Time Heals No Wounds (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel)

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  Again, she burst into tears, and Fritz waited until she calmed down. “I have one last question. We heard another rumor that Ms. Ternheim had been digging into Lagussa’s past and had come across something.”

  “You mean the scandal in the nineties? That’s not new. At least Helene wasn’t solely to blame for that. She and her brother were responsible for the drug, but the ultimate blame lay with her father. Enough people had warned him not to release the drug. In the test phase, there had been isolated abnormalities and signs of long-term side effects. He swept all that aside. He always pointed to the drug’s potential and insisted on a quick launch. After all, he had invested heavily into the research. Initially, it actually helped a number of people, but then came the first side effects, and eventually there were rumors in the press. And then it all went downhill. But I don’t think Helene had found anything else about that.”

  “Actually, I don’t mean the drug scandal. It was a story further back in the past.”

  Ms. Wagner looked clueless. “I know nothing about it.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t either,” Fritz said. “I’ll leave you alone now. You’ve really helped me better understand some connections. Can you think of anyone else she might have met who could provide us with more information?”

  “As I said, Helene was probably one of the loneliest people in the city.”

  “Acquaintances from the past? Maybe from college or school? A boyfriend or . . .”

  “No. I mean . . .” Ms. Wagner looked at her hands in discomfort. “I’m just doing this for Helene. I had to swear to her that I’d never tell anyone.”

  “I’m sure Ms. Ternheim would have understood,” Fritz said.

  “I can think of only one name. In college, she had met a young student from Denmark. His name was Lennart. I don’t remember his last name. He was a year ahead of her, and they got to know each other while working on a group project. Gradually a romance developed between them. Then one evening, they, um . . . well, you know.” Ms. Wagner smoothed her skirt in embarrassment. “Anyway, Helene felt safe because her brother had class all day. She knew he was jealous of her and had always met with Lennart in secret. But the professor was ill, so class was canceled and . . . suddenly her brother was standing in the doorway while Helene and Lennart were having sex! Her brother was completely beside himself. He grabbed Lennart and threw him out. Then he took care of his sister. He called her a bitch and threatened to tell her father she was sleeping around. Then he threw himself on top of her and brutalized her. Do you understand? Christian Ternheim raped his own sister that evening. Several times!”

  Fritz headed for Christian Ternheim’s office door, his head spinning. Ms. Wagner had been able to provide him with a theory that explained the scars on the forearm: “After Helene was raped, there was always a little piece of her that was broken. She stopped doing well in school and spiraled into a severe depression. As you can imagine, in a family in which power was all that mattered, this was met with little understanding. Although the Ternheims had made a fortune selling psychotropic drugs, it was unthinkable that someone in their family would have psychological problems. During her worst stage, Helene cut herself, finally forcing her father to take notice. She was placed in a psychiatric ward. These past few weeks I was afraid that she had fallen into her old patterns. Despite the summery temperatures, she wore long-sleeved clothes and made sure her sleeves were rolled down. A few weeks ago she was reaching up to straighten a picture on the wall, and I noticed that her left wrist was bandaged. I immediately asked her if she had hurt herself, but she quickly pulled her sleeve down and muttered something about an accident.”

  Fritz tried to hide his disgust when he sat opposite Christian Ternheim. Was he upset by the loss of his sister? Was he secretly relieved that Lagussa’s dark past was safe?

  Ternheim drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for the conversation to start. As always, he was clean shaven and dressed in an expensive suit. His gray hair was combed into a tidy part.

  “Did you find any leads on my sister’s murderer?”

  “Why are you so sure your sister was murdered?”

  “Isn’t that obvious? She disappeared without a trace before turning up dead with dyed hair and a tattoo. Her car’s gone, and she had no personal belongings on her.”

  “Oh, well, I prefer to reach my own conclusions,” said Fritz. “By the way, you forgot some things, like the sedative and the scars on the forearm.”

  “See! All these anomalies should be enough to believe it was murder,” Ternheim said. “Instead of wasting your time here with me, you should be searching for the culprit.”

  “You know, a few things struck me as odd.”

  “What isn’t odd about Helene’s death?”

  “I find it odd, for example,” Fritz calmly continued, “that you failed to inform me that your sister had recently begun taking a sedative. Didn’t you say she seemed in control lately?”

  “Have you spoken with her doctor? Ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?”

  “The fact is we now have a harmless explanation for the trace of sedative in her blood. Harmless at least to the extent that it was probably not administered by a third party. Less harmless, however, in the sense that she was obviously under tremendous personal stress. Can you tell me anything about that?”

  “Stress? We’re always stressed, or do you think it’s a breeze running a global pharmaceutical company? Maybe it was a bit too much for her lately. After all, we are planning a product launch, plus there were the preparations for today’s gala—not to mention the never-ending regular work.”

  Fritz shook his head. “I wonder if you aren’t making it a little too easy for yourself. We’ve looked at the scars on her wrist more closely. They clearly predate the time of death, so she must have gotten them before she disappeared.”

  “Yeah, and? Who knows, maybe she got caught on something?”

