A Slow Death (Max Drescher Book 1)

by James Craig

  ‘Life is a death sentence, Max.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Seuss.’

  ‘It’s up to you to take control of this,’ Clara continued, ignoring his feeble retort. ‘Sort yourself out.’

  ‘I’ve got a book,’ Max muttered, keen to close down this conversation as quickly as possible. Once she got started, Clara could become incredibly bossy about matters that, really, were nothing to do with her.

  ‘Well that’s a start.’

  ‘Dealing with HIV – A guide for the newly diagnosed.’ He surprised himself by remembering the title.

  ‘And has it been useful?’

  ‘Err,’ Max struggled to remember what the cover looked like. ‘I think it’s quite interesting. I’ve only just started it, though.’

  ‘You’ve got to read as much as you can.’

  Why? ‘Sure.’

  After finishing their coffee, they headed slowly back through the park towards Mehringdamm. As they did so, Max talked Clara through his uncomfortable conversation with Marin.

  ‘Well, no one’s contacted me yet. Given the pace that your personnel department works at, it could take forever.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Max grinned.

  ‘You can’t stay in denial forever though, Max.’

  ‘I’m not in denial,’ he said sharply. ‘I just don’t feel quite ready to be put in my grave just yet.’

  ‘Okay,’ she smiled, taking him by the arm. ‘But, remember, I can get you a good deal.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Max smiled, pulling her close. ‘I’ll take it. But there’s no need to rush. At least give me enough time to close the Beerfeldt case.’

  28

  Sounding like a demented dentist’s drill, the front door buzzer sounded again, harsh and insistent. There was a pause of one, maybe two seconds, and then it went again.

  ‘Hold on, for Christ’s sake.’ In a pair of running shorts and a Pink Floyd “Wish You Were Here” T-shirt, Carolina Barbolini reluctantly padded down the hall towards the noise, which was doing nothing for her hangover. ‘I’m coming, calm down Dante.’ With a yawn, she unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the door without bothering to first look through the spyhole. Anything to make the damn noise stop.

  ‘Good morning. Did I wake you?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Stepping across the threshold, Carolina looked up and down the corridor. ‘Where’s Dante?’

  ‘No idea.’ Floris Kooy pulled a Glock from the waistband of his jeans and waved it in her sleepy face. ‘Let’s go inside.’

  Carolina felt a jolt of adrenaline surge through her chest. She was awake now. Hands on hips, she tried to adopt a defiant pose, staring at the man, rather than the gun. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Inside.’

  ‘I could scream the place down.’

  ‘Not for long. Now move.’

  Reluctantly, Carolina obeyed the underling’s order. ‘You’re gonna be in deep shit.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Stepping into the hall, Kooy pushed the door shut with his free hand, while placing the barrel of the semi-automatic in the small of her back. ‘Who else is here?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.

  What would be a good answer? After a couple of seconds she gave up on trying to formulate a lie. ‘Just Volkan.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Kooy grunted, ‘the toy-boy business genius.’ He began to stroke his chin with his free hand. ‘Why the boss ever thought you pair could look after his money is beyond me.’

  The boss?

  ‘At least it’s a mistake he’s not going to repeat.’ Rolling the muzzle of the gun over her lower vertebrae, he encouraged her to move forward. ‘Is Volkan awake?’

  Barbolini nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s he up to?’

  ‘Reading,’ Barbolini mumbled, ‘I think.’

  ‘So the boy can read,’ Kooy grinned. ‘Who’d have thought it? Let’s go and take a look, shall we?’ Moving down the hall, he followed her into a large living room. Light flooded in through a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows. Kooy was momentarily distracted by the sleek Bauhaus furniture and the massive Warhol reproduction print which dominated the whitewashed wall at the far end of the room. Classy, he thought. The monthly rent must be quite something. Everything had been put together with care and taste; the only thing that looked out of place was the slob sprawled on the sofa in his underwear.

  Looking up, it took Volkan Cin a moment to recognise Kooy and another moment for him to acknowledge the gun in the Dutchman’s hand. Letting his Spiderman comic fall on to his lap, the leader of the 36Boys pushed himself upright. ‘What is this?’ The question was directed more towards Barbolini, but she just stared at her brightly painted toenails. Getting no response from his squeeze, Volkan turned his attention back to Kooy or, rather, to Kooy’s weapon. ‘Where’s Dante?’

