by James Craig
‘It wasn’t all bad,’ Max shrugged. ‘Nothing ever is. There are always pros and cons.’
Michael closed the paper and tossed it on his desk. ‘How was the service?’
Max glanced at Marin’s office, but the Kriminalkommissar was nowhere to be seen. Probably enjoying one of those long business lunches he likes so much. He turned to Michael and sighed. ‘It was fine.’
‘Did you speak to Clara?’
‘Yeah.’ Looking around to reassure himself that there was no one else within earshot, Max quickly filled his partner in on the latest developments concerning his career situation.
‘You’ll probably be retired before Personnel get round to sorting it out,’ Michael laughed.
Or dead. ‘Clara will get it sorted.’
Michael gestured at his desk. ‘So where does that leave things here?’
Max let out a deep breath. ‘It means, my friend, that we’re working against the clock. We have to get on with solving this damn case.’
The telephone started ringing on Michael’s desk. Stepping over, he grabbed the receiver. ‘Yes?’ After listening to the caller for a couple of moments, he offered the phone to Max. ‘It’s Theo Oster. It sounds like there’s been a bit of a problem.’
Unable to disguise his utter disgust at the pitiful sight in front of him, Max shook his head sadly as he looked the bedraggled Theo Oster up and down. The boy looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Rudi Fink. ‘I think you’re gonna have to get a new suit.’
Hovering at his shoulder, Michael Rahn did a better job of looking concerned. ‘We should get him to hospital for a check-up.’
Head bowed, Oster himself said nothing. Next to him stood a tall, lean guy with a shock of unruly blond hair. He was wearing a pair of black Converse All Stars, tattered jeans and a leather biker jacket over a Rolling Stones T-shirt. Early 30s, Max guessed, but maybe the outfit makes him look younger than he actually is.
‘Rolf Terium.’ Blondie stuck out a hand. ‘I think we’ve met before.’
‘Did I arrest you?’ Grinning, Max shook the man’s hand.
‘Hardly,’ Terium chuckled. ‘It was at a union event, I think.’
‘Max made a face. ‘Sorry, I don’t recall.’
‘It doesn’t matter; no reason why you should.’ Terium gestured towards the door. ‘Anyway, we need to have a chat. In private.’
Max glanced at Michael.
‘It’s okay,’ the sergeant nodded, ‘I’ll look after Theo.’
‘We’ll have to get our story straight for Marin,’ Max reminded him.
Michael made a face. ‘Don’t worry. That can wait ‘til tomorrow. Apart from anything else, Marin will have gone home by now.’
Terium stood beside an expensive-looking Saab. Unlocking the door, he slid into the driver’s seat. Max went round to the passenger side.
With his hands on the wheel, Terium stared out of the windscreen. On the far side of the street, a young boy was kicking a football against the wall of a tenement building. ‘Congratulations,’ he said finally, ‘you’ve blown my cover.’
Max nodded. As soon as had been able to decipher the phone call from the semi–hysterical Theo, it had become obvious that Terium had to be Gesundbrunnen’s undercover operative in Isar Services.
‘I have spent the last six months, pretending to be ‘Stefan Hug’, getting close to Barbolini and her father. I was on the inside and Penzler was on the outside. The whole thing was supposed to be top secret. And then that little –,’ he gestured towards the bar, ‘that little schwachsinnige stumbles right into the middle of things.’ Recounting the killing of Dante Fei, he threw up his hands in frustration. ‘What was I supposed to do, shoot a cop, to save my cover being blown?’
I’m sure the ‘stars of the future’ programme would have survived.
‘I couldn’t do that.’
‘Apologies.’ Max held up a hand. ‘It was my fault.’
‘Ach! What a balls up.’
‘Volkan had gone to ground,’ Max explained. ‘The only lead I had on him was his girlfriend. Theo was keeping a watch on her apartment. If they turned up, he was supposed to call me and sit tight. His instructions couldn’t have been clearer.’
‘What was he thinking? Blundering into the apartment like that. The boy’s an idiot. Just as well that Barbolini decreed I should pull the trigger, or he would be dead by now.’
