by James Craig
‘Oh great.’ Max thought back to the young girl stationed behind the counter, painting her nails. What was she called? He tried to remember, but the name escaped him.
‘Shot,’ Michael added.
‘It’ll be Kooy,’ Terium observed. ‘I’d bet my house on it.’
‘Do you have a house?’ Max enquired.
‘Well, no,’ Terium admitted, ‘but you know what I mean. Kooy is Kappel’s man. They’re obviously still on the hunt.’
‘As if they were ever going to go away.’ Max looked his colleague up and down. Since he’d last seen him, Terium had shaved and had a haircut. A good night’s sleep had gone some way to reducing the dark rings under his eyes. He looked relaxed and energised. In a pair of fresh jeans and a pristine white Gap pocket T-shirt under a battered leather jacket, the former undercover man looked about fifteen years younger than he had twenty-four hours earlier. A pair of shocking orange Puma trainers finished off the ensemble nicely.
‘The two victims,’ Terium asked Michael. ‘Do we know who they are?’
‘Not yet. But Marin’s talking about going over there himself.’ Michael gestured towards the bag. ‘He’s in a right old mood.’
‘No change there then,’ Max joked.
‘He mumbled something about this being all your fault,’ Michael added. ‘About you setting the cat among the pigeons by putting the word out on the street about the cash and Volkan’s flat.’
‘How very convenient for him,’ Max scoffed, ‘to be able to blame the guy who’s on his way out.’ Terium gave him a quizzical look, but he chose not to explain. ‘Anyway, we’d better go and take a look. See if we can stop the Kriminalkommissar getting the wrong end of the stick yet again.’
‘Okay.’ Terium dropped the holdall at his feet. ‘You head over there. I’ll take this to Lübecker Straße as originally planned.’
Max looked at him doubtfully.
Terium touched the bag with the toe of his right sneaker. ‘It’s not a problem. You can catch up with me there.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Apart from anything else,’ Terium argued, ‘it makes it harder for Marin to try and abort the plan if I’m already in place.’
Max couldn’t fault the logic. ‘Okay, let’s give it a go. Just don’t do anything rash. Our track record on this type of thing to date isn’t so good.’
‘Ha.’ Terium chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep my wits about me.’ He patted the bulge under his jacket. ‘I like to shoot first and ask questions later. You’ve got nothing to worry about on that score. Just ask your little friend, Theo Oster.’
36
Lost in thought, Max looked on as a pair of crime scene technicians in full body overalls did a painstaking fingertip search, moving slowly across the bakery floor on their hands and knees.
Good luck with that, lads.
‘Excuse me.’
‘Huh?’
‘Out of the way.’
‘Sorry.’ Belatedly realising that he was blocking the exit, Max jumped out of the way as a pair of paramedics pushed a gurney towards him.
One of the paramedics, a middle-aged skinhead with bloodshot eyes, grunted something indecipherable.
‘Sorry,’ Max repeated, holding the door open with his foot.
‘Let’s get on with it,’ the other paramedic muttered, ‘our shift should have finished half an hour ago.’ He was a younger guy, with marginally more hair. His pockmarked skin took on a diseased glow under the artificial light.
‘Think of the overtime,’ his colleague suggested, carefully lining the gurney up so that it would make it through the narrow doorway. ‘The extra money’s always handy.’
‘Bugger the overtime, I’m supposed to be going out with Monica tonight.’
‘Ah, yes, love’s young dream. Has she let you fuck her yet?’
‘Shut up.’
‘This is what? The third date?’ The older guy stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘If she doesn’t deliver this time, it’ll never happen. I’d dump her if you don’t get a blow job, at least.’
Ignoring the friendly advice, the younger paramedic gently lifted the front of the gurney over the threshold. The Kriminalinspektor watched as Resul Keskin’s body was wheeled across the sidewalk and expertly deposited into the back of a waiting ambulance. No more baklava for you, pal, he thought grimly as the back doors were slammed shut.
