The Northern Cross (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel Book 2)

by Hendrik Falkenberg

There was a moment of awkward silence, then everyone spoke at once.

  “Quiet.” Federsen banged his fist on the table twice. “We can’t offer all the members personal protection. The best protection is to catch the perp. We finally have enough against Bach to secure a search warrant. Marcel, take care of that. He’s now our prime suspect.”

  “Let’s not forget about Manuel Birkholz. He’s also on the list,” Hannes said. “But I can’t think of a specific motive. Unless he wanted to punish Antje Kramer for her brother’s actions. I mean . . . No, that can’t be it.”

  “What?” Marcel prompted.

  Hannes ran his fingers through his hair. “I went with Isabelle to see him. I mentioned that Ms. Kramer had claimed he had ambushed her brother and threatened him. Perhaps he wanted to punish her for tipping us off. Or maybe he was afraid that she knew more.”

  “Are you crazy?” said Federsen. “You never tell a suspect the name of a witness or what the witness said. Unbelievable. That was such a dumb mistake.” It was one of those rare moments when the detective was at a loss for the right insult.

  Hannes stared at the table in shame. His stomach tightened at the thought that his carelessness might be responsible for Ms. Kramer’s death. Federsen was probably right. He was an amateur.

  “Well, so far that’s only a theory,” Marcel said, trying to defuse the tension. “Besides, right now everything seems to point to Bach. And there’s still the possibility that the murderer isn’t even on our radar yet. That would be even worse.”

  “But since these four suspects are all we’ve got, we ought to focus on them,” said Federsen. “Novak’s already in custody, so he’s no danger, unless he’s planted a time bomb somewhere. But we’re going to have to release him tomorrow because the evidence against him is too flimsy. Mr. Böhm landed himself in jail for tax fraud. David Bach is still on the lam, which is our biggest problem. Birkholz is also a free man, and God have mercy on us all if he strikes again. But for you, Niehaus, there will be no mercy.”

  Federsen’s words still rung in Hannes’s head as he looked into Maria’s beautiful face later that evening. She wouldn’t let him forget about that drink he owed her. She had dragged him to what in her opinion was the best Spanish spot in town, and since she was half Spanish, she knew what she was talking about. Hannes studied the various tapas dishes on the table. He wasn’t a fan of these mini portions, even though he could try lots of different flavors in one evening. Before them was a large pitcher of sangria which had twice been refilled. How someone could drink buckets of this was a total mystery to Hannes. His head felt heavy. He had just told Maria about the reprimand he had received from his boss earlier as well as their difficult relationship.

  She shook her head. “I don’t get how you can work with this guy. He’s ugly, has no manners, stinks, and is the laziest police officer I know.”

  Hannes shrugged. The waiter appeared, and Maria studied the menu to choose a dessert. She was a real beauty, her year-round tan accentuated by her ivory teeth. Her hair was long and black, and her figure earned the stolen glances of all the neighboring tables. Hannes smirked. He was probably the most envied man in the room. His gaze wandered down from her face, and he gulped. Maria wore a tight top, which showed off her shapely bust.

  He was completely receptive to her erotic charm. His ears glowed. They had gone out a couple of times, and Hannes had always enjoyed her company. He even got the sense that Maria found him somewhat interesting. But although they were both single, there was a problem. Every time he saw her manicured nails, he couldn’t help thinking of her job. Those hands handled dead bodies all day, and there was nothing he found more repulsive. He couldn’t even look at a corpse from far away. As a homicide detective, he ought to feel more neutral about dead bodies, but he always told himself that every job had its drawbacks.

  “What are you having?” Maria’s low voice pulled him from his thoughts.

  “I have no idea. What about you?”

  “Crema catalana. It’s similar to crème brûlée—only better, of course.” She winked, and Hannes seconded her choice.

  “By the way, I wanted to try this new rock-climbing gym out.” Maria leaned toward him. “Any chance you’d like to join me? If you’re there, I wouldn’t be afraid of falling.”

  Hannes felt slightly dizzy, which he attributed to his fourth glass of sangria. But maybe it was also the intensity of Maria’s gaze, which always made him sweat a little.

