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

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  Mr. Beck accompanied them to the front door. When Isabelle inquired about the current mood among the members, his face filled with sorrow.

  “It’s on the verge of splintering. Our group’s divided into two camps, and I don’t know how to stop it. One side accuses the other of wanting to convert New Way into a church. The other side claims dissolute morals led to the murders. Many have left, and the openness is gone. For instance, Rebecca told me in confidence that a female member asked her not to mention that she’s a lesbian. I’m afraid the situation’s only going to get worse.”

  By Thursday, the situation had indeed deteriorated even further. Per noticed it immediately after opening his laptop.

  “Here, take a look at New Way’s website.”

  “It looks different,” Hannes said.

  “They relaunched it with significant changes to the homepage. Do you remember the group’s symbol, the outstretched hand? There’s a new one now.”

  It was a uniquely Christian reference—a cross, though it had been slightly modified and was surrounded by ornate borders.

  “Maybe the site was hacked?” Clarissa suggested.

  “Or they’ve split into factions,” Hannes said. “Per, what else has changed?”

  “The presentation. The previous website went on and on about tolerance and only mentioned the Ten Commandments in passing. Now they’re the focal point. Look, they’re mentioned several times.”

  “Mr. Graf’s IT firm built the old website,” said Marcel. “Maybe he also handled the relaunch. I’m sure some of the members aren’t very happy about this.”

  “And I’m sure others are,” Clarissa said.

  “We shouldn’t interfere,” Steffen Lauer said. “We have to remain neutral toward Christian and non-Christian groups alike. But that said, the group’s about-face feels strange.”

  Lauer was also concerned that the members might soon get at each other’s throats. They could only hope for a wave of resignations as a result of this change. But much more important to Lauer was the state of the investigation.

  “Frank Meister has apparently run out of cash,” said Marcel, who had kept in touch with the credit card company and their Finnish counterpart. Federsen had so insulted his Finnish contact, Jussi Mäkäräinen, that he had refused to talk to Federsen. Marcel spread out a map of Finland and placed his finger on a point between patches of green and blue.

  “Kajaani. Probably not much more than an ATM there. Otherwise, trees and water, water and trees. And a train station too. Frank Meister’s apparently still traveling by train.”

  “He’s still got a ways to go until the North Cape,” Federsen said. “Our colleagues haven’t had much to contribute, and Meister’s route is only going to get more remote from here. But I’m not surprised. That Finn is—”

  “Doing everything he can,” Marcel said. “If Meister’s still in the area, there’s a good chance we’ll catch him. Unfortunately, he seems to pay for everything in cash. But Jussi promises they’ll canvass all hotels, bed-and-breakfasts, and cabins in the area.”

  “What about down south?” asked Lauer. “Did we find Meister’s friend in Cologne?”

  The answers were discouraging. As expected, the Church of the Creator was not willing to cooperate. Ludwig Obermann had been the only one inclined to talk. According to him, Meister had once railed against Mr. Beck and his priestly past. Where Meister had gotten this information was unknown.

  The church’s contacts in Cologne must have been tipped off about the police. The investigators ran into a polite brick wall. All they could do was hope that their colleagues in Cologne would have a better chance tearing down that wall in person.

  Hannes was exhausted and not up for any more challenges that day. Perhaps he should have given himself a little more time to recuperate from his fall. While his colleagues were left dealing with the Schweigers and Grafs, Steffen Lauer let Hannes go home early.

  Hannes was glad he did. Anna’s interview with LightFire was tomorrow, and she was extremely nervous. Anna spent the evening studying the company’s website and memorizing details. She desperately wanted to get the job, and Hannes conducted several practice interviews with her. He realized that she wasn’t great at showcasing her talents. It was only after several attempts and lots of coaxing that he was finally happy with her performance.

  The next morning, Fritz and Hannes were in agreement. It was possible David Bach was grasping at any straw available. What could be easier than blaming a man who had disappeared into the Finnish wilderness? With regard to Matthias Böhm, Bach remained quiet. Meister was the only one he had ever discussed possible attacks on New Way with.

