Until the Debt Is Paid

by Alexander Hartung

  “That supposed to mean I can’t take part in the plan?”

  “I’m eternally grateful that you’ve been helping me, Zoe, but I won’t allow you to ruin your career and end up on unemployment.”

  Zoe laughed, choking on smoke.

  “That really is sweet of you, Jan, but I don’t need you to protect me.”

  “If you get thrown out of Forensics, you’ll have trouble finding—”

  “What kind of shoes are these?” she cut in, raising her right foot.

  Jan blinked, confused. “Black boots?” he tried.

  “I love guys like you. Know the soccer scores going back ten years, yet think ‘sneakers’ is a shoe brand.”

  Jan couldn’t see anything special about her boots. The leather looked well made. The boot had a slightly raised sole and a metal ring on the upper.

  “Those are Gucci,” Chandu said. “From the winter collection.”

  Zoe nodded approvingly. “I didn’t know they had Gucci in Africa.”

  “Oh, there’s loads. See all the things you don’t know?”

  “So, Jan,” she said. “The million-dollar question: How can a medical examiner with the police department afford sixteen-hundred-euro shoes?”

  “Sixteen hundred euros for a lousy pair of leather boots?” Max blurted.

  Zoe punished the hacker with a disparaging glance. It shut him up instantly.

  “Uh, medical examiners make that much?” Jan ventured.

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Have you ever seen me wearing the same pair twice?”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t—”

  “Forget it. Obviously you can’t follow my train of thought. I’ll put it in a way that your simple male brain can grasp.” Zoe glared, searching Jan’s eyes. “I do the job for fun. I have enough dough that I never actually have to work.”

  Max began to say, “So where did you—”

  “None of your fucking business, Computer Brains,” she shot back. “Best you start thinking about how we nab Psycho Patrick.”

  She leaned back on the couch. “Am I actually going to get any more of that jungle sludge you call coffee, or do I have to run to Starbucks?”

  Chandu stood and took her empty cup. “It would be my pleasure, Zoe,” he said with excess hospitality, adding a bow.

  As the big man went into the kitchen, Jan turned to the image on the wall. “So. How do we close in on Patrick?”

  “You can forget about a stakeout,” Chandu shouted from the kitchen. “He’ll notice.”

  “What good would that do, anyway?” Zoe asked. “Even if he returns to the scene of the crime, he can always justify it as head detective.”

  “Maybe he’s not finished yet and already has a third victim in mind,” Chandu said.

  “You mean Nathan?” Jan wondered.

  “Would be a clear candidate.” Chandu set down a cup in front of Zoe. “He might even know who really murdered his sister.”

  “It wasn’t Nathan?” Zoe said.

  “No, that’s not his style. He might well have killed people, but he would never bother with a small-time drug courier. He has a staff for that.”

  “Then you guys are going to have break into his place,” Max offered.

  “Max,” Jan said in a fatherly voice. “This is not CSI. Patrick surely doesn’t have the kind of door you can just click open with a matchstick. And he’s not leaving his balcony door unlocked, either.”

  “Then present yourselves as police detectives to the building manager and get the door opened. By the time he comes home, you’ll have any evidence you need.”

  “A bad idea,” Jan replied. “The building manager would be able to describe me, and Patrick would be tipped off. He doesn’t know that we’re on his trail. The element of surprise is the only advantage we have.”

  Jan stood up and paced. “How do I avenge my sister’s death?”

  Max began to say, “I didn’t know your sister—”

  “It’s hypothetical, nerd,” Zoe snapped at him.

  “Ah,” Max said. He went back to the computer in his lap.

  “You’d have to know everything about your target,” Chandu said.

  “That’s not a problem. I can find all important files on any police computer. In my free time? I study the victim and record his every movement.”

  “You have to write it down somewhere,” Max said.

  “What do you mean, write it down?”

