Time Heals No Wounds (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel)

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  He was speechless but quickly replied:

  Exactly, I came across her name by accident. Do you know if NGCP drugs were tested on her?

  The documents are not that detailed. But I did find out some other information. She was born on April 12, 1920, in northern Germany and remained here after the war. Her parents were Jewish and had a small pharmacy. Neither survived the Holocaust. As far as I can tell, not a single one of Maria Löwenstein’s close relatives made it out alive. She had no siblings. On May 2, 1949, she gave birth to a son and committed suicide on June 18, 1958.

  How did she take her own life?

  I dunno, ‘suicide’ was all that was written, the term fails to take into account her experiences in the concentration camp . . . By the way, there’s an old photo of her in the documents my organization has. I uploaded the picture and put it in the archive.

  Curious, he opened the archive in a new window and clicked an image file called loewenstein.jpg. The photo had yellowed a little, but the facial features of the emaciated woman were still visible. She stood at an angle, her eyes lost in the distance. Her age was difficult to estimate: her body looked young, but the sunken eyes and pinched mouth made her seem old. Hannes felt she was somehow familiar.

  Thanks for the picture, he wrote back. Did you find any connection to Josef?

  After the war, she had a son, and his name was Josef.

  It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over Hannes. A shiver ran down his spine.

  What else do you know about Josef? What happened to him?

  It just says: ‘Son was given up for adoption after suicide.’

  Could it be that Josef Löwenstein was Mark von Wittenberg alias wittenberge? From the corner of his eye, Hannes noticed additional lines appear on the screen.

  I couldn’t find anything else, but I hope it helps. By the way, I’d love to be at your next protest against Lagussa . . . ;-) Oh, wait, one more thing: Maria Löwenstein’s son had a middle name.

  Hannes anxiously awaited the next IM. When the name appeared on the screen, he was stunned. Everything was falling into place, and the answer was right in front of him.

  Hello! Are you there?

  Yes, and you’ve been an amazing help! It’s all so clear now! After a brief hesitation, he typed, One more thing: Do you have any idea who wittenberge is? He posted info on the medical experiments. Do you know his real name?

  Nothing for several minutes. Then suddenly:

  Who are you? If you’re really xyz, you’d know it’s against the rules to ask about someone’s identity. I was wondering what was up with your odd writing style. You’re getting reported!

  Wait! I know the rules, but there’s an emergency! I think this wittenberge is dangerous, that’s the only reason I asked!

  He hoped emmi would calm down and stared desperately at the screen. After five minutes, the screen turned dark blue and a window popped up: You have been logged out by the webmaster.

  “That’s impossible!” he shouted and typed in Ben’s log-in information. A new window popped up: Username and/or password unknown.

  “No!” he screamed. Once again, he carefully typed the username and password. The result was the same. Ben’s account had been blocked.

  He fell back into his seat and moaned. Socks jumped up onto the couch and nudged his hand. The wind continued to pick up, and the living room was bathed in a diffused light. The storm would not hold off for much longer. Hannes pushed Socks off his lap and went to the window. Outside, branches waved violently in the wind. The sun peeked through the clouds one last time before disappearing behind a grayish-black wall.

  He went over the details again and again. Could it really be true? The evidence seemed incontrovertible. He went to the kitchen to make some more coffee and consider his next steps.

  He was startled by a loud crash on the balcony. He quickly turned around, and as he opened the balcony door, a gust of wind almost ripped it from his hand. A patio chair had been knocked over and was now leaning against the table. As he picked up an overturned potted plant, he heard Socks barking. The first flash of lightning streaked above the sea of houses.

  Hannes quickly left the balcony and shut the glass door. Socks was still barking, which made him wonder how he had never been so talkative before. He followed the barking into the cramped hallway. Socks was at the front door. When he noticed Hannes, he ran up and wagged his tail.

  On the floor lay a white envelope someone must have pushed through the slot. When he opened the front door, nobody was there. He picked up the letter and went into the kitchen, where he took a sharp knife and carefully opened the unmarked envelope. He tore off a paper towel and sat on the sofa. He used the paper towel to pull out the contents of the envelope, certain not to touch anything with his fingers. It was a plain white piece of paper with a few narrow lines of text—a computer printout in a font that imitated handwriting.

  you’ve gotten closer than I had expected.

  i quickly realized you would figure it all out sooner or later.

  i had hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

  now i must finish this sooner than planned.

  don’t think it was easy for me to kill someone, it was both agony and relief.

  and yet i had to do it because guilt must not go unpunished.

  i do not believe in divine justice, only earthly retribution.

  retribution for murder, for torture, for suffering.

  the history of the prestigious ternheim family is one of murder, torture, and suffering.

  forced laborers, concentration camp prisoners, and patients.

  thousands of people have lost their lives or their health for the sake of this family’s ruthless greed.

  my family has suffered from the ternheims’ deeds, and many times at that.

  and me? i still suffer to this day.

  this curse has been with me since early childhood.

  i don’t believe in happiness because no sooner do i feel it than it is taken away,

  as if the ternheims were my fate,

  as if they had been sent into this world to torment me each and every day.

  but i have had enough of letting this clan destroy my life.

  that’s why i struck before it was too late.

  and now i will bring this to an end,

  i do it for myself and for all those who have suffered because of this family.

  do not condemn me, just try to understand,

  because time heals no wounds.