  “It’s probably true that Meister had New Way in his crosshairs first. But the footprint still contradicts Bach’s statement. It was his shoe size, not Meister’s.”

  Hannes felt reassured that Fritz shared his doubts. “Well, Meister’s alive—he used an ATM, this time in Kajaani, so he’s farther north.”

  “Why not block his credit card? He has to turn up when his money runs out.”

  “We considered that but thought it’d be counterproductive. This way we have some idea where he’s staying. Besides, he could always rob someone when his money runs out. We don’t want to risk that.”

  Fritz nodded. He was all ears when Hannes told him about Meister’s contact in Cologne—a way to explore the case from a different angle.

  “Unfortunately, we haven’t had much success. I’ll ask Mr. Beck again about people from his former parish. He didn’t know anything about the Church of the Creator’s activities at the time, but maybe someone else does. He also mentioned a group of militant atheists who made his life difficult there. They supposedly urinated in the baptismal font once. That of course doesn’t sound like the Church of the Creator.”

  “Atheists,” Fritz muttered. “I’d describe myself as one, but I’m no militant. If the killer was atheist, why would he reference the Ten Commandments?”

  “I doubt he would. Plus, the Church of the Creator would be a much more likely target.”

  “There’s another possibility,” said Fritz. “It’s good you’re asking around Beck’s former parish. After all, he did leave in disgrace. Maybe that wasn’t enough for someone. Maybe he stepped on someone’s toes and now, years later, that person’s seeking revenge.”

  “I’ve already considered that. But then why wasn’t he crucified? Why would others be forced to pay for his transgressions?”

  “A sick mind doesn’t always make sense. Maybe someone heard about Beck’s current involvement and assumed New Way is a den of iniquity—and conveniently located just across the street is a bastion of true Christians who could be incited to join this holy crusade. Beck might be left for last so he realizes how others must suffer because he strayed.”

  “That sounds far-fetched, but I’ll find out more.”

  Hannes called Elke in the car on the way to the station.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked when she picked up.

  “No, hold on a sec.” He heard her footsteps, then a door close. “Okay, I’m back. I’m still at work. The little ones are napping.”

  They chatted briefly about the confrontation on Tuesday, which had almost devolved into a fistfight. Elke was finished with New Way.

  “The Schweigers and Grafs changed the website,” she said. “No one knew anything about it. You should take a look. We could be confused for the Church of the Creator.”

  “I’ve seen it already. Why did they do that?”

  “After the incident on Tuesday night, they claimed things couldn’t continue like that anymore. Said we needed to be more upfront about what we actually stood for so the violence would finally stop. But not everyone shares their point of view.”

  “How have others reacted?”

  “Same like me. Everyone’s leaving. The choir getaway this weekend will be my last activity, since at least most of those people are normal. Wolfgang and Bengt want to start a new choir.”

&n
bsp; “Who would join?”

  “Definitely not the Schweigers, nor the new chick they dragged into the group. Those three can sing as long as they want on their own.”

  “Are they still participating in the getaway?”

  “I hope not. We’d have a nice time if they didn’t. Unfortunately, Mrs. Beck canceled. She’s just too upset. I wanted to back out at first too, but Rebecca convinced me to come. She’s looking forward to it—she rarely gets out.”

  “Where is it being held?”

  “We rented a house on a lake in the Holstein region.”

  “Are you going to attend the meeting tonight?”

  “No way. We’re leaving anyway. Wolfgang and Bengt are driving me and Rebecca.”

  Hannes had reached the station and said good-bye to Elke. Instead of wishing her a good time, he again urged her to be careful.

  Everyone’s nerves were shot. The fact that they were supposedly so close to solving the case was torture for them. Marcel called Jussi every hour, but inevitably returned empty-handed. The police had already visited all the hotels and bed-and-breakfasts around Kajaani without success and shifted their attention to vacation homes. They were afraid Meister had moved on. As for Matthias Böhm, there was no trace of him.

