by CJ Carver
Intrigued, Dan turned to look at Arne.
‘I have my parents to thank for living here,’ Arne confessed. ‘When they were awoken by the East German army, instead of letting themselves be herded into trucks and taken away from their home – never to see it again – they escaped over here. They had to start again, but their life was much easier than if they’d stayed in the East.’
Arne glanced at the watchtower, then at his handsome house. ‘Everyone knows our story. The hardship we suffered and how we survived. How we made our way in the West – became successful. Someone even wrote a book about my family.’ He looked proud.
Inside the house, Anneke greeted Dan warmly. Tall and slim, she was like a willow beside Arne, who resembled a stunted oak. Her skin was lined with wrinkles, her hair faded blonde, but she had the same fire in her eyes as Arne used to have, the same gleam his father had had, he realised, and probably the same lust for life. No wonder they’d all been such good friends.
‘I can’t believe what has happened. Bill, murdered?! It is unbelievable. He was such a dear friend. Please, come inside. Make yourself comfortable.’
While Anneke went to make tea, Dan took one of the large squashy armchairs. Arne took the other.
‘Would you mind,’ Dan asked him, ‘telling me everything? I’d like to know how Dad . . . spent his last few days.’
Arne leaned forward, pudgy age-spotted hands between his knees. ‘I understand. The police wanted to know the same thing. I told them everything that happened, that he arrived on Thursday, the thirtieth of August. His flight got in at ten thirty in the evening. Hanover is only half an hour from here so I went to collect him . . .’
Dan tried not to react. 10.30 p.m.? DSI Weber had told him that his father had landed at ten twenty-five in the morning. Not at night.
‘Anneke was already asleep when we got home so we didn’t stay up. Friday morning, we played eighteen holes. We were both very pleased we were doing so well considering our venerable old age and then . . .’ Arne spread his hands, shaking his head.
Dan didn’t share the fact that the police had said that the day he arrived his father had hired a car and driven 179 kilometres before meeting his friends. Trying to hide his disquiet, he ran his eyes over a display of framed photographs hanging on the wall. Arne playing golf, shooting pheasant, roe deer, holding a massive salmon with three other fishermen crowded around. They were all grinning. It was the same photograph his father, Rafe and Gordon had in their own homes.
‘Is that . . .?’ Dan pointed it out.
Arne looked over at the photograph. ‘Forty-two pounds. Biggest fish caught on the Glenallen Estate. It took thirty minutes to land.’ He sighed. ‘We had a big party. But it wasn’t for the fish.’
Dan knew the story. How Arne had visited from Germany one spring and Gordon had arranged for the four old university friends to meet at his lodge in Scotland where they’d all got wildly drunk and behaved pretty appallingly, if the stories were to be believed.
‘Gordon rang me about Connor.’ Arne raised a trembling hand to cover his eyes briefly. ‘Christopher must be devastated.’
‘He is.’
‘Gustav rang him to say how sorry we all are,’ Anneke remarked as she arrived with tea.
‘That was kind. Did Dad see Gustav when he was here?’
‘No, not that we . . . know of.’ As Anneke faltered something flashed between her and Arne. Dan thought it was dismay, but it was gone before he could analyse it.
‘I’d like to see him.’
‘He’s at the Klinic. I know he’d like to see you too. Arne can drive you there, if you like.’
‘I don’t want to be a bother.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Arne said. ‘I have work to do there.’
As Dan raised his eyebrows, Anneke smiled. ‘Arne never retired. Too much to do. Too active.’
‘What about you?’ Dan asked, curious. He couldn’t imagine Anneke sitting around the house waiting for her husband to come home.
‘I work part-time in the mayor’s office. Sometimes I go to the Klinic to help out. You know I used to be a nurse?’
‘No,’ Dan admitted.
‘It was the best job I ever had.’ Her voice was wistful. ‘I still enjoy going to the Klinic. It makes me feel young.’
After they’d finished tea, Arne rose. ‘Is there anywhere else you would like to visit while you’re here?’
