‘And he’s too short,’ added Nik as he moved the telescope so he could keep an eye on the tombstone. The man picked up the bag and as he did, two figures stormed out from their hiding places and threw him to the ground.
‘They’ve got him,’ said Jon.
Nik puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. He hadn’t heard any shots but the man was lying on the ground. He was annoyed he couldn’t be at the interrogation and for the first time, felt some regret at no longer working for the CID. He would just have to wait until the report had been uploaded.
‘I’ll wait here until all divisions have moved on and then head home,’ said Nik. ‘There’s nothing else we can do now.’
‘OK. I’ll get in touch as soon as anything new turns up,’ said Jon. ‘Let’s hope whoever they got is our kidnapper.’
Naumann looked through the mirrored glass at the man they had arrested. He looked to be in his thirties; his messy hair was wet with sweat and his worn-out T-shirt clung to his body, despite the coolness of the interrogation room. He sat rubbing his beard nervously, his eyes fixed on the floor and his shoulders hunched, as if afraid someone was going to throttle him at any second.
‘That’s not the kidnapper,’ said Naumann to a colleague sitting beside him. ‘He doesn’t have the same figure or the limp.’
‘Might be an accomplice though.’
‘It’s not. He was too surprised when we picked him up,’ replied Naumann. ‘He practically fainted when the SEK stormed him. And he didn’t resist.’ Naumann shook his head. ‘Maybe we should have let him get away with a bug in the bag.’ Naumann went out the door and entered the interrogation room. The man lifted his head with a start.
‘Why am I here?’ His voice was fearful.
‘I’ll get to that shortly,’ replied Naumann, sitting down in the seat opposite him. ‘First we need to go over the formalities.’ He opened a folder with notes inside. ‘Are you Dennis Erler, from Steinhausen in Munich?’
‘Yes,’ said the man impatiently.
‘You were picked up in possession of drugs on two occasions last year by public officials in the park area at Isartorplatz,’ read Naumann out loud. ‘The large quantity led police to believe you had been selling the drugs.’ He raised his head. ‘Was dealing not paying the bills so you decided to get into the kidnapping business?’
‘What are you talking about? I don’t have anything to do with kidnapping,’ replied the man. ‘Why are you asking that?’
‘OK. Let’s start at the beginning. Last night at 11.07 p.m. you were caught red-handed by SEK officers picking up the ransom money for a kidnapping.’
‘I swear to God I haven’t kidnapped anybody.’
‘You climbed over the wall of the Old North Cemetery in Maxvorstadt with a torch. You went directly to the Wagmüller tombstone, where you picked up a hidden bag. Was all of that just a coincidence?’
‘I was paid to do it.’
‘To pick up the bag?’
Erler nodded.
‘By who?’
‘By a girl.’
‘A girl?’ repeated Naumann, shocked. ‘Not by a tall man with a limp?’
‘No. It was a girl. Maybe fourteen . . . fifteen years old. Curly brown hair. About five five.’
Naumann took a picture of Greta from the file. ‘This girl?’
Erler nodded.
‘What did she say to you?’
‘That I should go to that park at eleven p.m. and pick up a bag that would be lying in that spot. Then I was supposed to take the U-Bahn to Marienplatz, walk to the Frauenkirche and throw the bag in a bin without ever opening it.’
Naumann said nothing. This wasn’t the conversation he’d been expecting. ‘OK. Let’s start with the girl,’ he continued. ‘How did she seem? Was she shy, scared? Was she constantly looking over her shoulder?’
‘She seemed normal.’
‘OK. So how did she look? Like she’d been wearing the same clothes for a long time? Did she smell like she hadn’t washed in a while?’
‘She just seemed like a normal girl from a good home. That’s why I was surprised when she approached me.’
‘And what did she say when she approached you?’
‘That she had an errand for me and asked if I was interested.’
‘An errand?’
‘Yeah. Since getting picked up on Isartorplatz, I’m not allowed to sell anymore but sometimes people book me to take things from A to B. The code word’s “errand”.’
