the way, you’ll have to do without my bullshit for the next few days.”

  Dorfer narrowed his eyes. “You mimosa. That’s not what I meant. But I apologize if I offended you.”

  Till grinned. “No offense taken, Inspector Dorfer. I have to go to Cologne is all. For professional reasons. Probably won’t be back until the beginning of the week.”

  “Shouldn’t we be on a first-name basis?” Dorfer said. “For the sake of simplicity?” The chief inspector carefully extended his hand to Till. “It’s Bastian.”

  “Till,” the private investigator said.

  They sealed the deal with a gentle handshake.

  “What takes you to Cologne?”

  “A father skipping out on his child support. I tracked him down in the cathedral city. It was pretty easy.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now I pay him a visit. Flush him out. Either he pays afterward, or he tries to disappear again. Either way, he lives in Cologne. He has a new relationship there. Maybe it’s enough to remind him of his duties for once.”

  “A wonderfully harmless case.”

  Till nodded.

  “You can get in touch with me when you return. Maybe we can have an Astra together. Or two.”

  “Yes, a beer or two sounds like a reasonable plan. I wish you a speedy recovery in the next few days, Bastian.”

  At the door Till stopped once more. Bastian nodded to him, smiling. Till raised his hand and left the room.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later he was at the cemetery, turning his face up into the sun. After the last few rainy days, the weather today was beautiful. Antje and he had loved such days especially, when the winter said goodbye and nature slowly awoke from a deep sleep.

  Since his release from the hospital Till had visited the grave every day. He told his wife how narrowly he had escaped death. Spannberg could have hit the button in her fall, or she could have overpowered him in the fight. But apparently fate had decided he still had work to do.

  “It gave me strength,” he said softly. “To know that in the worst-case scenario, I’ll meet you in the next life. Who knows if I would’ve dared to take her on otherwise?”

  “Who are you talking to?” asked a female voice.

  Till saw the widow, Gisela Keller, approaching. He smiled at her. “You know exactly who I’m talking to.”

  “Is she listening to you today, or is she busy?”

  “As always. But she’d better not answer, or she’d have to scold me.”

  Gisela Keller looked at him in surprise. They had not met at the graves over the last few days. She didn’t know. “What happened? Did you meet a new woman?”

  “No.” Till smiled. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Every single detail.”

  And so Till told her. It fe
lt good to talk to someone about it. It helped him close the case.

  “She’d have every reason to scold you,” said Gisela Keller. She took Till’s hand. “How can you be so reckless? I’m glad nothing happened to you.”

  “So am I.”

  Together with the widow, he looked at the graves of their dearly departed. To be allowed to live was the greatest gift. On dark days it was easy to forget. So much the better that fate reminded you of it from time to time. Till closed his eyes again and enjoyed the warmth of the sun.