Blood Ties

by Alexander Hartung

  ‘And Masannek himself?’

  ‘He was already working in Munich the year Greta was conceived but if he’d cared about Greta’s well-being, he would’ve got on board with my investigation and not tried to put an end to it by thrashing Balthasar.’

  Nik got into his car and started the engine.

  ‘OK. Then maybe the cases aren’t linked,’ said Jon. ‘The search in Trudering has nothing to do with Greta’s kidnapping or with your involvement in the case.’

  ‘Possible,’ Nik admitted. He was driving along a main street. ‘But then, men like Masannek would only rarely take on two large jobs at the same time.’

  ‘Well, that’s where my ideas stop,’ said Jon.

  As Nik continued to drive down the street, he saw a remarkably tall man out of the corner of his eye. He slowed down and drove on to the pavement outside a telephone shop.

  ‘I must be hallucinating,’ he said. ‘I just saw Greta’s kidnapper.’ He started turning the car.

  ‘On the street?’ asked Jon.

  ‘Yes! It might’ve just been my imagination playing tricks, but I’m going back to check and then I’ll be in touch.’ He ended the call before Jon had a chance to reply.

  The man had turned down a narrow one-way street. As long as Nik wasn’t sure it was the kidnapper, he thought it best to avoid any illegal driving manoeuvres. So he took another street and let the car roll in first gear as he reached a narrow dead end. On the right-hand side was a plot of ground with no buildings and behind that, he could make out some train tracks. He let the car roll to the side of the street and turned off the engine. There was nobody out walking and his was the only car driving around. Nik smacked his palms down on the steering wheel in frustration. Suddenly, the man sprang up from between two parked cars. He was holding a gun with a silencer, and before Nik could react, he had fired off two bullets. The muffled bang of the gun was drowned out by the shattering of Nik’s windscreen. The headrest on the passenger seat exploded. Nik threw himself down over both seats. More shots. The back window shattered, two shots hit the bonnet and a tyre burst. Nik protected his eyes from the shards of flying glass while reaching for his gun in the glovebox. He released the safety catch and opened the passenger door. The shooting had stopped. Too exposed inside the small car, he jumped out and rolled over to another car that was parked at the edge of the street. In the few seconds he had needed to reach his new cover, he hadn’t seen anybody. The shooter must have either disappeared or was staying well hidden. Nik pushed himself up tight against the cars and crept alongside them until he had a better view of the street. He threw himself down on to the ground, gun grasped in front of him at the ready, but there was no sign of the man. He stood up and went to the other side of the street, but there was no one there either. As he started walking back to his car, he heard the police sirens. The gunshots hadn’t been loud, but a vigilant neighbour had apparently watched the scene unfold and called the police.

  Nik reapplied the safety catch and placed the gun on the passenger seat. It would be better if he didn’t have it in his hand when the police arrived.

  He leaned on his steering wheel and sighed, thinking up some story to tell the police.

  The small dead-end street had been sealed off with police tape. Behind it, countless inquisitive neighbours were squirming to see what had happened, taking photos of Nik’s car with their mobiles. While the CID forensics team were securing evidence and looking for more bullets, police officers questioned residents and tried to build an image of the attacker. It was a quiet neighbourhood, where illegal parking or piles of dog poo typically constituted the worst crimes. Nothing close to the scene they had just witnessed.

  Nik sat at the side of the street in front of a detached house with a balcony. It had apparently turned into a meeting place for early pubescent kids, thrilled with the current neighbourhood commotion. He looked down at the broken glass with a vacant expression on his face, and played absentmindedly with a shard. That was until the exasperated groans of his ex-colleague ripped him from his thoughts.

  ‘OK. I’ll quickly run through it all once more,’ said Danilo, pushing a hand through his curly black hair. He always did that when he hit a block or lacked enough information to build a picture of the situation. ‘You were here in Trudering because a local pub does a good pork knuckle. On the way home, you got distracted, mistakenly turned into this side street where the assailant opened fire on you. Without any warning. After you got over the initial shock at what was happening, you took your gun from the glove compartment and crept out of the car. You wanted to corner the shooter but he had already disappeared. You didn’t recognise the man. You can’t describe him for me. And you also don’t know where he ran off to.’

