Mark of Cain

by Marcus Hünnebeck

  “This about my husband?”

  “Indirectly,” Katharina replied. From a jacket pocket, she pulled out a photo of Albrecht.

  Lydia Glasch folded her arms across her chest.

  “Has this man shown up here in the last few days? He was friends with your spouse in prison and was recently released. I have a few questions for him.”

  “Why don’t you just leave us alone?” Lydia replied, evasive. “You know how hard it is to raise a child Manuel’s age when his father’s sitting in jail for murder?”

  Katharina, unprepared for the instant brush-off, shook her head. “All I’m doing here is—”

  A ringing sound cut her off. Lydia Glasch pressed the button to unlock the building’s front door. Soon after, a boy came up the stairs with a soccer ball under his arm.

  “Hi, Kevin. Manny’s in his room.”

  The visitor just nodded, passing by the two adults.

  “He’s the only friend my son has,” Lydia Glasch explained in frustration. “Other parents won’t allow their kids to play with the son of a murderer. We’ve been punished hard enough. So please, please stop bothering us!”

  “Was this man here?”

  “No. Now go!” She stepped back and shut the apartment door in Katharina’s face.

  Katharina turned away, baffled. Of course it wasn’t unusual for a prisoner’s dependents to get testy with the police. But the way Glasch’s wife reacted seemed exaggerated, and it made Katharina wonder if she did, in fact, have something to hide. As Katharina left the building, she kept thinking about this and could only come up with one logical conclusion: Patrick Albrecht had been at her place. The lone remaining question was why.

  Back in the car, she checked her wallet and took out a twenty-euro bill. This Kevin had brought a soccer ball along, and the boys were hardly planning just to kick it around the house. So she decided to wait out in the car awhile. Manuel might not know she was a police officer. He probably wouldn’t be suspicious of her if she approached him on her own and spoke to him.

  She turned on the radio to pass the time with some tunes. Her thoughts returned, not surprisingly, to Chris and the “date” they had coming up. She wasn’t thinking about his take on the case at all, but rather about how they were going to behave around one another.

  After about fifteen minutes, her patience was rewarded. The two boys came running out and down the street. Katharina stepped out of the car.

  “Manuel!” she shouted.

  The boy stared at her oddly when she held the money out to him.

  “I forgot earlier that I still owe Patrick twenty euros—Herr Albrecht, I mean. Could you give it to him? Your mother seemed so tired, I’d hate to have her ring me upstairs again.”

  Manuel nodded instantly. “I could do it.”

  “Oh, wait,” Katharina said. “I just remembered—I’ll see him myself tomorrow. Sorry, I forgot about that. See you soon.” She put the bill back, turning from the boys.

  Now it was time to put the Glasches’ apartment under surveillance and find out just what Albrecht had up his sleeve. Hopefully Manuel wouldn’t mention their little encounter. If he did, Albrecht would be tipped off that the cops had him in their sights.

  15

  Katharina turned off the engine and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Chris had suggested they both drive from police headquarters to her house so they could take one car to the restaurant from there.

  As she took one last look in the mirror and got out, a thought struck her: this was her first date since that very night with Chris. She walked up to his vehicle, and he bent over to open the passenger door from the inside. As she got in, he hastily flung a blue rain jacket into the backseat, letting it slide to the floor.

  “Ever since I stopped working, my neatness has really suffered,” he said.

  “I thought you were too finicky back then anyway,” she confessed with a wink.

  “Really? You never told me that. Or did you?”

  “Some things I keep strictly to myself,” she said.

  There was a pause as Chris started up the car.

  “So what else is new with you?” she asked, trying to get the conversation going with a harmless topic.

  He gave her a mischievous grin. “Sometimes I hardly even recognize myself anymore. For example? I started redecorating my place a few weeks ago. Heaving furniture from one corner to another. All triggered by an article I read about the principles of feng shui. If you ever come visit, you can tell me what you think.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were sitting across from each other in a restaurant along the Rhine. The waiter had led them to a table out in the winter garden area, where the solarium’s vast windows provided a lovely view of the river flowing by.

  Servers brought a carafe of dry red wine to the table, as requested, and they clinked each other’s glasses, smiling. At the same time, Katharina reminded herself that this was a professional dinner. She set her glass to her lips and watched Chris, who was acting unbelievably self-confident—completely not what she was expecting. The first sip of wine made her want to relax and block out her reason for being here, but, as always, her sense of duty won out in the end.

  “Have you reached any conclusions yet in the two cases?” she asked.

  He nodded, almost imperceptibly. “So we’re to ruin our appetites now, or maybe we can wait till after we eat?”

  “You do know that I like to get the unpleasant stuff out of the way.”

  “Before, in the car, I was surprised you managed not to talk shop.”

  “Which was not easy for me. I’m starting to think that maybe I’m getting way off track with this investigation. What I need is some kind of common thread to guide me out of this labyrinth I’m in.”