The two paramedics jumped into the cab at the front, the older one holding forth on dating strategies. Letting his gaze drift down the street, Max casually scanned the group of spectators who had gathered to watch the evening’s show. He counted more than thirty people gathered behind the police tape that had been strung across Goebenstraße, on either side of the bakery. The gawkers were an eclectic mix, different ages, shapes and ethnic origin, all lured here by the sirens, the flashing lights and the buzz of official activity. ‘I suppose it’s fair to assume that this is more entertaining that anything on ARD,’ he mumbled to himself as he loitered in the doorway.
The mood on the street was relaxed, like the early stages of a street party. Towards the back of the crowd, Max caught sight of a rat-faced man, with heavy stubble and a ponytail that reached almost to his backside. The man had had set up a small stall in the middle of the road, selling cans of supermarket lager from a cooler. The ridiculously inflated prices scrawled on a sheet of cardboard hanging limply from a moth-eaten parasol didn’t seem to be putting off the punters, who were threatening to clear out the enterprising entrepreneur in no time at all. Standing next to the stall, a couple of middle-aged men shared a joke as they cracked open their beers, one of them dissolving in uproarious laugher as the other delivered the punchline. Further along, a teenager sat on the kerb, obviously drunk.
Go home you ghouls. If the boozing continued for much longer, Max knew that it wouldn’t take much for things to turn ugly. Letting the door close, he headed back inside.
At least there was no sign of Marin. After some careful deliberation, the Kriminalkommissar had apparently decided that a mere double homicide couldn’t be allowed to get in the way of his dinner arrangements. Max had greeted the news with relief and disgust in equal measure. His boss’s laziness made his life easier but he still found it intensely irritating.
Michael appeared from behind the counter.
‘Any witnesses?’
The sergeant shook his head.
‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘It was almost closing time.’ Michael stepped past Max and peered out of the window, as if trying to reconnect with the real world. ‘There weren’t any customers in when it happened. Well, apart from Resul.’
‘Poor bastard.’ Together they watched a uniformed officer standing outside untie a section of tape to allow the ambulance to leave. Slowly it pulled away from the kerbside, lights flashing. ‘I suppose he was the target.’
‘Looks like this guy Kooy was trying to find out if he knew where Volkan had hidden his money.’
Another one down to me. Max gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Who’s the officer in charge of the scene?’
Michael mentioned a name.
‘Don’t know her.’
‘Me neither,’ Michael lowered his voice, ‘but she doesn’t seem to be aware of the nature of our interest in her crime scene.’
‘Good. What did you tell her?’
‘I just said we were regulars; friends of the owner.’
‘How is Erthan?’
‘Sitting on a box of fruit, with a blanket round his shoulders, blubbing his eyes out. ‘
‘It could have been him,’ Max mused.
‘I think it wishes it had been him.’ Michael pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘The girl in the back, she was family.’
Max nodded. He didn’t want to know the details.
‘Imagine finding something like that.’
‘I’d rather not. What about forensics?’
‘The pathologist says they’ll recover at least one slug from each v
ictim. I’ll get them compared to the ones picked up at the Beerfeldt crime scene as quickly as possible.’
‘Terium says it was the same shooter,’ Max reminded him, adopting a rather petulant tone.
‘We’ll still have to run the tests.’
‘Floris Kooy.’ Max shook his head. ‘What kind of a name is that?
‘He’s Dutch,’ Michael reminded him.
‘Why couldn’t he have damn well stayed there? We’re just a magnet for every scumbag on the continent.’
‘So you keep saying.’ Michael gave his boss a friendly pat on the back. ‘C’mon. We’re not going to get anything useful here. Let’s go and see how Terium’s getting on with the three million bucks.’
Soundproofing was clearly not one of the building’s strong points. From the apartment on the floor below came the sound of raised voices, the sound of a man and a woman arguing. A door slammed, quickly followed the unmistakeable strains of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”. The volume of the song was steadily increased until you could feel the sound vibrations through the floor.
