Hannes turned to the third building, which was apparently once used as a barn. It was clearly the barn captured on the paper. He walked toward it. The sloping corrugated tin roof was riddled with large holes, and stones had fallen out of the walls. The barn door had been secured with a new chain and a modern padlock, which made Hannes suspicious.
He slowly circled the building and tried peering through a window, but he could only see outlines through the dirty panes. He ran back to the car and grabbed a blanket from the trunk, which he used to rub the window clean. Since the pane was caked with dirt on the inside, he still couldn’t see into the room, but the outlines were at least a little clearer. In addition to some agricultural equipment, he could make out the outline of a car hidden under a tarp.
Hannes grabbed a rock and chucked it as hard as he could at the window. The glass shattered and flew everywhere. Hannes wrapped his hand in the blanket and pushed the few remaining sharp pieces of glass out of the frame. He pulled the window up and crawled through the small opening. He slid down to the ground and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.
The interior of the barn was filled with random boxes and old farming equipment. And his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him: a gray tarp blanketed a low car. Hannes lifted the tarp and felt a tire. He quickly unhooked a few more hooks, which had been used to attach the tarp to the body, and threw the cloth halfway across the car roof to uncover a yellow Corvette from the seventies. A look at the license plate confirmed that it was Helene Ternheim’s missing sports car.
The chain and padlock fell to the ground with a loud clatter. Fritz then carelessly tossed the bolt aside. Hannes had told him over the phone what he had found, and the old detective had immediately swung into action.
“Forensics will be here any minute, but we should take a closer look around this barn as quickly as possible. We’ve already lost enough time,” he said. “Hopefully you haven’t touched anything?”
Hannes shook his head. “I only pulled back the tarp, otherwise everything’s as it was.”
“Incredible,” Fritz said as he pushed open the barn door to reveal the half-covered sports car. “We could have been looking for ages! How did the old guy know the car was hidden here?”
Hannes shrugged. “Mr. Ternheim doesn’t just toss around information, you know.” He told Fritz about the brief conversation on the beach and then showed him the drawing.
“Crime and punishment and Maria and Josef?” said Fritz. “The crime I get, after what you’ve told me about the company’s past. But what’s with the Bible reference?”
Hannes shrugged again. “At least he got his voice back. Maybe next time he’ll be a little clearer.”
Fritz rubbed his chin. “We can only hope! Especially with regard to this missing Ms. von Hohenstein. If she really is in danger, then we have to get the old man to talk. Well, we’ll definitely search the entire farm. Maybe she’s being held in one of the buildings.”
“It’s still a mystery to me how Merlin came across this photo,” Hannes said while Fritz circled the Corvette and scrutinized it. “Pretty dented for an expensive car, huh?” he added and pointed to the front of the vehicle. He followed Fritz, then knelt down in front of the fender and pointed to some dents and scratches. “Ms. Ternheim seems to have been quite the driver. There are scratches all over the place, and here you can see some green paint left over from a collision.”
“Forensics will take a closer look,” Fritz said as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He walked to the driver’s side door and gripped the handle of the yellow sports car with the cloth.
“I’m sure it’s locked,” said Hannes.
Fritz carefully pulled the door open and looked inside. “Not much to look at,” he said. He turned halfway around, and just as he was pulling his head out of the car, he bumped it against the roof, lost his balance, and fell into the car seat. “Damn it! Now I’ve contaminated the evidence. This damn car roof!” A red mark now graced his forehead, and Fritz stuck his arms out toward Hannes. “Pull me out; I don’t want to touch anything else.”
Hannes grabbed his hands and pulled Fritz out of the car.
Fritz stood stooped over in front of him and placed both hands on his lower back. “I really can’t keep doing this,” he said.
The sound of an engine could be heard outside. Fritz forced himself to stand up straight. “And just as our colleagues get here! I hope they can still do something with this.”
