The Valkyrie Song jf-5

by Craig Russell

  The bag looked empty to Fabel until he stepped out into the street and held it up against the street light.

  ‘A single strand,’ said Astrid. ‘It’s maybe not connected to the killing, but given where I found it I think that’s very unlikely. I would say your killer is a blonde. And we have her DNA.’

  3

  The Altona Balkon — the ‘Altona Balcony’ — is a plateau of parkland elevated thirty metres above the River Elbe and fringed with a bench-lined boulevard. The Balcony affords one of the finest views of Hamburg, all along the Elbe to the Kohlbrandbrucke, making it a favourite spot not just for the people of Altona but for those from all over Hamburg.

  A still-handsome man of about sixty, his coat collar turned up against the cold, sat on a bench at the edge of the snow-dusted Balkon and watched the distant activity of the ships and tugs, loaders and cranes in the container harbours. Above him the sky was a pale winter blue and behind him the low sun sparkled gold through the naked branches of the trees. It was a peaceful moment: a moment in which he realised how little peace he had enjoyed over the last twenty years.

  A woman with a dog walked past, followed by three teenage boys on skateboards thundering along the rock-salted footpath, their breath fuming in the cold air. Then peace again.

  ‘Hello, Uncle Georg.’ A young woman in her thirties, expensively dressed and tastefully made-up, sat down beside him and kissed him on the cheek. She laid her handbag and a copy of Muliebritas magazine across her lap and placed a carrier bag on the bench beside her.

  ‘You know, it wasn’t all bad,’ he said as if she had been beside him all the while. ‘Back home. Back then, I mean.’

  ‘No, Uncle Georg, I suppose it wasn’t.’

  ‘I mean, I did believe in what we stood for. What we did. There were things that were better then. People cared for each other more. We had a sense of community. Of society. Whatever dreadful things we had to do, we did them for the greater good of the people, of the world.’

  She rested a gloved hand on his arm. ‘I know you did. What’s wrong, uncle?’

  ‘And sometimes… well, sometimes I look at the way we live now and think we maybe had it more right than everybody says we did. It wasn’t what we believed in that forced us to do these things. It was a war. A cold war, maybe, but it was still a war.’ He stopped and smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Just an old man ranting.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all that’s wrong?’

  ‘I thought…’ He frowned, his gaze out across the Elbe river. ‘It’s nothing. It was just I got the feeling that I was being watched or followed. Instinct. More like paranoia.’

  ‘Are you sure there wasn’t more to it? Maybe you were being followed,’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No one’s that good. I used all the old tricks and checks. Like I said, paranoia.’

  ‘I got you a present,’ she said and handed him the carrier bag.

  He looked into it and smiled. ‘ Rondo Melange…’

  She smiled too. ‘They started making it again. Like you say, not everything from back then was bad.’

  ‘But I suppose they make it for a profit now. Everything that was done then for the good of the people is now done for a profit. Like us. Like the way we’ve turned what we do into a business. All for money now.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I’m an entrepreneur.’

  ‘To be honest, Uncle Georg, most of my life has been since, not before. Almost all of my meetings have taken place since the Wall came down. And we’ve done well out of them, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, my child.’ He turned to her and smiled sadly. ‘But the things I taught you and your sisters. All those terrible things.’

  ‘It’s our business, uncle. It’s what we do. What we are.’

  He nodded. ‘Did you see the media coverage of the St Pauli killing?’

  ‘Yes… they’re talking about it being the Angel again.’

  ‘What about the forthcoming meetings — is everything going to plan?’

  ‘Yes, uncle. Everything is going well.’

  ‘Will the Hamburg one look like an accident?’

  ‘Suicide. The meeting will be as the brief required.’

  ‘What about the big one? You clear on everything?’

  ‘Not a problem. It will actually be easier. No need to disguise it. I’m going to use the Sako TRG-21.’

  ‘Is it okay over that distance?’