‘Marin would not have been happy with that,’ Max mused, still wondering how he was going to explain this particular fiasco to the Kriminalkommissar. ‘He’s very fond of young Theo. Sees that boy as one of the brightest and best from the Academy.’
‘God help us if he’s the best we’ve got,’ Terium groaned. ‘No wonder organised crime is pouring into Berlin. It’s going to be one long party for those bastards if all we’ve got on our side is kids like that.’
‘Tell me about it.’ It started to rain. Max watched as the boy across the road promptly picked up his ball and scurried inside. Kids today, he thought, they’ve got no resilience. Feeling like a smoke, he reached for the packet of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. Putting a nail between his lips, he began searching for his Bic lighter. Where was it? Irritated, he patted himself down. Finally admitting defeat, he turned to Terium. ‘You haven’t got a light, have you?’
Terium shook his head. ‘No, sorry.’
‘Ah, well.’ Leaving the cigarette in his mouth, Max looked longingly towards the bar. ‘Never mind.’
The rain became heavier, drumming insistently on the roof of the car.
‘So why are you interested in Volkan?’
‘It’s a particularly nasty case.’ Max quickly ran through the details of the Beerfeldt killings. ‘Michael and I think there’s a connection to Isar Services.’
Terium stared into the middle distance. ‘Okay, let’s compare notes. I’ll tell you what I know.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Then we can decide where we go from here.’
‘What about Eichel and Marin?’
Terium turned to face the Kriminalinspektor. ‘They’re not going to get the job done, sitting behind a desk, are they?’
‘No,’ Max agreed.
‘Then fuck ’em. We’ll have to do it ourselves.’
Max grinned. ‘I can live with that. First things first, we have to pick up Volkan.’
Terium shook his head. ‘There’s a bigger picture here.’
‘There’s always a bigger picture,’ Max grumbled. ‘The guy has gone from being a low-level hooligan to a killer in a couple of days. What next? We have to stop him now.’
‘Volkan’s world is unravelling. He’s gonna crash and burn sooner rather than later.’
‘Yes, but how many more people does he have to take down with him.’
‘Look,’ Terium said quietly. ‘I saw him shoot my own partner right in front of me. The look on Manfred’s face … I’ll never forget it. Never.’
The rain had settled into a rhythm now; it didn’t look like was going to stop any time soon. Max watched a couple of women walk past the bar. One of them struggled with a red umbrella while the other had pulled up the collar of her raincoat and was trying to withdraw inside it.
‘When all this is over,’ Terium said quietly, ‘I’ll have to go and explain to Eva, his widow, why I wasn’t able to stop it from happening. No one wants Volkan more than me, but we have to be a little bit patient.’ He turned to face Max. ‘Apart from anything else, Volkan isn’t your man. He didn’t pull the trigger on that family.’
Max kept his gaze firmly on the street outside. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because the guy who did is a psycho called Floris Kooy.’
Max made a face. The name meant nothing to him.
‘Kooy is a Dutchman,’ Terium explained, ‘a real pro. He appeared from nowhere a few weeks ago and then the bodies started piling up.’
‘Is he the guy you’re after?’
‘Not really. The chain of command goes from Carolina Barbolini to her father, Ces
are, to their backer, a guy called Arnold Kappel. It’s not entirely clear which one of them Kooy is really working for, but it doesn’t matter that much. Kappel is the one we’re after. He’s the big fish, with operations all over Europe. That’s why we were prepared to leave Volkan in the wind.’
‘Even though Volkan killed Penzler,’ Max mumbled, ‘along with Bodo Grozer’s wife and Serhat Khedira.’
‘We need Volkan out there to help us catch Kappel,’ Terium insisted. ‘If we don’t go all the way and stop Kappel in his tracks it’s gonna be a complete disaster for everyone; he will redefine professional crime in this city for the next twenty years. The guy is into everything – drugs, weapons, people trafficking – he will organise and professionalise the business and make our jobs impossible.’
‘Our jobs are pretty much impossible already,’ Max observed.