If you play that more than twice, I’m coming down there to arrest you, Rolf Terium thought, even as he started to hum along to the chorus. Getting into the groove, he was just about to unleash his inner Dave Gilmour when something nudged him in the small of the back.
‘Drop the bag on the floor and step over to the wall. Raise your hands above your head. No rapid movements.’
It was hard to make out the words over the music, but the gist was clear. Cursing under his breath, Terium raised his eyes to the ceiling.
‘Move slowly.’
Downstairs, Pink Floyd played on, unperturbed.
When Terium hesitated, a hand between his shoulder blades edged him forward. ‘Do it now.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Letting the handles of the Adidas holdall slip from his fingers, Terium took a succession of deep breaths before raising his hands and slowly taking the four steps required to cross the room.
‘Place your hands on the wall, next to the window. Up high, where I can clearly see them.’
Again, Terium did as he was told. ‘You’re not going to draw this out, are you Floris?’ he asked, over his shoulder, his attempted insouciance obliterated by the jackhammering of his heart which the surrounding noise did nothing to lessen. If the bastard doesn’t shoot me soon, he thought grimly, I’ll think I’ll have a stroke. Looking up at his right hand, he flexed his fingers, conscious of the semi-automatic nestling in his pocket.
‘If you go for your gun,’ Kooy said calmly, ‘I’ll shoot you in the base of the spine, paralyse you and then leave you to slowly bleed out, thrashing around on the floor, like a dying fish.’
‘Thank you for explaining that so clearly.’ Terium inched his fingers higher up the wall. His mouth was dry and he tried to raise some spit. Staring at the whitewashed wall, he tried to force himself to think. What were his options? All he could do was try and keep the bastard talking, play for time and hope that Max turned up. He glanced towards the window. Where was the stupid bastard?
‘Eyes front. There’s nothing out there. No one’s coming to save you.’
‘I’m a cop.’
‘You think that makes a difference?’
‘I’m a cop,’ Terium repeated.
‘Good for you.’ Kooy stepped forward, jamming the Glock into the base of Terium’s skull. ‘As far as I’m aware, when you shoot them, policemen die just the same as all the normal folk.’
Out of conversation, Terium’s mind wandered back to memories of standing in a different room in a different part of the city. Then, he had been the one holding the gun; he had been the one who had chosen who got to live and who died. On that day, he had saved the hopeless young cop, Theo Oster. Now that the tables were turned, who was going to save him?
Play for time.
‘How did you find me?’
‘How do you think?’ Kooy snapped. ‘One of Volkan’s pals gave us the address. A nice boy, very helpful.’
‘And you shot him too?’
‘It’s what I do. Just as well, I took the extra minute to put a bullet in his head. Otherwise, I would have been here too soon.’
‘Too soon?’
‘Yeah. I literally walked round the corner as you entered the building. How convenient was that?’
‘Timing is everything,’ Terium mused ruefully.
‘I always was a lucky bastard. If I’d turned up sixty seconds earlier, it would have been the other way round and you’d be the one holding the gun on me.’
And you’d be dead by now.
‘Luck is very important in this life,’ Kooy continued, warming to his theme, ‘don’t you think? It can make all the difference. Of course, most successful people refuse to acknowledge that. They think they get where they are in life because of their innate genius. Most of the time, it’s just a matter of chance, more or less. Look at Carolina Barbolini. By any measure, she is a successful woman, but she only got the gig running Isar Services because of her father, God rest his soul.’
‘Nepotism is a bitch,’ Terium agreed.
‘I think it’s important to know when you’ve been lucky. Stops you becoming too big headed. Stops you becoming complacent.’
The music downstairs finally subsided, to be replaced by the relative silence of the background him of traffic outside. Terium waited – five, six, seven seconds – but the Floyd did not restart.
Keep him talking.