Half an hour later, the barn was a completely different picture. Forensics carefully combed the entire building, and as a precaution, a few of his colleagues searched the two other houses, but they found nothing. A tow truck arrived and hauled the Corvette back to the city for inspection.
“Here’s something,” came a voice from the farthest corner of the barn.
Hannes followed Fritz, who hurried to the woman in the white overalls. She had just pulled an object from a wooden box.
“A purse!” shouted Hannes. “And it looks pretty new. Maybe it’s Ms. Ternheim’s?”
“We’ll see,” said Fritz. “Can you spread out the contents somewhere?”
“Let’s go outside. We put down a plastic sheet out there,” said the red-haired woman as she carried the purse outside. Her face betrayed her irritation after she unclasped it.
“What’s wrong?” asked Fritz.
“That’s what’s wrong,” she said, turning it so the men were able to look inside. “An acid, I suspect. It means we can’t do much with the contents.” She gently fumbled around the purse and pulled out a slurry of what was once paper, some cosmetics, and a cell phone.
“Shit!” said Fritz. “Can you get any data out of it?”
“Maybe we can save the SIM card and at least access some of the backed-up data. It depends how much acid seeped through the casing. But you can forget about everything else!”
“There’s always a problem,” Hannes said.
“I don’t get why you’re complaining,” Fritz said. “You just solved one part of the puzzle! This new problem makes the investigation more exciting. After all, you got a confused, mute old man to talk and thus found the car. And you managed to stumble upon a connection with a missing-person case. Good job!”
Hannes’s face brightened upon hearing the rare praise. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll give the photo of Merle von Hohenstein to Marcel before I see Maria. I’m supposed to meet with her at noon. I want to decipher those tattoos.”
“Oh, speaking of tattoos, that reminds me. Our colleagues have taken a closer look at the tattoo machine and compared it with the color and the engraving technique used on Ms. Ternheim’s arm. It was either the same instrument or an identical model. So Ben’s our prime suspect in two murder cases. Unfortunately, there’s still no trace of him. But I think I just got an idea of where I can find him.”
At the same time, a dramatic scene was unfolding just a mile away. Ludwig Lachmann, aka Louis Laval, was exasperated with his most important and—truth be told—only artist.
Although the genius Merlin was again true to himself and didn’t exchange a single word with the dealer, his body language was clear when Laval handed him a new contract. A determined Old Ternheim shook his head and pushed the paper aside.
“But what do you want?” Laval said. He found it more and more difficult to control himself. “We’ve worked well together in recent years. Our contract runs out soon, and if you want your images to sell in the future, we need a new agreement. You do want to sell your pictures, right?”
The old man again shook his head. Then Laval heard for the very first time the voice of the man who had been the source of his now squandered fortune.
“Just one more picture,” said the old man. “The last picture.” And that was all that he would say. He nodded toward the door.
“You’re throwing me out? After all I’ve done for you?” said Laval. “Without me, you’d be nothing—nothing! Is your son behind this change of mind? He’s dead, in ca
se you forgot, just like your daughter. And . . . and . . .” The little man was at a loss for words. Then his eyes narrowed. “Is there someone else? Are you going to work with another agent? You’ll regret this!”
He stormed toward the door and then turned around once more. His hand trembled as he pointed it at Old Ternheim. “I’ll see to it that not a single picture of yours is ever sold again! Mark my words.”
The door slammed behind him with a bang. Merlin turned back to the large easel in order to finish his last work of art.
If Hannes and Fritz had left the abandoned farm just a few minutes earlier, they probably would have seen Ludwig Lachmann’s green sedan turn onto the road at the lighthouse and speed away.
Fritz gazed at the lighthouse: he had always had a soft spot for lighthouses. Then his eyes returned to Hannes’s car in front of him, which coasted along the winding route. It’s time this guy buys himself a new car. Then he won’t get carried away whenever he uses someone else’s, he thought.