‘Yes. I want to visit the Isterberg Cemetery . . .’
He was unprepared for their response. Arne flinched. Anneke’s face tightened.
‘Why?’
‘There’s a commemorative plaque I’d like to see.’
Arne turned his head to look at his wife. His face had turned cold and smooth, like marble. ‘Yes, we know it.’
Anneke fixed Dan with an icy stare. ‘Here, we’re not afraid to look at our past.’
Dan wasn’t sure if it was a challenge or a statement and didn’t respond. He experienced the strange and disturbing sensation of the family member who has made an embarrassing gaffe but nobody would tell him why.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Klinic was a fifteen-minute drive from the old town and housed in the west wing of the university hospital. Arne dropped Dan at the main door.
‘Reception will let Gustav know you’re here.’
‘Thanks.’
Ultra-modern, the Klinic had a bright and airy atrium. Oil paintings lined the wall behind the reception desk. In the centre stood a portrait of Arne looking proud, very patrician. Beneath it was a large bronze plaque with an inscription. Since there was a queue, Dan looked it up on Google translate.
GERMAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION FOUNDATION OF EXCELLENCE IN MEDICINE AWARDS: COMMITMENT TO SERVICE, COMMUNITY INVOLVEMENT, ALTRUISM, INSPIRATION, LEADERSHIP AND DEDICATION TO PATIENT CARE.
Impressive.
When he asked to see Gustav, he was directed to a waiting area set to the west of the atrium. A man sat to one side, reading a car magazine. A woman was opposite, talking with a girl that Dan took to be her daughter. He was immediately reminded of Aimee. She had the same vivid expression and looked about the same age, maybe a little older. He offered her a small smile. She held his eyes but didn’t smile back.
Dan turned his attention to the photographs on the walls. Views of mountains and forests, aerial photographs of tree-fringed lakes and people mountain biking, kayaking and picnicking.
‘Es ist schön, nicht wahr?’ The woman smiled at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dan said, ‘but I—’
‘You’re English?’
‘Yes.’
‘I just said “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” ’
He looked back at the photograph of the kayakers. ‘Yes.’ Then he looked pointedly outside. ‘But I’m not so sure about the weather.’
‘But if you’re kayaking,’ the girl piped up, ‘you’d get wet anyway.’
Her English, although heavily accented, was excellent.
‘Good point,’ he agreed. ‘You have a kayak?’
‘No, I used to borrow George’s.’
‘Is he your friend?’
‘He used to be,’ she said shyly. ‘But he died.’
Dan blinked.
‘Shush, Christa,’ her mother told her. ‘He doesn’t have to know that.’
‘He asked me.’ Christa’s voice was plaintive.
The mother sent her daughter a warning look.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dan said to Christa. He couldn’t imagine how hard losing a friend at that age had to be.
‘He had a heart attack,’ she told him. ‘When his mother went to wake him up for school he was—’
‘Christa, I’ve told you before—’
‘Why can’t I tell anyone?’ Christa said, twisting aside. ‘What’s the big secret?’
‘There’s no secret!’ Her mother looked at Dan apologetically as if to say, kids, you know what they’re like.
‘He had a heart rhythm disorder,
’ Christa told Dan. ‘But Alice died of cancer.’
‘Christa, sei sill,’ her mother snapped, gripping her arm and giving it a shake but the girl wasn’t going to stop. She was staring straight at Dan, her whole stance determined.
‘Our town is cursed. That’s why George and Alice died.’
Her mother responded as though she’d been slapped. ‘Wie kannst due es wagen?!’ How dare you?!
She sprang to her feet and grabbed the girl.
‘Ow, Mama!’ Christa protested but her mother didn’t seem to hear. She’d flushed bright red as she marched Christa across the atrium, a stream of angry German spilling from her lips.
Dan looked at the man with the car magazine who shrugged his shoulders. ‘Kids,’ he said. He looked unperturbed, unlike Dan who’d found the whole scene alarmingly disturbing. Poor Christa, with two friends dead and a mother who refused to let her talk about it.