  “You want to kill two or more people and go about it painstakingly, you have to make notes somewhere. Nobody can keep all that in their head.”

  “So where do we find notes?” Chandu asked.

  Max said, “Either Patrick is supercareless and keeps his notes at work . . .”

  “Or they’re at his place,” Jan finished.

  “Exactly,” Max said. “Which means, there’s no other option but to break in.”

  “I’m afraid Max is right.” Jan turned to Chandu.

  The big man sighed. “My record is nearly spotless. But since I’ve been chilling with you? Seems I’m just dying to get into the big house.”

  Jan gave a sheepish grin.

  “Make all of yourselves comfortable,” Chandu said. “I have to go visit a friend, get up to speed on the latest in security systems. Tonight we’ll plan some more.” He took a key, pulled on his jacket, and left the apartment.

  “Any more coffee?” Zoe said.

  Chandu wasn’t gone long when someone knocked on the door.

  “You expecting anyone?” Zoe said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray.

  “Maybe Chandu forgot his key,” Max suggested.

  Jan bounded over the couch and pulled out a pistol from under a pillow. He rushed to the door and gestured Zoe over.

  “I hope it’s not Jehovah’s Witnesses,” she muttered, went over to the door, and pulled down the handle.

  “Is Herr Tommen there?” Jan heard Father Anberger’s voice ask. “I have mail for him.”

  Jan sighed in relief, set his gun on the entry table, and stood next to Zoe.

  “Well, Father Anberger,” he said, to make the priest feel welcome. “Come on in.”

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you, but your mailbox was full, so I came by after church service.”

  “That’s kind of you.” He waved Father Anberger inside. As much as Jan liked the priest, this visit wasn’t exactly well timed. When Chandu came back, they were going to figure out how to break into Patrick’s apartment. And before then, Jan had a lot of thinking to do.

  “I’d like to introduce you to my friends Max and Zoe.” The hacker gave the father a friendly wave. Zoe lit up another cigarette.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Have a seat.” Jan gestured to an armchair.

  Father Anberger sat down, handing Jan the mail.

  “I know that, at the moment, you’re having some . . . trouble coming back home,” the priest said in a secretive whisper.

  “You don’t have to worry. Max and Zoe know all about it.”

  “Ah,” Father Anberger said. “Are you doing well, Herr Tommen?”

  “Despite my situation, I’ve been lucky enough. I have a place to sleep and friends helping me look for the real killer.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “We only have guesses as of yet, but we’re hoping to have something concrete soon.”

  “Things are getting worse all the time,” the priest said. “I just read about another murder. Some building contractor was tortured to death.”

  “Ah, you mean Michael Josseck?” Max said.

  “I think that’s his name. You knew him?”

  “We’re working on that case too,” Jan explained.

  “Is it the same murderer?”

  “Possibly.” Jan was a
little surprised the priest was interested in the murders.

  “Why would a person do such a thing?”

  “Certainly not because he’s possessed by the devil,” Zoe said, clearly annoyed by the conversation.

  “Can I offer you anything to drink?” Jan said, hoping to sidestep the remark.

  Father Anberger shook his head. “Thanks. I just wanted to bring you your mail.” He rose from the armchair. “I will pray that you find the murderer.” He nodded at Max and Zoe and left the apartment.

  Jan closed the door and leaned on it, feeling relieved. He did not want to drag the priest into this.

  “Somehow I get the feeling the old man wasn’t just looking to bring over the mail,” Zoe said.

  “Father Anberger is a good-hearted soul,” Jan said in his defense. “He cares about all of his flock. Even if the mail was a blatant excuse to drop by, his motives are selfless.”

  Zoe raised her eyebrows and dedicated herself to another cigarette. She wasn’t looking too convinced. But Jan didn’t have time for head games. All that counted was getting ready to break into Patrick’s house.

  Chandu returned from his expedition that evening.

  “First, we have to find out where Patrick lives,” the big man said.

