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

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  “So far-fetched it could almost be true,” Hannes said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Federsen and especially Clarissa know how to back a guy into a corner. His story’s so complex it would be easy to trick him into contradicting himself. I’m sure they’ve tried. If you keep asking him to repeat the story, he’ll inevitably slip up, especially since he’s not that bright.”

  “Maybe we just need some time,” Per said. “We can hit him with the lineup next. Di Santo will definitely be able to identify him, then his story will unravel.”

  Per parked the car. Most of the windows in di Santo’s apartment were lit, and the lights on the fourth floor were also on. A woman just stepped out of the building as the detectives approached, and they slipped in after her.

  “Can’t wait to hear what he has to say,” Hannes said.

  They took the elevator to di Santo’s floor.

  “He lives here,” Hannes said, nodding at a gray door.

  Per pressed the doorbell, but nothing happened. He knocked on the door.

  “Maybe he fell asleep,” Hannes said and called di Santo. The phone rang, and a tango number started playing inside the apartment. After no answer, Hannes tried again but got the same result. Then he pounded on the door.

  “What are you doing?” A neighbor had come out. It was a young man holding a baby.

  Hannes flashed his badge. “We have an appointment with Mr. di Santo.”

  “Did he complain about something again?”

  “No, we’re here about another matter.”

  “Well, that’s good. He’s always complaining about something. But he was the one making noise last night. I thought about calling the cops on him for a change.”

  “What?”

  “Our baby had just fallen asleep, and he started playing loud music. Seems he was moving furniture around. He even started drilling. He’s one to complain.”

  “When was that?” Hannes asked.

  “Around eleven. It was weird because you never hear anything from him. I went to the bathroom around one thirty and heard his apartment door close and someone walk down the stairs.”

  The investigators exchanged worried glances. Per knocked again. Nothing.

  The neighbor retreated into his apartment. Per examined the door and pulled a credit card out of his wallet.

  “The door’s pretty old. The lock probably hasn’t been updated either.” He rattled the door. “There’s a lot of give. If he didn’t deadbolt it, I could open it with my credit card.”

  Hannes nodded. It was possible Carlos di Santo was simply asleep. Per stuck his credit card into the gap between the door and the jamb and slid it down.

  “That’s the latch. There’s nothing else in the way. Doesn’t seem like he turned the deadbolt.”

  He fiddled with the card until the door swung open.

  “Your second heroic act of the day,” Hannes joked.

  They hesitated as they stepped inside. The only light came in from the hallway. Hannes called his name. No reply. He slowly walked past the small dresser where Isabelle had seen the pictures of Benjamin Lück. Something wasn’t right. He opened the door to the living room and cringed in horror.

  Hannes didn’t notice Per’s terrified gasp. He stared at the body, which seemed to float upside down in the room. Hannes saw only the back, but knew the man hanging there was Carlos di Santo. A rope had been tied around his ankles and attached to the ceiling with a hook, which explained the drilling noise. From the hook the rope led diagonally down to the floor, where it ended in another loop. It had been placed around the foot of a massive cabinet to prevent the body from dropping. He hung perfectly straight, his medium-length hair almost touching the ground.

  Hannes shook himself from his stupor and raced into the room. There was plaster dust on the floor. He slowly circled the lifeless body. Di Santo’s wrists had been tied behind his back; his arms stuck out to the side and pointed toward the ceiling. Hannes’s gaze moved from the feet down to the body. When he saw the bearded face, he was overcome by dizziness. He pressed a hand to his mouth and took off, pushing Per out of his way, to vomit in the toilet. Panting, he clutched the ceramic bowl and laid his head on his arms. He struggled to get up, then flushed the toilet. He rinsed his mouth out several times and washed his hands.

  Reluctantly, he approached the living room again. His stomach was rumbling, and he felt like his head might explode. Per was pale as a ghost. He had settled on the edge of the couch, unable to look away. Hannes forced the nausea down and knelt in front of the dangling body.

