“You should take a taxi. Let’s walk to the street.”
“All right, Mr. Policeman,” she teased with a smile. “What do you have planned for tomorrow? I promised Tina I’d have a girls’ day out with her. Sleep in, leisurely breakfast, go to the beach.”
“Sounds good,” said Hannes. “I’ll probably still be hunting for a murderer with my boss, and if I’m lucky, I might be able to get in an hour on the water.”
They had reached the street, and Anna hailed a taxi.
“I hope you solve the case soon,” she said. “I can’t imagine how it will be on Monday at the office with all the management gone! It’s almost as if someone wanted to exterminate the Ternheims. Like a personal vendetta.”
Hannes nodded, reflecting on what she said. “Get home safely,” he said.
Anna opened the door to the cab and turned to look at him. Her expression was serious but caring. “Get a good night’s sleep. Try not to dwell too much on the case or Ben. You can’t see into people.” Suddenly Anna stood on her tiptoes and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for everything,” she whispered and got into the cab.
He stared down the empty street long after the taxi had disappeared and felt incredibly alone.
SATURDAY NIGHT INTO SUNDAY MORNING
Memories are the photographs of our lives.
Whenever we remember, images appear in our minds. We can perceive bygone smells, tastes, and sounds or feel a gentle caress with a shudder.
If one of our senses is awakened with the proper key, it can spark an instant flashback and project the corresponding image onto our internal screen. But only during special moments does memory think it appropriate to press the shutter button. They can be happy and joyful moments, or painful and agonizing ones.
My personal photo album almost exclusively contains dreary black-and-white photos. I have to flip through it at length before I stumble upon a friendly snapshot.
I know whom to thank for this circumstance—and have decided to rip out page after page from my dark book of memories. Revenge is my tool.
But revenge is not sweet; it has a bitter aftertaste. Although it can provide a fleeting moment of relief, it passes quickly. Guilt and shame enter the battlefield. And above all, fear.
Fear that it can no longer be achieved. Fear that all will be foiled before the grand finale. I must finish. I must tear the last page out of the Book of Books. Only then can there be peace and quiet.
There is only this one way, even if it proves painful to heal the wounds. Yet there is no other possibility. I have learned that time alone does not heal wounds.
Soon it is finished.
EARLY SUNDAY MORNING
Hannes spent most of the night thinking about the murders and a lot about Anna. Just as he had finally fallen asleep, Socks jumped into the bed and began to whine. Hannes stroked his soft fur, and Socks snuggled next to him. He listened for a while to his quiet breathing and finally drifted to sleep.
Hannes was awakened by a loud knock on the front door. Socks jumped out of bed barking and ran into the hall. It was ten o’clock. Hannes put on a T-shirt and shorts and went to the door.
Fritz seemed happy and bent over to greet Socks. He had a pained expression on his face as he stood back up.
“How’s your back?” Hannes asked.
“It’s fine. I brought some breakfast; if we’re working on a Sunday, we deserve a nice start.” He waved a paper bag in the air. “What, did you work a night shift? Any new insights?”
“No. I’d completely forgotten that Ben had planned a small party for our fairground friends last night. We gathered for a picnic in the park instead. So I still have more research to do.” Hannes hid the fact that Anna had been there. “Did you get anywhere yesterday?”
Fritz shook his head. “The search for Ben and Frank Richter has intensified. If he isn’t found today, we’ll have to contact the media for help. And Lauer said he’d double the number of officers working on the case if we don’t find anything soon.”
“Maybe that’s not so bad, we’re not getting anywhere.”
“Twice the number of officers means twice the number of mistakes. Besides, the need for coordination increases. Not to mention, we would have to bring everyone up to speed. But we still have a few hours. So, breakfast?”
“Yeah, come on in. You can sit on the balcony while I get some plates,” Hannes said. He was still half asleep.
“Coffee wouldn’t be half bad either!” Fritz called to him.
Hannes scooped ground coffee into a filter. He switched on the coffee machine and gathered some plates. Then he carried the tray out and was careful not to trip over Socks, who was running around his legs.
As he stepped onto the balcony, Fritz was shaking two tablets into his hand and tossed them into his mouth. He looked at Hannes and immediately choked. He put the bottle on the table and began to cough violently. Hannes put the tray down and pounded Fritz on the back.
“All right, all right! You don’t need to hit so hard,” Fritz said when he caught his breath. With tears in his eyes, he stared at Hannes. “And you volunteered at a nursing home? Are you sure it wasn’t a slaughterhouse?”
“Better a broken rib than suffocating, right? What are you taking?” Hannes looked at the prescription bottle; the name seemed to ring a bell. Still, he was unable to identify the drug.
Fritz grabbed the bottle and shoved it into his pocket. “Painkillers,” he said. “Yeah, I admit it. Right now the back pain is so severe that I need drugs. But don’t say a word to Steffen, otherwise he’ll take me off the case and send me to rehab.”
“That might be for the best.”
“Says Mr. ‘I get back into my boat with a broken knee as quickly as possible!’ When I’m on a case, I can’t let go until it’s solved. My health can wait. And with this magic pill here”—he patted his pocket—“I’ll be able to handle the pain for however long we still need.”