  ‘Perfect. And anyway, I’m comfortable with it. And that new suppressor works well. It doesn’t just muffle, it distorts any report and sends scanners looking in the wrong direction for the shooter. But in a remote location like that, it won’t be an issue anyway. If the intel is correct, he’ll be alone.’

  ‘You’ll have to get out quick. Back across the border, I mean.’

  ‘I always do, Uncle Georg.’

  ‘That suppressor is the last new bit of kit I can get you. It increases our exposure risk every time I acquire new equipment. Our client sourced it for me and I don’t like getting them involved. I’ve got no control over the supply chain and we could be lumbered with traceable gear.’

  ‘I understand. Do you have the details for the other meetings?’

  He handed her a data stick. ‘I can’t get used to this technology. I feel like I’m living in the future and I don’t belong in it. All that information, stored on something so insignificant. If we’d had these back then we’d have been able to destroy all our files before the rabble got their hands on them.’ He sighed. ‘You never ask. Why do you never ask?’

  ‘Ask what?’

  ‘Why they have to die. Are you never curious?’

  ‘You taught us not to be. It’s none of my concern. My job is to complete the meeting. Sure, sometimes when I’m preparing… watching them… it’s like seeing into their lives and I sometimes wonder why this person has to be ended. But not much. I just do my job.’ She ran her hand through his grey hair. ‘You worry too much, Uncle Georg. Remember how you taught us to take every moment of pleasure we could? To enjoy the time in between meetings?’

  ‘Yes. I do remember. Do you enjoy your life?’

  ‘I enjoy everything this life gives me. I’ve got you to thank for that.’

  ‘But the killing…’

  She smiled, but looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot.

  ‘We all die. I learned that from you. We all die alone and many of us die in pain and fear. Terrifying diseases. Horrific injuries. Lingering deaths. All my meetings are ended quickly and the target has little idea what’s happening to them. Sometimes no idea: not even an instant of fear or pain. And, for all you or I know, I could be saving them from great future agony and anguish. That’s the way you trained me. I don’t feel bad about what I do; you told me not to feel bad about it.’

  ‘Even though we’re doing it for money now?’

  ‘The fact that we’re doing this for ourselves instead of for the state isn’t our fault. They changed the world around us. We are what we are, you and I. Just like everybody else who was cut adrift when the Wall came down. Try not to worry so much.’ She placed the data stick in her handbag and kissed him on the cheek again. ‘Goodbye, Uncle Georg.’

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ he said, halting her as she rose from the seat. ‘We may have to arrange another meeting. Not for a client.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said. ‘We’ve never done a non-paying job before.’

  ‘This is a self-protection thing. Someone is beginning to ask too many questions in the right places. A policeman. And he’s maybe getting a little too close to home. We may need to deal with it. Discreetly.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I’ll let you know. It may come to nothing. Goodbye, my child.’

  ‘Goodbye, Uncle Georg.’

  After she left, he remained on the bench, fists rammed into his coat pockets, his collar turned up against the cold, and tried to recapture that moment of peace. But he couldn’t.

  4

  Fabel drove int
o the Police Presidium in Hamburg-Alsterdorf at ten-thirty a.m. He had only managed to get five hours’ sleep and felt leaden and dull. He spent the rest of the morning preparing for the team briefing. His weariness suddenly intensified when he was intercepted in the lift by Criminal Director Horst van Heiden.

  ‘A word, Jan…’ Van Heiden pressed the button for the fifth storey, the top-brass floor, signalling that the word was formal.

  Fabel followed van Heiden into his office and sat down. When van Heiden sat down on the executive leather chair behind his desk, he straightened his tie and adjusted a notebook and pen on his desk. When the order of his bureaucratic universe was once more restored, he began.

  ‘I just wanted to catch up with a couple of things. Are you okay for this conference on violence against women? I’ve had the organiser on the phone again. I think she’s worried that we’ll send someone junior.’

  ‘It may come to that, if I’m honest.’

  ‘This murder last night?’ asked van Heiden.