  Hands trembling, Hannes laid the letter on the table. His last remaining doubts had disappeared. Suddenly Anna’s words replayed in his head. “It’s almost as if someone wanted to exterminate the Ternheims. Like a personal vendetta.”

  Suddenly everything was clear.

  “Damn it! Old Ternheim’s next!”

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON

  “We almost had him!” Henning Federsen banged his fist on the table. They were in a small, shabby room on the fifth floor of the police station.

  “We almost had him before,” Fritz said. “Say, Henning.” He leaned both arms on the desk and looked him in the eyes. “How can a young man who’s only been cited for a few run-ins fool the city’s entire police force?”

  “His cell phone’s off, we have little information about his personal life. And he doesn’t have a car, doesn’t use credit cards, and hasn’t been spotted by any surveillance cameras. The city’s large enough to hide in. Maybe there’s another change in the works,” Federsen said. They had known each other since their days at the academy and had experienced profound changes in the police force over the years. “There are plenty of young men today who know how to effectively use their social skills. Our time’s coming to an end, and that’s probably a good thing. The dinosaurs went extinct, after all.”

  “The problem is that men like Hannes are far too trusting. They have a hard time imagining that people don’t always act the way we expect them to. So, where did you lose Ben Sattler this time?”
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  “Wait a minute. The last time he escaped, you were there, not me!”

  “Okay, okay!” Fritz said. “Where did we lose him this time?”

  “At a gas station on Fuchsberg Street, on the northeastern outskirts. An officer on patrol had just filled his tank and was about to pay. Inside the store, he noticed a guy with blond dreadlocks duck behind some shelving, then take off.”

  “Why didn’t the officer catch him?”

  “The suspect grabbed the officer’s motorcycle and took off! Such a rookie mistake, leaving the key in the ignition. We’ll probably have to expand the search to all of northern Germany.”

  Fritz took a deep breath. “Did the cop at least notice which direction he went?”

  “Away from the city. The coastal road. But he could be anywhere now.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But I’ll take a look around just in case. Tell me if you hear anything new.”

  Federsen got a call, and Fritz left the office. He’d overlooked the fact that he’d left his cell phone on the edge of the desk.

  Hannes ran into his bedroom and quickly changed into jeans and a thin wool sweater. He grabbed his tattered jacket and ran out the door, leaving Socks alone. Just as he was turning toward the steps, his neighbor Richard stepped outside.

  “Hannes, I haven’t seen you in a while. Were you on vacation?”

  “No, I’ve just been really busy,” he said and headed for the stairs.

  “There’s been some excitement in the building after that snake got loose,” Richard said as he leaned against the banister, blocking Hannes’s path. “Mrs. Kowarz on the first floor drafted a petition demanding that management terminate the snake charmer’s lease.”

  “Did they catch that thing?”

  “You didn’t hear? The snake was found on Thursday on a nursery school playground.”

  “Unbelievable. And where is it now?”

  “The zoo came and took it.”

  “That’s great to hear. I’m sorry, but I have to go to a meeting and I’m already very late. Say hi to Heike. We’ll have to talk more next time.”

  He pushed Richard aside and raced down the stairs. Richard shouted something down the stairs, but he didn’t hear it. He bounded three steps at a time and nearly knocked over old Mrs. Kowarz.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Kowarz!” he called to her as he made his way to the basement parking garage. “Your petition’s a great idea. I’ll sign it tomorrow!”

  Hannes barely got his truck to start and took off as he scrolled through the contacts in his phone. He had just found the final puzzle pieces he needed to complete the picture and had to contact Fritz, because Old Ternheim was now in grave danger. He should have been put under police protection a long time ago!

  “What?” someone barked at him.

  “Uh . . . Fritz?” The voice didn’t sound right.

  “Fritz isn’t here. He left his phone on my desk. This is Federsen. Who’s this?”

  “Uh . . . Hannes Niehaus. I’m his assistant. So where is he?”

  “How should I know?”

  Hannes hung up. For several minutes he struggled with whether he should call for backup. But what if he was wrong? Then he would forever be the butt of jokes at the station, and Fritz would no longer take him seriously.

  Hannes bolted out of town just as the rain picked up. A few minutes later he turned off the highway onto the sloping coastal road. Low-hanging black clouds cast a pall over the landscape which made it hard to see. Fierce gusts of wind blew branches into the middle of the road, and Hannes had to swerve to avoid them.

  Finally, the old lighthouse loomed before him, and he turned down the small dirt road. The old truck skidded across the soggy ground, and in a moment of carelessness, Hannes lost control of the car and slid sideways into a small ditch. He put it into reverse and cautiously pressed the gas, but the wheels were stuck. He hit the gas harder and tried to rock the vehicle but was unsuccessful. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere.