Footsteps approached. It was Gustav. He wore a white medical coat with two pens in his top pocket. A pair of reading glasses dangled from a cord around his neck.
‘Herr Taube.’ Gustav acknowledged the man with the car magazine before coming to Dan and shaking his hand. ‘My sincere condolences.’
‘Thank you.’
Being the eldest when they were kids meant Gustav always played the parental role. When they first met, Dan had been ten, Gustav thirteen, and the age difference had meant they’d had little in common until Gustav had seen Dan struggling to fly his kite one day. It was darting violently, and not wanting to look stupid Dan had tried to pretend everything was OK but Gustav simply came over and without saying anything showed him the bridle intersection was too low. They’d flown the kite together for the rest of the day and he remembered racing into the lodge over-excited and eager to show off his new kite-flying skills. Gustav showed me how to re-rig my kite and now I can do stalls and spins!
Dan surveyed Gustav, remembering how he and Christopher used to mercilessly wind Gustav up – usually over Gustav’s crush on Sophie – and then laugh as hysterically as only teenage boys can when Gustav rose to the bait flushing beetroot to his hair roots.
Despite the reason why he was there, Dan felt a certain satisfaction that his childhood memories appeared intact. Although his intellect told him that the only memories damaged were the ones of his old job at MI5, he could never be a hundred per cent sure of that, and now he stood quietly enjoying the memory of Gustav’s puppy dog’s eyes following Sophie’s lithe form everywhere.
‘I’m sorry I don’t have time for you today.’ He touched Dan’s arm in a gesture of what Dan thought was conciliation. ‘I know it’s a weekend but I have many patients to see and tomorrow is also busy. Perhaps one evening next week?’
‘Perhaps. I just wanted to ask if you saw Dad when he was here?’
Gustav shook his head. ‘No, he only saw my parents.’
‘Apparently he visited the Isterberg Cemetery.’
Gustav blinked. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
There was a tiny electronic buzz and Gustav flinched and looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, but I must go.’ He didn’t give any explanation. He turned on his heel and left the room.
As Dan walked out to the street, he saw the girl Christa. She was standing forlornly beneath an awning outside a grocery store, watching him go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Christopher had been hoping to catch Jasmine at the lab, her usual haunt at the weekend, and he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or annoyed she wasn’t there. He was dreading telling her she had to go. How would she react? With her latest icy-cold demeanour, or a hot-headed slap? He’d fired people before, but this was going to be different. Frighteningly different.
Would Bao Zhi stay? He knew the man was instrumental in conducting the assessments required for the Kou Shaiming Company, but as he thought about both of them leaving he suddenly felt a surge of emotion that was almost akin to joy.
It would be so good to have his lab back.
As he locked his car, he heard footsteps and turned to see Lucy walking towards him.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hello.’ He walked to meet her.
‘Tim’s just shown me the chamber, I hope you don’t mind. All those plants! It’s amazing.’
He made a noncommittal gesture.
‘You must be really proud,’ she went on. ‘I mean, creating something that will potentially feed the world. That’s one hell of a thing.’
He looked away. Pride wasn’t on his list of emotions right now.
‘I’m sorry.’ She touched his arm gently. ‘I know you’re going through hell . . .’
Tears sprang to his eyes at the kindness of her gesture. ‘Thank you. And thanks for saying what you did outside the house. Sam and I, well . . . we talked. For a long time. I’m moving back in. For a trial period, but I stayed last night.’
Sam had cooked spaghetti and he’d sat at the table with his mother-in-law and little Dougie kicking in his carry cot. Later, after Sam’s mother had gone to bed, Sam had asked him to stay the night. They hadn’t made love. They didn’t even kiss. In bed, they lay facing each other for a moment and then he raised his arm, inviting her into his embrace. They fell asleep entwined, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, her leg between his, her head on his chest.
When he awoke, it was dawn and he needed the loo, but he didn’t move. He lay there breathing in Sam’s scent, enjoying the weight of her in his arms. He owed Lucy more than he could express.
