“Oh, but you hit your target, you dirty little—”
Hannes took over. He had to admit that his boss had conducted a pretty successful interrogation. “That man was Carlos di Santo. We found him dead in his home last Wednesday just after your buddy left the country. Evidently, he didn’t just cut off a ponytail that night.”
“Who’s worth protecting more?” snorted Federsen. “You or Frank Meister? Maybe you should think about that until our next chat.”
Isabelle and Hannes were sent back to the horse farm on Tuesday afternoon. As they climbed out of the car, Jonas Talmann was leaving one of the stables.
“You still work here?” Hannes said.
Grinning, Talmann walked over. “Mr. Böhm realized he needed someone familiar with horses. He’s found a buyer and doesn’t want the horses to look neglected. Yesterday would have actually been my last day, but I got an extension until the end of December.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know. Once the farm’s sold, I’ll talk to the new owners. I do know the animals. Every horse has its own quirks and personality, just like dogs.”
“Your boss probably would have been completely helpless if left to deal with the animals on his own,” Isabelle said.
“He doesn’t know the first thing about them. They have to be dewormed again today, for example. At least he knows how to do that.”
“Well, enjoy the rest of your day,” Isabelle said.
“Wait, what do you mean?” Hannes asked Talmann. “How does Mr. Böhm know that?”
“He had no choice. Last summer, out of the blue, his wife decided to attend a horse auction, and I went with her. But I’d scheduled for the horses to be dewormed that weekend. Most horses are dewormed four times a year, in the spring, summer, fall, and late fall. We could have waited a couple of days, but Mrs. Böhm said her husband should finally learn how to do something.”
“Is it difficult?”
“Child’s play. We use a paste that’s administered orally with a syringe. The important thing is the proper dosage. The syringe has marks for every hundred pounds. It’s foolproof.”
Isabelle was stunned. “When exactly was he taught how to administer the drug?”
Mr. Talmann furrowed his brow. “Must have been . . . hold on . . . probably mid-September. There had just been a huge storm. I remember Mr. Beck was here. He and Mrs. Böhm were discussing a field trip for disabled children. The visit was supposed to take place shortly thereafter, and they were worried the weather wouldn’t cooperate.”
“How did Mr. Böhm react?”
“He was surprisingly interested. He wanted to know exactly how much to give each horse. He didn’t want to harm any of them. His wife laughed and told him a horse could handle a lot, but be careful not to swallow any because it’s toxic to humans in high doses.”
So Mr. Böhm knew the dosage. It would have been easy to determine how much was needed to kill a human. But the amount injected into his wife was so large that only someone who knew absolutely nothing about the process would have used that much to poison her. Also, the dewormer injected into Mrs. Böhm’s abdomen was available online, so it didn’t have to come from this farm. That much was obvious.
When Isabelle and Hannes began to walk toward the main house, Mr. Talmann stopped them.
“Mr. Böhm’s gone for a few days.”
“What?” Isabelle blurted. “Where’d he go?”
Talmann shrugged. “We’re not on the best terms. He just told me he’d be gone for a few days and that I should take care of everything. He’ll be back Sunday.”
Hannes called Böhm’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail.
A few hours later, the investigators gathered in the conference room. Federsen had had the last straw.
“I just called Helsinki. They don’t have any idea where our man is. I might as well just go up there and look myself.”
An older colleague stormed in.
“Aren’t you guys working on that New Way case?”
“Yeah, why?” Federsen asked.
“There’s something going on in front of their meeting place.”
“What do you mean?”
“We received an emergency call. Several patrol cars are already on their way. Apparently, there’s been a fight.”
“Unbelievable,” Federsen said and stood up. “Niehaus, come with me. Maybe we’ll put those muscles of yours to good use for once.”
That wasn’t the case. By the time they arrived, their colleagues had already defused the situation. Cops were taking down names and addresses. One was in the middle of interviewing Elke. Hannes shoved his way through and grabbed her by the arm.
“Hey,” said the uniformed officer.
“I’ll question her myself.” Hannes flashed his badge. “What’s going on?” he asked Elke after ushering her off to the side.
She was breathing rapidly. “Those fanatics ambushed us as we were heading to choir practice. They began insulting us and spitting. It escalated from there. Bengt grabbed a guy, and that’s when all hell broke loose.”
“Why did they ambush you?”
“They accused us of lying to the police. Said one of them had been arrested. Someone threw rocks at the windows.” She pointed at the broken glass. It would probably be impossible to determine who had thrown the stones in the confusion. Hannes studied the scene in detail. Twenty members from the Church of the Creator stood opposite eight singers from New Way: Elke, Rebecca Köhler, Wolfgang Hartmann, his friend Bengt, the Schweigers, Mr. Beck, and an unfamiliar woman.
“Get out of here,” Hannes said. “Then you won’t have to give your name and address.”
Elke grinned and hugged him. “Thanks.”
She slipped away, and Hannes went over to his boss, who was already tearing into the minister from the Church of the Creator.
“If you’re going to act like vigilantes, then you better be prepared to pay the price. Who do you think you are? You can’t march over here and pick a fight.”