  Hannes turned off the engine and listened to the loud patter of rain. He put on his jacket and looked at the cascades of water through the side window before throwing open the door. His shoes landed in a small puddle and were immediately soaked. The truck’s wheels had dug deep grooves in the ground and were covered in mud.

  Hannes wiped the water from his eyes. Streaks of lightning flashed across the sky, bathing his surroundings in bright light. Then thunder tore through the air. He thought about getting back in the car but decided to throw himself against the storm with all his might and struggled to take small steps forward. When he reached the forest, he was mostly shielded from the wind, and the treetops managed to catch some of the rain. He had to stare at the ground to keep on the barely visible path. Then he started to run, hoping to reach the clearing. A glance at his watch spurred him on. Since he had found the letter, almost an hour had passed, and he had no idea how long the envelope might have been lying by the door.

  His wet pants clung to his legs. He continued jogging and was soon out of breath. Just when he was ready to slow down, he saw the small clearing. Then another flash of lightning bolted across the sky. This time, it only took a second for thunder to rattle the earth. Without the protection of the trees, Hannes was defenseless against the downpour. Each step he took caused water to spurt up like a fountain as he hurried toward Old Ternheim’s dilapidated house. The shutters were all closed, but the front door was wide open. Not even the crazy old man would be so careless.

  Hannes crept up the rotten planks to the small porch, trying to listen for sounds from inside the house. But all he could hear was rain and the howling wind. Then he quietly slipped inside. Water had gotten into the hallway and formed a small puddle by the entrance. The door couldn’t have been open for long.

  Hannes warily entered the narrow hallway. After the physical exertion, he struggled to calm down. Should he call for Mr. Ternheim? If the old man was alone, Hannes might frighten him to the point of having a heart attack. If he wasn’t alone, he would lose his stealthy advantage.

  All indecision was cast aside when he heard noises from behind the door on the left. It sounded as though items were being overturned, and an excited voice shouted. Hannes rammed the door so hard he stumbled into the room. The storm let loose a massive roar of thunder. He could only see outlines but almost made out an upright silhouette half hidden by an oversized canvas. The person had his arms raised above his head and held an elongated object. Hannes shouted. But it was too late.

  The ax whistled through the air toward Heinrich Ternheim, who was sitting in his chair. Ternheim tried to protect himself by holding up his walking stick. The attempt threw the ax off course, snapping the cane in two. The blade sliced through the tattered upholstery of the chair, while the blunt side hit Ternheim in the temple. He slumped to the side.

  The attacker was so consumed by his deadly mission that he took no notice of Hannes. As the flashes of lightning were replaced by a deafening roar, the man pulled the ax from the back of the chair to attempt another blow.

  “Stop!” Hannes yelled as he rushed forward.

  The man turned, and the ax slipped out of his hands. He ran over to the giant canvas and hurled it at him. Hannes caught it and struggled to regain his footing. The attacker kicked one of his legs out from under him so he fell to the ground, covered by the monstrous image. With great difficulty, he crawled out from under the painting and saw an outstretched arm pointing a gun at Ternheim.

  Hannes jumped up and walked into the line of fire. Wild thoughts flashed through his mind as he stared at the gun. What was he thinking? Was he going to lose his life for some ancient criminal? They stood motionless until the man curled his finger around the trigger. The gun trembled. He could not take his eyes off the barrel. Would this be the last thing he ever saw?

  Hannes closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw a shadow disappear out the door. Ternheim gave a weak moan, and Hannes rushed over to the old painter.

  “Are you hurt?” he as
ked as he felt Ternheim’s pulse—a feeble but stable beat. Then he realized his cell phone was in the car.

  “The picture . . .” whispered the old man, “the picture shows the truth.”

  Hannes placed his hand on Old Ternheim’s shoulder. “I’ll look at the picture later. I have to try to catch up to him. Close the door until I’m back!”

  He ran from the room to the porch, where he saw a figure disappear into the woods. The rain had eased, and the thunder sounded distant. The worst seemed to be over.

  The man was amazingly agile as he moved through the forest. Branches hit Hannes in the face. Ignoring his injuries, he darted through the woods, gaining ground. The intervals between flashes of lightning continued to grow, and with each illumination of the sky, he seemed to have gained another few feet. He had no idea where they were when the trees suddenly ended, and he recognized his old truck, still halfway in the ditch with its lights on. He had even left the windshield wipers running.

  Then he saw the fugitive staggering by the lighthouse. The rain had gotten a little heavier, but in the fields, he could now see the man without much difficulty. The roar of the waves breaking against the cliff drowned out the distant rumbling of thunder. The lightning had moved to the horizon. Hannes shivered in his damp clothes.

  He cautiously approached the old walls and circled halfway around the lighthouse. There he stood, at the edge of the cliff, looking out to sea. His back was slightly hunched and his shoulders rose and fell. Hannes also gasped for breath and had to place his hands on his knees to steady himself. Then he raised his head and looked over at the man. About thirty feet lay between them. The wind ruffled his hair.