Blood Ties

by Alexander Hartung

  ‘So what is the motive for Greta’s kidnapping then?’

  ‘Listen, Clemens Grohnert doesn’t exactly come across as a nice guy, but I don’t know of any dark business secret that would justify abducting his daughter. Either the kidnapper has some personal conflict with Grohnert or the abduction has nothing to do with him.’

  After letting Nik move into his flat, Jon had got used to life in his loft apartment. It was initially only supposed to be an office, with plenty of room for his PCs and Cray supercomputer. But during their last investigation, he’d had to destroy the whole place to get rid of every last clue, so a renovation had been on the cards anyway. He’d spent days laying laminate on the cold concrete floors and painting the walls white. He’d finally attached any loose wires to the walls and bought some lampshades. And now, instead of an old mattress on the floor, he had a box-spring bed, while the kitchen consisted of more than just a microwave. The four electric heaters that he’d attached to the wall kept the place warm, even in the winter.

  The one thing he did have to rebuild was a metal cage to house all of his computers and the two monitors he used to keep an eye on the area surrounding the loft and the front door. On top of the Cray sat two canisters full of an aluminium-based fire accelerant that would burn through the computer like acid if Jon was ever to pull the release mechanism.

  He’d bought the flat above a bogus company and all his post was delivered to a PO box. He only ever left the loft in the evening, when all the workers from the industrial area had gone home. Other than Nik and Balthasar, nobody knew of the hiding place.

  Jon stared at a computer screen, deep in concentration. He was analysing the voice recording from the kidnapper. After meticulously inspecting the waves one by one, he came to the same conclusion as the CID: it was a computer-generated voice. The internet was full of free voice-generators these days which converted text to speech. As a result, it would be impossible to get any clues from the voice on the message. The fact it had been generated also meant he couldn’t isolate any background noises. The file had been thoroughly wiped of all metadata, making it impossible to see when the recording had been made or to find any clues about the user’s personal information. And to top it all off, the demand had been sent from a disposable email account, on a public Wi-Fi connection, via a popular anonymisation service.

  Jon exhaled loudly. Getting rid of electronic traces was a laborious act. It indicated good planning, which in turn proved Greta’s kidnapping was not just some spontaneous crime. And even if the free online programs these days could be used by beginners, at least one person involved had to be reasonably IT savvy, suggesting the perpetrators were not just some mob of violent, idiotic criminals.

  Jon clicked through the allocated case files on the CID system but it had been hours since any new findings had been entered. He could only hope that Nik and Balthasar were having more luck.

  ‘How did it go?’ Balthasar asked Nik as they made their way outside.

  ‘Nooten was cooperative,’ answered Nik. ‘Your remark about Florian Knape clearly shook him. Who is he? A contract killer?’

  ‘A rent boy,’ replied Balthasar. ‘One of the best.’

  Nik whistled in amazement. ‘Now I understand why you were going on about the staunch Catholic parents. But I have to admit, I wouldn’t have expected one gay guy to threaten another with a forced outing.’

  ‘I know. It really wasn’t my proudest moment,’ said Balthasar, sighing. ‘But an innocent child is at risk here and that’s more important.’ He turned to look at Nik. ‘And I wouldn’t have outed him anyway. It was just a threat.’

  ‘And how d’you know about Nooten’s liaison? He must do absolutely everything in his power to protect his private life.’

  ‘It was actually a shot in the dark. Florian Knape is booked because of his discretion but Munich is a village and everyone knows everyone in the gay scene.’ Balthasar went to the edge of the pavement and waved for a taxi. ‘As I’m sure you’re well aware, alcohol relaxes the tongue and Knape was feeling quite chatty last New Year’s Eve. Even if he never mentioned Nooten’s name, a lot of what he said suggested they’d had contact.’ Balthasar shrugged. ‘In all honesty, I feel sorry for the guy. He’s going to have to wear a façade for the rest of his life and suppress his sexuality, because if he doesn’t, his whole world will shatter into tiny pieces. His family would ostracise him, his wife would leave him and his social circles would avoid him. The tabloids would wallow in his suffering and bring out a new scandal every day. And according to his faith, it would all be in the name of salvation.’ Balthasar closed his eyes. ‘We’re living in the twenty-first century but sometimes it still feels like the Middle Ages. Do you know how many unhappy people I’ve known who were destroyed because they couldn’t reveal their sexual orientation? There always comes a point when they can’t take it any longer so they go to a rent boy . . . only to feel even worse afterwards. It’s not easy,’ he concluded pensively. ‘Let’s just hope your conversation got us closer to getting Greta released. Then I can sleep with a slightly clearer conscience.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I wouldn’t say it got us much closer. Nooten just confirmed what I already thought: Clemens Grohnert might have been the main man behind the fraud but it’s all too thin for someone to commit abduction with murder.’

