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

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  “Elke’s here!” he shouted. “A barn’s on fire over there. Beck’s inside. Take care of Elke. I’m going to see what I can do.”

  Hannes ran off. He decided on the most direct route, which meant wading across a small creek and crawling through thickets.

  Flames leaped from the top of the roof, and he wondered how this building could burn so fiercely in the wet weather. The air was filled with acrid smoke, and he began gasping. He covered his nose with his arm and looked around, breathing through the wet fabric.

  In the rear of the hay barn raged a flaming inferno, and the fire crackled as it jumped onto another bale of hay. Hannes shouted for Mr. Beck. He scanned the various farm equipment located to the left of the entrance; hay was stored on the right.

  He understood why the roof had caught fire. The loft was crammed with hay that was going up in flames. A burning beam detached from the ceiling and hurtled to the floor in a shower of sparks. Frightened, Hannes took a step back. Then he thought he heard a faint moan. The fire had not yet reached the entrance, so Hannes was able to take a few steps inside. He cautiously pushed a trailer plow over and looked in the direction of the noise.

  Hannes looked near the foot of the ladder leading to the hayloft. A body lay twisted on the ground, not yet engulfed in the nearby flames. The heat had to be deadly. The man moved a little and turned his grimacing face. Hannes recoiled. Thomas Beck’s beard was completely singed, and his skin was covered in blisters. A heavy wooden beam lay across his chest, flames licking at one end. Hannes understood why Elke couldn’t have dragged him out with her in her condition.

  He glanced at the roof. Should he risk his own life for a killer? The flames might have been a fitting punishment for Beck, but Hannes couldn’t let him be reduced to ashes. He coughed, and his eyes began to tear up as he felt his way forward. Another beam dropped from the ceiling and crashed next to Beck. He stretched out his arms, imploring Hannes, who lifted the intact end of the beam from his chest and tossed it aside. It was unbearably hot. Hannes tried not to look at Beck’s skin. He grabbed Beck by the shoulders and pulled him away from the relentless flames. The unpleasant smell of singed hair and skin stung Hannes’s nose.

  He backed against a harrow, which blocked the way to the entrance. Hannes took a moment to gather his strength and looked down at Beck’s motionless body. His leg was bent at an unnatural angle and must have been broken clean through. The fallen wooden beam had probably also shattered several of his ribs. There was a risk that the shards of bone might pierce a vital organ, but burning to death was an even greater risk. Without any further hesitation, Hannes grabbed him and slung him over his shoulder with a groan. No cry of pain rang out—unconsciousness could be so gracious. He carefully climbed over the piece of equipment, trying not to ram his leg into the tines. Overcome by coughing, he was forced to stop.

  Hannes could taste the fresh air only a few feet away. His body was shaking, and his leg buckled under him. He managed to shift Beck’s weight just in time to avoid falling. The hayloft collapsed behind him in a thunderous roar, kicking up a whirlwind of sparks. Hannes squinted and protected his face with his free arm.

  Beck hung motionless over Hannes’s shoulder and bore the brunt of the sparks. Hannes staggered forward, his eyes fixed on the entrance. He gritted his teeth and counted the steps. He needed oxygen. It was now a matter of sheer will, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to carry Beck to safety.

  As Hannes staggered out of the barn, gasping for breath, he felt like a dragon exhaling smoke. But it was just his breath condensed in the cold air. He tried to put as many steps as possible between them and the barn, but the weight of the heavy man pushed him closer and closer to the ground. From his hunched position, he could just make out the blurry figures of Marcel, Isabelle, and Per running across the soggy meadow before his legs finally gave out. He crumpled to the ground, his cheek soothed by the cold, wet grass.

  CHAPTER 28

  Four days later, Hannes read the headline on the front page of the newspaper Isabelle had brought to the hospital. “Police End Religious Crusade” ran in bold letters, a half-burned barn pictured below. Absolved of any blame, the Church of the Creator could devote itself once more to its search for the one true way to God.