‘Which is why this is so important,’ Terium pleaded. ‘And we can take care of Volkan once Kappel is behind bars. I promise you.’
‘Okay,’ Max sighed, ‘I guess it’s your call. So let’s get on with it.’
26
The Kriminalkommissar’s office was even stuffier than usual and Martin Marin’s face had gone a rather worrying shade of puce. Stifling a grin, Max wondered if he should call an ambulance. He sneaked a glance at Michael. The sergeant was keeping his gaze focused on a spot somewhere on the far wall, intent on giving nothing away.
‘So, let me get this straight,’ Marin spoke slowly, stressing every word in order to highlight the seriousness of the conversation, ‘you sent Theo Oster off on an unofficial surveillance operation – without any backup – and he managed to get himself mugged outside some gay bar?’
It wasn’t the greatest cover story of all time, but they hadn’t been able to come up with anything better overnight. Max stared into his lap.
‘The poor boy ends up in hospital,’ Marin thundered, ‘and has been signed off sick for the next fortnight.’
‘We’ll cope,’ Max muttered.
Marin reached for the unlit cigar stub standing in the ashtray on his desk. ‘What?’
Looking up, Max took a deep breath. ‘It was not an unofficial surveillance operation, boss. We are trying to track down Volkan Cin, the head of the 36Boys, because –’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Marin waved away the explanation with his cigar and began looking for a light. ‘But Theo was supposed to be on a diversity awareness course.’
A what? Max frowned.
‘It’s an important part of his training programme.’
‘Which he was very keen to attend,’ Michael chipped in. ‘But he can attend another session at a later date.’
Marin gave a constipated grunt. Pulling a box of matches from a drawer, he shoved the cigar into his gob. While his attention was focused on getting it lit, Max decided to play his trump card.
‘Volkan shot Manfred Penzler.’
Tossing a spent match towards the ashtray, Marin looked at him suspiciously through a cloud of smoke. ‘How do you know that? As I understand it, there hasn’t been an arrest yet.’
‘I have my sources,’ Max countered. ‘And Volkan is lying low, which is why we were watching his known haunts.’
‘Mm.’ Marin sucked greedily on the cigar. His complexion began returning to a more normal greyish colour as he put Theo Oster’s misfortunes behind him and considered the possibilities presented by this new information. ‘Is there anything else?’ he asked finally.
Max shook his head. He had decided that there was no need to tell his boss about Rolf Terium, not for the moment at least. ‘That’s it, so far.’
‘Okay.’ Settling back into his chair, Marin blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘How much of this does Eichel know?’
‘Nothing, yet,’ Max smiled.
‘Fine. Let’s keep it that way.’ Marin chuckled to himself. ‘That stupid bastard will have a heart attack if I end up solving the killing of one of his own officers for him.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Max nodded, marvelling at his own obsequiousness.
‘That will be the end of his promotion hopes, for good.’
‘Undoubtedly,’ Michael agreed.
‘Good.’ Waving the smouldering stub in front of his face, Marin signalled that the conversation was over. ‘Get on with it then. Go out and nail that little bastard …’
‘Volkan Cin,’ Max reminded him.
‘Yes, Cin. Go out and nail him good.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Max repeated, jumping to his feet. Through the cigar smoke, he could just make out the evil grin spreading across Marin’s face.
‘Just remember,’ the Kriminalkommissar added, ‘if he gets shot resisting arrest, that’s fine too. And better for the city’s finances into the bargain.’
Closing the door behind him, Max took a couple of deep breaths to try and get Marin’s cigar smoke out of his lungs.
‘Looks like we got away with it,’ said Michael in a hushed voice.
‘Yeah. Just as long as Oster keeps his mouth shut.’
‘I think he will. He was really shaken up.’
‘Nearly getting shot in the face can have that effect on you, apparently,’ Max mused.
‘It might do him good in the long run; make him a bit less arrogant.’
‘Maybe.’ Max glanced at his watch. ‘Look, I’ve got a couple of things to do.’ Changing direction, he began heading for the stairs. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Michael asked.