  ‘So what does that mean for the investigation?’

  ‘Jon is still working his way through the case records from the scandal. But I’m slowly beginning to disregard Grohnert as the reason for the kidnapping,’ Nik answered. ‘I’ll look into the shot driver tomorrow. Maybe he wasn’t the innocent victim we’ve been thinking he was.’

  Vanessa Grohnert stood in front of a large window wearing a thin nightdress and holding a blanket around her shoulders, while her other hand clasped a small, tattered teddy bear to her chest. She stood looking at the driveway, which was illuminated in mellow moonlight, as if waiting for someone to arrive.

  ‘Don’t you want to come to bed?’ came her husband’s voice. ‘It’s three o’clock.’

  The woman shook her head lightly.

  ‘I miss Greta too, you know,’ said Clemens quietly. ‘And I’m doing everything I can to get her back.’

  ‘Why did you have to be so bloody greedy?’ she asked spitefully, without raising her voice.

  ‘This has nothing to do with greed,’ replied Grohnert. ‘If we want to be able to afford the life we have, then we need the money that comes from jobs like that.’

  ‘I’d be fine living in a smaller house . . . or driving a normal car or not always flying first class. But what I can’t live without is my daughter!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Vanessa,’ said Clemens remorsefully. ‘I’m already borrowing against all the securities . . . I’ve sold all our equity. I’ve closed the Swiss account. There’s nothing else I can do.’ He moved behind her.

  Vanessa stroked the bear’s head. ‘Do you think we need to come clean about Greta?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said, reaching for her arm. ‘Then we will definitely lose her, even if the kidnapper does let her go.’

  ‘You’re just afraid of going to jail.’ She snatched her arm out of his grasp. ‘Away from all the luxury . . . all your important friends.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ he replied. ‘We both swore we would never tell. And that was the right decision. It’s got nothing to do with the kidnapping.’

  She closed her eyes and held the bear tight to her chest. ‘I pray to God you’re right.’

  Setting off that morning, Nik thought about how good it felt to have a modern car and all the mod cons that came with it: the drinks holder with its warming function, the automatic gearbox, which made it easier to deal with the city traffic, and the hands-free system, meaning he didn’t have to hold his phone to his ear. And as if all that wasn’t enough, he didn’t even have to cover the lease payments or petrol costs.

  ‘So, the driver was thirty-three-year-old Milan Urbaniak,’ Jon began. His voice was
perfectly clear over the car speakers. ‘He was officially unemployed but earned extra cash as a chauffeur. He was covering that day for the family’s regular driver, Georg Moosen, who’s had his own chauffeur company for four years. Moosen doesn’t have any employees but his friends sometimes give him a hand. The Grohnerts were one of Moosen’s first clients. He used to drive Greta to her extracurricular activities and sometimes took the parents to cultural events.’

  ‘So why was Moosen not driving that day?’

  ‘According to the Grohnerts, he was in bed with the flu. He’d texted the parents that morning to say Urbaniak would cover for him.’

  ‘And what’s Moosen had to say about everything?’

  ‘The CID haven’t been able to reach him. He isn’t at home and isn’t picking up his mobile.’

  ‘And nobody finds that a bit odd?’

  ‘The kidnapping only happened three days ago and Moosen isn’t the main suspect, since he doesn’t match the description of the perpetrator. There’s still a search out for him but since the ransom demand, the special commission has been concentrating on other things.’