  An amused look spread across Kooy’s face. ‘Why is everyone so interested in Dante Fei this morning? And why would his whereabouts be of any interest to me?’

  Volkan frowned. ‘Because he’s your boss, maybe?’

  ‘You think?’

  Volkan flinched as Kooy pointed the gun at his face. ‘Are you trying to rip us off?’

  ‘I’m not trying to do anything.’ Stepping away from the woman, Kooy lifted his gun to waist height, cocked the hammer and released the safety.

  ‘So what is this then?’ Volkan squeaked, his heart accelerating so fast that he was sure it was going to jump right out of his dry throat. ‘It doesn’t seem much of a social call.’

  ‘This is you taking early retirement.’

  ‘Eh?’ Cin struggled to his feet but was pushed back down by the 9mm round slamming viciously into his chest. As the explosion of the gunshot echoed round the room, he slumped backwards, an angry red stain spreading across his chest.

  Kooy watched as the light faded from Volkan’s eyes. There would be no need for a second bullet. He flicked the safety back on.

  Hovering in the doorway, Barbolini tried to affect a casual air but her eyes, flitting from Volkan to Kooy and back again, told a different story.

  Stuffing the gun back into his waistband, Kooy reached down and carefully retrieved the Spiderman comic from under Cin’s arm. Aside from a dark stain in one corner, it seemed undamaged. The front cover was dominated by a drawing of a dissolute looking Santa, under the strapline: you’d better watch out. A smoking cigarette dangled from his lower lip, and he was brandishing a gleaming handgun, a monster weapon far bigger than Kooy’s. Kooy casually flicked through the pages. ‘Cool.’ he smiled. ‘I don’t think I’ve read this one.’

  ‘Take it,’ Barbolini sniffed. ‘I don’t think Volkan will mind.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Turning back to face Barbolini, Kooy gestured through the door, back down the hallway. ‘Now, where’s the kitchen? I could do with some coffee.’

  29

  ‘Here you go.’ Standing behind the breakfast bar, Barbolini handed over a mug of steaming black coffee. With the lifeless body of Volkan Cin slumped on the sofa in the next room, an air of febrile normality permeated the kitchen.

  ‘Thank you.’ Kooy took a careful sip.

  ‘It’s a Costa Rican blend,’ Barbolini said flatly. ‘I get it from a deli in Kreuzberg.’

  ‘Not bad.’ Kooy looked around the kitchen. Everything was clean, shiny and soulless; it felt like they were standing in a showroom display. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

  ‘We had to abandon the other place.’’

  ‘I heard about that,’ Kooy grinned. ‘Most unfortunate.’

  ‘It’s taken care of,’ Barbolini explained, pouring some coffee for herself. ‘Stefan and Dante were dealing with him.’

  So where are they then? Kooy was not worried about Stefan Hug and Dante Fei; he could handle the pair of them with one hand tied behind his back. At the same time, they were loose ends. And loose ends had to be dealt with sooner or later. ‘Good, good.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll have to leave this place now, as well.’
She looked at him suspiciously over the rim of her mug. ‘How did you know we were here?’

  ‘Dante told me.’ The lie slipped easily off his tongue. The truth was rather different; Kooy had found a list of Berlin addresses on the desk of Cesare Barbolini’s desk, after he had shot the old man. As a result, he knew about every property Isar Services had in Berlin. The Zehlendorf apartment had been the second place he’d visited.

  Barbolini nodded. ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘Dante?’ Kooy took a mouthful of coffee and placed his mug on the bar next to the blood-soaked comic book. ‘I did some work with him in Moscow,’ smiling, he shook his head at the memory, ‘a nasty business.’

  Barbolini’s eyes narrowed. ‘Moscow?’

  ‘Yes. Now that is a dangerous city.’ His smile grew wider as he watched the pieces fall into place.

  ‘And you met my father there?’