  “In an apartment building, in Kreuzberg,” Max said. “Not a bad neighborhood, but not exactly kick-ass.”

  “Good. I’ll need a photo of the lock at the front entrance. Then I’ll know how we’re getting in, because the unit locks will have a similar setup.”

  “What options are we looking at?” Jan asked.

  “We can first try to electropick it,” Chandu explained. He held up a little device that looked like a handheld milk frother but a little bigger. “This thing generates vibrations from a mechanism rapidly moving up and down. Using this tensioner on the front here, the cylinder core can be manipulated to turn and the door opens right up.”

  “Sounds like child’s play,” Zoe said.

  “It kind of is. But most cylinders have a safeguard against this. This only works if the lock on Patrick’s door is old enough.”

  “And what if it isn’t?” Max said.

  “Then we go with the lock-bumping method. For that we use a key blank with special notches, a so-called bump key.” Chandu held up a key with teeth that were beveled down.

  “Basically, every lock has five pins that need to be pushed upward. If any one of them is higher or lower than the key, the lock will not budge. The notches on this key are designed so that when I give it a bump and jolt it hard, the pins inside jump up because of the thrust. Then I can turn the lock real quick.”

  “Is that it?” Zoe asked.

  “Basically, yes. I need a photo of the front lock because I’ll choose a blank based on its looks. It should work. Then, a minute later? We’re in.”

  “Awesome. Can I come too?”

  “Zoe,” Jan reminded her. “We already talked about that.”

  “And I told you that I don’t rely on my job.”

  “It’s not just about money,” Chandu told her. “They catch you on a break-in with Jan, they’ll run you in.”

  “Don’t you worry yourself about me, Mr. T,” Zoe said, teasing.

  “Don’t go flattering yourself, Carcinogen Queen.”

  Zoe fluttered her eyelashes, all flirty.

  “Besides,” Jan weighed in, “I need you over at CID. You have to keep an eye on Patrick, give us a warning in case he decides to go home early.”

  Zoe, sulking, breathed out cigarette smoke. “So how will you guys sneak inside?”

  “I may have a plan for that,” Jan said.

  Max almost dropped the package from nerves. He hadn’t been this worked up since he’d faced off with his final opponent in Diablo. Of course, that was a role-playing video game and this was real life. His hands wet with sweat, he walked over to the building and read the doorbell nameplates. He tried to remember the plan, but his mind was a blank. Then he heard Jan’s voice behind him.

  “Nice and easy, Max. You can do this.”

  Jan wore the reflective outfit of a city street cleaner. He stood at the curb with a leaf blower. Once Max got the door open, the sound would bluster in through the entryway and cover up any noise Chandu made breaking in to the apartment.

  Max took a deep breath. He had to work his way down the names from top to bottom until someone let him in the door. On the way up, he’d write on the package the name of whoever had buzzed him in and then deliver it to them. The cardboard box was all bound up, with practically an entire roll of packing tape. This would give Max enough time to disappear before the recipient had unpacked the scraps of useless computer parts inside.

  Max started with the first bell. A. Regner. He pressed the white button and waited. Nothing happened. He wiped his moist hands on his pants. Then he tried the next bell.

  “Let’s see if you’re home, P. Walter,” Max muttered. Two seconds later a woman’s voice blared out from the speaker. Startled, Max almost dropped the package.

  “Hello?”

  “Uh, hello there. Max here. I mean the mail, of course. I have a package for you, Frau . . . Walter.”

  The door was activated to open. Max nearly whooped with joy. Now he had to fix the door so that Chandu got in and the racket from the leaf blower would echo down the corridor. Max pressed on the door and it clicked open.

  “Ha,” he blurted in triumph. He quickly wrote Frau Walter’s name on the package and got ready to complete his job.

  Jan took out his cell and tapped on a Favorites icon. Zoe answered.

  “We’re inside,” he said. “What’s up with Patrick?”

