The fine wrinkles in her face indicated that she had already celebrated her fortieth birthday, but her lively blue eyes, which watched them from under strands of blond hair, and her slender figure made her seem younger.
“Black tea sounds good. Dirk Richter and my partner, Sven Klein, LKA, Hamburg.” He consciously abstained from mentioning their titles; there was no reason to bicker over authority. “We believe the case overlaps with one of ours and need your help. This is only about a few details; we have no intention of interfering in your investigation.”
“Our investigation?” Liebe blew a strand of hair away from her face. “That’d be nice. The case has been taken away from us and is now being investigated by the Oldenburg criminal investigation field office in cooperation with the Lübeck District Office of Criminal Inspection. Actually, you’re visiting the completely wrong person,” she said while she filled two cups.
Now Sven got involved. “What’s important to us is to talk to the people who are familiar with the case.” His objective statement avoided giving any impression of flattery and caused a brief smile to appear on the woman’s face.
“Man oh man, that sounds really reasonable for something coming from the LKA. What’s your case about?”
Dirk took his wallet out of his leather jacket and opened it. He held a photo of Tim out to her. The captain understood immediately. “Your son? He could be Eric’s brother.”
“A few hours prior to Eric’s disappearance, an attempt was made to kidnap him. At first we thought about a connection to my job, an act of revenge or something like that, but then we found out something entirely different could be behind it.”
Liebe blew over the edge of her cup and then cautiously sipped her tea. “Oh, boy, I don’t like that at all. You mean something like kidnapping per order? Would you care for a blond boy with brown eyes? And if it doesn’t work out with the first one, take the next one? Bad.”
The captain was fast, very fast; Dirk nodded. “That’s exactly what we mean. We already have some indications that there are connections between the two cases, but don’t yet have anything that would count as proof. That’s why we’re here.”
“What kind of connections?”
“Similar appearance of the children, same procedure used by the kidnappers—except in the case of Eric the chloroform was deadly, due to his asthma. Also, we have a coded reference to the delivery of a child with blond hair and brown eyes. This brings us to the point. If the boy’s appearance had been described in greater detail in the missing-persons report, we would have gotten involved immediately. As it was, the connection between the two cases only became obvious to us when the body was found.”
“You found the boy?” Her gaze rested on Dirk for seconds. “Reading the report already turned my stomach, and I have two girls. I wouldn’t like to know what you . . .” She jumped up so fast her desk chair rolled back and struck a cabinet. “I’ll be right back.”
When she came back, she held out a fax to him. “Press reports go out via Lübeck.”
Sven was faster. Dirk’s raised eyebrow didn’t hinder him from glancing over the page before she handed it to Dirk. “I don’t like this” was his comment on the detailed description his Fehmarn colleagues had sent out.
“I don’t either. My assistant was enraged when the first reports appeared. Then we got in touch with some reporters and editorial staff ourselves and made improvements. But something tells me you’re here because of this. You don’t look particularly surprised.” She drank the rest of her tea in one gulp and set her cup down on the table. “What’s going on in Lübeck? Why’s Hamburg getting involved?”
Dirk left it to his friend to answer. Speaking openly about their own case was one thing; their assessment of their Lübeck colleagues was another thing entirely.
Sven bought some time with a sip of tea. “That’s really good,” he said, then responded openly to her impatient look. “We’ve become involved from Hamburg because through Tim we’re directly affected; also, a colleague had already made some progress in the matter. This being the case, it made sense to push the investigation. In regard to Lübeck . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know our colleagues there well enough to allow myself to pass judgment. Maybe there are just some people there who are sleeping on the job; I have a good idea about some of the others.”
“All right. Let’s leave this point for the time being.” Liebe flipped a pirate-themed pencil back and forth between her fingers. “My colleague told me you’d asked about Eric’s parents. What do you want from them? They’re still on the island, but we’ve housed them in a bed-and-breakfast to protect them from the press.”
