Nemesis: Innocence Sold

by Ross, Stefanie

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than stare out the window?” Daniel said.

  “Actually, I was on my way to get coffee and a soda before you came storming in here. Help yourselves if there’s something you want, or get yourselves something else from the kitchen.” Dirk leaned back in his desk chair, which was more of a leather armchair, and rubbed his eyes. “Sven will be right back. He wanted to make a brief stop at home before the night shift. Stephan should be here any minute; the same goes for Mark and Jake. Any news?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Only the realization that that damned Irishman should be banned from the training grounds in Lübeck.”

  “Tell that to Mark. Incidentally, I didn’t have any problems with him last time,” Dirk said, grinning.

  Sandra was curious and was about to ask about this when Daniel said, “In the building in the back there’s a perfect reconstruction of an airplane. In there, Dirk, Sven, and others were the bad guys; we were the good guys. In the end, we won, but to be honest there wasn’t much left of us, and on top of everything those two survived. Can we change the subject? How’s it going with your background research?”

  Dirk saluted. “All done, Lieutenant. We’re still waiting on a phone call from Kiel, but Sven will get that. So please have a little patience.”

  Before the men could continue, Alex joined them. “It doesn’t sound to me like you’re working,” she said before she offered Sandra a smile and embraced Daniel.

  Dirk gave up his place at the desk for her and sat down in one of the other armchairs. “If you like, you can start. Doc’s already impatient, Sven knows, and a summary later will be enough for the others.”

  “Well, it’s not all that much—I’m going to need less than five minutes. But let’s start with your friend the private detective.”

  “Friend? That’s an exaggeration,” Dirk said.

  If he had been planning to say more, he got no opportunity to do so. “Now don’t be so sensitive,” Alex said. “Well, the Kerlinski detective agency has a fine reputation. According to the Internet, they take on primarily economic matters, from the observation of disloyal employees to the training of security personnel and the prevention of industrial espionage. At first glance the firm seems to be doing very well: they have twelve permanent employees, the office building is in a prime location at the edge of the city center and is owned by the company, and privately Kerlinski owns a bungalow in a first-class residential area. Neither property is still encumbered by a mortgage. But one thing is striking: Weinreich is their main client. Not only directly, but also indirectly, via subsidiary companies. It would be a hard blow if this business relationship were to be terminated. With that, over to Walter Weinreich. He married into the old Hamburg newspaper dynasty and has held a huge pile of stocks for decades. He’s filthy rich, is on good terms with all the important people, and has never drawn negative attention to himself—except because of a certain arrogance that seems to be common in such circles, and he was once charged with tax fraud. He has four children and is a grandfather, and honestly I’d never suspect him of being involved with the abuse of children or with child pornography, nor would I suspect him of paying others to spy on Sandra. If he’d wanted to know more about her, he’d probably have put one of his reporters on her.”

  “Great. All I need is the press coming after me,” Sandra said before she responded to Alex’s summary. “Your assessment would fit with what Dirk assumed earlier, without really being contradicted by Kerlinski: there’s someone else behind Weinreich, perhaps a favor for . . . well, for whom? One more thing may be of interest. There’s a perpetrator profile in the area of child abuse where everything fits perfectly: someone who’s rich. Who believes there are no limits or laws that apply to him. Who’s always looking for the ultimate kick because everything else bores him. For these perverted bastards, sex with children is the ultimate proof of their omnipotence.”

  Alex looked as if she might vomit any minute. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “I am, unfortunately. A normal—that is, sick pedophile usually has no opportunity to live out his fantasies. All he has is cheap photos, magazines. Of course, there are also guys who suddenly flip out and actually molest children, but they don’t occur frequently. In my view, we can exclude the entire area of abuse of power over wards here. Only one area remains: there are plenty of experts who agree that the perpetrators who show up as customers in connection with the organized selling of children for the most part have an academic background, are wealthy, and are highly respected within their communities. I’m no more able to provide scientific proof of this than my colleagues, but I believe this type exists alongside the truly sick perpetrator. And I think this is the type we’re dealing with here.”

