Time Heals No Wounds (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel)

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  “Did the Coast Guard send you photos?” Hannes asked.

  “They e-mailed me a picture of the boat, but they don’t have a photo of Mr. Schneider. Persons involved in accidents aren’t booked or fingerprinted.”

  “What does Mr. Schneider have to say about the deceased?”

  “So far nothing, because he hasn’t been questioned. I drove past his house yesterday, but it was deserted, and he was also unreachable by phone. But I know where he lives and where he works. He runs a real estate office downtown, so we can grill him in person. And I have a special job for you while we’re there. This isn’t official, but it’ll certainly speed things along.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were studying the window display at the Schneider Real Estate office. It was a bright, cloudless day, and the sun’s reflection glared in the windowpane. Fritz squinted as he examined the listings and then shook his head.

  “I should buy myself a condo downtown! Here, look at this crappy place: eight hundred square feet, three rooms, balcony, centrally located, great potential. Only 450,000 euros!”

  “And in addition to that bargain price, you’ll also shell out 3.57 percent in commission directly to Mr. Schneider,” Hannes added, beginning to feel better. “That’s got to be around 15,000 euros. I don’t want to know how many hours I’d have to work to afford that.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re best friends with real estate agents.”

  “I’m looking for a new apartment, and almost everything has to go through a real estate agent, no matter how rundown the place is. You have to fork over a month’s salary just to move.”

  “And I now understand why Mr. Schneider can afford such a fancy speedboat. According to the info from the Coast Guard, he’s only thirty-nine. And his house is more of a villa with a small park,” Fritz said. “Now let’s see what he has to say.”

  They entered a bright waiting room which, thanks to the black leather couches, palm trees, and modern art, exuded a sophisticated atmosphere. The glass reception desk was empty, and a short electronic buzz announced their arrival.

  Hannes looked at the colorful paintings on the walls. “This is insane,” he said. “I could give my little nephew a couple of colored pencils and sell the work as”—he studied one of the titles—“A Blind Woman’s Morning for a fortune.”

  “Don’t tell me you prefer Merlin’s paintings,” Fritz said and grinned.

  “At least his paintings convey emotion and take talent. But this . . .” Hannes shook his head.

  “Well then, you’ve found yourself another job, because you’re certainly not going to get rich being a police officer,” said Fritz. He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Is somebody going to come or what?”

  The door at the end of the room opened, and a staid-looking gentleman wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a suit stepped out. “Thank you for choosing us” came the canned response from inside, and a tall, slender man with slicked-back blond hair and tan skin appeared in the doorway. “Let me know if I can do anything for you. I’m sure we’ll find a buyer for your little gem soon.”

  While a scowling Hannes stared at the floor, the portly gentleman was ushered out. The real estate agent approached them with an outstretched hand, his grin revealing teeth as white as his suit.

  “Forgive me for making you wait. My assistant called in sick today. What can I do for you? Are you interested in buying or selling?”

  “Are you Mr. Schneider?” Fritz asked.

  “Yes, I am. I’m the owner of the company, so you’re in the best hands.” His teeth illuminated his suntanned face.

  “Detective Janssen.” Fritz pointed to Hannes. “You already met Niehaus this weekend.”

  “I thought your faces looked familiar. And how can I help you? My lawyer’s taking care of the matter.” His initial friendliness waned with each subsequent word.

  “We’re from the homicide unit,” said Fritz. “We’re not here about the fishing boat.”

  Schneider’s face lost some of its color. “What about my Dolphin? My boat was seriously damaged in that accident.”

  “Like I said, we’re not here because of the accident.”

  “So why are you here? Did my boat hit someone as well?”

  “I hope not,” Fritz said. “However, a woman’s body was found on the beach about three miles east of the port. Does that mean anything to you?” He watched him closely. “We have evidence that your boat was anchored at the exact same spot on Saturday.”

  Schneider turned slightly red. His jaw dropped. “What’s this? You want to pin a murder on me now? Is this your private vendetta for the old bum with the dinged boat?”