“We suspect a Lübeck photographer of having been involved in the selection of the children. The connection to Tim is proven. A colleague discovered that a picture of Eric appeared in the Lübecker Nachrichten. The photographer’s already worked for the newspaper a number of times. Perhaps the parents noticed him.”
“Why don’t you ask the guy directly? The parents have gone through enough.”
Sven took a deep breath. “We’re not interested in bothering the parents. We can no longer talk to the photographer. He was found murdered this morning. We’ve arrested the presumed perpetrator—or, to be precise, our colleagues in Lübeck have done so. You know how it is: right now there’s not much contact with the public prosecutor’s office, and we’re operating a bit off the official track.” Dirk suppressed a grin; probably Berger would find a less harmless explanation for their behavior. “We urgently need airtight proof; without it we have a problem.”
Silence spread among them; then the policewoman’s desk chair once again crashed against the cabinet. “All right, but something tells me you would proceed even without the consent of the public prosecutor’s office. If we can leave it at a conversation and if you will forgo an official interrogation, we can move forward.” Sven agreed. “Very good. Take your car, and follow me.”
In front of the police building, she stopped in front of Dirk’s Audi. “Regarding your parking habits: Emergency vehicles refers to our vehicles, not visitors. Understood?”
Dirk casually raised two fingers to his forehead. “Yes, ma’am.”
“If you continue like this, she’ll give you a ticket,” Sven warned, grinning before he dropped into the passenger seat.
“I don’t think she will. I like her, but she’s still holding something back. I hope she’ll give it to us in the end.”
“She will. If necessary you can turn on your irresistible charm.” With years of practice, Sven effortlessly avoided a jab in the ribs.
Once they had left the city, Dirk had to make an effort not to lose sight of the police car. Liebe steered the car through the narrow streets like a madwoman. When the road was too narrow for her and a tractor approaching from the opposite direction, she drove onto the dirt shoulder without slowing down.
Dirk cursed and followed her example, ignoring the rattling sounds made by the small stones that struck his Audi. “A few more missions like this and I’m going to apply for an all-terrain vehicle,” he said and repeated the maneuver to get around a combine harvester without incident. “Where are we going? What does the navigation system say?”
After examining the display, Sven laughed. “‘Off road.’ No idea where we are. Somewhere between Burg and nothing.”
Sven had been wrong: after rounding a sharp bend, they reached an idyllic village. In front of a farmhouse whose front garden was striking due to a large number of blooming plants, the captain stopped. It didn’t surprise Dirk that her way of braking resulted in a large cloud of dust. He intentionally stopped the Audi a few inches behind her trunk.
“If I have to get in there, you’ll have to back up,” she told him, smiling. “Had driver training?”
“You, too, no doubt—or is that the usual style of driving around here?” Dirk asked.
“No. I had to think.”
Sven gasped and looked at the house.
“C
ome on. We’ll probably find them in the garden. The Baltic is barely five hundred yards from here, but no reporters come out here, and the inhabitants stick together.” Two girls came running around the house toward them, talking at the captain. Laughing, she raised a hand. “Slow down. Talk in turns, and don’t say a word before you’ve greeted these gentlemen. And no, I’m not done with work yet, but my colleagues need to speak with Eric’s parents about something.”
“Sorry.” A chocolate-smeared hand reached out to Dirk. “I’m Alina, and who are you?”
Dirk bent down to the child. “My name’s Dirk, and this is Sven, my friend and colleague.”
The other girl didn’t want to be eclipsed by her sister and took on Sven. “I’m Martina. Are you staying for a long time?”
“Girls! Go see Grandma. The less you slow me down now, the sooner I’ll be back here.” The girls obeyed and disappeared into the house.
Dirk whistled through his teeth. “Impressive. Tim would’ve started an endless discussion. Let me in on your secret?”