  ‘And what have we got on the replacement driver?’

  ‘Milan Urbaniak came from Kosovo but had been in Munich since 1998. He lived in a small second-floor flat in Caracciolastraße. He was single and didn’t have any relatives in Germany.’

  ‘What about his record?’

  ‘Had a suspended sentence for bodily harm in 2001,’ said Jon. ‘Some fight at a wedding which got out of hand. He and nine other guests were arrested. But nothing since then.’

  ‘Any cross references to the Grohnerts?’

  ‘No, but Urbaniak never used social media so I can’t be sure.’

  ‘Did the CID find anything in his flat?’

  ‘Just a Heckler & Koch SFP9 with ammunition.’

  ‘OK, well, that changes things slightly.’

  ‘Does it?’ asked Jon. ‘To be honest, a guy on the dole who gets paid cash in hand and has a gun in the house doesn’t really surprise me these days. And according to the CID database, the gun isn’t linked to any crimes. So it seems pointless using it as a lead.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘They didn’t find a computer. Just a large collection of porno DVDs, a cupboard full of clothes, eight pairs of shoes, some books and a middle-of-the-road sound system. Oh, and a reasonable forty-inch flat screen and a battered old leather couch.’

  ‘I’m gonna take a closer look.’

  ‘What are you hoping to find?’

  ‘I want to get a better idea of Urbaniak’s life. Nowhere better to do that than his own home.’

  ‘Your ex-colleagues already took the place to bits. You won’t find anything new.’

  ‘Maybe they missed something.’

  ‘Pretty wishful thinking.’

  Nik turned off the main road into a side street and parked his car in a free spot. ‘I’ll call you later.’ He hung up and got out of the car before making his way through the drizzling rain towards Urbaniak’s flat. The building was three stories high and the white façade had been painted recently. The areas of grass between the house and the path were tidy and well kept, while geraniums hung down from the balcony nearest the path. It wasn’t Munich’s nicest neighbourhood but the rent would have still been too high for someone on long-term unemployment benefit.

  A man in a tatty boiler suit was kneeling at the entrance screwing something on to the door panel. His face was red and he was scrunching his eyes up as if he was having trouble focusing on the screws. His sparse dark hair was sweaty, and going by the body odour that was emanating from him, he had opted not to shower that morning.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Nik.

  The man turned around quickly to look at Nik. ‘Can’t you see I’m working?’ he said, his face turning from its unhealthy pink tone into a deep, angry red.

  ‘Munich CID,’ said Nik, showing the man his fake ID. ‘I need to have another look inside Milan Urbaniak’s flat.’

  ‘What is it now?’ blared the man. ‘You were there all day yesterday making a total mess.’ Unfortunately, the man’s oral hygiene was as lacking as his general cleanliness. Nik took a step back.

  ‘I need to check some details.’

  ‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’m busy.’

  ‘Afraid not.’ Nik’s smile was becoming stiff. He clenched his fist and forced himself to stay calm.

  The man slammed down his screwdriver into the toolbox and stood up, swearing. He pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket – there must have been around twenty sets – and led Nik up to the second floor. Urbaniak’s front door had been blocked and sealed with tape but the man put the key in the lock regardless, turned it twice and kicked the door open. ‘Pull the door shut when you’re done, would you?’ he said, stuffing the keys back into his pocket.

  Nik peered into the flat. The hall was empty and the walls were dotted with holes and marks – tell-tale signs that a cupboard had once been standing there. The floor was covered in dust and bits of plaster. There was one room at the end of the hall and one to the right of the front door. Both were completely empty.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Nik called to the man from the front door. ‘Could you come back here for a second, please?’

  ‘My God! What is it now?’ asked the man, raising his hands and plodding to the flat. ‘You want me to fetch you a coffee or something?’

  Nik signalled behind him with his thumb. ‘Can you tell me why the place is empty?’

  ‘How the hell should I know? I’m just the caretaker. Ask the owner.’

  ‘You must have seen something?’

  ‘Fuck off! You think I look after the one building or something? I’ve got better things to do than talk—’

  Nik grabbed the man by the upper arm and pushed him inside the flat. He took the barrier tape down with him as he fell to the floor.