  Chris rubbed at an eyebrow, pensive. “I’m afraid Klaus Matisek is a dead end,” he said.

  His assumption matched her own, yet it still frustrated her. “What makes you think that?”

  He took a big sip of wine before answering. “Well, Matisek would be a good candidate, without a doubt, but only if it was just Blum who’d been killed. Revenge, women. Two classic motives. Especially since money played a role too. Gerd’s murder doesn’t fit those categories, though. Still, I am convinced we are dealing with a single perpetrator, despite the different methods of killing. Two different murderers out there killing detectives that I had worked with? It’s nearly impossible, and it does undermine any suspicion of the pimp.”

  “There might be another angle,” Katharina interjected. She told him about Sandra Bürgel’s disappearance.

  Chris listened attentively, and then he shook his head with self-assurance. “Not probable. It may not be the pimp, but Gerd’s homicide still had a male written all over it. I’m pretty certain an experienced police detective could have fended off a prostitute coming at him.”

  “He was supposed to have been drunk.”

  “Even so. This Bürgel woman would have only been fulfilling a contract. She hardly would’ve been working herself up for it out of some vicious rage.”

  Katharina wasn’t ready yet to say good-bye to her best lead by far. “So, why did she take off? Where is she?”

  “No clue. However, I do have an idea how you could find out, and fast.”

  Instead of continuing, Chris reached for his glass and emptied it.

  “Stop, the suspense is killing me,” she complained.

  “Let Matisek loose, then shadow him. I’m sure you’ll witness your escaped birdie returning to his nest soon after.”

  “I can’t let him go, not with such clear evidence,” she argued.

  Chris shrugged as if to say, I know I’m right. He always had held stubbornly to his opinion.

  For sixty-five-year-old Walter Moll, the TV’s flickering images often helped lull him to sleep. Right as he was nodding off, though, chin
sagging to his chest, the phone rang. He flinched, startled, and looked toward the foyer where the phone was. It rang a second time.

  He had been getting the calls regularly for some days now. No one answered on the other end—no matter how many times or how loudly he barked “Hello!” into the receiver. Yesterday, during one of these annoying disruptions, he thought he heard the name of his son whispered for a moment. It unnerved him.

  He struggled to pull himself from his chair and get to the phone. After the sixth ring, he lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

  At first it seemed that only the usual silence would terrorize him again. However, soon voices found their way into his ear, whispered voices from far away. It made the man think of a spirit trying to contact him from the beyond.

  The constant abuse was making him furious. “Just who is this? If you don’t leave me in peace I’m going to call the police.” He waited a moment, then hung up.

  He looked around wildly, frightened. These calls weren’t the only reason he was feeling uneasy. That afternoon, when he came back from his chess club, he sensed that someone had been in the house when he was gone. He thoroughly inspected each floor of the house but couldn’t find any proof of it.

  He was tired now and a look at the clock showed it was already past his usual bedtime. Before that, though, he would go check the basement.

  On his way downstairs anxiety made his chest flutter, and he could hear his breathing speed up. This embarrassed him to no end. Here he was, a former cop, letting himself get frightened by silly prank calls. He halted at a framed photo of his wife. Since her death and without her steadying presence, so much in his life seemed harder to handle.

  Moll opened the basement door and turned on the light. At the same moment, the large freezer down there emitted stuttering noises. Grumpy now, he asked himself why he hadn’t gotten rid of that decrepit freezer a long time ago. He rarely froze any food in the last few months and got along well enough with the freezer upstairs in the fridge.

  Moll promised himself to get rid of that old freezer, and soon, instead of keeping it on his to-do list forever. Then he went around and inspected all the windows. Just like it did hours before, everything seemed to check out now too.

  Katharina had gone to the ladies’ room, and when she returned two attractively arranged appetizers were already on the table—colorful salads with balsamic dressing.

  Chris looked up at her with his gorgeous smile.

  “So, what’s your theory about the homicides?” she asked him as she unwrapped silverware from her red napkin. She hadn’t told him about Markus Glasch or Patrick Albrecht yet. This way she could get his unbiased opinion.

  Chris cut up a beet slice and skewered the bigger half with his fork. “In my not especially long career as a profiler, I helped solve four killing sprees. Matthias Blum was the first detective I’d assisted. Gerd Renner the second. After that, a certain Jörg Becher out of Neuss. You asked that I help. Well, the thing is, I fear there’s a killer at work here who has it in for those very police officers I’ve helped out. And, he’s following the chronological order of my former assignments.”

  Katharina stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

  “I’m having a hard time believing in coincidence.”

  She could tell how worried he was. “Let’s say you’re right about it,” she said, keeping calm. “What would be the purpose?”

  “I’d say we’re dealing with a perpetrator with a precise, if twisted, mission. The victims are connected by a quite specific yet common characteristic. In this case, police officers that I’ve worked with.”

  “Why you, Chris? Do you have any enemies?”