  “The one incident has nothing to do with the other. I’m only interested in what you were doing on Saturday at said beach area and who was with you on board your boat.”

  “I didn’t anchor my boat near any beach on Saturday, and there was no one on board. What makes you think it was me?”

  “There’s a witness who saw a boat near the beach on Saturday, and it bore a striking resemblance to your speedboat.”

  “It resembled my boat? That doesn’t mean it was my boat!”

  “Where were you on Saturday?”

  “I don’t think I need to answer that.”

  “And I don’t think we’re getting anywhere,” Fritz said. “We’re only asking because you could be an important witness. Nobody has assumed you did anything, but your responses do make me a little suspicious. If you believe you don’t have to cooperate, then we’ll gladly continue our conversation down at the station. However, you’ll have to close early today. Hannes, why don’t you call our colleagues and give them a heads-up.”

  While Hannes pulled out his cell phone, Schneider looked on in shock. “You’re not fooling me with your dumb tactics. You think you’ve got me shaking in my boots? I have absolutely nothing to do with any corpse. I have no idea why you’re making up this story.”

  “I’d watch what you’re saying!” Fritz roared in a hoarse voice, and Schneider jumped back. “No one’s making up any story! A woman’s mutilated body was discovered at the same site where someone in all likelihood saw you on your boat on Saturday afternoon. In other words, on the exact same day this woman died. Fittingly, a woman was also seen on your boat. So I’d better not hear any more lies out of you!”

  “Fine. I was out on the boat Saturday. So it’s possible someone saw me in the harbor. But I went straight out to sea and was alone. I have nothing more to say without my lawyer present.”

  “Fine. You’ll be hearing from us. We already have your address, and I recommend you promptly get in touch with your attorney. Have a nice day.”

  Fritz and Hannes left the office.

  “And? Did you get a picture of him with your phone?” asked Fritz as the two of them walked toward the illegally parked Jeep.

  “Sure,” said Hannes. “You really unnerved that guy with your fake outburst.”

  “That wasn’t fake. It was obvious that creep just told us a load of crap. You don’t need to be a psychic to know that. Why didn’t he admit he was on the water Saturday? I’m sure Tom will recognize him in the photo. I expect Mr. Schneider will have a few more excuses for us, because after his performance just now, I have my suspicions.”

  “Maybe we should arrest him now? What if he tries to take off?”

  “That won’t happen! We’ll wait here until our colleagues arrive to keep an eye on him . . . Damn it, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Confused, Hannes looked at Fritz. Fritz pointed at a parking ticket under the wiper. In order to get out of the fine, he would have to explain why he had parked illegally, and there was nothing Old Fritz hated more than paperwork.

  Fritz hurried down the hall to his office, followed by Hannes. “That was dumb of me. I should have printed out the photo of the Dolphin and taken it with me. We could have saved ourselves the detour!” He pushed his office door open and turned on his old computer.

  The door flung open again. “C
an I have a word with you tomorrow, Fritz?” a heavyset colleague asked, leaning against the desk.

  “How about knocking first?” Fritz asked and moved his coffee cup to safety.

  The police officer grinned. “No time! I just want to hear your opinion about this case.” With that, he slammed a file on the table.

  “Marcel, I’m flattered that you appreciate my advice, but we’re in the middle of an investigation. Can’t it wait until later?” Fritz eyed the brown folder. “What’s it about?”

  “A missing-person report,” said Marcel, opening the file. “A young intern at the evening paper hasn’t showed up to work and hasn’t been reachable since the beginning of the week.” He pulled out a photograph and slid it over to Fritz. “Her name’s Merle von Hohenstein, twenty-seven years old, and there’s been no trace of her.”

  “She looks sweet,” said Hannes.

  “May I introduce you, Marcel? This is Johannes Niehaus, my current student. And as you’ve just noticed, I’ve been unable to break him of his impertinent behavior. He’s in that phase when you check out every woman to determine if she’d be a suitable partner.”