“So you think we’re close to solving the case?”
“Of course! We have a prime suspect in Ben, and this Laval character seems to play a strange role. We’ve got to track down Ben and find out what’s going on. Now I understand why you didn’t want to move out of Ben’s place,” Fritz said with a wink. “The view really doesn’t compare.” He nodded toward the shabby gray apartment building across the way where a scruffy man in sweatpants had just lit a cigarette on the balcony.
“As soon as we close the case, I’ll be on the market for a new apartment. By the way, I’m sorry I don’t have much to add to breakfast. My fridge is almost empty. I haven’t had a chance to go shopping.”
“Not even coffee?” Fritz said with a grin.
“Of course! At once, my lord, and please excuse the poor service!”
A few minutes later, they were sipping coffee.
“You’re taking it too much to heart,” said Fritz as he smeared jam on a slice of bread.
“What do I take too much to heart?”
“Ben. He weighs on you—and don’t think I don’t understand.”
“Yeah?” Hannes said as he reached for some bread.
“Early in my career, my best friend’s girlfriend was found murdered in the park. Her name was Monika, and she was always the life of the party. We had wild parties back then, even if that’s hard for you to imagine. She was brutally raped before she died. I was working with three others on the case, and in addition to the investigation, I also took care of my buddy every night. He was deeply depressed, and I was afraid he might take his own life, so I moved into his house. My colleagues and I were on that case for weeks.”
Fritz took a long sip from his coffee and folded his arms across his chest. “We were about to drop the case when we stumbled on a clue. A homeless man had seen the murder but didn’t want any trouble, so he made himself scarce. Fortunately, the man was deeply religious and confessed to a priest who placed solving the murder above the heavenly seal of confession and called the police. The end was ultimately banal.
My best friend at the time had brutally raped and murdered his own girlfriend. He felt inferior and thought she didn’t pay enough attention to him. He was also insanely jealous. That’s when I learned in the most horrible way possible never to trust anyone. The only person you can really trust is yourself.”
They both chewed in silence.
“What happened to your friend?” Hannes finally asked.
“He hanged himself in prison. He probably wanted to terrorize Monika in the afterlife, because after the case was solved, his supposed depression went away. He fooled us all.”
Again there was silence.
“All right then.” Hannes stared into Fritz’s eyes. “Then I have lost my innocence and learned my lesson. But I can’t say I like the feeling.”
“That’s the way the world works,” Fritz said and ate the last morsel of bread with a sip of coffee. “But I still get the sense you haven’t come to terms with Ben’s guilt, so let me give you further proof. I did a little more research on Ben last night. Did you know he comes from some small village in Saxony-Anhalt?”
“I thought he was from Berlin.”
“Berlin was his last stop. He studied there for a few semesters before transferring here.”
Hannes could not figure out what Fritz was getting at. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “But what’s so strange about it?”
“The village where Ben grew up is only a few miles from a small town called Wittenberg. Tell me that’s not strange. Who contacted Ms. Ternheim? A Mark von Wittenberg.”
Hannes’s head swam. There were just too many coincidences. “But the person Anna saw with Ms. Ternheim at the Charles Memorial looked nothing like Ben.”
“Ms. Stahl also said she didn’t get a good look. Besides, this man didn’t necessarily have to be Ben. He could have sent someone else as Mark von Wittenberg, perhaps Frank Richter. After all, it’s possible Ben didn’t act alone. Maybe there’s some connection between him and Laval.”
Fritz wiped his mouth and stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“The station. We’ve got to find Ben. I want to close this case once and for all. I also want to hear the latest about the search for Merle von Hohenstein. But you can stay here and continue your research, even though I think finding Ben will provide us with quicker answers. Call me if you find anything.”
“I’d like to work out a little afterward, if that’s okay.”
“When’s this World Cup, anyway?”
“Next weekend, and I really want to use the home advantage to stick it to them.”
“Just don’t take too long. And keep your phone on you.”
LATE SUNDAY MORNING
Something was eating away at him, but Hannes couldn’t make sense of it. Socks crunched on some cereal as the first few clouds pushed in front of the morning sun, and the wind picked up. A change in weather seemed imminent. Hannes decided to move his research inside and gathered the remains of his breakfast. Socks had inhaled the cereal and now roamed the apartment. Hannes washed the dishes and retired to the couch in the living room.
Hannes opened the forum. He stared at the screen, deep in thought. This time he didn’t go into the archives with the stored documents but clicked on the discussion group entitled “Lagussa.” It probably wouldn’t get him anywhere, but he wanted to know who had already written on the topic.
He jumped when he reached the second page. Ben had told him someone in the forum had a mother who had been a victim of medical experiments carried out by NGCP in a concentration camp. He found the entry under the heading “Medical Experiments by NGCP”:
longtime reader, first-time commenter here. when sunflower uploaded ngcp’s delivery receipt to the concentration camp, it suddenly occurred to me: my mother was Jewish and imprisoned in a concentration camp. she never spoke much about this time in her life, but when I was older, she told me these sadists tested drugs on her and other prisoners. she was injected daily with something. she didn’t know what it was or what it was supposed to do. she had severe side effects, but they still injected her. i remember she told me that on the package of whatever it was there were four letters. for years, i couldn’t remember what those four letters were. but after seeing the ngcp delivery receipt, it suddenly clicked. those were definitely the letters my mother mentioned. i can confirm that the ngcp was responsible for medical experiments in at least one concentration camp.