  Isabelle brought Hannes up to speed. David Bach and Frank Meister remained in custody, although there were doubts as to whether they had collaborated with Thomas Beck. Meister claimed that he’d fled to Finland because he realized the investigators would find things on his laptop that would put him in a bad light. He had suspected his friend David Bach and had repeatedly confronted him about New Way. He was afraid of being dragged into the investigation. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, and he had chosen Finland because customers had raved to him about the solitude.

  Matthias Böhm had returned to his farm on Sunday evening. He had wanted to get away for a few days and put some distance between him and the turbulence of recent weeks. On a whim, he had decided to visit Denmark and rent a cottage for five days.

  News footage of the first crime scene had been examined. After enhancing the images, Thomas Beck could be clearly seen standing among the reporters and cameramen. The police had found photos of the crime scene on Beck’s digital camera, some of which had been taken a few days before the cross had been discovered. He had also photographed Sylvia Böhm. She had still been alive and had stared absently into the camera as if already under the influence of the Rohypnol. There was no mistaking the pain in her face.

  Beck hadn’t photographed any of the other victims, but in his desk, the police had found a small shoebox containing Rohypnol pills. His browser history had eliminated any remaining doubts. Although Frank Meister had also researched the drug, he had simply been curious about the murders and had read in the papers that the drug was used in the crimes.

  A pair of worn-out shoes had been found in Beck’s shed. The prints matched those discovered at the scene of Benjamin Lück’s murder and in the Grafs’ yard following the fire. The hawthorn bush next to Beck’s shed had been painstakingly examined. There was evidence that a branch consistent with the one found in Carlos di Santo’s mouth had been recently clipped.

  “Beck was probably also responsible for the calls Wolfgang Hartmann used to receive on Sundays. We found a receipt for a prepaid SIM card he bought at a discount store. He must have then gotten rid of the prepaid card,” Isabelle said.

  “What about the other incidents?” asked Hannes.

  “Well, you found Mrs. Reichert’s stolen items in his shed. She said she had confessed to him that she was a kleptomaniac and had once showed him her memorabilia when he had been at her home.”

  “He was a perfect actor. We noticed that when we saw him at the play rehearsal. Have you questioned Mrs. Brinkmann?”

  “Of course. She had trusted Beck, just like everyone else. She often cried about her problems to him. She had told him about her parents in the nursing home and the father of her children. We found the letter addressed to her children on Beck’s computer. He didn’t even try to cover his tracks.”

  “He probably felt untouchable. His first real mistake was leaving the shoe prints in the Grafs’ yard.”

  “And filling bottles of his favorite beer with the accelerant.”

  “What about the wooden cross?”

  “He probably cut the beams in his shed and assembled them on-site. We also found a pack of the nails he used.”

  “And Mrs. Böhm?”

  “She discussed the pros and cons of abortion with him. He had visited the horse farm once while she was in the middle of explaining to her husband how to use the dewormer. She had mentioned to him that it was dangerous to humans in high doses. Beck must have grabbed a few bottles of it when no one was looking. Antje Kramer’s death is the only one we can’t pin on him. All we have is the book in which he highlighted several poisonous mushrooms.”

  “That was slick,” said Hannes. “He’s the one who called us. He hadn’t seen her in a f
ew days and was supposedly worried about her. He’d visited her at her workshop to discuss the arrangements for her brother’s funeral. He could have slipped her the poisonous mushrooms then.”

  “At the very least, he knew she ate hallucinogenic mushrooms.”

  Rebecca Köhler blamed herself for carelessly jeopardizing Elke’s life by mentioning her homosexuality in front of Beck. Traces of Rohypnol had been detected in her blood—Beck had used his tried-and-true method on her while slipping the others sleeping pills. Elke hadn’t suspected anything when he had persuaded her to go for a walk. Mr. Beck must have prepared the barn the day before. When he and Elke passed by, he suggested they take refuge from the icy wind and rain. A shivering Elke agreed, and they ducked inside to have a cup of hot tea from Beck’s thermos.

