by Jack Gatland
Billy sat up at that name. ‘I met him last week,’ he said. ‘He was there when we searched Declan’s house.’
‘Well, it’s just a shame that you won’t be meeting him again,’ Anjli looked down at her nails, forcing herself not to smile as out of the corner of her eye she could see Billy squirming. She knew he wanted to come, to help, but she also knew that this irrational fear of his would stop him. She needed to pull out all the stops here. ‘Apparently he rides a motorbike.’
‘Fine, I’ll come and help you,’ Billy threw his hands into the air in mock despair. ‘But not because of De’Geer. Because Declan saved my life and I owe him.’
‘Great,’ Anjli smiled. ‘Can you pick me up tomorrow? I still don’t have a car. And I’ll need to be brought back in the evening.’
Billy felt that something was missing in this story. ‘You’re commuting there?’
‘Not all of us can afford a few days in a swanky country hotel,’ Anjli replied. ‘And you’re unemployed and cut off from your rich family, remember?’
‘I’m not that cut off,’ Billy was already looking at his phone. ‘Ooh. The rooms look nice.’ He looked back to Anjli.
‘I’ll come if you stay with me,’ he said. ‘As in I’ll pay for your room. But you buy me dinners. Deal?’
Anjli shook Billy’s hand.
‘Deal.’
9
First Briefing
The following Morning, Declan and Jess walked into The Olde Bell with a slight feeling of trepidation. The bar wasn’t open, but the dining room was for guest breakfasts, and as Declan entered, looking for someone who could direct them to the meeting room, he spied a couple at one table. A man and a woman, both in their thirties, they ate sparingly at a full English breakfast, glaring distastefully at the food as they did so.
This, Declan assumed, had to be the Germans.
‘Wait here,’ Declan said to Jess as he made his way through the tables towards the couple who, as he approached, patted their mouths with their napkins and placed their cutlery on the plates, almost in unison.
There was something a little bit creepy about the act, but Declan tried to move past it, stopping at the table.
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt your breakfast,’ Declan said. ‘I’m—‘
‘Detective Inspector Declan Walsh, City of London Police,’ the male interrupted. ‘Yes, we know you well.’
Declan took a moment to examine the man sitting at the table as he planned a reply. Both the man and woman were brown haired, maybe late thirties; the man’s hair was cut short at the sides but was left longer on top and allowed to curl naturally. He wore small, round framed glasses that perched on the end of his hawk-like nose and wore a grey wool blend suit over an open white shirt. He was slim, maybe some kind of runner or gymnast in build.
His sister however, was the polar opposite; her hair was long and wild and dyed blonde at the tips. Her face was round and friendly, overdone with blue shades around the eyes and she was more shapely than her brother, which made Declan wonder whether his slightness was deliberate rather than genetic.
One thing was for certain though; they were definitely related in looks, no matter how they differed.
‘Should I be flattered or concerned?’ Declan asked. The man shrugged noncommittally at this.
‘Your village, they like to talk,’ he said simply. ‘They talk of you, the terrorist who is not a terrorist who has armed police turn up once a month to visit, so it seems.’
‘My job is a bit all over the place,’ Declan admitted.
‘Or you are not good at your job?’ The man suggested. Declan fought back an urge to snap back at this, instead preferring to smile.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get your names,’ he replied.
‘I am Kriminalkommissar Rolfe Müller of the Bundeskriminalamt, in particular the Schwere und Organisierte Kriminalität,’ Rolfe explained. ‘A Kriminalkommissar is the same as your Detective Inspector rank. And the Schwere—‘
‘The Schwere und Organisierte Kriminalität means Serious and Organised Crime,’ Declan added before Rolfe could continue. ‘I worked with them when I was in the Military Police.’
Rolfe nodded, as if he’d expected Declan to reply, showing his sister. ‘This is Ilse, my younger sister,’ he explained. ‘She is my… How would you say it? My secretary?’
‘You have a secretary?’ Declan forced a smile. ‘Maybe we should start doing that over here. Would be great with reports.’