  “Uh . . . I’ve never been climbing before.”

  “Then it’s time you tried.” She placed her hand on his, and the image of an autopsy table immediately flashed in his head. He discreetly withdrew his hand as he reached for his glass.

  “Yeah, maybe I should. After I pass the test for my boating license, I’ll be looking for a new project anyway.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Maria smiled, pleased.

  Hannes was also pleased. At least he had managed to win himself a grace period. Who knew what would happen in a few weeks? He liked Maria a lot, and there were definitely worse pastimes than watching her climb up a wall. Maybe he could even learn to control his fear of dead bodies. But then he thought about Anna. There were no phobias to fight with her. He just didn’t know where he stood or how to assess the situation. At the thought of her, his stomach turned to knots. He reached one more time for the center of the table, where a new pitcher of ice-cold sangria had just been placed, and chugged another glass.

  Hannes had never slept so badly in his life. In fact, he barely slept. Even when he was able to doze off a little, his dreams were haunted by images of Manuel Birkholz creeping into Ms. Kramer’s workshop to plant the poisonous mushrooms. When he awoke in a cold sweat, his nightmares were replaced by the memory of how he had found the naked and motionless sculptor in her dirty apartment.

  He finally gave up at five o’clock and got out of bed. Racked with guilt, he struggled to choke down a slice of toast with jam. He felt he was in no shape to attend practice that morning, nor did he think he could bear to see Ralf. He sent his coach a text message saying that he was needed at the station, which wasn’t a complete lie.

  Hannes should have guessed that he would be Federsen’s punching bag for the day. He spent half the morning enduring his boss’s snide remarks until Marcel stepped in.

  “That’s enough. Hannes gets it. And it’s not like you’ve never made a mistake.”

  “At least not one with deadly consequences,” Federsen said.

  But from then on, he kept his comments to himself, and Hannes breathed a little easier. He vowed to upstage the self-righteous creep and was determined to redeem himself by making a positive contribution to the investigation.

  The first opportunity arose at ten o’clock, when he and Marcel interrogated Matthias Böhm. The evidence of serious tax fraud seemed solid. Mr. Böhm must have realized that the tax authorities were slowly tightening the noose they’d placed around his neck, because he had clearly lost his confidence and was ready to talk.

  “I have nothing to hide. I can’t tell you anything more than I already have,” he said.

  “We have some more questions for you,” Marcel began, his tape recorder on the table. “Alexander Kramer’s sister, Antje Kramer, is dead. Did you know her?”

  “I met her for the first time a few days ago. She came to the farm wanting to know if I’d buy her brother’s gelding. I said no.”

  “Why? Is the horse sick?”

  “Not as far as I know. But I want to sell the farm. There’s little point in filling up the barn.”

  “I’m sure you could really use the proceeds of the sale,” Marcel said. “You could at least pay some of the taxes you owe.”

  “I’m not discussing that with you. If you don’t desist, I’ll call my lawyer.”

  “Fine. The accusation of fraud is only relevant to us as an indication of your financial trouble. A divorce would have given you even less leeway . . .”

  “Has anyone come to mind who might be re
sponsible for your wife’s death?” asked Hannes.

  “I have no idea, and that’s not going to change no matter how many times you ask.”

  “Then let’s forget about your wife for a moment,” Marcel said. “So you only met Ms. Kramer once. What kind of impression did you have of her?”

  “I didn’t care for her. Shows up unannounced and wants to pawn the nag off on me. She was so obtrusive that I had to ask her to leave.”

  “Ms. Kramer mentioned you were rather unfriendly. Your employees have confirmed that there was a heated discussion.”

  “Who said that? Jonas? Now that he’s being let go, of course he’s going to bad-mouth me.”

  “Presumably, Antje Kramer wanted to discuss more than just the horse with you,” speculated Hannes. “If she also brought up the two murder victims, that would explain the heatedness of the discussion. Especially if she suspected you and had something against you.”

  “What did she say about our meeting?” Mr. Böhm asked.