  Di Santo’s head was swollen. His dark eyes had lost their melancholic expression. Wide open, they seemed to be staring at the detectives. A thick black woolen thread zigzagged from one side of the mouth to the other. The killer had crudely sewn di Santo’s lips together. Blood had pooled around the sutures and dried.

  “I’ve already contacted our colleagues,” said Per. “There’s no pulse.”

  Hannes stood and sat down next to Per. They stared at the surreal scene. Hannes felt like his brain was shrouded in a heavy fog.

  “Per,” Hannes said, and his voice sounded fake to him. “Di Santo called me yesterday at about nine. Around eleven, the neighbor heard music and noise coming from this apartment, and at one thirty someone left the apartment. From here to the lifeguard tower . . .”

  Per groaned and collapsed in exhaustion.

  “David Bach couldn’t have been the killer. He couldn’t have gotten back to the search area in time. His getaway bike was discovered in a bush halfway between the gas station and the tower. There’s no way he could have walked from here. The search began at six, but the area was cordoned off as early as five. He had at most three and a half hours. Not a chance.”

  “Unless he stole another bike. Or a scooter. Or a car. But it seems to me Frank Meister’s now taken center stage.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The coast had been blanketed by the winter’s first frost, and the roofs were adorned by a layer of white crystals. Hannes ate his breakfast and took his painkillers. He had heeded the advice of his doctor and stayed home from work the previous day. His thoughts left him restless. The images of Carlos di Santo hanging from the ceiling played over and over in his head. That night, he had dreamed that Federsen had nailed him to a cross, while the other investigators sat at his feet stuffing their faces full of mushrooms. Hannes had jerked awake at five o’clock, his body soaked in sweat. He had spent the next few hours studying for his boating test the next day.

  Fritz looked a bit better. His arm was still bandaged but no longer in a sling. He listened closely to Hannes’s account of the successful manhunt for David Bach and the visit to Carlos di Santo’s apartment. He would have loved to storm out of the prison and take a more active role.

  “There were two glasses on his kitchen table, one full, the other empty. Traces of Rohypnol were found in the juice residue. It’s the same pattern: the killer knocks the victim out, sets up the murder, and is careful to ensure that death only occurs when the effects of the drug have worn off.”

  “And that’s what happened to Carlos di Santo,” said Fritz.

  “He called me at nine and said he was meeting someone. The person apparently came over to his place around eleven, because there was loud music and drilling. The guest must have slipped the drug into the juice and waited for di Santo to lose consciousness. The music was probably meant to cover up the noise. He moved the cabinet, screwed the hook in the ceiling, and grabbed the needle and thread. Soon di Santo was dangling upside down. His hands were tied, so he had no chance. Blood rushed to his head, his brain swelled, and organ failure did him in. The culprit sat and watched. The door to the apartment slammed shut around one thirty. Unfortunately, no one saw the perp. The time of death was sometime shortly before that.”

  “Not a pretty way to go,” Fritz said and shuddered. “You wake up, realize you’re hanging from your feet in your own living room, and your blood’s all flowi
ng to your head. And you can’t scream for help because your lips are sewn shut.”

  “But that’s not all. The inside of his mouth was torn to shreds by the thorns of a small hawthorn branch. He must have chewed on it in agonizing desperation.”

  “Incredible. The perp must have a real sadistic streak. It also supports the theory that the murders are meant as punishment. What could Carlos di Santo have done that was so reprehensible?”

  “He was gay. But unlike Lück, he wasn’t out. He was ashamed and kept it a secret.”

  “Anything besides that?”

  “He fought with his neighbors and regularly complained to the police about noise, trash, and illegal parking. All the residents were questioned yesterday. He mostly kept to himself. His family lives in Argentina, and we haven’t found any friends. He was a lonely man, especially after being kicked out of New Way.”

  “But it’s worth noting that he hadn’t been a member of New Way for six months, yet he was still killed. The circumstances of his death have the same pattern as the other murders. So why him?”