‘Yes, you should,’ Rolfe sniffed. ‘You would make fewer errors. But Ilse is here because she has a much better grasp of your language than I have. She is here to ensure I make no communication mistakes when talking to your police.’
Declan’s smile stayed, but there was no humour behind it. He really didn’t like this man, and that his surname was Müller hadn’t gone unnoticed.
‘Are you here on holiday?’ He turned to Ilse now, asking her instead.
‘We’re on a case,’ she replied, looking to her brother in case she’d overstepped by speaking.
‘We hunt a war criminal,’ Rolfe had picked up his cutlery again and was now frowning at a sliver of sausage on the end of his fork. ‘It is international crime, not rural, like yours.’
‘I see,’ Declan nodded at this as if genuinely caring. ‘If we can help in any way—‘
‘I will not need help,’ Rolfe stared at the sausage still. ‘Especially from one such as yourself. I read about your father. He was poking his nose into the wrong things. He died carelessly driving, yes? You should have better driving examinations.’
Declan was really fighting the urge to punch this arrogant little shit, but wondered if this was a deliberate attempt to taunt him, to gain a rise.
Well, two could play at that game.
‘Rolfe Müller,’ he said, rolling the words around his tongue. ‘I’ve heard of several Müllers before, but only one Rolfe. He was a Nazi in The Sound of Music.’
There was a moment of silence, and Rolfe tore his eyes from the sausage, turning his face and round framed glasses to stare at Declan.
‘Did you call me a Nazi?’ He asked in an almost hissed tone. Declan smiled.
‘No, he was a Nazi. Rolfe. In The Sound of Music,’ he said. Before Rolfe could reply, Declan looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m late for a meeting,’ he said, glancing back to Jess, across the room. ‘Enjoy Hurley, though. It’s a beautiful, quiet village.’
‘It is maybe not that quiet though, yes?’ Rolfe smiled. ‘I mean to say, you have a body on a golf course, your own house was broken into, and your father’s computer stolen? And your terrorist adventure last week? As I said, we know all about you.’
Declan looked around the room, idly wondering how many witnesses would see him punch Rolfe, before deciding against this and looking back down.
‘Don’t worry about the body,’ he smiled. ‘We’re looking into that. Hunting a serial killer, in fact. German chap. And we’ll catch him. I’m sure if we have questions you’ll be around, right?’
And with that line left hanging, Declan walked back to Jess, motioning for her to follow him out of the dining room.
‘What was that all about?’ she asked. Declan shrugged.
‘Inter police relations,’ he replied, noting that PC De’Geer was standing by the main entrance. ‘You lost?’
‘They sent me to find you,’ De’Geer said. ‘They were worried you’d gotten lost.’
‘Making friends,’ Declan subtly showed Rolfe and Ilse Müller. ‘What do you know about them?’
‘The German police? They arrived two weeks ago, and have been pissing everyone around off royally since,’ De’Geer replied. ‘Why? Do you want them arrested for something? Half of Maidenhead want them arrested.’
‘Just find me all you can on them,’ Declan watched Rolfe and Ilse talk; it was a heated exchange. ‘There’s something more there. And their surname is too exact to be a coincidence.’
‘Sir?’ De’Geer, having not yet be
en informed of Declan’s meeting with Karl, or the contents thereof, looked confused at this. Declan turned back to him.
‘Were you involved at all in the break in at my house a week or so back? The one through the back window?’
‘No,’ De’Geer shook his head. ‘But I know of it. Your computer was stolen.’
‘My computer?’
‘Yes,’ De’Geer looked to Jess. ‘Is that wrong?’
‘No,’ Declan replied. ‘The report said my iMac was stolen, but it was actually my dad’s computer.’ He looked back to Rolfe, now attacking his breakfast with military precision.
How had he known that the iMac was Patrick Walsh’s?
Jess nudged him and, returning to the present, he smiled, leading De’Geer and Jess out of the dining room.
‘I’ll explain everything when we’re all together,’ he said. ‘Now, where’s the bloody Library?’
The Library turned out to be a charming little room in the Malthouse; oak-panelled walls gave way to bookshelves and a fireplace complete with white marble mantle, surrounding a large table in the middle. Half of the Library was lower than the other, obviously built onto the side of the unit at some point.