  ‘My doctor told me pork would be the ruin of me,’ said Nik, shaking his head. ‘Now I know what he was talking about.’

  Danilo clapped his notebook together. ‘Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid?’

  ‘Is that a trick question?’

  ‘We might not have caught you yet. But it’s no secret you’ve started mixing yourself up in CID cases. The lonely avenger, eh! And then today you just happen to be in Trudering, not even two days after a man was shot here. A split hair away from getting shot yourself. And it’s all just a coincidence, is it?’

  ‘If the body had been found on this street, I could understand your scepticism. But it wasn’t. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, I didn’t exactly make many friends during my time at the CID. And Giesing Prison is full of guys who want to put a bullet in me.’

  ‘I still don’t believe you.’

  ‘And you’re fully within your rights not to, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to change my statement.’

  ‘It’s not going to work, Nik.’

  ‘Let’s see, shall we.’ He threw his car keys over to Danilo. ‘In case you need it. And you’ve already got my number.’ He waved goodbye and turned around. ‘The old one that isn’t in service anymore,’ he mumbled under his breath as he made his way to the U-Bahn. He stuck his earphones in his ears and called Jon. ‘Did you get all that?’

  ‘Most of it. D’you really think it was a good idea not telling him the truth? I mean, Greta’s kidnapper did try to kill you.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ Nik replied. ‘It was impossible for him to miss from that distance. My car looks like a hail of bullets hit it, but I don’t have a scratch? It was a warning.’

  ‘What kind of warning?’

  ‘To stop sticking my nose in.’

  ‘Well, that’s obvious. Of course Greta’s kidnapper doesn’t want you to find her.’

  ‘Yes, but the reason why hasn’t been obvious: he’s protecting Greta.’

  ‘From who?’ asked Jon. ‘Definitely not from her parents.’

  ‘From people like Masannek.’

  ‘You think your new friend shot Masannek?’

  ‘The gun from today was the same calibre as the one used to shoot him,’ explained Nik. ‘As soon as forensics inspect the bullets, the technicians will make the connection. I’m convinced of it.’

  ‘And the shooter considered Masannek to be dangerous but thinks you’re harmless, or what?’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why I’m still alive,’ Nik agreed. ‘If we can just find out what Masannek’s motive was, we’ll know why Greta was abducted.’

  ‘I’ll get searching again,’ said Jon. ‘Maybe there’s something new on his murder.’

  ‘Keep me informed,’ said Nik.

  ‘Will do,’ answered Jon before hanging up.

  Chapter 8

  It was half past one in the morning when Balthasar’s mobile rang. Still half asleep he picked up the phone and looked at the display. It was a Munich landline number.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, groggily.

  ‘Yes, hello. This is Officer Rechmann from Munich Police Unit 14,’ answered the man on the line. ‘Are you a friend of Nik Pohl’s?’

  ‘Yes.’ Balthasar sat up. ‘Why? Did something happen t
o him?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Would you be able to come down to the station?’ asked the man. ‘You can see for yourself.’

  After giving his details, Balthasar was taken down to the cells by a police officer.

  ‘I’m sorry for having to get you out of bed,’ said Rechmann. ‘We couldn’t locate any of Herr Pohl’s relatives, so we had to call you.’

  Balthasar guessed the officer was in his early twenties. He had very little beard growth and bright ginger hair. His beard didn’t quite cover his acne scars, but he had a strong build and striking blue eyes.

  ‘How did you get my number?’

  ‘We found a mobile in Herr Pohl’s pocket and unlocked it with his fingerprint.’ He turned to look at Balthasar somewhat sheepishly. ‘I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself. I realise it was a gross breach of staff regulations and data protection but . . . well . . . Herr Pohl worked at the CID for a long time and we needed to do something.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Every police officer in Munich knows who Pohl is since he beat up a public prosecutor. And I hadn’t even finished my training at the time.’