  “He’s still in the building, though I don’t see him,” the medical examiner replied. “His car is still here and I’m keeping an eye on the entrance.”

  “Good. We’re going in.”

  “I’ll wait thirty minutes. Then I’ll go to work. Tell me how it went later tonight.” Zoe hung up.

  Jan turned on the leaf blower. The machine howled and blustered, drowning out all sound. He was blowing gum wrappers around in front of him as Chandu approached the stairway.

  The roar of leaf blower turning on was the signal they’d worked out. Without looking over at his friend, Chandu entered the building. He wore a borrowed blue work jacket with various tools sticking out of it, passing himself off as building maintenance. He climbed the stairs swiftly, but without running. If all went according to plan, Max would be delivering his package and Chandu would be inside the apartment before the hacker was back downstairs. Jan would toss the blower in the car and come up to the apartment.

  When he got to Patrick’s apartment, Chandu pulled out the bump key. He stuck it into the lock, a screwdriver ready in his other hand. Holding the key in place, he pounded against the door lightly, turning the key. The little metal thing wouldn’t budge. He tried again, but again he couldn’t get the key to turn.

  Chandu cursed under his breath. He had the right blank. He’d practiced it yesterday and had no problems.

  Something was stirring at the door next to Patrick’s.

  “Honey,” he heard a man’s voice say over the noisy blower. “I’m going shopping real quick.” The door opened a crack. Chandu’s thoughts raced. Should he break it off and split?

  He pounded on the blank harder.

  “Don’t forget bread,” a woman’s voice answered.

  He had one, maybe two more tries. He drew out the key a little. He jerked his wrist, but the metal wouldn’t budge. The blank bent under his strong grip.

  “Dude, relax,” he reminded himself. If he broke off the key, it was all over. They wouldn’t get into the apartment and Patrick would be tipped off.

  “See ya soon,” the man said, opening the door.

  Chandu pounded at the key. The blank turned. He shoved the door open, rushe
d into the apartment, and pulled the door shut in one quick motion. He heard footsteps passing in the hall. Then everything was still. He breathed out, trying to calm his thumping heart. Break-ins really were not his deal.

  He took his cell from his pants pocket. He dialed Jan’s number, let it ring once, hung up.

  The leaf blower went silent. So far so good.

  “Good morning to you, Frau Walter,” Max said, smiling wide.

  The elderly lady inspected him with suspicion. “Morning,” she replied grumpily.

  “Your package.” He pressed the box into her open arms.

  “Thanks.” The woman, curious, turned the box in her hands. “Where do I sign?”

  Max’s smile faded. “What’s that you want?”

  “To sign,” the woman explained. “Normally a person acknowledges receipt.”

  He’d never considered that part. “No, no,” he gushed, “we got this new technology. All you do is receive the package and it’s all good.”

  “Which carrier you working for again?”

  “The post office.”

  “You mean DHL?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Don’t they wear those yellow uniforms?”

  “Me, I’m . . . freelance. Only permanent employees get those outfits.”

  “Uh-huh,” the woman said. She studied Max as if he wasn’t quite right in the head. Then she shut the door.

  Max wiped sweat from his forehead. He had to clear out before the old woman opened the package. He hurried down the stairs and almost collided with a man carrying a shopping basket. He apologized and kept moving. Outside, he rushed around the corner and leaned on an ad column. His knees were shaking. The real world out there could get pretty damn exciting. It was time he got back to his computer.

  The air in Patrick’s apartment was stagnant. It smelled like fried meat. On a wall, jackets hung in a precise row. Next to them stood an empty umbrella stand and a little cabinet of worn slippers. The laminate flooring was shiny, as if making up for the apartment’s odor. When Jan came into the living room, Chandu was sitting at a desk. He had connected his laptop to Patrick’s computer and started to copy files. Max had gotten them set up so that the hard drive would download without Patrick noticing it was copied over.