‘Did Barbolini know about this place?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if Volkan brought her here once or twice.’ Taking a couple of steps backwards, Kooy made a sound like a balloon deflating. ‘A successful woman like that, what she saw in that little Turkish prick, I’ll never know.’
‘There’s no accounting for taste.’
‘No, but even so.’
Dropping his head to his chin, Terium forced out a rueful chuckle.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You are such a smug prick. I don’t understand why Barbolini put up with you, either.’
‘Is she still alive?’
‘She is, at least until my boss sees the money.’
‘And then what?’
‘How should I know?’ Kooy snapped, his expansiveness evaporating in an instant. ‘That’s a matter for the boss man.’
Terium nodded. ‘How many people have you killed over this money, Floris?’
‘Not that many.’
‘And over the years, how many have you killed?’
‘Jeez. Now you’re asking. Over the years? Must be north of a hundred. Easily.’
‘You enjoy it?’
‘I’m good at it. That’s another way in which I’ve been lucky; I found my calling at an early age. Do you know how many people go through life without finding out what they’re really good at?’
‘How did you first get into this game?’
There was a pause.
Gritting his teeth, Terium tried to come to terms with his imminent departure from this world.
‘Now that is a good question,’ Kooy said finally, his voice almost wistful. ‘It was a woman called Floortje Visser. She was a hooker in Osdorp who couldn’t get rid of an abusive client, a bank manager by the name of … Vlam. Ronnie Vlam.’ He shook his head, pleased at being able to call up the name. ‘Ronnie Vlam. It’s funny what you remember. He was the ugliest bloke I ever met. No wonder he had to pay for it. Apparently he started out as a nice client. But then he became too possessive. Anyway, I took care of him for her. The word got round that I was a guy who could solve those kind of problems and it all progressed from there.’
The sound of a siren rose up from the street outside. For a moment, Terium held his breath, only exhaling when it began to subside into the distance.
‘Hoping someone was coming to save you?’
‘They won’t be coming with sirens.’
‘Better get on with it then.’
Terium listened to the
zip being pulled back and the sound of Kooy digging into the bag’s contents.
‘Is this all of it? Kooy asked, his icy tone all business.
‘Half.’ The lie was out of the Kriminalinspektor’s mouth before he was consciously aware of it.
‘Don’t bullshit me.’
‘It’s half, more or less. Count it.’
‘Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna sit here for an hour and add up all of that. What do you think I am, a bank teller?’ Closing the bag, Kooy stood up. ‘Where’s the rest of it?’
Erm. ‘My colleague is bringing it. He’s on his way with back-up. They’ll be all over this place in a couple of minutes. If I was you, I’d take what’s there and get the hell out of here while you can.’
‘Are you mad? Who do you think you are dealing with here? Arnold Kappel is not the kind of guy who will accept losing half of his investment. He doesn’t just smile, shake his head and walk away. He keeps on walking towards the money and killing everyone in his path. That is the way this thing works.’
Keep him talking.
‘But –’
Taking a further step back, Kooy took aim between Terium’s shoulder blades and pulled the trigger. ‘So, maybe I’ll just wait here for the rest of it to turn up.’ Watching the cop slide down the wall, he put a second round in his head, just for good measure. ‘If that’s alright with you, Stefan.’
37
Ignoring the unpleasant burning sensation in his chest, Max jogged up the stairs at a steady pace. For his trouble, he was assailed by the sound of Pink Floyd’s “Have A Cigar” pumping out of a stereo from one of the apartments above. ‘Sounds like someone else is looking forward to their free concert,’ he quipped.
Michael, following on behind, just grunted.
The noise became progressively louder until they reached the second floor landing. Taking a breather, Max wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and pointed at the door to flat number 6. Next to the buzzer was a nameplate bearing the name Sam. ‘Go and tell Mr Sam to switch that damn racket off,’ he barked at his sergeant. Detecting a marginal reduction in his heart rate, he resumed his ascent, albeit at a more leisurely pace. ‘I’ll see you upstairs.’