  “We’d chatted the whole way there, and he was so nice. He scrambled around the barn and called down from the hayloft that he wanted to show me something. I climbed up and saw him kneeling in front of a small fire pit. He said some hobo had probably passed through and made a pit to warm himself. There were still ashes on a piece of sheet metal surrounded by stones. I hesitated when he proposed that we start a fire with some of the wood left, but I didn’t think it was going to be that dangerous—there had obviously been a fire there before. It was only a small fire, and we huddled close to the flames. He gave me tea, and after a few minutes I became incredibly tired. He said it was okay if I took a quick nap.”

  When Elke had opened her eyes again a little while later, Beck was pulling her toward the ladder. He seemed surprised she wasn’t asleep. “Fire!” he had shouted, but she was too dazed to respond. As he continued to drag her, Elke became a little more cognizant of her surroundings and struggled to her feet. She thought he wanted to carry her to safety. He started to go down the ladder, and she turned around to follow him, kicking him by accident. He fell and broke his leg. The fire had grown in strength, and the adrenaline set in, shaking Elke from her daze as she climbed down the ladder. She began to pull Beck from the barn, but he only cried out in pain. How she managed to make it all the way to Hannes remained a mystery. Either Beck hadn’t used enough Rohypnol or Elke had a high tolerance.

  “I’ve never been a lightweight,” she explained. “At the dentist’s, the Novocaine hardly ever works, so they always need to give me more injections. It was probably the same for the stuff he slipped me.”

  After Elke had regained consciousness in the hospital, she had anxiously asked about Beck and even blamed herself for leaving him in the barn to get help. She was stunned to have been so fundamentally wrong about him. But Elke had emerged relatively unscathed and had fared even better than Hannes.

  The detectives assumed Beck had wanted to stage an accident. Had he thrown her from the hayloft, his claim that she had fallen in a panic and seriously injured herself wouldn’t have been credible. He probably meant for it to go some other way. But he would have had to answer why he lived while Elke burned to death.

  “How is he?” asked Hannes.

  “He’s still alive,” Isabelle said. “But he’s in no state to be interrogated. Should he wake up, he’ll remain disfigured for the rest of his life. He was severely burned and has already had multiple skin grafts. You could say God punished him by sending you to his rescue.”

  “Enough with God,” said Hannes. “His name has been abused a little too often lately. I wonder how Mrs. Beck could be so oblivious to all this.”

  “Maybe she did know. She looked like a living corpse toward the end. The news affected everyone, especially her. Maybe for good reason? If she knew what her husband was doing or suspected it, she could have told us and put an end to her husband’s rampage. Instead, she withdrew and suffered in silence.”

  “And when she learned that we’d be contacting her former church in North Rhine-Westphalia, she realized everything would probably come to light. Has her cause of death been determined?”

  “At the time of her death, Mr. Beck was picking up the key to the cottage, so it’s likely suicide. Federsen’s compassion for her has its limits, though. He suspects she must have had some idea and accuses her of cowardice. On the other hand, your dedication seems to have impressed him.”

  Hannes shook his head. “Wait a few days, and it’ll fade. But he did actually visit me briefly and even left me something.” He pointed to a bouquet on his bedside table.

  Isabelle was skeptical and impressed. “Would’ve never guessed he’d go that far. Kudos to him.”

  “I’ve been wondering if his wife isn’t behind it,” Hannes said and grinned.

  Anna meanwhile had bagged the job at LightFire and would begin in February, but she didn’t seem too excited yet because she had spent the last few days at his bedside and slept on a guest bed. Hannes had suffered moderately severe smoke inhalation, but the doctors did not expect there to be any permanent damage. Only time would tell how his burns would heal. In addition to numerous smaller burns on his body, he had also suffered a large blister on his hand. His face, though bright red, wasn’t hurt. His spirits were high, since he would be leaving the hospital the following day. He looked forward to his own bed and what he would do there with Anna.