  The Grafs and Schweigers justified their recent actions, claiming they had felt obliged to intervene. They wanted the group to return to its roots, which were, after all, Christian. Hannes’s colleagues had pressed them hard, but they fiercely denied any involvement in the deaths and became indignant at the implication against any New Way member.

  Hannes tried to reach Mr. Beck several times but only got his voice mail. He left a message, but Mr. Beck must not have listened to it yet. It was only after trying the landline around four that afternoon that he finally had some success.

  “My husband already left for Holstein. He wanted to get a few things ready for the choir getaway. The others are supposed to get there around eight.”

  “You’re not going?”

  “No. It’s just too much for me right now. I don’t even feel like singing. I’d bring everyone down.”

  “Maybe you can help me then. We already told you about our Cologne lead. Unfortunately, we haven’t gotten anywhere since then. I’d like to speak with someone in your former parish. Do you know anyone who might be able to help us?”

  Mrs. Beck hesitated. “It’s been so long, and we didn’t leave on the best terms. I’d prefer to forget about that period in my life.”

  “We don’t want to dredge up the past, but maybe someone noticed something. Your husband said he had problems with radical atheists there.”

  “Oh, that was just a bunch of ragtag teenagers. I don’t think you’ll get far investigating them.”

  “Probably, but it’s worth a shot. Does any name come to mind?”

  “Unfortunately, no. A few were from our town, a few from outlying villages. Eight or nine total.”

  “Maybe someone who still lives there might remember them? Someone from the parish council?”

  “I don’t even know if the same people are active.”

  Hannes rolled his eyes. Her fussiness was beginning to try his patience.

  “Who was head of the parish council at the time?”

  “Richard Jäger. There was someone else at first, but I can’t remember his name.”

  “Do you have an address or telephone number for Mr. Jäger?”

  “No. Like I said, it was complicated back then.”

  “I’ll track him down,” Hannes said. “Thank you for your time.”

  Richard Jäger’s number was easy to find. A woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Jäger answered, and Hannes explained the reason for his call.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Jäger said. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you. I only moved here two years ago.”

  “But isn’t your husband head of the parish council?” Hannes asked.

  “Yes, for years. But we only got married two years ago. Before that, I lived in Dusseldorf. He once mentioned something about a scandal, but I don’t know much more than that.”

  “When will your husband be home?”

  “He has a business dinner in Münster tonight. He won’t get back until late.”

  “Can I reach him on his cell phone?”

  “Normally, yes. But he forgot to take his phone today.” She laughed. “He always does that. Half the time he leaves it at home if I don’t stick it in his pocket. He has too many things on his mind. But I’ll gladly tell him to call you first thing in the morning.”

  Hannes reluctantly agreed and gave her his number. Although he didn’t expect to get much out of this man, he at least wanted to know for sure. He had grown increasingly uneasy in the last hour, but didn’t know why.

  Anna twirled spaghetti around her fork and shoved the giant portion into her mouth. Hannes wiped a dab of tomato sauce from her chin. He had taken her out to his favorite Italian restaurant to get their minds off things. It was a cozy place with a few small tables. Anna was unsure if her interview that afternoon had gone well.

  “The guy really threw me for a loop. He was really hard to read. He could have thought I was great or a complete idiot.”

  “Who would think you’re an idiot?”

  “They have two more interviews on Monday,” Anna continued. “He said he’d be in touch by the middle of next week.”

  “Would you want to work for him?”

  “I don’t know. He seemed really nice at the beginning and end of the interview. Maybe it was just a ploy to test me.”

  “What did he tell you about the company and what you would be doing?”