Liebe smiled with an unmistakable hint of pride. “A mixture of bribery and threats: the beasts know very well that we’ll ride our bicycles out to the Baltic if I can get off work in time. As you may have guessed, this house belongs to my mother. Actually, she only rents the two vacation apartments to steady customers who have been coming here for years, but she made an exception for Eric’s parents. Come around the house with me. As I’ve said, they’re sure to be outside.”
Sven praised the house and the lovingly planted garden. “Pretty, really pretty. A nice change from Burg with all its tourists.”
“You mean the souvenir stores that all sell the same seagulls and endless mountains of colorful beach toys? This is the real Fehmarn here, but if there were nothing else, we’d be as good as unemployed. The tourists are mostly young and ensure we have enough to do. But other than some illegal car racing and other nonsense, it’s quiet here. Well, we could do without the swimming accidents, especially when children are involved. But what happened to Eric is of a different caliber. Really bitter.”
They had gone around the side of the house and now had a view of a parklike garden that stretched to a pond. A couple sat on a bench at the edge, a baby carriage next to them. “Mr. and Mrs. Neuveert with their daughter, Silvana, who isn’t yet four months. If they hadn’t had the baby, they’d have gone crazy. It’s also because of her that they stayed on the island when Eric . . . Well, you know.”
Dirk nodded uneasily and swallowed hard. The body had not yet been released by the forensic unit, and he didn’t like imagining what the parents would still have to go through.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you. They both speak German very well, but keep it as brief as possible. Please.”
After the captain had said a few explanatory words, Dirk left the conversation to his partner. His ability to be empathetic would never equal Sven’s in normal circumstances, and under these conditions, with the grieving parents who were still in shock and had a number of unanswered questions, he would never find the right words. Perhaps he should never have come to the island.
He had to swallow again when the mother answered the question about the photographer and even remembered his name. A trace of joie de vivre flashed in her face when she talked about the sand castle contest in detail and described how happy Eric had been about his victory.
The sight of her made Dirk clench his hand into a fist; overpowering anger rose in him at the thought of the photographer who had unscrupulously acted as a hunter and collector of children in order to satisfy his drug addiction.
Abruptly, the mother’s sorrow over the loss of her child returned, and she turned away, gazing into space.
For the first time, Eric’s father spoke. “Why are you interested in this photographer?”
Sven tilted his head in the direction of the mother and shook it.
For a moment, Dirk avoided the searching look; then he had made his decision. He hadn’t come this far to remain silent now out of cowardice. The man had a right to some answers. “Let’s walk a little,” he said.
Eric’s father followed him until Dirk stopped under the spreading boughs of an apple tree. “The photographer showed the pictures of Eric to someone who was so enthused about your boy that he . . . wanted to get to know him better and . . . In a way, it was an accident that Eric was unable to tolerate the chloroform.” Dirk cursed himself for his awkward choice of words. “I’m sorry. I . . .”
Eric’s father laid a consoling hand on his arm. “It’s all right. I understand. As a mathematician, I appreciate clear words, even if they are very difficult to bear. At least this partially answers the haunting question of why. You’ll find this photographer?”
“He was found dead this morning. Probably murdered to protect the men behind all this, but it will not help them. We have the perpetrator and will get the others, too, Mr. Neuveert. That’s not an empty promise; we’re all deeply affected.”
Eric’s father looked at him thoughtfully. “I feel you truly mean what you say.”
“I do. My partner and I have sons the same age.” After hesitating, Dirk refrained from mentioning Tim’s attempted kidnapping. At this moment, at least, it wouldn’t comfort the father to know that another child had survived. “I’m not going to claim that I know what you’re going through, but we’ll ensure that these criminals never cause a child or his parents to suffer like this again. You have my word on this.”
A muscle twitched in Neuveert’s cheek. His lips trembled a little. “Perhaps it was more merciful this way; the thought of what else might have been done to him is . . .” Neuveert visibly struggled for control. Dirk didn’t understand the quiet words in Dutch, but they sounded like curses. “Were you there? Did you find him?” The father’s hoarse voice could barely be understood.