  “I don’t think so. This scarring is characteristic of small self-inflicted cuts.”

  “How dare you! Just because my sister was taking a harmless sedative from time to time, you try to push her into the psycho corner. It’s ridiculous to think that my sister would have cut herself like . . . like a teenage girl!”

  “So, is that it? Wasn’t your sister already hospitalized for depression because of prior cutting?”

  The color in Ternheim’s face went pale. “Who told you that? Where the hell did you hear that?”

  “You said it yourself,” Fritz said, smiling. “We’re supposed to step up our investigation, and that’s exactly what we’re doing. I’m a cop; I know how to dig up information.”

  Ternheim swiveled around and looked out over the city, struggling to keep his composure. “All right then.” He turned his chair around. “In recent months, my sister was in contact with a man. She changed over that time, became irritated, distant, pensive. I was the one who finally suggested she try a sedative. But I highly doubt she sliced her arm on purpose. Something must have happened with this guy. She was afraid of him. I think he threatened her.”

  “Do you think that or do you know it?”

  “I’m only speculating because my sister didn’t talk about it.”

  “Do you know what the man’s name was?”

  “She mentioned a von Wittenberg.”

  “Ah. So she did speak to you about him?”

  “No . . . yes . . . I mean, she told me she was in contact with him, but nothing more.”

  “And do you have any guess as to what he wanted from your sister?”

  “Like I said, she said nothing about it.”

  “But there was another issue your sister wasn’t quiet about, right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “As I already said, as a cop, I have amazing sources. Is it true that your relationship with your sister was a little tense the past few weeks?”

  “I just explained why!”

  “But isn’t it also true that your sister had recently
been revisiting Lagussa’s past? And I don’t mean the drug scandal in the nineties. I mean the thirties and forties. You surely must have known your sister was gathering information on this . . . dark chapter in your company’s history.”

  Ternheim glared at Fritz.

  “Mr. Ternheim, isn’t it true your sister uncovered evidence of collusion between your ancestors and the Nazis and wanted to come clean? But you didn’t want to jeopardize the company. Wasn’t this the real reason for your estrangement?”

  “I don’t know where you got this story from,” Ternheim said. “That is utter nonsense. People would have found out a long time ago if there had been any unseemly practices! Lagussa was and is an exemplary company known for its community involvement. Ms. Stahl will give you a ticket to our charity gala this evening; you can see for yourself.”

  “Maybe it was clean back then, but not by today’s standards.”

  “Even if it were true, which it’s not, what does that have to do with your investigation?”

  “Insofar as the relationship between you and your sister deteriorated due to her research. Perhaps you even threatened her? You told me yourself she was afraid. Maybe of you?”

  “So this is what it comes down to! You don’t have the slightest idea who’s behind Helene’s death and are now trying to pin the murder on me? How obvious!” He laughed.

  “I’m not pinning anything on anyone. You took your time before reporting your sister’s disappearance and were extremely reluctant to publish information about it. Of course, I wonder why that is. So far we haven’t gotten much help from you.”

  “So, you’re treading water, and I’m the scapegoat? Of course, then you can close the file, and Detective Janssen has solved another case. But fine, if you want clues, I’ll give you clues! Of all the people Helene knew, you should only be looking into one man, because—”

  “Oh no,” said Fritz. “Please not again with this Mr. von Wittenberg! I can assure you we’re already looking into him.”

  “I’m not talking about him. However, another thought did pop into my head because of him.”

  “So, why don’t you share your thought process?”

  Ternheim sighed. “At first I thought Mr. von Wittenberg was someone we knew. I noticed she had been talking on the phone with a man and was becoming more and more troubled. It was only after I learned his name and knew that she had met him that I cast this suspicion aside.”

  “What was your suspicion?”

  Ternheim hesitated, then pulled himself together. “As you know, our father paints some . . . well, let’s just say special images. An art dealer named Laval became aware of him by accident and did everything he could to get my father as a client. My father was flattered because the dealer praised his paintings and called him an undiscovered genius. Helene and I were strongly opposed to the idea that these images be made public. What kind of picture would they paint of our family and company? People would think he’s nuts. Eventually this guy managed to persuade my father to sign. His contract runs out in six months, and now the situation has radically changed. There were a couple of incidents that led to our father being declared legally incompetent and Helene and myself his guardians. That means the contract cannot be renewed or extended without our consent. Mr. Laval, whose real name is Lachmann, contacted us three months ago to discuss an extension. But I told him he could shove it and that he was to leave us alone. He then called my sister a few times—he probably thought she was weaker. I know Laval threatened my sister at least once, stating he could make life very difficult for her if she continued to hinder our father’s success.”

  LATE FRIDAY MORNING

  The alarm woke Hannes. He had lain awake the night before, thinking of the events of the day.

  Socks was barking, and Hannes sat up. A pounding headache brought tears to his eyes. He gathered his clothes, remembering he needed to ask Ben for some fresh underwear.

  Socks came darting out of the living room when Hannes walked into the hall. Ben’s bedroom door was open, offering a view of his rumpled, empty bed. He went into the bathroom and discovered a note on the mirror: Had to leave early today, but will be back around noon. Can you take care of Socks? Thanks and see you later! P.S. There are some rolls in the kitchen.