  “Fuck, sorry, shit,” Daniel said in his mother tongue. “Prison is much too good for these . . .” Again he expressed his opinion in English, and Dirk not only agreed with him but added a word or two in English.

  Alex, still very pale, was at first silent; then she nodded. “If one of you puts a bullet in the head of a guy like that, I’ll give you an alibi. That’s more than deviant.” She stood up, shaking her head. “I still have to take care of the accounting for the Baltic clinic, and to be honest I’m going to enjoy the boring entries.” At the door, she hesitated and managed to smile. “But please don’t think I’m silly. We’re not talking about a single person satisfying his perverted greed for power and addiction to sex but about someone who has apparently made it his business to make a select group of children available for exactly this purpose. What was Tim supposed to cost? Fifty thousand? That’s nothing, but he doesn’t just do it out of pure greed but also because it’s fun for him. A single bullet is too easy for this hellhound; we need something that will make him suffer just like his victims.” She shut the door behind her with emphasis before Sandra could agree with her or praise her for her sharp insight. No one responded to Alex’s words, and although she wasn’t a proponent of vigilante justice, Sandra understood her violent reaction. Their views were not far apart, despite the fact that she didn’t have a son who had almost become a victim of such a monster.

  Sven and the two Americans appeared at the same time and provided a welcome distraction. Owing to their meeting the previous evening, the situation seemed oddly familiar. After Daniel had passed the external hard drive from Lübeck on to Jake, he leaned back on the couch and seemed about to fall asleep, but Sandra knew by this point that the posture was misleading and that he didn’t miss a word.

  “Daniel was afraid we’d destroy something or get a virus,” Sandra said in reference to the hard drive.

  “Good call,” said Jake, who was sitting at the desk and seemed more occupied with the computer than the people who were present. With a complaint, Sven had forced his way onto the couch next to Daniel, while Dirk and Mark had taken the comfortable leather armchairs.

  Before Jake could begin working on the hard drive, Sandra stopped him. “One question. I wanted to send an e-mail earlier, but I could no longer access my account. My password was supposedly wrong, but this can’t be the case.”

  Jake shrugged. “That was to be expected. They hacked you and looked at your e-mails.”

  “Well, that’s great. They’re welcome to the annoying ads, but other than that . . . What should I do now? We were able to send the e-mail to Berger from Daniel’s private account—it hardly would have made sense to use the Navy address.” She suddenly became intensely aware that she had still not contacted her brother. He would be seriously worried.

  “The fastest way would be to create a new e-mail address for yourself somewhere and use that; then you still have your official work address. I’ll take a look at it later. Maybe we can reclaim your old address and find some information about these guys. They’re not stupid—they have some decent skills when it comes to computers—and they’re pretty arrogant and convinced of their own superiority.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I m
ean they destroyed your laptop—or tried to—instead of working on it.”

  She revised her opinion of the brown-haired American with the striking blue eyes. When they had first met, he had seemed cold and unapproachable; now she realized she had been mistaken. While he smiled less frequently than the others, a downright friendly and patient manner was hidden behind his controlled expression.

  “Can you shoot their hard drive to pieces? Or trick them into downloading a killer virus?” Sandra asked and for the first time saw Jake grin broadly.

  “I’ll see what I can do for you. By the way, I’ve brought you something. Consider it an unrestricted loan.”

  He took a flat object in a velvetlike case from his backpack. It was too small for a laptop, but then Sandra saw that it was a netbook, only a little larger than a tablet but extremely powerful. She launched herself at the device. “Are you serious? They’re way too expensive. I can’t . . .”

  “Yes, you can. There was a problem with this unit’s keyboard, and the Navy wrote it off for that reason, but after a little soldering in the right place, it’s working again. The standard programs are installed as well as mobile Internet and Daniel’s favorite games. Just in case you want to let off steam with a round of Call of Duty or something.”