  ‘I take it that was one of the things you wanted to talk to me about…’ Fabel failed to keep the weariness from his voice.

  ‘It’s all over the media,’ said van Heiden. ‘And there are some elements who blame us for not catching the Angel the first time round. If that is indeed who we’re dealing with.’

  ‘That I don’t know, Horst. I actually think it’s very unlikely. The modus is totally different. But I’m digging out all the old files. Obviously, it wasn’t my case the first time around.’

  ‘Mmm…’ Van Heiden again nudged the silver pen a fraction of a degree. ‘That’s the thing… I’ll be quite frank about this, Jan, we are getting a lot of funding from the BKA for you to set up this Super Murder Commission.’ The BKA was the Bundeskriminalamt, the Federal Crime Bureau. ‘It’s quite an accolade for the Polizei Hamburg to have a unit that will have a republic-wide brief. Within legal restraints, I mean,’ van Heiden continued. ‘As I’ve said to you before, it is an opportunity for us to establish ourselves as the centre of excellence in investigating complex and multiple murders in much the same way as the Institute for Judicial Medicine at Eppendorf is seen as the centre of excellence in forensic science.’

  ‘But…?’ Fabel raised an eyebrow. Van Heiden was beginning to sound like a commercial. And he always did a commercial before he hit you with the punchline.

  ‘But I do not delude myself that the reputation that has won us this accolade is a collective one. It’s yours, Jan. You’re the one everyone thinks of as Germany’s leading expert on complex and multiple murder cases.’

  ‘Thanks for the compliment.’ There was a resigned scepticism in Fabel’s smile. They both knew that van Heiden was getting pats on the back for Fabel’s achievement. ‘But let me guess: I inherit the Angel of St Pauli case that no one could solve in the nineties and, if I don’t get a result, suddenly my reputation takes a knock.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I really don’t think this is the work of the Angel. But I’m not ready to go on record with that yet.’ Fabel stood up.

  ‘Oh…’ Van Heiden reached into a drawer and took out a letter. ‘There was something else. We’ve received a request for an interview from the Danish police.’

  ‘What about?’ Fabel leaned over his desk and took the letter from him.

  ‘It doesn’t say. As you know, the Danish police have a liaison officer here, but this has come direct from a Politidirektor Vestergaard. One of his officers, Jens Jespersen, is flying in from Copenhagen, specifically to speak to you. There are no other details. It would appear that your reputation is becoming truly international.’

  After checking all his drawers, without success, to see if he had left his MP3 player in the office, Fabel had a coffee and a cheese roll at his desk before taking a few minutes to prepare himself for his meeting with Anna Wolff. He knew it was going to be a difficult one. So did Anna, if her expression was anything to go by when she walked into his office, as always without knocking.

  ‘Sit down Anna,’ said Fabel.

  ‘What is this?’ she said, still standing. ‘Am I getting the sack?’

  Fabel sighed deeply. ‘Yes, Anna. Effectively you are.’

  For the first time since he had known her, Anna looked truly taken aback. She dropped down into the chair and gazed at Fabel blankly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Anna. I’m going to request that you be reassigned. I’ve warned you more times than I can remember about your attitude.’

  ‘What? Is this because of the crack I made last night?’

  ‘Not exclusively, Anna, but I’ve got to tell you it didn’t help. I need officers who will respect the decisions I make and follow the orders I give. Most of all, I need a team that pulls together. I need people I can rely on.’

  ‘Are you saying you can’t rely on me? When have I ever let you down?’ Anna did what she could to restore her composure.

  ‘Listen, Anna, it’s a constant struggle trying to build and maintain an efficient Murder Commission team. Added to that I now have this added responsibility that the BKA have asked me to take on. Over the last four years we have seen Paul Lindemann killed and Maria Klee

  … well, Maria is going to need care for a long, long time.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me about Paul Lindemann,’ said Anna, once more defiant. ‘He was my partner, after all. And Maria was my friend.’