  ‘Piece of shit!’ said the man as he started to get up. But before he could, Nik had his knee pressed firmly into his back and was twisting his arm behind him.

  ‘Listen, arsehole. This is still a crime scene under investigation, which means nobody apart from the police are allowed on the premises. Even the thickest removal guys know it’s grounds for arrest to enter a crime scene. Two minutes ago, that tape wasn’t broken so someone must have made the effort to carefully remove it, clear out the flat and stick it back on. And there weren’t any signs of forced entry, which means the removal guys must have had a key.’

  ‘Let me go!’ cried the man.

  ‘We’ll start with a simple question: when was the flat emptied?’

  ‘Yesterday evening!’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘No idea!’

  Nik pulled tighter on the man’s arm. ‘Stop bullshitting me.’

  ‘I didn’t know the guy. He was here yesterday. Gave me five hundred euros to open Urbaniak’s door and look the other way.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Tall. ’Bout six foot. Muscular. Dark complexion. Dark hair. Southern European maybe. Wearing a black suit.’

  ‘And he cleaned out the flat all on his own . . . in a suit?’

  ‘There was a lorry parked outside the flat. Four men were waiting inside. As soon as the door was open, they put on gloves and started moving everything out.’

  ‘Did you get the number plate?’

  ‘Of course not! Five hundred euros? Tax free? D’you have any idea how long I’d have to work to earn that? Urbaniak’s dead and didn’t have any relatives. The flat would’ve been cleared anyway.’

  Nik let go of the caretaker and stood up. He ripped the rest of the tape off the door and fled downstairs, taking out his phone to call Jon.

  ‘The flat’s been cleared,’ Nik said as soon as Jon picked up.

  ‘Even though it was all taped up?’ Jon asked, confused. ‘Why would someone want to empty the flat?’

  ‘To get rid of traces.’

  ‘What traces? The CID pulled the place a
part and found nothing apart from the gun. There was nothing connected to the kidnapping.’

  ‘I’ve got no idea. But it just goes to confirm my suspicion that Clemens Grohnert’s involvement in the construction scandal was just a diversion.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘I’ll look into the family’s regular chauffeur. The girl gets kidnapped and the driver gets shot on precisely the day Moosen’s lying ill in bed. That’s no coincidence.’

  ‘You think Moosen’s behind it?’

  ‘His behaviour’s pretty strange, to say the least,’ Nik remarked. ‘He drives Greta to ballet for years and then on the one day he’s not there, she’s abducted and he falls off the face of the earth . . . ? Even if the CID haven’t got to him, the case is splattered across every newspaper and on all the news channels. There’s no way he doesn’t know what’s happened. So that just leaves the option that he doesn’t want to be found.’ Nik got into the car and started the engine. ‘Send his address to my mobile. It’s time to pay him a visit.’

  While Nik was driving to Moosen’s flat, Jon turned on a local TV channel. The regular programme was interrupted by a special broadcast. A news reporter, a court reporter and a former CID agent were all sitting around a table discussing Greta’s kidnapping. In the background was a picture of Clemens and Vanessa Grohnert. They were sitting on a couch beside a white fireplace, upon which sat a small silver vase filled with dark red roses. The mother’s suffering lay heavy underneath her make-up. She was holding a photo of Greta at the beach, enclosed in a picture frame that was covered in shells. The girl’s face was tanned, her hair was pulled back and she had a pair of sunglasses on her head. On that warm beach, beaming into the camera, it was clear the girl was in her element. Vanessa clung to the picture as if it was her daughter herself.

  Jon closed his eyes and sighed. He couldn’t imagine what hell the parents were going through.

  As the discussion came to an end, the presenter introduced a video. It showed Greta as a child, maybe eight years old, romping around on the autumn grass. She was wearing an anorak and wellington boots. Her brown hair was up in a ponytail and one loose curl fell over her ear and down to her shoulder. She was running around a tree with other children, collecting conkers, which she then put into a small basket. She was so excited and her laugh was so pure, it tore at Jon’s heart. He picked up the remote control and turned off the TV, drying a tear.