  Embarrassed, Hannes stuck out his hand, and Marcel shook it with a grin. Fritz opened an e-mail from the Coast Guard and clicked print. The printer in the corner of the room started churning.

  “I’m really sorry, Marcel, but my case has first priority,” Fritz said and shut down his computer. He grabbed the printout of the boat and nodded at Hannes. “Come on, we’ve lost enough time!”

  The two investigators headed out of town. Hannes called the Olsens to let them know that they would be dropping in for another visit.

  “Well, this is quite a stir,” said Mrs. Olsen as Fritz and Hannes got out of the Jeep. “Come in, I’ve baked another cheesecake. It might still be warm, but my husband says it tastes better that way.”

  “That’s nice of you, but unfortunately we don’t have time for your delicious cake,” Fritz said. “Tom is an important witness. We may have found a lead because of him.”

  Mrs. Olsen pushed Tom forward while Fritz opened a folder and held out the image of the battered speedboat.

  “Is this the boat you saw on Saturday? And”—he waved to Hannes—“we would like to know if this is the same man you saw on the boat.”

  Hannes opened the photo on his cell phone and held it out.

  Tom grabbed the photo of the battered boat and scratched his head. “Hmm, yeah, I think it looked like that. I remember the painted red dolphin at the bow.” Then he took the cell phone and looked at the screen.

  “We have three photos of him, so you can scroll,” Hannes said and took over after Tom gave him a quizzical glance.

  “Yes . . . well . . . I only got a brief look at him, but he really reminds me of the man on the boat.”

  “Do you think he does, or do you know he does?” Fritz asked.

  “Hmm . . .” Tom scratched his head again. “Will he go to jail if I say he’s the guy? Because I’m not quite sure, the photos are kinda small.”

  “But at first glance, do you recognize a distinct resemblance?” asked Fritz, and Tom nodded. “Then we should organize a lineup for you to see him in real life. Don’t worry; you’ll stand behind a two-way mirror so you can see him, but he can’t see you.”

  After Mr. Olsen agreed to release him for a few hours, Tom climbed into the backseat of the Jeep, and they took off toward the station. As they entered the city, Fritz barely eased off the gas, continuing to barrel down the road toward the police station, when his cell phone rang.

  “Janssen here,” he said and blew through a red light. A light flashed from a small box near the intersection. Fritz swore. “What? No, that wasn’t because of you! I was just caught running a red light. But what’s up? Talk to me!”

  A few seconds later, Fritz cursed again and abruptly stopped the car. Furious, he slammed the phone on the dashboard. “Those amateurs! Our surveillance team did a great job. Just as they were about to arrest the suspect, they found the real estate office locked and a sign hanging on the door saying the office was closed. Once they finally managed to get the door open, there wasn’t a single person in the office. If we’re actually investigating a murder case, then our prime suspect has just managed to escape through a back door.”

  On the way back to the farm, Fritz railed against the decline of the police force and his colleagues’ incompetence. Not even the gentle sounds of Vivaldi could appease him. A relieved Tom jumped out of the car when they reached the farm. Even a piece of Mrs. Olsen’s cheesecake was unable to brighten Fritz’s mood.

  “Now what?” asked Hannes while Fritz wiped the last crumbs from his mouth and drove the Jeep back toward the city.

  “Now we pay a visit to Mr. Schneider’s residence. This guy’s obviously hiding something.”

  “What about Tom and the Olsens? Aren’t they under suspicion too? All three live near the crime scene. And then there’s Merlin.”

  Fritz rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Tom was fishing on the beach, Mr. Olsen was in his field, and his wife was at home. We still don’t know what Merlin was up to on Saturday. Do any of these people seem suspicious to you? But you’re right. Just because the focus is on Schneider right now doesn’t mean we should lose sight of other possibilities. Even a crazy old artist, a somewhat simple-minded farmhand, and an unpretentious farmer and his wife may have their dark sides too. So long as we’re unsure of the victim’s identity, it’s unfortunately quite difficult to make any connections. If we still don’t know who she is by tomorrow, we’ll probably have to show our country bumpkins a photo of the corpse. There’s no way around it. But at least Mr. Olsen has already seen it and stated that he doesn’t know the victim.”