  Christmas Eve promised to be a cold, clear night. It was nearly a full moon, and the white disc with its characteristic craters already hung high as Anna undid Lena’s dockline. Hannes took her hand and pulled her aboard. They were bundled in thick winter clothes.

  Hannes hurried back to the wheelhouse and began to maneuver the boat away from the dock, just as he had learned a few weeks ago. He waved to Ole, who watched them from the jetty.

  “Struck gold, I see,” Ole had whispered with a wink to Hannes and pointed to Anna.

  “Sure did. We’re headed to Denmark,” Hannes had replied with a grin. “Won’t have to prospect for blondes there.”

  As he passed the small lighthouse at the end of the pier and headed for the open sea, his thoughts turned to the events of the last few weeks. Thomas Beck had awakened from his coma a week after Hannes had been discharged from the hospital. Given the overwhelming amount of evidence, he had quickly confessed to the crimes. The death of his wife, which he found out about shortly after awakening, had sapped him of any resistance. He insisted she hadn’t known, but it was obvious she couldn’t have been completely clueless.

  Another detail emerged that at least in part explained the secret radicalization of the former priest. As Mr. Jäger had noted, his wife had had a mitigating effect on Beck. He increasingly relied on her judgment and grew to idolize her. But a rift occurred when he noticed how well she got along with Alexander Kramer. Jealousy had always been a flaw of his, and several members of New Way stated in hindsight that he had always kept close tabs on his wife. Some even said he was very controlling. When Mrs. Schweiger began spreading the rumor that the porn star had been flirting with not only Sylvia Böhm but also the chaplain’s wife, his jealousy exploded.

  Beck had been convinced that Kramer and his wife were in a relationship. The suspected infidelity had pulled the rug out from under him, and he fell hard. Their relationship foundered once he began accusing her of betrayal. He had then taken a critical view of New Way and what he considered the inappropriate behavior of its members. In the end, he chose to take corrective action. When his punishments proved ineffective, he simply increased the ferocity of his efforts. Beck had finally returned to God, and God himself had shown him the way. He had merely been his instrument. The culmination had been the crucifixion, which he had intended as a clear signal to the others. He had assumed that the young man would be discovered in time and had been careful to ensure that no one would be able to identify him as the killer. Alexander Kramer had attended Melissa Vogt’s fitness class, and Beck had been able to slip the Rohypnol into Alexander’s water bottle without being caught. Afterward, he had followed the young man, and when he had collapsed at the bus stop, Beck pulled him into his car. He had gotten the idea for how to fake his alibi in Mrs. Böhm’s death from an old whoduni
t on TV, and had bought the ticket to Sea Life in the morning before seeing his counseling clients. As he’d recounted all of this to the investigators, he’d left them with the impression that he was downright insane.

  Hannes shook his head as he thought about all the dead ends their investigation had encountered. But at least his hunch that the answer could be found in New Way had been correct—even if he had initially suspected the Schweigers. But Mrs. Schweiger wasn’t completely innocent; after all, she had been the one to spread the rumors of Beck’s dramatic reconversion. Nor could Frank Meister and David Bach be considered entirely innocent, since they were responsible for the other incidents, like the attack on Benjamin Lück and the property damage. Meister had worked himself up into a state of religious zealotry and had infected his friend. Ironically, they would also be held accountable for the threats and slander against Thomas Beck. Only Mr. Böhm had managed to escape prosecution—the investigation into his suspected tax fraud had been suspended.

  Fritz had been very proud of his former colleague when Hannes had visited him a few days ago. He downplayed his own contribution to the investigation’s success. Instead, they agreed that they had complemented each other. Fritz had been touched by the box of Christmas cookies Anna and Hannes had baked for him. For a moment, his eyes had appeared suspiciously moist before he loudly blew his nose. Hannes wondered what Christmas would be like for Fritz in prison.

  Anna opened the door to the wheelhouse. She walked up from behind and put her arms around him.

  “Well, captain, is everything under control? No shoals ahead?”