“You think we started it?” Mr. Ahrendt said. “We’re called murderers, and one of us is even in prison. God as my witness, that man’s innocent.”
“Careful lightning doesn’t strike you,” Hannes said.
“You again. I’m not surprised by your attitude.”
“And I’m not surprised you attack people who you think have gone astray. No one from New Way pointed the finger at your pious flock. Your members did that on their own. Mr. Bach has already confessed to some of the allegations. So much for God as your witness.”
“That’s it,” Ahrendt seethed.
Federsen turned around, grabbed Hannes’s arm, and pulled him away.
“A bunch of lunatics—both sides. I already spoke with Beck. The people from the Church of the Creator waited here until the choir members showed up. But the New Way members certainly didn’t help the situation—they called the other side murderers. It went downhill from there. Let our colleagues take care of this mess. I’ve had it for the day.”
“Why aren’t any of our colleagues here? Isn’t Ms. Köhler still under police protection?”
“She didn’t want it anymore. A patrol car swings by her place every couple of hours. Same with most of the members.”
Hannes followed Federsen to their vehicle.
“What a mess! They probably killed their own members!” Mr. Ahrendt shouted after them.
Fritz and Hannes sat across from each other in silence. The visit had been postponed to Wednesday morning since the prison staff had a mandatory meeting on Tuesday. Old Fritz’s hoarse vocal cords finally sprung to life.
“What’s your opinion?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just presented all the evidence to me. But I get the feeling you’re not convinced.”
“You’re right,” Hannes admitted. “But I don’t know why. The evidence speaks for itself, even if it’s not conclusive. I’m also troubled by Mr. Böhm’s sudden trip. He seems to be involved.
We don’t know who played what role or why.”
“It might be helpful to track down Böhm and Meister.”
“What do you think we’ve been doing all this time? Still, I have a bad feeling.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Maybe it’s because all the pieces fit a little too well. It makes me suspicious that we have no hard evidence. If only one of the men had shoes which matched the prints we found.”
“The shoes could have been thrown out. At least Bach has the right size.”
“It’s not that I doubt the suspects’ guilt. I just think we’re missing the clue that ties them all together. Someone else is still involved. I just don’t know who or why.”
“Very good, Hannes,” Fritz said with a smile.
“What?”
“Doubts are always good. They prevent you from making snap judgments. I have the same impression. Something or someone is missing—something or someone well hidden. But how do you shed light on something that wants to remain in the dark?”
“Any suggestions?”
“Rely on chance. The best clues often come up by chance.”
“But that doesn’t help. I can’t just wait around until—”
“I didn’t say to wait. Even chance can be controlled. So far you’ve stuck to the textbook procedures. Look for evidence, question suspects and witnesses, make the obvious or poorly hidden connections. Maybe it’s time to loosen up, try something different.”
Hannes knew Fritz had loved to ignore procedure. His unconventional methods hadn’t won him any friends, but they had always proven successful.
“So you think I should follow in your footsteps and forget everything I learned at the academy? That’ll certainly endear me to Federsen. Besides, look where that got you.”
“You have to decide what’s more important: popularity or success. I’m not saying to poke around haphazardly, but there’s no harm in looking in other places. Don’t just think of the obvious suspects. You’ll overlook someone if you do that. In theory, everyone’s a suspect. Don’t forget that.”
Hannes stared at Fritz and thought for a moment. “I don’t care if Federsen likes me or not. I just want to solve this case. Maybe I should take a look at some of the people we haven’t focused on.”
“Exactly. Throw a couple of stun grenades and see who crawls out of the smoke. Maybe a good actor. Sometimes you’ve got to rip the mask off.”
Hannes nodded. He had a vague hunch that he couldn’t quite explain. But the wheels had been set in motion. Before he could try this new approach, he had to have another chat with David Bach.
“You wanted to talk? Then spit it out,” Federsen said to Bach.
Hannes studied Bach, who seemed to have finally grasped the seriousness of his situation. But he looked so shifty that Hannes thought him capable of anything.
“I’ve been thinking,” Bach said. “About Frank escaping to Finland.”
“Do you know where he is?” Federsen asked.
“No. But the fact that he ran off got me thinking. He’s always tried to convince me of his ideas. And usually they sounded good.”
“How did you meet?” asked Hannes.
“I was a customer. I always bought my contacts at his store. After a while, we got to talking. He persuaded me to come to a church service. The atmosphere was cool. I’d never seen anything like it. Everyone stuck together. It was a real community, and I wanted to be a part of it.”
“And now you don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. But I don’t know if I still want to be friends with Frank.”
“Why?”
“He told me we should pick on the New Way people. At first, I was against it because I’d already had enough problems with the police. Things were finally starting to fall into place. I had a job, friends, and no problems, really. But Frank kept pressuring me. Attacking the gay guy was a mistake. I was afraid he’d go to the police, and after that, I didn’t want to screw anything else up. But Frank insisted, and we agreed that we’d scare them without attacking anyone else. That went on for a while.”
“Then what?”