  ‘That’s right. I first met Cesare in the Amber Hotel, just off Red Square.’ Kooy smiled at the memory. ‘He had an ice-cool blonde on his arm; amazing cheekbones.’

  Dismay at her father’s peccadillos evaporated as Barbolini saw the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. ‘So you work for Kappel?’

  ‘Very good. That’s right. When your father went to Russia to borrow money from Arnold Kappel in order to fund your little German adventure, one of his conditions was that I was embedded into the Berlin operation, to keep an eye on his interests on the ground.’

  ‘Cesare didn’t tell me that.’ Gripping the mug tightly, she quickly tried to erase the sense of betrayal from her face.

  ‘Families all have their little secrets.’

  Barbolini gestured towards doorway with her chin. ‘I need to give him a call.’

  ‘Cesare is unavailable. You won’t be able to get hold of him.’

  Unavailable. Her stomach did a somersault. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because,’ Kooy said gently, ‘I shot him.’

  ‘What?’ Her face started to go red from the neck up.

  ‘I shot your father,’ Kooy repeated. ‘He’s dead.’

  For a moment, it looked like her head might explode. Clenching her fist, she screamed: ‘You bastard.’

  With her face scrunched up in fury, Barbolini looked, to Kooy’s mind, like nothing so much as an angry toddler. Stifling a laugh, he moved onto the balls of his feet, easily dodging the mug that flew past his head before smashing into the wall behind. Ignoring the coffee splatter across his jacket, he held up his pistol for Barbolini to inspect as she clawed furiously at one of the kitchen drawers. ‘I don’t think a carving knife is going to be much use to you, is it?’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Kooy pulled back the hammer. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Argh.’ Taking a series of deep, shallow, breaths, Barbolini slammed the drawer shut and placed her hands on the bar.

  ‘That’s good.’

  For several moments, they stood in silence.

  ‘There was no need to kill him,’ she said finally, stifling a sob.

  ‘It was inevitable.’

  ‘But we recovered the money,’ she muttered. ‘Everything was going according to plan.’

  ‘Nothing was going according to plan. You allowed your accountant and a bookshop owner who was supposed to be laundering the cash to embezzle millions of dollars from right under your nose. And then Jesse James in there,’ Kooy gestured towards the living room with his pistol, ‘starts going crazy and half the cops in the city are chasing after you. That is not what you would call professional behaviour. You were supposed to be keeping a low profile, laying down roots, planning for the long-term. Instead, you were doing exactly the opposite – partying, fucking the help, making a scene. Mr Kappel is a professional businessman. He doesn’t like that kind of conduct.’

  A businessman wanted in more than a dozen different countries for a range of crimes from corruption of public officials to murder, Barbolini thought sourly.

  ‘He had to intervene. And now he wants his money back.’

  ‘But the property deal is all lined up, ready to go. It still makes a lot of sense. We can make it work.’

  ‘We?’

  Carolina took a deep breath. ‘I can make it work.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Kooy tightened his grip on the semi-automatic. When the time came, he was going to enjoy getting rid of this woman. Her decision-making was mediocre and she lacked self-awareness. As far as he could see, her position in her father’s business was the result of nepotism, pure and simple. First, however, he had to get his hands on the money. ‘It was Volkan’s deal and it’s been cancelled. Where’s the cash?’

  ‘It’s not here.’

  His thumb tickled the safety catch, but Kooy resisted the urge to flick it off and squeeze the trigger. Be calm, show some restraint. He took a deep breath.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so dumb as to keep it here, would I?’

  Maybe, maybe not. Was she lying? He had no idea. ‘It wouldn’t take me that long to tear this place apart.’

  Playing her only card for all it was worth, Barbolini folded her arms, trying to recover some of her earlier defiance. ‘Be my guest.’

  Maybe later, if I have to. Kooy held up his free hand. ‘Okay, okay. Let’s assume the cash isn’t here. Where is it?’

  A sly smile passed across Barbolini’s face. ‘It’s not here. It’s safe and sound but you won’t find it unless I take you there. First, however, I have to do a deal – with Kappel.’