‘You heard the man,’ Max chuckled, ‘get out there and nail the bastard.’
Michael looked less than motivated by the pep talk.
‘Or, failing that, we’ll sort it out when I get back.’
27
The funeral service for Peter Behle was held at the Catholic church of Fei Bonifatius in Kreuzberg. It was already well underway when they slipped into a pew at the back. Scanning the room, Max found himself cheered by the size of the turnout but dismayed by the fact that he could not find a single familiar face amongst the crowd of a hundred or so family and friends. He wondered how many of the people gathered here to celebrate Peter’s memory actually knew about his double life? Peter had always kept his love life hermetically sealed from the rest of his existence. He had been terrified of his parents finding out and Max had always been kept well away from any social gatherings.
I respected his wishes in life, Max suddenly thought, so why not in death? He gently nudged Clara on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go,’ he whispered.
Clara turned to look at him and frowned. ‘But we’ve only just got here.’
Taking her arm, Max gently lifted her to her feet. ‘C’mon, we need to get out of here.’
Walking down the busy Hasenheide, Max bought two coffees from a kiosk and led Clara into the eponymous Volkspark nearby. Finding a bench under a massive oak tree, they had barely sat down when there was a screech of tyres and the crash of metal on metal, followed almost instantly by the bellowing of multiple car horns. Looking up, Max saw that a slate grey Trabant had gone into the back of a giant Mercedes about twenty yards down the street. The East German vehicle looked like it had disintegrated but that did not stop the Merc driver jumping from his car and berating the shocked Trabi driver mercilessly.
‘Don’t you want to go and sort that out?’ Clara asked.
‘What,’ Max asked in mock indignation, ‘do I look like a traffic cop?’ Already he could hear the faint sound of sirens heading towards them. ‘It’ll get sorted out soon enough.’
‘I just hope that the guy in the Trabant doesn’t get beaten up first.’
‘Serves him right for driving that piece of crap if he does,’ Max harrumphed.
‘They won’t be around for long,’ Clara sighed. ‘Just another symbol of East Germany's failed experiment in communism.’
‘Quite.’ Max watched a police car roll up. ‘The government was subsidising each and every bloody car to the tune of fifteen hundred deutschmarks.’ He shook his head. ‘Crazy.�
��
‘It kept sixty-five thousand people in work,’ Carla pointed out.
‘It was still crazy.’
‘God knows what all those people will do now.’ Clara shivered against the chill as she drank from the paper cup. Dressed in a business suit and a pearl blouse, she was perfectly turned out for the occasion but lacked an overcoat. Slipping off his raincoat, Max draped it over her shoulders.
‘Thanks,’ she smiled.
‘Sorry for dragging you out of there.’
‘That’s okay.’ She reached over and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek, like a mother soothing a fractious child. ‘Was it all too much?’
Leaning forward, Max took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Nah,’ he shook his head. ‘It just wasn’t the right thing to do. Peter wouldn’t have wanted me there. I didn’t even realise that he was a Catholic.’
She put a consoling hand on his shoulder. ‘What do you mean?’
Max turned to look her. ‘He kept the different parts of his life completely separate. It was a bit lame, but it was his decision and I respected that. I suddenly realised that if I respected it then, I should respect it now.’
Taking the hand from his shoulder, she ran a careful forefinger across the back of his neck. ‘Did you love him?’
‘Maybe.’ Max let out a deep breath. ‘After a fashion.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Love is a fairly ill-defined term, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s right.’
‘We had our moments. It doesn’t really matter now, though, does it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, still stroking his neck. ‘I think it does.’
For a moment they sat in silence.
‘Anyway,’ Clara said finally, ‘how are you feeling?’
‘To be honest, I feel great. All the stuff with the tests and the doctors and stuff, it all seems very … abstract.’
‘You need to start thinking about what you’re gonna do about it.’
‘I’m not gonna do anything about it,’ Max spluttered. ‘I thought that was the whole point. There’s nothing you can do.’ Waving his hands in the air, he mimed looking scared. ‘It’s a death sentence.’