Another comment by “sunflower” appeared the next day:
that’s terrible! what happened to your mother after the war? did she get help?
The answer came within an hour:
my mother suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. she was ashamed of what had happened, and barely sought help. how do you help someone who experienced something like that? for a while she belonged to an organization that tried to help former concentration camp prisoners, but they were ultimately unable to do anything for her. my mother took her own life when i was still a child. we were at the beach, and she walked deep into the water and never came back.
The author’s screen name was “wittenberge.” His first entry was on May 18, almost exactly three months before the first murder and, according to Anna, around the same time Ms. Ternheim was first contacted by Mark von Wittenberg. If Mark von Wittenberg and wittenberge were actually the same person, then Fritz’s theory was wrong and he wasn’t Ben. After all, wittenberge talked about his mother, and Ben was too young for his mother to be a concentration camp prisoner.
Hannes searched for other posts by wittenberge and eventually discovered a thread entitled “Lagussa: Accountable for NGCP’s Past?”
of course you can hold lagussa accountable and should. lagussa is still owned by the same family that ran ngcp. the senior head Heinrich Ternheim handed over control of the company to his children a few years ago and during the nazi era, he was already in a position of power at ngcp. i know this because my mother was the man’s childhood sweetheart. but he began to adhere more and more to nazi ideology. he was the one who eventually denounced my mother to the gestapo, after which she was deported. he destroyed my mother’s life twice because ngcp did drug experiments on her and other prisoners. lagussa and the ternheim clan must pay for these crimes!
Goose bumps ran down Hannes’s arms. It couldn’t be a coincidence! He was certain wittenberge and Mark von Wittenberg were the same person. But even if he called for revenge, did that make him a murderer? Was Hannes grasping at straws just to prove Ben’s innocence? Ben still could have been involved. The murderer might not have acted alone.
A small box at the right of the screen began flashing with an IM.
From: emmi
Hi xyz! Online again? Where have you been lately? Heard about your protest, that was awesome! Hijack Lagussa’s gala, really top-notch! Lame that the managing director had to be killed that same night, meant the act unfortunately fell into the background. Probably wasn’t worth going . . . ;-)
Clearly Ben’s username was xyz.
Hello? Are you asleep? flashed on the screen.
Hannes typed, Nope, sorry, was just in the bathroom. Thanks for the praise, but you really don’t think we had anything to do with Ternheim’s death?
What? No! It was just a joke! I know you’re die-hard pacifists. Did my information about the concentration camp prisoners help?
Hannes had no idea what the other user was talking about but still wrote: Yeah, the research was really useful!
Apparently this emmi had access to information on concentration camp prisoners. After some hesitation, he typed, I came across two names that may be directly related to Lagussa or NGCP. Can you help? I think they’re concentration camp prisoners.
I can try. I have some records up now. What are the names, and what do you want to know?
He rubbed his forehead. Perhaps this crucial piece of information would finally get him somewhere.
It’s about a Maria Löwenstein. I would like to know if someone by the name of Josef Löwenstein was interne
d in a camp and if he was in any way connected to her. Perhaps her husband. And what happened to them after the war?
Another IM appeared a few minutes later.
Sorry, the phone rang. I can take a look to see what I find, but it will take some time. Will you be online in a while?
About how long do you need? he typed back. He was ecstatic!
An hour or two. Be glad that the sun’s not out, I had planned to spend my Sunday doing other things ;-)
Hannes glanced at his watch. It was a little after eleven.
No problem. I have stuff I need to do too, be back at 1:00. Thanks, you’re a tremendous help!
No problem. I’ll log back on then. Out of curiosity, why the question? Yeah, I know, curiosity killed the cat ;-)
Of course! This could be a smoking gun! You give me info, I’ll give you info ;-)
Hannes walked away from the computer. Now he could take Socks for a jog.
After showering, he opened the laptop just before 1:00 p.m. The wind had picked up speed, whistling past the windows. The thunderstorm had not yet started. The minutes passed without an IM. He drummed his fingers on the table.
Another call to Marcel delivered the sobering news that the search for Merle von Hohenstein had hit another dead end. Although a bus driver had been able to remember her, there was no trace of her along the lonely coastal roads.
Finally an IM popped up.
Hello, sorry, took a little longer.
No prob, just got back, anyway, he lied. Find anything?
Yes, I did. Maria Löwenstein arrived at the concentration camp on November 18, 1942 and remained there until the camp was liberated in early 1945. She was probably too weak to be sent on the notorious death marches during the evacuation phase. According to the documents of our victim support association, she was one of the prisoners they performed medical experiments on. Hence your interest in her?
Time Heals No Wounds (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel) Page 29