  As Rechmann opened the door, both men were hit with the sour smell of vomit. The police officer took a step back and held his hand over his nose, but Balthasar kept walking, entirely unaffected. Being a pathologist, he’d smelled far worse.

  Nik was lying on a mattress in the corner of the room. His shirt was covered in vomit and his trousers were wet with urine. His hair was dripping with sweat and the whites of his eyes were bright red. Noticing the light in the cell, he looked towards the door. ‘Fffinally,’ he slurred, trying to stand up. Only on his third attempt, and with the help of the wall, did he eventually manage to lever himself to his feet. He then staggered over to the cell door, propping himself up the whole way.

  ‘Must have been a great party,’ Balthasar remarked while Nik tottered past him.

  ‘Ssshhut your mouth.’

  They all moved slowly along the corridor until they reached the station entrance. As Officer Rechmann held the door open for them to leave, Nik stepped out the door and turned to him. ‘And you’re all a bunch of dicks!’ he shouted. ‘The whole fucking lot of you!’ And with an enthusiastic swing, he attempted to turn around but, failing pathetically, he tripped down the three steps at the station entrance and smashed hard on to the pavement.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s pretty durable,’ Balthasar told the officer with a smile, shaking his hand. ‘Thank you for being so understanding, Herr Rechmann. And please do excuse my friend’s terrible manners. He doesn’t mean anything by it.’

  The policeman looked at Nik regretfully before nodding at Balthasar and closing the station door.

  ‘Offff course I mean it!’ mumbled Nik as he tried to stand up. ‘Every . . . sssingle . . . word.’ He stuck his middle finger up aggressively at the police station. ‘And you can stop sticking your nose in! . . . Smart-arse.’

  Balthasar straightened himself up, took two steps towards Nik and shoved him hard in the stomach. Nik fell to the ground again. ‘Being drunk is one thing. But getting me out here in the middle of the night to listen to your insults is another. I won’t have it!’

  ‘Look at you.’ Nik glanced up. ‘Are you not tired of life?’ He was trying to lift himself off the ground. ‘I could eat you for breakfast. Five times.’ He lifted a swaying fist.

  ‘Under normal circumstances, yes,’ replied Balthasar, using his foot to push him back down. ‘But definitely not after the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed tonight.’

  While Nik lay cursing on the pavement, Balthasar opened the car boot and took out a cool box. He moved over to Nik, took off the lid and poured the entire contents over his head. ‘Fresh tap water for you . . . with extra ice,’ said Balthasar, chortling loudly.

  Nik screamed from the pain, his eyes wide in shock. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he shouted.

  ‘So invigorating and refreshing, don’t you think?’ As Nik continued to flail around on the ground, Balthasar bent down and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him on to his feet and over to the car. ‘Plus, you smell slightly better now too.’ He shoved Nik into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. A minute later, they were driving back to the flat. Balthasar picked up a plastic cup from the drinks holder and passed it to Nik. ‘Extra strong,’ he said. Nik rubbed his head quickly to get the cold water out of his hair and ripped the cup from Balthasar’s hand. Sceptically, he took a sip.

  ‘D’you want to talk about it?’

  ‘What’s there to talk about?’ answered Nik. ‘I had one too many. Was a big day yesterday.’

  ‘You mean the shooting?’ asked the pathologist. ‘That would have thrown someone like me, but you’ve experienced much worse.’ By his standards, Balthasar was driving calmly through the night traffic. ‘It’s not a problem if you don’t want to talk,’ continued Balthasar, ‘but please, don’t lie to me.’

  ‘What d’you mean lie to you?’

  ‘The policeman had a few interesting things to tell me when he was taking my details.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Nik mumbled into the cup.

  ‘Yes. Said they got a call at around half twelve from a sports bar. Apparently you were acting like a complete savage because the staff wouldn’t serve you any more drink. You were just about to throw your stool at a TV screen when the police arrived and managed to stop you.’

  ‘What the fuck has it got to do with the barman how much I drink?’