  Sandra gave Jake a kiss on the cheek. “You’re wonderful. Thanks so much. Without a computer and a cell phone, I really felt as though I’d been sent back to the Middle Ages. But how does the mobile Internet work? That costs some money, right? Is that set up already?”

  “It’s all included—you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Jake said with a wink. “And now back to the topic at hand. We’re still working on your laptop. There’s a point there that interests me, but I’m not ready to say anything about it yet. Let’s stick to the facts: Sven’s already provided us with information about the detective agency and these newspaper guys but indicated that Dirk had something more.”

  Dirk nodded, gave a brief summary of Sandra’s comments regarding the possible perpetrator profile, and returned to Walter Weinreich. “He got his ownership of a nice piece of real estate past the German tax authorities by means of a shell company in Ireland. Then there are also some secret investment accounts. If that became known, he would have a real problem in view of the last penalty order due to tax fraud. I have some printouts that prove money is flowing back to Hamburg from Ireland. Tax-free, too, of course, because it’s going into his wife’s private account. If we want to talk to him, he is not going to be able to turn us away.”

  Sandra had to make an effort to keep herself from staring at Dirk with her mouth open. Smiling, Daniel nudged her. “Don’t ask. Our accountant can smell dirty transactions from a hundred miles away and has access to some nice databases.”

  “Will that hold up in court?” Sandra asked.

  Dirk dismissed this. “No idea, but it’s certainly enough for a tip to the tax authorities. My inquiries aren’t illegal; within the framework of the antiterror laws, they’re explicitly permitted.”

  “What about data protection laws?” Sandra asked.

  “They’ve pretty much fallen by the wayside since September 11, although the public has barely noticed.” Sandra would have liked to continue the discussion, but Dirk’s cell phone rang. After examining the display, he appeared concerned. “It’s Pat,” he said. “I’ll put it on speaker.”

  Pat got to the point immediately. “When I went to pick up Maria, she mentioned a car explosion and a policeman who was nearly killed. Konstantin, who you know, is the attending physician; I’ve gotten information from him without any difficulties. Well, the victim is Mario Berger; another policeman was slightly injured trying to rescue him. His name is Röhrich, and he’s already been released and sent home. Berger’s in intensive care and has a fairly good chance of recovery, thanks to his colleague’s quick reaction. The thing blew up right in the parking lot of the police high-rise. And one other thing: there’s no personal security for Berger—nothing. In the normal intensive care unit anyone could have gotten to him; I asked Konstantin to put him in a private room. What do you think?”

  “God damn it,” Sven said and struck the table with his fist. “Sorry, Pat. I haven’t had a chance to talk about that yet. We were on target with our suspicion: Berger has only apparently been transferred to Lübeck; his actual boss is in Kiel. His assignment’s rather nebulous but probably has to do with looking for corruption pretty high up. He’s working with a Lübecker, Hannes Wartberg. Have you run across that name anywhere?”

  “No, nor have I run across any of Berger’s family members or colleagues. Strange thing—as though no one was interested in him. How do you know all that?”

  “Tannhäuser vouched for us, so Berger’s boss called me. Can you keep an eye on him for the time being?”

  The Irishman’s frustration was audible. “I was afraid that’s where this was going. All right, but it’d be nice to be relieved at some point.”

  Sven grinned. “You’ll have to talk to your boss about that.”

  Pat growled and hung up.

  Sven’s smile disappeared immediately. “Berger must have found something; otherwise he wouldn’t have ended up in their sights. These bastards stop at nothing.”

  “And are apparently well informed,” Daniel said.

  “That’s true. I’ll call Berger’s boss; I’m sure he hasn’t heard anything. Should I ask him for a replacement for Pat?”

  “Only starting tomorrow. We both know how slowly your club works, and before Berger’s boss asks colleagues in Lübeck for help, we’ll take it on.” He seemed to want to say more but broke off when the door opened.