  Hannes shrugged. “What do you remember about the conversation?”

  “Like I said, it was about her brother’s horse. I didn’t have much time that day, and I was annoyed that she wouldn’t let it go. That was all. How did she die, by the way?”

  “Poisonous mushrooms,” Marcel said.

  “So what’s the issue?”

  “Well, she’s dead.” Hannes spoke carefully. “What’s more, she wouldn’t have taken poisonous mushrooms intentionally.”

  “So you assume I placed a poisonous mushroom in front of her and made her eat it? Listen . . . We were outside the entire time. My employees can testify to that. And I’ve been stuck here since Monday.”

  “That doesn’t matter, because Ms. Kramer ate the mushrooms last week. You were still free then. She endured horrific pain and died only two nights ago, in case you’re interested.”

  “No, I’m not interested. You know why? Because I had absolutely nothing to do with that woman. It was bad enough that her damn brother hung around our place. I’m done with these absurd questions, or I demand to see my lawyer.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Marcel said and turned off the recorder.

  The search warrant for David Bach’s apartment had been issued, and Federsen looked for colleagues to accompany him. Marcel felt that Hannes and Federsen should work together as little as possible and thought it would be appropriate to visit New Way again after Antje Kramer’s death. Hannes learned from Benjamin Lück that play rehearsals were being held later that afternoon.

  Practice was in full swing when Marcel and Hannes entered the main room of the group’s meeting place. As they opened the door, they heard a familiar line recited in a fervent voice: “Enough words have been exchanged; now at last let me see some deeds.”

  Mr. Schweiger continued with his lines, undeterred by the appearance of the two investigators. New Way’s theater group was evidently trying to put on a production of Goethe’s Faust. How fitting, Hannes thought.

  Benjamin Lück and another person entered from the hallway. They were both perfectly dressed for their parts. It was only after the other man took off his white mask that Hannes recognized Mr. Beck’s bearded face. Dressed in black and donning a red cape, the group’s chaplain had been transformed into Mephisto.

  Mr. Lück rushed over to greet the detectives and excitedly shook their hands. “I’m sorry everyone’s in costume, but we want to perform the piece at Christmastime and still have a ton of work to do. Even though Antje’s death has given us a lot to worry about, we’ve decided not to cancel the performance.”

  “Unfortunately, we also had no choice,” added Mr. Beck. “Our performances are always well attended, and admission goes a long way to covering expenses. Last year, we made over 10,000 euros. Antje certainly wouldn’t have wanted us to cancel some of our activities.”

  “You’ve certainly bit off a lot with Faust,” Marcel said.

  “We’re putting on an abridged version,” Mr. Beck explained. “Fortunately, we have a professional in our midst. Benjamin pushes us to give our all.”

  Hannes recalled that the group’s public outreach coordinator was also a stage actor. But here, Mr. Lück modestly explained, he served as director, prompter, and makeup artist.

  “Unfortunately, everyone has to play multiple parts, since we’re short members without stage fright,” he said. “With Alexander, we lost our Mephisto, but Thomas is talented and proving an excellent understudy.”

  “A chaplain as Mephisto is a rather unusual combination,” Hannes said.

  “But it makes a lot of sense.” Mr. Beck smiled. “As chaplain you gain profound insight into the dark side of human behavior. But I’ll be playing another role in addition to Mephisto. That’s why”—he patted the white mask—“we’re doing without makeup. It lets me switch between the characters quickly. Besides, I don’t really want to shave or dye my beard.” His eyes twinkled.

  Marcel cut to the chase. “Antje Kramer died from eating poisonous mushrooms. Can you explain how she got them?”

  Both men looked at each other in embarrassment. “Well,” Mr. Lück began, “we knew Antje had a weakness for Celtic mythology and performed ceremonies. She even gave a few lectures here on the subject.”

  “It was a real passion of hers,” Mr. Beck added. “Her enthusiasm was contagious. She used mind-altering drugs in these ceremonies to heighten their intensity. We knew she experimented with mushrooms for that reason, but never thought they would be dangerous.”