As he passed by Hohenberg Farm, Fritz thought he felt the gaze of the old farmer’s wife on him. There was little in this desolate area that escaped the woman.
At a small intersection a little farther on, Hannes took advantage of the straightaway and accelerated, while Fritz slowed down and despite the complete isolation put on his turn signal. Let the speed demon race back to the city! Whenever he was in the area, Fritz liked to stop by his boat and take a fifteen-minute breather.
After parking his Jeep, he wandered over to the dock and could already feel the stress melt away and his mind clear. He looked lovingly on the old cutter. He had invested so much work and material into the boat and was proud of it. His handiwork had paid off.
“A real beaut,” came a voice from beside him.
Startled, Fritz took his eyes off his Lena. “Oh, Ole. I didn’t hear you sneak up. True, Lena is one hell of a girl. How’s your old Seagull?”
“Back on the water. Thankfully, the damage looked worse than it really was. But still, you should have let me teach that pompous fool a lesson or two.”
“Be glad I held you back. The guy probably would have sued you. He badly needs the dough.”
“Well, in any case, he won’t be showing up around here anytime soon. What really annoys me is that I had helped him out with a rope the day before. I even gave it to him!”
“Oh? On Saturday? When he was here with his blonde?”
“Blonde? I didn’t see any lady.”
“Eh, someone else saw her,” Fritz said and then told his old school friend how the private detective had been shadowing the real estate agent.
“Oh, now I understand,” said Ole as laugh lines fanned out around his eyes. “I had been wondering about this dark-green car, an Asian make. It was over there in the parking lot. It got here shortly after the boat did. I was a little suspicious and took a look inside. There was a little guy sitting in there.” Ole roared in laughter. “But he didn’t see anything—he was sound asleep!”
“When was that? Had Mr. Schneider, I mean the boat owner, already cast off?”
“He had just left. I helped him untie the boat before I peeked at the car. Like I said, I’m angry as hell that I help—”
“Forget about that! Did you see a woman on board? Or at least, a woman go on board?”
“What’s it matter to you? No, I didn’t see a woman, but of course—”
“That little bastard of a private eye! He told us he had observed everything, but he was sleeping on the job and actually didn’t see anything! Are you absolutely certain he was asleep?”
“Yes, of course! His mouth was wide open and he was drooling.”
Fritz frantically rummaged through his wallet. “I have that guy’s business card here somewhere! Damn mess. If I only . . . Oh, wait, here it is!” He quickly dialed the number on the card. “Yes, Detective Janssen! Remember me?” he said into the phone. Then he let out a fierce torrent of accusations and threats of criminal consequences.
As soon as he hung up, Fritz called Hannes to brief him on the latest development.
“The guy admitted he was snoozing?”
“First he waffled, but then he conceded. He said the only woman who could have been with him was the assistant, Kustermann, because the two were constantly by each other’s side. He was afraid his client would hear about his blunder and that’s why he lied to us. But now he’s afraid of the consequences this might have for him. So start looking into Schneider again. His work, cell phone, home, wife, neighbors—whatever. Track him down!”
“Sure,” Hannes said. “I’ll call you later.”
Ten minutes later, Hannes called back. “Schneider’s disappeared again! His cell phone was turned off, and his wife picked up at home. Or rather his soon-to-be ex-wife, if I’m correctly interpreting her outrage. She didn’t mince words. She’s already put the private detective’s work to good use. She kicked her husband out, and as far as she knows, he’s headed for the mountains with Ms. Kustermann. But she has no idea where or for how long. Mr. Schneider better hope we get to him before she does because—”
“Okay, so put out an APB. Monitor his cell, contact the various units, get the federal police involved, and so on. Ask Lauer. He’ll tell you how you need to proceed. And check if there’s any connection between Ben and this real estate agent.”
“All right, boss,” Hannes said. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed, especially since he could no longer get that photo of a terrified Merle out of his head.