‘So you thought you would be transporting drugs?’
Erler nodded.
‘And what did you get for it?’
‘The usual. A hundred up front and two hundred if the delivery was successful.’
‘And you didn’t wonder why a young girl was hiring you?’
‘Minors ask me to do jobs quite a lot. Nothing happens to them if they’re picked up.’
‘Do you still have the banknote?’
Erler shook his head. ‘I bought a drink with it. But I can show you the supermarket I went to.’
Naumann leaned back in his chair. He didn’t know whether he should be happy that Greta was still alive, or angry because the kidnapper was a step ahead of them yet again. Without saying another word, he picked up his paperwork and left the room. It was going to be a long night.
Going by the police officer’s matter-of-fact voice, Danilo assumed nothing more could be done to help the man lying on the street. It was five in the morning and he’d been hoping for a quiet shift. But then, a body was found in Trudering so he and his partner had set off instantly to the crime scene.
As much as he had detested Nik’s manners, Danilo now missed his ex-colleague’s calm manner and the fact he had never jabbered on about his private life. He had always worked diligently and meticulously. He didn’t need every last detail explained to him, and his ability to instinctively understand how a crime had unfolded was remarkable. His replacement – some newbie with next to no experience – didn’t come close to matching him. He was a man so lacking in confidence he wouldn’t even get himself a coffee without asking permission. Working with him frequently felt like babysitting an oversized toddler.
Desperate for a moment of peace, he had sent his colleague to ask for a statement from the police officers who had first arrived at the scene. The newbie was taking far too long to question them and going by the exasperated looks on the officers’ faces, he was probing too deeply. Danilo noticed that all correct procedures had been taken: the area behind the supermarket had been sectioned off, the CID had been informed, and curious bystanders had been prevented from taking photos of the body.
The dead man, lying on his side, appeared to have been around fifty, Danilo guessed. He looked well groomed and smartly dressed in an expensive tailored suit. One shot had ripped a jacket pocket and the shirt underneath to shreds, while a second shot had driven through the shoulder to the jacket collar. Blood had coagulated around what looked like a further bullet hole at heart height. There was no question it had been murder. The prosecutor would now have the body removed and initiate the preliminary investigations into the death. The stiffening of the man’s jaw indicated he had been lying on the street for around five hours. The killer would be long gone.
Danilo looked inquisitively at the bump underneath the man’s jacket. Forensics were on their way and he wanted to leave the crime scene as untouched as possible, but his curiosity got the better of him. Carefully he lifted the fabric to reveal a gun in a holster. ‘OK then,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Might be a pretty interesting case after all.’ He stood up and made his way over to the uniformed police.
Chapter 7
Nik sat in front of the large projector screen, coffee in hand, watching a discussion about yesterday’s football match. Kara was sitting on the coffee table in front of him, pecking at the newspaper and scattering the frayed results over the floor, squawking with joy as she dropped each shred. The only time she was quiet was when a slow-motion replay showed on the screen, at whic
h point she would take a break to watch, tipping her head to the side as if wondering why the men on the wall were moving so slowly.
As Nik sipped his coffee, his phone began to ring. The best thing about having a limited social circle was the small address book: only Jon and Balthasar had his number. Balthasar’s rendition of ‘Singing in the Rain’ had come to an end but he was still in the bathroom. Chances were slim he would be calling from there. So that only left one option.
‘Morning, Jon.’
‘Morning,’ Jon replied with a yawn.
‘Someone’s been busy.’
‘Yeah, the night saw some interesting developments.’
‘And what came from the interrogation?’
‘The suspect was hired to pick up the money and take it to Frauenkirche. He thought he was moving drugs.’
‘Any connection between him and the Grohnerts?’
‘Nothing in his file but he says it was Greta that gave him the job.’
‘Greta hired him to fetch the bag?’ asked Nik.
‘Yep.’
‘OK, now I’m completely lost.’ He muted the TV.
‘Wait. It gets better,’ Jon went on. ‘According to the courier’s statement, Greta seemed relaxed and in no way scared.’