  “He was a founding member of New Way. No one outside the group would have known he had been kicked out. Perhaps the perp didn’t know either.”

  “Possible, but unlikely. So far everything seems to indicate that the culprit’s very familiar with everything New Way. That’s why we suspected someone within the group. Let’s take another look at the commandments.”

  Fritz unfolded a piece of paper and pushed his chair next to Hannes. The prison administration must have been extremely grateful for his intervention in the fight, because the guard didn’t seem to care.

  “First Commandment: ‘I am the Lord, your God. You shall have no other gods before me,’” Hannes read. “Antje Kramer thought otherwise and died as a result.”

  “Exactly. The Second Commandment: ‘You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.’ Benjamin Lück told everyone God loved him despite his homosexuality.”

  “Third Commandment: ‘Remember to keep holy the Sabbath.’ Wolfgang Hartmann violated it and was harassed with phone calls on Sundays.”

  “Fourth: ‘Honor your father and your mother.’ Mrs. Brinkmann didn’t do this actively enough and was punished with the estrangement of her own children.”

  “As for the fifth: ‘You shall not kill,’” Hannes said, “the perp has already broken it five times. But he applied it to Sylvia Böhm, who had an abortion.”

  Fritz rubbed his large ears as he thought. “She also broke the sixth: ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ And Beatrice Reichert repeatedly ignored the seventh: ‘You shall not steal.’ Her favorite mementos were taken.”

  Hannes hesitated before tackling the Eighth Commandment. “‘You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.’ So far, we haven’t attributed a victim to this commandment.”

  “Because there hadn’t been a victim until recently. Lück’s tongue was cut out because he supposedly took God’s name in vain. Carlos di Santo’s mouth, on the other hand, was sewn shut so he couldn’t bear false witness anymore. That’s why he wanted to meet with you. He was onto something but was silenced just in time.”

  “But how did the killer know di Santo was dangerous?”

  “Counter question: Who knew you contacted him?”

  “Well, the people from New Way. They brought him to our attention.”

  “Aha. And I’m sure they also thought he wouldn’t have anything positive to say about them. Who did di Santo complain about the most?”

  Hannes thought hard. “He was so bitter, he lumped them all together. They had betrayed the original ideals of the group, he said, and wanted to transform it into a religious or at least a stricter association. He was outraged that a former priest had become involved. Oh, and he claimed that the Schweigers and the Grafs bad-mouthed Lück.”

  “The Schweigers keep popping up. But let’s finish the list.”

  “The Ninth Commandment is ‘You shall not covet your neighbor’s house.’ The Grafs’ house was set on fire after they were planning to evict their tenants.”

  “That could have been a ploy, and they started the fire themselves. Has the investigation made any progress?”

  “No. The Tenth Commandment also says, ‘You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife.’ Alexander Kramer must have thought about that one for several hours on the cross. That’s it for the commandments. Maybe the murders will stop now?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. There’s also the question of whether or not Mrs. Böhm counts for two commandments. If not, then ‘You shall not commit adultery’ is still free.”

  “Great,” Hannes said. “So we need to find out who’s been unfaithful and offer them protection?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. I think the perp made a crucial mistake in killing Carlos di Santo.”

  “Why?”

  “Di Santo was no longer a member. Presumably, he was killed because he knew too much. What other possibilities are there? Apart from New Way, he had almost no life. And it’s highly doubtful his sympathies lay with the Church of the Creator. So he could only know something about members of New Way.”

  “Seems logical. Especially since we can rule out Bach as di Santo’s killer. Frank Meister’s still in the running, though. It’s possible Bach committed some of the crimes, Meister the others.”

  “Like on Tuesday night, for example,” said Fritz.

  “I’m surprised by the killer’s boldness. He must have felt safe. After all, he made all that noise. The neighbors could have easily called the police. And he stayed in the apartment for hours, instead of leaving as quickly as possible.”

  “Maybe he feels invincible. He’s probably already planning his next target in his crusade.”