  Hannes divided the pizza as he listened to her recount the rest of her interview. This was exactly the kind of evening he had wanted. And best of all, a free weekend lay ahead. After Anna had surprised him last Sunday with the day at the spa, he had tried hard to think of some way to repay her. Unfortunately, wind and rain had been predicted for that weekend, so his initial idea of a maiden voyage on the Lena wouldn’t work. His pocket began to vibrate when Anna was in the middle of describing her potential new job, and he knew it would be a bad idea to answer the phone. Then it vibrated a second time as she rested her leg across his knee under the table.

  “Something’s vibrating,” she said.

  “It’s my phone.”

  “Don’t you want to see who it is?”

  “It’s Friday night.”

  “Maybe your suspect finally confessed.”

  The mere suggestion made Hannes fumble for his phone. It was Marcel.

  “We’ve got him!” he shouted.

  “Who?”

  “Frank Meister! Well, actually, the Finns have him. He was renting a cabin from a family. They thought it strange that a German would want to go on vacation there in the middle of winter. That’s how he lay low for so long. He obviously couldn’t pay them with a credit card.”

  “That’s amazing! When can we question him?”

  “Tomorrow. He’s being brought to Helsinki, and he’ll be put on the first flight out in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Tensions ran high Saturday morning. Frank Meister had been extradited back to Germany and would be whisked from the airport to the station. By ten o’clock, he would be sitting opposite the detectives, refusing to talk. Clarissa sat cracking her knuckles. The interrogation would be led by Federsen and Marcel, while their colleagues would follow the proceedings from behind the two-way mirror.

  Hannes sat off to the side, piecing together news footage of the crucifixion on his laptop. A shiver ran down his spine as the eerie scenes took him back six weeks. With his outstretched arms and flawless body, Alexander Kramer seemed to embody a saint. The gray sky and heavy rain clouds reinforced the almost magical effect, creating a dark atmosphere. Hannes saw himself duck under the tape behind Federsen and run toward the large wooden cross. The cameraman had then zoomed out again and captured the assembled pack of reporters, yellow journalists who sought to quench
the public’s thirst for sensational news.

  Hannes suddenly jumped. He stopped the video and rewound. Standing next to a camerawoman was a tall figure holding a digital SLR camera. The head was mostly covered by the hood of a green parka, but it was clearly a man. There was no close-up of him. Hannes rewatched the sequence and pressed pause when the man appeared in the background. He leaned forward and squinted. He would have to ask a technician to enhance the video.

  His cell phone rang.

  “Richard Jäger. My wife said you wanted to speak to me?”

  Hannes had almost forgotten about him. He went out into the quiet hallway and explained to the chairman of the parish council the reason for contacting him. There was dead silence; he thought Jäger had hung up. But then he heard him clear his throat.

  “Your call surprised me. Of course I read about the murders, but I didn’t know Thomas was involved in the group. It’s just that . . . Well, let’s just say it doesn’t seem like a group he’d join. At least not the Thomas I knew.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You asked me if there had been any conflicts when he was a priest at our parish. I’ve never heard of the Church of the Creator before. However, we were targeted by a group of young people back then.”

  “Mr. Beck mentioned that. Atheists, right?”

  “Correct. But it was no accident this group chose our parish. The town has about ten thousand residents, half of whom belong to our parish. So it’s not as if no one had heard of us. There were always public debates about us. Thomas Beck was the one who started it all.”

  “Because he was a priest living with a woman who he married after leaving the priesthood?”

  Mr. Jäger cleared his throat again. “I take it he didn’t tell you he’d been the subject of earlier criticism?”

  “He indicated there had been some sort of scandal. He didn’t go into details.”

  “I can imagine. He was a very dogmatic man. His homilies certainly took some getting used to in the beginning. But after the first six months, his inhibitions seemed to fade. He promoted an unusually hard-line interpretation of morality. Mass attendance dropped significantly because people began to feel excluded. Some even called him the hate priest. Then the newspapers started to write about how our town’s pulpit was being used to spread backward, almost fundamentalist messages. So it was no coincidence this atheist group knew about us.”