‘If it wasn’t for the fact she’s fourteen, we could have assumed she’d arranged the kidnapping herself.’
‘I’m thinking it’s maybe a case of Stockholm syndrome.’
‘Nah, I’m not sure,’ said Nik doubtfully. ‘Yeah, it’s possible the kidnapper’s manipulated the girl into growing fond of him and being scared of the police. But that still doesn’t tell us why. Greta Grohnert’s no Patty Hearst; her grandfather isn’t one of the richest men in the world. Hearst’s kidnappers were left-wing radicals who encouraged her to fight the system. What cause would Greta stand for if she was to rebel against her parents or society?’
‘True. And why would Greta not run away when she had the chance? According to the man they picked up, there was no tall man with a limp anywhere to be seen. Why would he send Greta out like that?’
‘Well, now I’m positive the money exchange was merely a distraction to keep the police busy. For some reason the kidnapper is trying to buy time . . . I just can’t think what the reason might be. And unless I or the special commission are enlightened somehow, we’re not going to get any further.’
‘I’ve emailed you the interrogation report. But I actually wanted to talk to you about another case.’ Nik’s mobile vibrated. ‘Look at the photo.’
Nik looked at his phone. ‘That’s the bastard who beat up Balthasar!’ He would have spotted his face in a crowd of thousands. ‘Do you have his name?’ asked Nik, jumping off the sofa.
‘Vincent Masannek. But it’s no good to you now. He was shot.’
‘Where? Who by?’
‘His body was found between two bins behind a supermarket in Trudering. He’d taken a bullet to the chest and neck.’
‘Any witnesses? Evidence?’ asked Nik, brimming with curiosity. ‘What did the post-mortem say?’
‘A paper boy found the body around four thirty this morning and called the police. According to the paramedics, rigor mortis was well underway so Masannek must have been lying there for a good while. Enquiries have only just started and there still hasn’t been an autopsy yet.’
‘Did they make any connection to Greta’s kidnapping?’
‘No. Apparently, you and Balthasar are the only ones Masannek threatened. There’s nothing about him in the records, or about anyone interfering with the case for that matter.’
‘OK, let’s go back to the beginning.’ Nik sat back down on the couch. ‘Who was Vincent Masannek?’
‘A man in his early fifties. Born in Lower Saxony but had lived in Munich for seventeen years. Consultant at a security company since 2009. That’s why he was permitted to carry a weapon outside of business premises. Nothing in his record about any offences.’
‘Any connection to Clemens?’
‘Not that I can see,’ replied Jon. ‘I’m just in the middle of getting into the security company’s database. Maybe I’ll find something there.’
‘Did he have a weapon on him?’
‘Yeah, in his holster. And it wasn’t a HK P30 like the one used on Greta’s driver . . . in case that was your next question.’
‘Any indication of what the motive for murder was? Was his wallet gone? Were his trousers down?’
‘His wallet was still inside his jacket. That’s why it was so easy to identify him. And his trousers were up on the crime scene photos at least. Trudering’s not exactly known for its prostitution scene.’
‘Something doesn’t add up here. What’s somebody like Masannek doing in a residential area late at night beside some supermarket bins?’
‘That’s what the investigators are asking too.’
‘And he worked in security. It’s not easy to just trap someone like that, and if you do, chances are high he’s going to have his gun in his hand. The murderer must have surprised him.’
‘He maybe wasn’t as proficient as you’d expect: the report says a GPS transmitter was found in his suit.’
‘A transmitter?’ repeated Nik, confused.
‘The shot to his neck had ripped open his jacket collar and a mini radio and antenna were found inside,’ explained Jon. ‘You can buy the things online if you know where to look . . . but I wouldn’t say they’re child’s play to use. Weighs just a couple of grams, battery lasts a few days and it has a precise quartz resonator; the signal will reach up to a kilometre out on open land.’
‘And Masannek hadn’t noticed it?’
‘This thing’s tiny and it had been sewn into his collar.’