Dirk dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand as the image of the dead boy appeared before his eyes. In the presence of Eric’s father, he had no right to give in to his own rage and sorrow. “Yes. He had a very calm, relaxed expression on his face, as though he had fallen asleep. He didn’t suffer; I am certain of that.” Dirk’s voice, too, was raw, and again he had to swallow hard.
Lost in thought, Neuveert stared at the pond. Dirk remained silent as well, in order to give the father some time. Finally, Neuveert began to speak quietly: “We were always afraid of losing him because of his asthma. Every night, I went to his bed and listened to his breathing. We stayed up through countless nights when he was sick. But who expects danger from a walk on the beach? Eric had run on ahead while we made a brief stop to take Silvana out of the baby carriage. Then Eric was just gone . . .”
This time, Dirk touched Neuveert’s arm. “Stop making it even harder for yourself. You had no chance to prevent this. I know of a case in which the mother was barely twenty yards away. The crime comes like a shot from an ambush. Mr. Neuveert, please stop that—it’s already bad enough. There was nothing you could have done.”
“Like a shot from an ambush?” Neuveert repeated. “You know, I’m surprised. Angela and her colleagues were very concerned and helpful. The Lübeckers were rather cool, but you and your partner are different. You’re close friends, are you not? In your case, I really have the feeling that we . . . that Eric means something to you. Please let us know if you’re successful with your investigation.”
“Of course—you can count on it. How can I reach you in the Netherlands?”
“I’ll give you the e-mail address for my office at the institute. At home wouldn’t be good. I will inform my wife, Mariana, later.”
Dirk saved the e-mail address on his phone and was somewhat uncertain as to how he should say good-bye, but Neuveert made it easy for him. “Thank you, Mr. Richter. In the name of my son, too.”
Neuveert offered his hand, and Dirk responded with a firm grip but couldn’t get out a word. He gave a brief nod in farewell and put his sunglasses on on the way to his car. This case was damned gut-wrenching for him; he di
dn’t need to have everyone reading this in his eyes. A few minutes later, Sven and the policewoman appeared.
The captain surprised him by embracing him. “I don’t know what you said to Mr. Neuveert, Dirk, but it has helped him greatly. Thank you for that.” He was spared having to answer. “I hope you don’t mind that I call you by your first name. And now we could all use a cold beer. Follow me in your car—I’ll show you a spot on the island that you’ll like. They also have the best fish rolls anywhere on the Baltic, and I want to get something off my chest about the Lübeckers.”
CHAPTER 17
This time, Dirk was grateful for Angela’s unconventional way of driving. The tempo and daring maneuvers left no room for thinking. When a straight stretch lay before them, Sven broke their silence. “She’s right. Well done, partner. Like I said: Your charm seems to have worked. I can’t wait to see what she’s going to pull out of her hat next.”
“She reminds me of Alex: always good for a surprise and never predictable.”
“Hey, don’t get carried away. You’re married.”
Without slowing down, Angela turned onto a country road. During the attempt to follow her, the Audi threatened to leave the curve, but after a horrifying second Dirk had it back under control. They drove past cornfields at top speed until the Baltic lay before them. Dirk brought the Audi to a stop with a controlled skid but could not take his eyes off the water, which was bustling with numerous kitesurfers. Their parachute-like sails were bright spots on the blue-green sea. Dirk got out.
“I could watch them for hours. The weather’s ideal: almost no waves, enough wind,” Angela said and pointed toward a food truck. “That’s Kurti, who still smokes his own fish. When the weather’s like this he’s always here. His granddaughter’s one of the best kitesurfers. Mackerel or eel? I’m buying. There’s mineral water or Jever to drink.”
“I’d like mackerel. And Jever’s great. We drink it at home, too.”
Nemesis: Innocence Sold Page 19