  Hannes sighed. Ben had a lot of nerve! He had a ton of work to do, still no clean underpants, and now a dog. He looked down at Socks, who wagged his tail.

  “Well, Socks, wanna go do some policing?”

  A tired face stared back at him in the mirror. His hair was disheveled. Fortunately for him, there was a bottle of aspirin sitting on the shelf. He took two and hopped in the shower.

  Upon exiting the bathroom, he called his landlord to inquire about the status of the snake situation. As expected, the landlord had no update. Hannes decided to spend one more night at Ben’s.

  He ate breakfast and wondered what he should do first. He needed to return the police car. Then he would do a background check on the art dealer before investigating the pharmaceutical company’s past. He had to catch up with Anna and bring Socks back at some point, and he needed some underwear.

  Hannes drove to the station. Socks sniffed around the room as Hannes returned the keys to the patrol car to Mrs. Meier.

  “I’m really sorry I didn’t return the car until now, but I had to take care of this dog yesterday. He’s a stray, and I didn’t have much luck finding his owner.”

  Fortunately, Mrs. Meier had a soft spot for dogs.

  In the corridor Hannes ran into Marcel, who had asked Fritz on Wednesday for advice on a missing-person case.

  “Did that young woman turn up?” Hannes asked.

  “You mean Merle von Hohenstein? No, still no trace.”

  “Good luck,” Hannes said and opened the door to his office. Socks was easy: after quickly exploring the office, he curled up under the desk and dozed off.

  Hannes spent the next hour doing a background check on Lachmann. He found no record of his real name or his pseudonym. So he continued searching the Internet, but the only hit on Ludwig Lachmann was an already deceased economist of the same name. The search for Louis Laval, meanwhile, yielded some information.

  An article in an art magazine celebrated him as the discoverer of the genius Merlin, and in an interview he spoke about the success of a recent art opening in Amsterdam. However, most results were related only indirectly to Laval and primarily focused on Merlin. He had a veritable fan base around the world with lots of international bloggers touting his work.

  On one fan page, a few buyers had uploaded pictures of them posing in front of their purchases. One group photo made Hannes think he was looking at members of a sadomasochism club, and in another photo, a bald, bare-chested man covered in tattoos stood in front of a painting with his right arm raised. Curiously, he came across very little criticism of Merlin’s painting style, even if one Swedish art historian stated his work was “truly eccentric but also an intolerable perversion of the soul.”

  As for Laval, he found nothing revealing about his origin or his career. One interview indicated his age. Since that article was already several years old, Hannes estimated Laval was about forty-eight.

  Hannes was about to give up when he stumbled across a post in an art forum entitled “Art or Junk?” Someone with the username “ashiro” had written:

  Of course Merlin’s images are art. He works the canvas with an extreme, if not diabolical, intensity that is unparalleled. Unfortunately, it’s damn hard to get ahold of an original image, and I was once even shortchanged by Mr. Laval, his ridiculous agent. He promised me a masterpiece and went on and on about a one-off opportunity to buy one of the artist’s coveted originals. He claimed to have several interested parties, so I had to decide on the spot and pay a 5,000 euro deposit. Since I had often tried unsuccessfully to acquire one of Merlin’s images, I agreed. What I received was a 4” x 6” sketch, not the painting I had expected. Has anyone had a similar experience?

  Several people confirmed th
at they had also fallen victim to the same trick and strongly advised against purchasing from Laval without having previously seen the real painting. One user, however, did not seem to have fallen prey to Laval’s scheme:

  Ha-ha, how stupid can you be? Laval’s known for controlling the market by selling sketches and thumbnails, sight unseen, at inflated prices. Pretty stupid if you fall for it . . .

  Hannes considered this new information. So Laval conducted business in a way that could possibly be described as shrewd. But it seemed more likely he was just scamming people.

  He called the airline Laval had flown and asked for some information about flight times. Since the employee refused to comment, citing official procedures, he asked a colleague from the federal police for assistance, who promised to look into the matter as soon as possible.

  Hannes needed some coffee. He stood and Socks jumped up to follow him. “If only I could wake up that fast,” Hannes said and patted his head. He stepped into the hallway and almost collided with Maria.

  “Do you have it out for me or something?” she joked. “This is the second time this week you’ve run me down. I have a nice memento from yesterday’s incident, by the way.” She showed him her scratched elbow and then lifted her white skirt to let him see her bruised knee.

  “I’m really sorry. What are you doing up here? Bored with the autopsy table?”

  “Not at all. I just got a very interesting case. An extremely overweight young man was mauled by his two attack dogs. Let me tell you . . . Wait, and who are you?”

  Socks had attracted her attention, and Maria knelt down to pet him. “Last weekend, there was a knife fight at a soccer match. Unfortunately, a sixteen-year-old, the son of a prominent politician, got caught up in the fight. Now the chief of police wants to hear my test results in person.”

  “I see. A case of a politically explosive nature . . .”