‘Sewn in? So nobody just slipped it on to him while passing. It must have been someone he’d known who’d had enough time to cut open the suit.’
‘The CID have it now and they’re trying to use the serial number to locate the seller. But I’m not too optimistic.’
‘Did they find anything else on him?’
‘A scrunched-up map of Trudering-Riem and a pair of night vision glasses. Photos have been uploaded, so I’ll send you a picture of the map. It’s covered in scribbles and streets have been crossed out.’
‘So he was looking for something or someone.’
‘Or observing something or someone.’
‘No, if he’d known the destination beforehand he wouldn’t have needed a map,’ Nik said.
‘OK. So what good’s all this to us?’ asked Jon. ‘Masannek’s death is turning out to be more confusing than insightful.’
Nik picked up his coffee cup and took a gulp. ‘Masannek was a ruthless bastard who wanted me and Balthasar to stop investigating Greta’s kidnapping. We don’t know why. There are no connections between him and Clemens Grohnert. Whatever he was doing in Trudering is a mystery because there’s no link to Greta’s kidnapping or Simon’s disappearance. And finally, it’s unclear who sewed the tracker into his jacket and why.’
‘Probably his murderer, whoever that was and for whatever motive,’ added Jon.
‘We need to find out more about Masannek,’ decided Nik.
‘I kept up my search on him but couldn’t find any new entries.’
‘No, official channels are no use anymore,’ said Nik. ‘I need information from someone who regularly deals with security guards like Masannek. And I think I know who might be able to help.’
Cafes weren’t really Nik’s thing. He preferred sports bars with large screens, simple menus and cold beer. But nevertheless, he was impressed with the interior of the place. The elegant white pillars perfectly complemented the brown parquet flooring, which reflected a warm glow from the halogen lamps. And it was all tied in seamlessly by heavy wooden tables and chairs, while soft music played in the background. Nik noticed a young woman celebrating her birthday with her girlfriends. Helium balloons had been tied to an armrest and a cake sat on top of a dresser. On the other side of the room was a wind
ow through which you could watch a tall blonde florist at work. He had tied a bunch of autumn flowers together and was arranging them on to a long twig that had been painted white. A group of older men in Bavarian dress had made themselves comfortable at the tables near the front door. Had Nik ventured further into the cafe, he would have come to a magnificent conservatory with a domed glass roof, but the person Nik was looking for was sitting in the front area, away from the long bar and the stairway to the toilets in the basement. Engrossed in a newspaper article, the woman simultaneously poked at a slice of chocolate cake with a fork in her right hand. A large cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice were also on the table in front of her. Her handbag, adorned with rhinestones, sat beside her on the black leather bench next to a pair of cream-coloured sunglasses.
It was difficult to say how old she was. Her hair was shining white – the colour too even to be natural. A long pearl necklace hung delicately over her black jumper down to her waist, while at the neckline sat a sparkling choker with a butterfly pendant. Despite the warmth of the cafe, she was still wearing her fur jacket. The white gloves and diamond bracelet on her right wrist completed the look perfectly and left no doubt as to the extent of this woman’s wealth.
In contrast to his usual attire, Nik had chosen to wear a tailored suit with a freshly pressed shirt and leather shoes. The outfit might not have been comfortable, but he was relieved not to look out of place among the other customers.
Nik hovered over the woman’s table. Her eyes ran over him, starting at his feet and moving slowly up to his face. ‘Herr Pohl,’ she said, before calmly bringing her concentration back to the newspaper. ‘Apparently self-employment is working for you. Last time we met, you were wearing ripped jeans, an odd-smelling leather jacket and those grotesque boots with the laces undone.’
Nik smiled. This woman had an amazing memory and never missed a beat. ‘May I join you?’ he asked, gesturing with an open hand towards a chair opposite her. She sighed and closed the newspaper abruptly before giving a nod of permission.
‘Since you are no longer working for the CID, I can safely assume your visit is for personal reasons, yes?’
Blood Ties Page 11