Wide, open windows, built into the wall above the drop in height shone light into the room, and two leather chairs sat beside a side cabinet and additional window that looked out into the garden. The hardwood floor led to the corner where a hand painted cocktail cabinet was positioned, and beside that were coffee and tea-making facilities, a plate of biscuits placed carefully beside the white cups.
‘I like this better than Temple Inn, laddie,’ Monroe smiled from one of the chairs by the window, the sun hitting his face as he basked in it. ‘I think we need to do some extra redecorating when they’re done.’
Declan grinned as he looked around the room at Monroe, Billy, Anjli and Doctor Marcos. ‘No Davey?’ He asked.
‘She’s at Maidenhead for me. Checking the body,’ Doctor Marcos replied. ‘Who’s the big chap?’
Declan introduced both PC De’Geer and Jess to the group, and then motioned for everyone to sit around the large, rectangular table in the middle.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he started as he stood at the end, facing them all. ‘We don’t have a fancy plasma screen or anything here, so Jess has made copies of the files. We have them as digital versions, if you prefer. I know Doctor Marcos already has them.’
Jess passed the papers around, and emailed the digital version to Billy, who’d already set up what looked to be a small computer system at the end of the table. As the group looked through them, Declan continued.
‘I’ll give you the cliff notes version before you get too deep,’ he said. ‘From 1990 to 2012, a dozen people died across Europe, from Berlin in Germany all the way to Hurley. Every other year, a body turned up.’
‘But the police didn’t think it was a serial killer,’ Billy asked as he read through the sheets on his screen. ‘I’m guessing because the evidence didn’t go that way.’
‘Exactly,’ Declan replied. ‘Forensic evidence seemed to reveal that each victim inflicted their own wounds. There were never signs of a struggle, and each victim, when checked into, had some kind of secret that could cause them to take their own life, whether it be something embarrassing, financial debt or even a crime.’ He looked through the pack at his side, showing a scan of a card, a red Ampelmännchen holding a scythe.
The calling card of the Red Reaper.
‘There were two things that stood out on each of these cases though,’ he continued, looking back to the team. ‘First, the weapon used was always missing. A gun, knife, even the chair the victim stood on to place the noose around their neck. All gone. And secondly? Each of them had one of these cards on them. An Ampelmännchen, an East German crossing man. And, each card was completely devoid of fingerprints except for the deceased, and always the same two prints in the same location.’
‘So it’s a German we’re looking for?’ Anjli asked.
‘Possibly,’ Declan replied. ‘My dad worked with Karl Schnitter, a German mechanic who lives in the village. They believed it was a man that Karl had worked with back in Berlin during the fall of the wall. Hauptmann Wilhelm Müller.’
‘That’s the same surname as the two Germans in the dining room!’ Jess exclaimed. ‘Sorry, thought I’d seen a clue.’
‘You did,’ Declan smiled. ‘But, all things in the correct place. My dad and Karl hunted Wilhelm Müller for years, and it ended in blood.’
‘What sort of blood?’ Monroe asked. Declan paused, looking at everyone at the table before speaking.
‘There’s a reason I took this case,’ he started. ‘My dad believed Müller killed my mum.’
‘Your mother was terminally ill,’ Monroe was quieter now, as if shocked by this revelation. Declan nodded.
‘So we all thought,’ he replied. ‘But when they moved the body after her death, they found the same calling card. Dad was away when she died, grabbing a coffee. There was every chance that she was killed.’
‘So we hunt Müller,’ Anjli nodded at this. ‘Nail the bastard good and proper.’
‘Yes and no,’ Declan made a faint smile at Anjli as she threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘Karl Schnitter told me they caught Karl after my mum’s death and, rather than arrest him, my dad took him somewhere and executed him, hiding the body.’
‘Hiding it where?’
‘Probably the bottom of the Thames, knowing dad,’ Declan shrugged. ‘But Karl was convinced that Wilhelm Müller was dead, never asked my dad about it and life went on.’
‘Until three days ago,’ PC De’Geer muttered.