The flap had been open for a few minutes. Merle’s eyes had grown accustomed to the light. She was mesmerized by the sneakers she could see outside the door. She had given up hope. Her desperate yet unsuccessful attack the previous day had dashed her dreams of escaping.
She didn’t care anymore what the guy on the other side of the door wanted from her. All she wanted was for it to be over. This way or that way. Let him stick her in ridiculous clothes, photograph her, and lace her food with sleeping pills. As far as she was concerned, he could stand in front of that door for hours. She had lost all will to resist.
The feet moved a little closer. Merle heard a soft metallic noise, but she couldn’t pinpoint its source. Her gaze traveled up from the door, and she thought she saw a small spot of light at eye level. Suddenly it was gone. Shortly after, the sneakers moved to the left out of Merle’s field of vision, and the small dot was back.
A peephole, thought Merle. So what? Go ahead and watch me, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore! Her fingers stroked the splinters of wood chips she had saved from the broken tray. The next time you look in here, you’ll be surprised at what you’ll see . . .
The sneakers reappeared and a hand pushed two items into her room. Merle’s face was devoid of emotion. She simply stared straight ahead. What is that? She already recognized the tray of food and the bottle of water. It seemed to be fries. But what was the elongated object next to the food? She looked closer. A flashlight! She would finally have light! Merle felt life course through her once more.
She looked back toward the door and saw a brief movement behind the little peephole. If he would at least talk to her! She could barely remember how another human voice sounded. Her pleading eyes stared at the door as if she were trying to hypnotize the man on the other side. And when a voice finally spoke to her, Merle wasn’t sure if she had only heard the softly spoken words in her head or if they had been said aloud.
“It’ll be over soon, Merle. You don’t have to wait much longer for the end.”
SATURDAY AT NOON
“This doesn’t count as the dinner you still owe me, right?” asked Maria as she stirred her latte in a small café near the medical examiner’s office.
“No, of course I didn’t forget, but right now there’s just too much going on. Maybe next week?”
“So you want to solve the case by next week? I’ve heard a buddy of yours is the prime suspect and managed to evade arrest.”
Maria’s question hit a sore spot. Hann
es could imagine what kind of impression his colleagues had of him now. The rookie who puked when he saw his first body and then lived for a week with the Ternheims’ murderer.
“It seems all they do down at the station is gossip,” he said. “Unfortunately, it looks as if Ben is at least in some way involved.”
“That doesn’t sound very convincing . . .”
“Imagine that there’s sufficient evidence to suspect that a friend of yours is guilty of killing someone. Wouldn’t you search for explanations as to why she couldn’t have done it?”
“And do you have any explanations?”
“No. But I also don’t have any explanations as to why he would do it. Of course, there’s no disputing the fingerprints on the tattoo machine, but why everything else?”
“These are things I don’t have to think about, fortunately.”
“Well, what did Mr. Ternheim’s corpse tell you?”
Maria put her glass down and leaned back in her chair. “First, I can tell you the death occurred at about nine last night. The sedative is the same one we found in his sister’s blood, but at a much higher dose. It’s Letharmol, which is used to treat anxiety as well as relieve pain.”
“How easy is it to get this stuff?”
“You need a prescription.”
“How’s it taken?”
“Either in tablet form or as drops. It’s extremely fast and in higher concentrations can cause serious side effects like muscle failure and cardiac arrest.”
“So what was the cause of death?”
“Asphyxiation. He likely suffered a lot. And he was pumped so full of Letharmol that he was completely helpless, his muscles paralyzed.”
“And how long would it take to tattoo his arm like that?”
Maria shrugged. “I don’t think whoever did the tattoo knew what he or she was doing. So it’s hard to say. As a beginner, it’d probably take at least half an hour.”
“Damn, that’s long! Whoever did this must have nerves of steel. Someone could have walked into the room at any time.”
Time Heals No Wounds (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel) Page 27