  ‘And they were both my responsibility.’ Fabel paused. ‘I know you were close to them both, Anna. But Paul’s death and what happened to Maria have made it very clear to me that we have to tighten up our procedures. We need to operate as a fully disciplined unit. The discipline we need is a discipline that you seem to lack.’

  There was silence for a moment. Anna looked at Fabel as if trying to read his face; to measure what room for negotiation there might be. Something like resignation settled into her expression.

  ‘I thought you put us together as a team because we were all different. Because we each had something to offer.’

  ‘I did,’ said Fabel. ‘But I need this Murder Commission to work cohesively. No loose cannons or personal agendas.’

  ‘Oh, wait a minute… This is all about Maria, isn’t it? Because she took off on a personal crusade you decide to crack down on… on individuality.’

  ‘I’m not talking about you expressing your individuality, Anna. I’m talking about you totally ignoring the fact that you’re part of a team.’ Fabel realised he had raised his voice. He took a breath, then, in a measured tone, said: ‘I can’t have a renegade on my team, Anna.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’ Anna’s expression was close to a sneer. ‘That would screw up your chances of becoming Germany’s Crime Fighter Number One. What is it, Jan — are you afraid I’ll embarrass you?’ This time it was Anna who paused. ‘I’m sorry. This is where I want to work. If you transfer me, I’ll quit.’

  ‘That’s your decision, Anna. And believe me, I wanted things to work out differently. I wanted to move you up to become joint deputy with Werner. But I can’t recommend you for a Senior Commissarship because of your attitude.’

  ‘Have you put the papers in yet?’ asked Anna. ‘For my transfer, I mean.’

  ‘Not yet. I’ve got to get this new Angel case rolling. The other thing is I wanted to give you the chance to put in for a transfer yourself. It would look better on your CV.’

  ‘Give me to the end of this case, Chef. Then I’ll go quietly.’

  ‘Okay.’ Fabel hesitated for a moment. ‘I’m short-staffed as it is. But while you’re still part of this unit, I need you to rein in that independence a little.’

  After Anna left, Fabel sat looking out of his window over the snow-frosted treetops of Winterhude Park. The expression on Anna’s face lingered in his mind. He recalled too the eager if prickly Anna he had recruited five years before. It had been Anna’s edge, her drive that had convinced him she would be an asset to the team. Somehow, somewhere during those five years he had lost his way
with her.

  But the thing that churned in his gut was that he was still not convinced he was handling it right.

  Fabel’s thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. It was Ulrich Wagner, from the BKA Federal Crime Bureau. Fabel liked Wagner, but could have done without the interruption: he was keen to prepare for his team briefing. After the usual chit-chat, Wagner got down to business.

  ‘There’s a Federal Republic-wide alert gone out — I don’t know, maybe you’ve seen it — about Margarethe Paulus.’

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t,’ said Fabel. ‘I’m up to my eyes with this St Pauli murder. The alleged return of the so-called “Angel of St Pauli”.’

  ‘Well, in a way that’s why I’m calling. Margarethe Paulus was confined to the state mental hospital in Mecklenburg, which isn’t too far away from you. She’s been in there for thirteen years. Three weeks ago she decided to discharge herself. Unofficially. There’s not been a trace of her since. Margarethe Paulus is considered to be a highly dangerous individual. Before she was committed there was a spate of armed robberies, all very efficiently executed and all carried out by a lone woman. It was all very cool and organised. Each time it was a woman of completely different appearance, hitting a different type of target — a bank, then a store, then a security van. But always for cash. Never jewellery or any other loot that would have had to be fenced. And that meant no need to involve any third party.’

  ‘So how did they get her?’ asked Fabel.

  ‘They didn’t. The Mecklenburg police were never able to put together enough evidence to identify the woman, far less to nail Margarethe Paulus. But she started to think bigger. Look for accomplices. Or at least that’s what we think was going on. She got involved with a biker gang. The story she told is that she met up with them to discuss potential cooperation. But they weren’t interested and things turned nasty. Three of the gang attempted to rape her.’