  ‘Nik, you’d consumed so much alcohol, your health was in danger. A little bit more, and you probably wouldn’t ever have stood up again.’

  ‘So?’ said Nik quietly.

  The men were silent for a moment.

  ‘I would have expected a comment like that earlier this year, Nik. But you’ve changed since then. And you’re right in the middle of a case!’ Balthasar continued. ‘Here you are, doing everything possible to save Greta – Jesus, you were even willing to take a shot for the girl. I had no idea what was going on. Until I got to the station, that is.’

  ‘Oh, really? And what made you see the light?’ asked Nik facetiously.

  ‘That you were just as drunk at exactly the same time last year. You were picked up outside a pub because you’d destroyed the flower pots at the front door when they wouldn’t let you in.’

  Nik hung his head.

  ‘The policeman thought it might have something to do with the fact that it’s your birthday today. But I’ve never heard of anybody who likes to get completely wasted by themselves, the night before their birthday. Maybe on the big day itself . . . or with friends. But not like this.’

  Nik sighed and opened the window, letting the cold air rush on to his face. The two of them sat in silence for a while, driving through Munich’s empty, lamp-lit streets, where the shop lights and illuminated billboards promised a life of wealth in an ideal world, even on a bleak night like tonight.

  ‘Was four years ago,’ Nik began. He spoke quietly but clearly. ‘I had the late shift on my birthday so I invited Mira around the day before. We wanted to see in my birthday at a restaurant with good food and good drinks, and views over the city. She worked in a gallery and it was hard finding times that suited so we didn’t see each other very much. On that particular day I was exhausted; totally worn out from work. I’d had to break up a fight between two warring families and had taken some hard blows. And then, I don’t know what started it . . . We’d barely even finished our starters before we began fighting ourselves. We did that a lot. My sister was always lecturing me and I would always get angry with her. So then, in the end, Mira had enough. She stood up without saying another word and left. I didn’t try to stop her. I just stayed there, ate the main course and left to drive home.’ He closed his eyes and played with the cup in his hand. ‘When I was driving . . . not far from the restaurant . . . I came across an accident. The police had sealed off the road. The fire brigade was there and an emergency helicopter was landing. There was
this massive lorry lying on its side. It had been transporting glass water bottles and there was broken glass everywhere. The blue light from the police car was reflecting in the shards. I was about to drive around the accident when I saw her car. Her old VW with its worn-out tyres and rusty rims. Smashed together like a tin can. Nobody was getting out of there alive. I stopped the car, ducked under the police tape and ran past the overturned lorry and over the sea of glass. The shards were piercing my boots and cutting the soles of my feet right to the bone. But I just kept running, leaving bloody footprints everywhere, until I got to her car. Then I saw her.’ Nik lowered his head and wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. ‘It took them two hours to get her body out of the car.’ He took a drink of coffee and looked out the open window. ‘So all in all, if I hadn’t been such a grumpy fucking bastard, Mira would still be alive today. The lorry driver might have hit a tree, or his truck might have just come off the road, or he might have hit somebody else . . . somebody whose car would’ve withstood the crash better.’ He pushed his palm against his forehead, trying hard to force back the tears.

  Nik didn’t say another word for the rest of the journey and Balthasar didn’t ask any more questions. Nik’s intense state of intoxication had thankfully subsided, but he still needed Balthasar’s help to make it up the stairs to the flat; help which he now no longer resisted.

  When they were inside, Nik released himself calmly from Balthasar’s grip and started walking slowly towards his bedroom. After three steps, he stood still. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, not turning around.

  ‘It’s OK. You’re not the first friend I’ve had to save from the drunk tank,’ Balthasar said, doing his best to make light of the situation.

  ‘Not for that,’ replied Nik before walking off. He reached his bedroom and closed the door.

  Hannes sat at the kitchen table and took a bite from the slice of tomato he was holding. He chewed it slowly and attentively. As always, he kept his eyes fixed on the grey fridge in front of him. It was as if the door guarded the entrance to another world; a world that only existed in his mind. On the table in front of him stood a small glass of water and a plate with two more slices of tomato.