  30

  Sitting with his boxers around his knees, Max yawned as he half-heartedly tried to jerk off to an old copy of Adam magazine. He had discovered the magazine lying under the sofa, alongside a couple of empty beer cans, when making a belated attempt at tidying the place up. I really need to get a new cleaner, he thought, resolving to place an ad in the window of the local mini-mart in the morning.

  His domestic musings were doing nothing to get him in the mood, however, and he was on the brink of giving up the struggle when the phone started ringing. Tossing the magazine onto the sofa, he let his barely erect member fall from his hand before struggling to his feet and shuffling into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Max? It’s Rolf Terium. Sorry for ringing you so late.’

  ‘It’s fine, ‘Max grunted. ‘I was up.’ He glanced down at his rapidly shrivelling tool. ‘Almost.’

  ‘What?’ Terium asked. In the background was the sound of traffic and, it seemed, someone having an argument.

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’ Resigning himself to the inevitable, Max pulled up his underpants. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ve found Volkan,’ Terium explained. ‘He’s dead. Someone shot him in the chest.’

  ‘At least that’s the end of his one-man crime wave. Where did it happen?’

  ‘In a fancy apartment in Zehlendorf.’ Terium gave him the address.

  ‘What the hell was he doing out in Zehlendorf?’

  ‘Dunno. I got a tip off from a mate in despatch who heard the call come in. I got down here about five minutes ago.’

  Looking around the kitchen, Max managed to retrieve a till receipt and a badly chewed pencil stub. ‘Gimme that address again.’ Terium obliged and Max scribbled it down on the back of the scrap of paper. ‘Okay,’ he sighed, ‘I’m on my way. It shouldn’t take me too long to get there at this time of night.’ Returning the receiver to its cradle, he pulled up his trousers and went off in search of his shoes.

  ‘Shame about the sofa.’ Max pointed towards the dark, crusted stain that had spread out across the cream cushions. ‘I don’t think they’re going to get that out very easily.’

  ‘No,’ Terium grinned. ‘You’re looking at a complete re-upholstery job. Probably cheaper just to throw it away and buy a new one. The landlord’s gonna be really pissed off.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll take the cost out of the deposit.’ Max looked around aimlessly. ‘Where’s the body?’

  ‘They took it away twenty minutes ago.’

 
‘And we’re sure it was Volkan. Did he have any ID?’

  ‘Definitely. I saw the body. It was him. And he was carrying a wallet with a driver’s licence and a university library card. Next of kin are being identified.’

  Max thought back to his meeting with the dying Kerem Cin and winced. ‘I can do that.’

  Terium gave him a quizzical look. Informing family members about the death of a nearest and dearest was a horrible job; most people ran a mile from it.

  ‘The father is the only relative,’ Max explained. ‘He’s in a bad way himself – terminal cancer – and needs to be handled gently. I know him a little bit. I can do it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s got to be better than some kid in a uniform turning up at his door in the middle of the night.’ Max looked around the room at the usual crime scene congestion. ‘Who’s in charge here?’

  ‘That would be me.’ A tall, elegant brunette appeared in front of him, hand outstretched. ‘Kriminalinspektor Isolde Zinke.’ Fresh face and bright eyed, the policewoman looked ridiculously energised for the time of night.

  Breathing in her scent, Max took her hand and felt his fingers almost crushed by the firmness of her grip. ‘Max Drescher. Thank you for letting us nose around here.’

  ‘Rolf explained your interest,’ Zinke smiled, ‘I’m happy to help.’ Releasing Max’s hand, she gave Terium a familiar pat on the shoulder. ‘I’ve known Rolf a long time; we go back a long way.’

  Did Terium blush? Maybe just a little. Grinning, Max gave Zinke a little nod. ‘I was just saying to Rolf – I know the victim’s father. I thought that it might be best if I go and give him the news.’

  ‘That’s fine by me,’ Zinke responded. ‘I’ve got a car downstairs. My driver can take you over there.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Of course, we’ll still have to complete the formalities. I think they’ve taken the body to Potsdamer Chausee.’

  Max gave the Kriminalinspektor a blank look.

  ‘The Theodor-Wenzel Hospital,’ Zinke explained. ‘I’ll get someone to collect the father –’

  ‘Kerem.’