“Frank thought we should up the ante. That’s where the crowbar came in. He insisted on targeting Rebecca.”
“Why the anger against the other victims? The Kramers, Mrs. Böhm, Mr. Lück, and Carlos di Santo?”
“I had nothing against them. I also had nothing to do with their murders. But—”
“But what?” Federsen shouted as he leaned over the table.
“Frank was interested in the people from New Way. He got worked up. I found it exciting too. We gradually learned their names, read about them online, and secretly followed them. Frank was planning something. But when I asked him what, all he would do was grin. He’s obsessed. It started to be too much for me. When the murders happened, he’d constantly talk about them and ask my opinion.”
“What was your opinion?”
Bach shrugged. “I wasn’t interested in them. But it was an exciting story, and it happened almost on our doorstep. We’d always argue over the motive for the murders.”
“What was his theory?”
“That the sinners would now experience God’s punishment.”
The investigators were divided about Bach’s statement. Half of them were inclined to believe him, while the others had their doubts.
“The little bastard wants to save his ass. Maybe there’s some truth to his statement, but he failed to mention his own participation. We know he can be aggressive. I find it hard to believe he was the voice of reason in this friendship. Besides, he hasn’t given us any proof,” Hannes said.
“Because the proof would implicate him too,” Clarissa agreed.
“I keep getting this feeling like we’re missing something important,” Hannes said. “Someone else is involved.”
“Matthias Böhm,” Per said. “He would have known all about New Way through his wife.”
“No, not him. Bach mentioned something else. It wasn’t random that Mr. Beck was one of their first victims. On the one hand, he’s New Way’s chaplain. On the other hand, Meister knew he used to be a priest in North Rhine-Westphalia and that he left his parish—or was kicked out. The Church of the Creator has several branches in Germany, including one in Cologne. Meister’s a leader in his church here and regularly attends regional assemblies. He met a kindred spirit who knew about Beck’s departure. Beck was the fallen priest. Before New Way, he proclaimed the Word of God, but now, in Frank Meister’s view, he proclaims the word against God.”
“Did Bach mention who this contact in Cologne was?”
“He claims he doesn’t know. Meister told him that Beck was chased away because he broke his vow of celibacy. The guy in Cologne didn’t know much more.”
“And so now you think their brother in faith from Cologne is behind our series of murders?” Federsen asked. “How’d he manage that? Did he take the night train back every time?”
“It’s just another possibility,” Hannes said.
“And one we shouldn’t rule out just yet,” Steffen Lauer said. “Until we track down Meister and Böhm, we should investigate every possible lead. We need to find this guy in Cologne.”
Per and Clarissa would question the local members of the Church of the Creator, while Marcel and Federsen would take care of the Cologne branch. Isabelle and Hannes were given an entirely different assignment.
“Speak to Mr. Beck. Maybe there were conflicts with the Church of the Creator in his old community. The problems might have followed him here. If so, he might be able to help us with a name.”
Mr. Beck was with a client when Isabelle and Hannes rang his doorbell. Since his office was in the attic, Mrs. Beck led them into the living room. The trials of the past few weeks had left their mark in the lines on the sensitive woman’s face. She poured three cups of coffee and sat down.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this,” Hannes said, and her eyes filled with tears.
“I can b
arely sleep,” she said. Her face was sunken, and she had clearly lost weight.
“I can imagine,” Isabelle said. “But we’re very close to solving the case. We have a suspect in jail, and more details come to light every day.”
Mrs. Beck sighed. She had likely heard far too many comforting words from police officers in recent days. Hannes explained the nature of their visit.
“I don’t remember meeting people from the Church of the Creator before. At least, there weren’t any incidents like we’ve had here. Certainly no murders. It all started here, and I . . .”
Mr. Beck entered the room. He had just finished with his patient.
“I thought I heard the bell. Thank you for stopping by. How’s the investigation going?” He grew tense as he sat down next to his wife. Isabelle summarized the status of the investigation and stated the reason for their visit. Mr. Beck cringed at the mention of his former life as a priest.
“There were a lot of problems back then,” he said. “It wasn’t a good time for me, and I don’t like to dwell on it. That said, I never clashed with the Church of the Creator. The church didn’t have a branch in the small town where we lived, so I have no idea who this contact in Cologne might be.”
“How could he have learned about your resignation?” asked Hannes.
“Cologne’s about twenty miles from where we were. Maybe he lived in our area. Besides, stories like mine tend to make the rounds.”
“I can imagine. Is it possible someone from your former parish gossiped?”
“Sure. But it’s been so many years.”
“Some stories take a while to die down,” Hannes said. “Is there someone from your former parish who might be able to tell us? Someone who can give a good overview of the people and the town?”
“Hmm.” Mr. Beck rubbed his eyebrows. “I don’t know who my replacement was. And I can’t imagine anyone would remember what was said so many years ago. Have you tried the Church of the Creator? That might be easier.”
“We’re already on it,” said Hannes. “Unfortunately, they don’t exactly hold us in high regard. I’m hoping we can break the wall of silence.”
The Northern Cross (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel Book 2) Page 28