‘Not quite,’ Declan corrected. ‘There’s one more. I spoke to Emilia Wintergreen a couple of days back—‘ he stopped as Monroe rose in anger.
‘You spoke to that bloody woman?’ he exclaimed. ‘You only now mention this?’
‘Yes,’ Declan replied calmly. ‘And we’ll discuss her later.’
‘Who’s Wintergreen?’ Billy asked. ‘I feel like I walked into a film halfway through.’
‘She was a DS who worked with Monroe, my dad and Derek Salmon back in the day,’ Declan explained. ‘She’s in Whitehall now.’
‘Of course she is,’ Monroe mumbled angrily.
‘Anyway,’ Declan returned all eyes to him. ‘She showed me proof that I’d been looking for, proof that my dad didn’t die in an accident. That he was murdered several months back. And in the glove compartment was a Red Reaper card, with only his fingerprints on.’ Before anyone could comment on this, he continued on. ‘And then, as PC De’Geer mentioned, three days ago Nathanial Wing was found on the sixteenth hole with a card that matched.’
‘Copycat,’ Billy suggested. De’Geer shook his head.
‘We thought that too,’ he replied. ‘But when the original cases came up, nobody ever mentioned the cards. There was talk it was some kind of sick suicide cult and nobody wanted the press fallout. If they’re using the same cards, they have to know about them from another source.’
‘It’s worse than that,’ Doctor Marcos chimed in now, checking her phone. ‘Joanna texted me earlier. She compared Wing’s card to Randall’s one, as they were both still in Maidenhead evidence. It’s the same ink, paperstock and age. Which means they were on the same print run. If Wilhelm Müller is dead? Then someone else knew where he kept his toys.’
‘What do you mean is, Doctor Marcos?’ Jess asked, curious. Doctor Marcos shrugged.
‘We have no body, and only the word of your grandfather that he did what he said,’ she explained. ‘He could have scared Müller off, threatened him with something, who knows. And now he’s back.’
‘Who does Wintergreen think it is?’ Monroe asked.
‘She thinks it could be Karl Schnitter,’ Declan replied. ‘And he’s a suspect, no matter what he said to me. But we need to work on several things at the same time here.’ He looked to Anjli. ‘Take De’Geer and go see the Randalls. See if they missed anything when the
y gave their statements back in 2012.’
‘Sure,’ Anjli wrote in her notepad. ‘Will they want to see us though?’
‘That’s why you’re taking De’Geer,’ Declan smiled. ‘He used to date the daughter, and nobody’s going to argue with you if he’s beside you.’ He turned to Billy. ‘Find out anything you can on Rolfe and Ilse Müller. In particular, if Daddy Dearest was a murdering Hauptmann.’
‘Already on it,’ Billy tapped on his keyboard. Declan turned to Monroe.
‘If it’s okay with you—‘ he started, but Monroe waved him silent.
‘For god’s sake, laddie, it’s your call,’ he said. ‘I might be DCI to your DI, but I’m here assisting you, so lead the bloody thing.’
Declan grinned. ‘You, me and Doctor Marcos will check out Temple Golf Club and Nathanial Wing. With my dad’s death and the name of the club, I can’t help but think this is some kind of message to me.’
‘Because it’s always about you,’ Anjli mocked.
‘And me?’ Jess asked. Declan looked to her.
‘I need you to go undercover,’ he smiled. ‘Everyone got their roles? Good. Let’s get to work.’
10
Par Three
Temple Golf Club was situated just off the Henley Road, or the A4130 to give it the proper name, a country lane that ran north to south from Hurley down to the A404 junction and the eastern suburbs of Maidenhead. Built around 1909, it had once been land owned by the Knights Templar, although knowing things like that didn’t really help you when you were stuck in the rough and two strokes over par.
Declan drove Monroe and Doctor Marcos there in his Audi, even though it was effectively less than a mile to walk across the fields. Although Declan now had wellington boots that fit him, a purchase that came in the last week after various mud-filled wood visits to both Epping and Savernake Forests over the last three cases, visits that had destroyed his favourite brogues, neither Monroe nor Doctor Marcos had a pair, and it was simply easier to drive.