  “None that I know of,” he replied, hesitating. “When I was still actively involved helping the police, I became almost a kind of star and in almost no time. The Munich investigations got the most buzz. One of the victims was a celebrity; another was Munich’s deputy mayor. I gave interviews, was invited on talk shows. Some movers and shakers in broadcasting thought I could be right for TV. On top of that, I had a success rate of one hundred percent solving cases. So it could be, yes, that I aroused the interest of some psychopath who dreams of foiling me. Suddenly he hears that I’m retiring from it. He sees his big fish swimming away. Till he gets an idea. What could pull me back in the quickest? By murdering these detectives, he throws down his trump card. Especially with the murders fitting the MO of the previous crimes. The specific details are easy enough to research—thanks to Blum’s book, in his case. In Munich there was a leaker who told the tabloids all he could. In Jörg’s case, and in yours, the details came to light in court during the trial.”

  Chris had gotten it all out. With every sentence, his words had grown more and more urgent. Even so, Katharina shook her head.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Okay. Give me another explanation. Let’s assume for a second it is the same murderer—what’s the connection between Matthias and Gerd?”

  “We haven’t established anything so far in that respect.”

  “I’m guessing I’m the only connecting link. As much as it hurts me to say it: they died because of me.”

  “You can’t let yourself think that,” Katharina told him. She leaned across the table and stroked his cheek. Touching him like this, it rekindled her wish that they could have rediscovered each other under better circumstances. It had been stupid of her to break off contact. “You mentioned a perpetrator with a ‘mission.’ I still don’t quite understand what his mission would be about.”

  “I imagine he wants to show me that he’s superior to me. First he kills the four detectives; then he sets his sights on me. Or he leaves me with the guilt of not having saved any of the officers. So, unless I’m mistaken, you are now in great danger—and Jörg too.”

  “It can’t be,” she shot back.

  “Blum and Renner wouldn’t have believed it either. Yet it happened.”

  They fell silent a moment. Then she reported to him on what she’d learned about Glasch. As she did, she started to realize just how serious that song Glasch started up in prison—about the little “piggies”—really was. Chris thought her suspicions fully justified.

  As the waiter served them their main course, she took a look out at the river. Patches of dim fog drifted low along the current, matching her bleak mood. Yet, Chris was looking at her with such deep interest and concern. With his probing questions about her personal life, they moved away from professional talk, and Katharina ended up pouring out her heart to him. She could finally free all those memories trapped inside her.

  “When those officers showed up at my place, I refused to believe it was true. For the first time, I knew how loved ones felt when I had to tell them about the terrible tragedy that tore their lives apart forever. Julius was in a car accident. He went off the road at a curve on slick surface, and plummeted down an embankment. In my nightmares, I keep hearing Sarah screaming for me, over and over. And . . . I’m not there. I can’t save her.”

  Tears blurred her vision, but it didn’t matter because Chris’s warm hand was stroking her cheek.

  “I couldn’t talk to you about it back then,” she told him when she could steady her voice again. “I thought maybe I was being punished for the way I’d treated Julius. The guilt was tearing me apart.”

  “If I would have known, I would have spared you that phone call of mine.”

  He sounded so genuinely moved that her fondness for him overwhelmed her and all thoughts of staying professional. “Since then, I’ve been coping better,” she told him. “Accidents happen, they do. The job helps. In the first few weeks, though, I was in no position to show up at headquarters at all. At some point I forced myself to do it. Frank was just phenomenal. He was so understanding, unbelievably so. Yeah, well. Little by little, death stopped dominating all my thoughts. At least not all day long. When I’m home al
one, it is still really tough sometimes. I’m working on that.”

  Barely an hour later, Chris parked in front of her house. He turned and gazed at her awhile, in silence. Then he cleared his throat. “You decide: Do I just sit here and watch to make sure you get inside all right, or do I get to come in with you?”

  She decided to ignore that spiteful voice inside her, the one that was allowing her no happiness. She unbuckled her seat belt and laid her head on his shoulder. Chris radiated self-assurance, which drew her in and made each action seem inevitable. He kissed her hair, and Katharina gave in to the pleasing shudder that surged up her back. Soon their lips met, gently. His tasted of wine and tiramisu.

  “You’re welcome to come in, as long as you’re not scared by a psycho wreck like me.”

  16

  He was standing so close behind her that she could feel his breath on her neck. As she unlocked the door, he placed a hand on her right hip and stroked it gently. She entered her apartment, and wondered why he hadn’t followed.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispered.

  “You know how it works with vampires,” he teased her. “They have to be invited in.”

  “Ah. Then make yourself at home, my dangerous bloodsucker,” she replied, smiling at him.

  She offered him her hand, which he took but without taking a step farther. So she pulled him inside. He pushed the front door shut with his foot and stepped closer to her. She shut her eyes and felt his lips finding her mouth so softly, just like in the car. Then his passion grew. His fingers disappeared under her blouse, exploring her body. They kissed frantically till she gently pushed him backward. Not speaking, she directed him out of the foyer and into the bedroom.