  Fritz stopped the Jeep in front of a modern estate in an upscale residential area on the outskirts of the city. High walls and massive steel gates blocked the view of the mansion. It was already noon and well over ninety degrees.

  “Six Lake Street. This is Schneider’s home,” Fritz said, pointing to the gate.

  “Where’s the lake?” asked Hannes. “I’m a little disappointed.”

  “It’s probably behind the property, with private bathing platforms for members of high society.”

  Fritz opened the glove compartment and pulled out a badge, business cards, and his gun. He threw on a linen jacket despite the heat and stuffed his gun into the inside pocket.

  “Do you think it’ll get that serious?” asked Hannes.

  “No idea. But in the event that Schneider has something to do with the woman’s death and feels cornered, I’d rather play it safe. I don’t think he’s actually home. But perhaps his wife will let us in. Then at least we’ll know she’s still alive.”

  Hannes rang the bell, and a woman’s voice came over the intercom.

  Fritz got straight to the point. “Hello. This is the police. Are you Mrs. Schneider?”

  “I am. Did something happen?”

  “We’d like to talk to you. Would you please open the gate?”

  “Did something happen to my husband?”

  Fritz shot Hannes a meaningful glance. “Could you please let us in? We’d prefer not to communicate through the intercom.”

  “Of course, come in!”

  A moment later, the gate swung open. A white house with odd angles stood on the other side of a well-kept lawn with meticulously trimmed hedges. Porthole-shaped windows alternated with protruding walls. The house was surmounted by a bold roof that looked like a bent triangle that extended to the ground. Each room seemed to have a private balcony or winter garden, and the first floor consisted almost entirely of glass.

  “Wow,” Hannes said. He stared in wonder at the unique mansion.

  Even Fritz seemed enamored. He scratched his head and looked around. “I would never have thought you could make so much money off commission,” he said. “And look at the size of the plot. All this must be worth a fortune. Maybe he inherited something.”

  Hannes followed Fritz along
a gravel road, which must have been meticulously raked shortly before. When they had made it halfway, a massive brown wooden door opened, and a tall, slender middle-aged woman stepped out. Her high-heeled sandals and dress were white, and her light-blonde, artistically ambitious hair and pale skin completed the enchanting scene. She floated atop a sweeping staircase in front of them.

  Mrs. Schneider turned to a shirtless young man who was weeding at the edge of the stairs. “Lars, please take a look at the rhododendrons on the lakeside terrace. I believe they’re in desperate need of water.”

  The young man wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “Of course, Mrs. Schneider, I’ll take care of it right away.” He nodded to Fritz and Hannes and disappeared around the corner.

  Fritz took out his badge and droned the usual greeting. “You asked about your husband,” he continued. “Do you have a reason to believe we’re here because of him?”

  “I don’t know why you’ve come. Please, explain,” Mrs. Schneider said, taking a puff from a thin cigarette. Fritz tried to ignore the perfumed smoke.

  Hannes broke in. “We’re looking for him. He left a note at his office stating it was closed. He’s not at home?”

  “No, he’s not. Maybe he went to the doctor. He complained about a headache earlier. I’ve tried to call him because we’re hosting a small gathering this evening, and he should be here already.”

  “That’s odd. This morning, we met him at his office, and he seemed completely fine. Was your husband forced to close for the day because he suddenly felt sick?” Fritz asked.

  “He’s in good shape. Maybe he caught a summer cold. Or maybe he has an appointment. You can ask his secretary if she knows why he suddenly disappeared.”

  “The office was, as I said, closed. He had told us earlier that his assistant was ill and had not showed up to work.”

  “Why are you searching for my husband?”