  His cell phone to his ear, with an extremely irritated expression on his face, Stephan appeared and closed the door behind him. He looked around and then sat down on the armrest of Dirk’s chair. “Please make sure there are enough seats if there are going to be so many people milling around here.”

  “Screw you, too,” Dirk said and pointed to the cell phone. “What’s up with that?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m on hold. Someone tried to reach Daniel or you through the control center, and this person is now supposed to be transferred to me. Apparently, I’m considered your secretary. That’s all I needed!”

  Daniel leaned forward. “Did you say someone tried to reach me? Through the LKA?”

  “Do you want me to repeat it in English?” Stephan said.

  “God, you’re in a bad mood,” Sven said but fell silent when Stephan continued with the call.

  “May I ask how you know Eddings?” Stephan’s face went blank. “You can explain that to him yourself. One moment, please.” Stephan pushed a button on the cell phone. “Do any of you know the name Volker Lüttgens? He sounds as if he’s about to lose his mind. He wants to explain something to Daniel.”

  “No idea. Give me the phone,” Daniel said.

  “Since you asked so nicely.” Stephan threw him the phone and drank the rest of Dirk’s cola, unimpressed by his protest. Sandra was tense as she watched Daniel, who suddenly seemed electrified, talking into the phone.

  “First off, calm down. Up to now, you’ve reacted exactly right. Do you know your way around Ahrensburg?” After a pause, Daniel grimaced. “Well, that’s a bit much to ask. How am I supposed to know you’re being honest and my house or car isn’t going to blow up five minutes later? Follow the signs to badlantic. We’ll meet in the parking lot there. If we find your story convincing, we’ll make sure nothing happens to you or your family. But I’m warning you, if this is an ambush, you’ll be the first to die. Understood? We’ll be there in forty minutes.” Daniel threw the phone on the table. “Well, that was a surprise. Lüttgens is the younger of the two policemen who first laid into Dirk and then showed up in the photographer’s building. He’s afraid and on the verge of panic. The trigger’s probably the attack on Berger. He put his family in his car and just drove away. Now he’s at a rest stop on the autobahn near Ratekau. Supposedly, he’ll tell us everything if we
ensure the safety of his family. It sounds too good to be true. But if that wasn’t real just now, he deserves an Oscar. He wanted to meet at Dirk’s place or my place. He’s supposed to come to badlantic instead.”

  Sandra closed her new laptop. “I don’t think it’s a trap. He wanted to get something off his chest earlier, but the older guy intervened. How do we do this?”

  Sandra wasn’t surprised that all eyes turned toward Mark. But once again Dirk’s cell phone interrupted. With a grimace, he accepted the call. He referred to “Richter”; then his face went blank. “I have the address. That was the right decision. We’ll be there in an hour or so. Don’t be afraid—no one will see us.” After some seconds he continued speaking in a serious tone. “Come on, you didn’t notice I was right behind you earlier, either, right? Remain calm, and keep him from leaving the house before we reach you. Make him understand that he will not gain anything this way.”

  Deep concern showed on his face when he put the phone away. “That was Marius Kerlinski, that overeager wannabe, American-style private detective. Two hours ago, Michael, his boss and uncle, stormed out of his office after having received a call. Marius couldn’t stop thinking about it, and after quitting time he drove to his uncle’s house, and his aunt, who was completely beside herself, told him what had happened. The two-year-old daughter disappeared when she was playing in the front yard. I’ll bet my motorcycle against Sven’s pile of junk that Michael asked around about who was behind his assignment, and this was the answer. God damn it, why didn’t that idiot listen to me?”

  His brow furrowed, Sven stood up. “Did you just call my motorcycle a pile of junk? Since the exhaust is back on, that’s a real insult! All right, the two of us will drive to Hamburg and sneak into your detective friend’s house. Daniel will meet Lüttgens at badlantic. Pat is unfortunately out of it because he’s playing babysitter to Berger in the university medical center. How are we going to approach these two projects, Mark?”