  Frank Meister finally showed signs of life. He had used his credit card to take out money at ATMs four times in the last few days and had maxed out the allowed limit every time. The first time had been four days ago at the main train station, then Tuesday night at the ferry terminal, and most recently in Finland. He had used two machines: one the day before in Helsinki and the other a few hours ago in Jyväskylä, 150 miles north of the Finnish capital. It was assumed that he had traveled by train, since the police had checked with all the car-rental companies.

  The ferry line had confirmed that Meister had left the city early on Wednesday morning as a foot passenger and had disembarked almost thirty hours later in Helsinki. He must have headed straight to the main train station, because he withdrew cash half an hour later. He had probably also purchased a train ticket for the next morning, and had then spent the night in a three-star hotel near the station. He used his credit card to pay for the room. His cell phone had been off for days.

  The ferry had departed at three in the morning on Wednesday, which would have given Meister exactly an hour and a half after leaving di Santo’s apartment. He would have had no trouble reaching the ship in time.

  The Finnish police had been sent a description of Meister. But if he switched trains in Jyväskylä, it would be very easy for him to disappear into the wilds of the great country. There wasn’t much more besides trees and lakes farther north.

  The investigative team was spellbound as they listened to Marcel’s report. Hannes had joined them around noon, citing back pain and dizziness. Steffen Lauer had looked at him strangely, and Hannes had feared his visits with Fritz might be blown. He had felt his ears turn red.

  “What does David Bach have to say about the fact that his buddy took off?” asked Lauer.

  “Not much,” said Federsen. “We’ll take another stab at him soon, won’t we, Niehaus?”

  Hannes stared at him in surprise. Federsen had been really considerate lately. Apparently, he had earned his boss’s respect, even though he hadn’t been following orders when he’d climbed the lifeguard tower. Per had handled the situation with much more control.

  “Bach’s sitting in his cell. We’re going to get the truth out of him,” Federsen said. “Yesterday, he admitted a new detail. H
e’d gotten into an argument with Mrs. Böhm back in October when he distributed pamphlets to parents picking up their children from one of the playgroups. Alexander Kramer had also been there. Although Bach claims it was Meister’s idea, he admits it had led to a heated confrontation. Once our Finnish colleagues nab Meister, we can finally consider the case closed.”

  Clarissa and Hannes looked at each other doubtfully.

  “How can we be so sure no one else is involved? Frank Meister may be in Finland, but that doesn’t mean other people aren’t still in danger,” Hannes said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Federsen shouted. His opinion of Hannes had obviously returned to normal. “Since when did you start doubting that Bach and Meister are behind all this?”

  “I agree with Hannes,” Clarissa said. “We should at least consider the possibility that someone else is involved. So far, everything points to the two men, but we still lack hard evidence.”

  Federsen grew even more exasperated as the other colleagues began to voice their doubts. Lauer didn’t want to take any chances.

  “If we focus solely on Bach and Meister and there’s another victim, we’ll be publicly crucified. We don’t have a confession, and we can’t fully explain the motive, so we’ll continue to investigate all possible leads,” Lauer said.

  At least Daniel Novak could be ruled out. The dealer had been able to account for his whereabouts on Tuesday night, which was more than Matthias Böhm could do. He said he had spent the evening preparing the documents to sell the horse farm and had gone to bed early without any witnesses.

  “Mr. Böhm hates New Way,” Hannes said. “Thanks to his wife, he was well informed about the lives of the members. But he had had no previous contact with Carlos di Santo.”

  “Di Santo was around long enough to have known Mrs. Böhm. Could something have happened that Böhm still resented?” Isabelle asked.

  “We should check to see if there’s any connection between them,” Lauer said. “Is it possible there might be more accomplices within the Church of the Creator?”

  “More than possible,” Marcel said. “Ahrendt, for one, even if he’s only the puppeteer. But unfortunately we don’t have access to these people. We’ve tried to pressure them, but they either refuse to talk or say neutral things.”