‘That’s good to hear.’ Lucy nodded, cleared her throat. ‘Has anyone talked to you about how Connor died?’
‘No.’ He frowned. ‘Why? What do you know?’
‘I’ll let your father tell you if that’s OK. He was at the post-mortem on Connor.’
‘I’ll ring him in a moment.’
She glanced over her shoulder at the lab then back. ‘Did you know Dan’s gone to Germany?’
Christopher blinked. ‘No.’
‘He’s visiting friends, who I believe you know. Arne and Anneke, and their son, Gustav. When did you last see them yourself?’
‘At a wedding, over a decade ago.’
‘That would be Sophie Kennedy’s wedding, who married Nick Matthews?’
‘That’s right.’
‘When did you last see Sophie?’
‘Gosh . . .’ He had to think. ‘Six months ago? I was in London on business. We had lunch.’
The way she was looking at him had his nerves jangling.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Both Dan’s father and Connor died the same week.’
He stared at her in astonishment. ‘You can’t think they’re connected?’
‘Put it this way.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘In my job, we don’t believe in coincidences.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dan was ensconced comfortably in his hotel in Isterberg by 6 p.m. His room overlooked a picturesque cobblestoned square. Lots of cafés and restaurants, a tourist office. Nobody was watching him that he could see.
He had a simple dinner, no alcohol. He wanted a clear head. In his room, he spoke to Jenny and Aimee. Then he trawled his father’s photographs, and his father’s emails again. This time, however, he carefully read each one for signs of covert messages. There were a handful that might fit the bill, including one from someone going by the name of Firecat.
Firecat had apparently watched a film Bill had recommended on Monday the twenty-seventh of August. It wasn’t the best movie I’ve seen but it was powerful enough with an unknown party threatening the protagonist not to continue their investigation. It was seriously frightening and seriously scared me. It would take a lot of money to persuade anyone to stand up against such forces, but then again, everyone has their price.
He dropped Firecat an email explaining his father had died and that he’d like to talk. He didn’t say that Bill had been murdered. Then he went to bed. He was surprised he slept so well and woke early, feeling refre
shed. He texted DSI Didrika Weber and by the time he’d showered and had a breakfast of cold meats and cheeses, she had texted back asking him to meet her outside his hotel.
An ancient VW Beetle, tea green with what looked like its original wheels, idled on the kerb. Dan’s eyes passed over it for the smart Audi pulling up next to him but then he turned back to the Beetle when a woman climbed outside. Tall, black hair scraped back hard into a ponytail, she was built like a shot-putter, all thick limbs and bulky muscles. She held her chin high with her shoulders back, obviously not self-conscious about her massive breasts, which stuck out before her like a pair of missiles.
She strode over, offering her hand. ‘DSI Didrika Weber.’ Her shake was as strong as he’d expected.
‘Dan Forrester.’
‘Let’s go.’
He climbed into the Beetle and buckled up. ‘This is your car?’
‘Yes. My father worked for VW in Wolfsburg, and his father before him. This was my grandfather’s car. He gave it to me.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, admiring the worn – obviously original – leather and carefully touched up paintwork.
‘Thank you.’
The car started with a roar, rumbling over the cobblestones and making a heavy clanging sound.
‘Sorry,’ said DSI Weber. ‘I think it’s the shock mounts.’
Dan listened a bit more. ‘It could be more simple, like a loose strut gland nut,’ he offered.
He felt her gaze appraising him.
‘My mother had a Beetle,’ he told her. ‘Years ago.’
She gave a nod as she turned out of the square.
‘How’s the investigation going?’ No point in beating about the bush.
‘It is difficult,’ she said slowly. ‘Trying to re-trace where your father went, who he saw – apart from visiting his friend Arne Kraus, of course.’
‘Did you tell Arne that my father arrived on Thursday morning?’ Dan asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What did Arne say to that?’
‘He was puzzled.’
Dan’s disquiet deepened. If Arne had known his father had arrived earlier, why hadn’t he mentioned anything to Dan yesterday?