  “They’re not,” Hannes said. “But she ate more than just hallucinogenic mushrooms. She also ingested a poisonous variety. We are wondering where it came from.”

  The two men stared at him, their eyes wide. “That’s horrible,” Mr. Beck said. “But I have no idea where she got her mushrooms.”

  “She sometimes foraged for them, but she also purchased them from a dealer,” said Mr. Lück. “Her brother told me about it once when we talked about his cocaine use. He bought his drugs from the same dealer.”

  “We know,” Marcel said. “He was briefly in custody.”

  “Do you think he purposely . . .” Mr. Beck paused. “That would be so terrible. Was she murdered?”

  “That’s a possibility,” Marcel said. “One of many.”

  “We’ve got to warn our members,” Mr. Beck said. “It’s like someone’s targeting us.”

  “There’s no need to panic,” Marcel said. “There’s no harm in a little caution, but please don’t frighten your members.”

  “You’re right,” Mr. Beck said. “We should be careful when we bring it up tomorrow at our meeting. Do you have any suggestions how to best proceed?”

  “If you’ve been promoting yourselves recently,” Hannes said, “it would be a good idea to keep a low profile and not draw too much attention.”

  “Well, we’ve already started advertising our theater performances, and in recent weeks we’ve been preparing to launch a new membership drive,” Mr. Lück said. “Maybe we shouldn’t be so active over the next few weeks. Otherwise, I can’t think of anything else. We’ve been hosting our children play groups and offering refugees support for some time now without any real incidents.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Beck said. “As a precaution, we should lie low and not open ourselves up to further attack. If necessary, we’ll cancel the play.”

  “What were your disputes with the Church of the Creator about?” asked Marcel.

  The men looked at each other hesitantly. Mr. Lück looked uncomfortable.

  “We don’t want to slander anyone or cast suspicion,” Mr. Beck said. “They’ve insulted us. Other times, they’ve distributed pamphlets. And there was a pretty ugly scene during our summer festival. Yet I can’t imagine that someone would go so far as to—”

  “Did any individuals in particular stand out?” asked Hannes.

  “Two or three were always there.”

  “This man, for example?” Marcel showed David Bach’s mug shot.

  Mr. Lück
’s face turned pale. “He led the attacks. Does that mean that he . . . ?”

  “There could be an entirely different explanation,” Hannes said. “But this is the man who damaged your property. Your members should definitely beware of him. However, we’re investigating several leads at the moment. It’s possible that membership in New Way was not the real reason for the deaths.”

  His attempts at calming the two achieved little, and Hannes hoped the group wouldn’t break out in a panic. After the investigators had said good-bye, they stood in the back and watched the rehearsal for a bit. It took a while before Lück and Beck regained their composure. The other actors looked surprised when Mephisto began to stumble over his lines. Since no one had overheard the conversation, they didn’t understand the director’s pale face or their chaplain’s distracted performance.

  A few minutes later, however, the two men returned to their former roles and were engrossed in Mephisto’s devious deal with Doctor Faust. Benjamin Lück mouthed each line silently with the actors and wandered excitedly around the stage. Rebecca Köhler played Gretchen, while Mr. Schweiger assumed the role of Faust and the director in the opening sequence of the play. His wife starred in three different female roles, and the man who had hugged Hannes at the meeting the previous Friday appeared as the Earth Spirit.

  “That’s Wolfgang Hartmann,” whispered Marcel. “I remember him because he’s pretty sociable. Clarissa and I interviewed him about the first two murder victims. He owns a department store downtown. Must be in his early fifties.”

  Benjamin Lück did a good job directing the amateur actors. Mr. Beck’s acting and facial expressions were so convincing that Marcel and Hannes had trouble tearing themselves away.

  “Maybe I should buy tickets,” Marcel said. “It would probably make my wife happy. She complains that we never do anything cultural.” He stopped on his way to the car and pointed to the opposite building. “Wasn’t that the Church of the Creator’s pastor who just walked in?”

  “No idea. I wasn’t looking.”

  “Come on,” Marcel said. “While we’re here, we might as well grill the neighbors.”