Blood Ties

by Alexander Hartung

  Nik climbed on to the roof of an old car showroom a hundred metres away. It had a good view of the warehouse’s side wall and rear entrance. He lay down to watch the SEK raid from underneath a dark blanket.

  A large dark blue van sped up to the warehouse. The sliding doors opened and six heavily armed men stormed out. They were all wearing the same dark green uniform with bulletproof vests and helmets. With their weapons at the ready, four of them ran around the building to the back door, while the others moved into position at the front.

  Meanwhile, police officers were blocking off the streets into the industrial estate, the blue lights on their patrol cars flashing brightly. The operation had been coordinated with top precision.

  Typically, special forces would have rammed the entrance with a pile driver, but the back door was too stable for that, so they mounted something – it was too small for Nik to see – on to the hinges of the door and ran away quickly. Seconds later, there were three small explosions and the door fell inwards, crashing to the floor. The officers charged inside, the flashlights on their rifles shining blindingly.

  Nik had done his best to hear the task-force leader’s radio, but it had been useless. The only thing he could do was wait. No shots had been fired and there hadn’t been any further explosions, which Nik took as a good sign. Two police cars and an ambulance drove up close to the building.

  The men at the front door lowered their weapons and relaxed. A paramedic jumped out of the ambulance and ran towards the back entrance with a large bag.

  ‘Anything happening?’ Jon’s voice rang over the headphones.

  ‘The situation’s under control,’ said Nik. ‘I didn’t hear any shots so they must have subdued Buchwald and the paramedic has entered the building so hopefully the children will be fine.’

  Jon sighed. ‘Let’s hope all this is over now.’

  Large headlights illuminated the warehouse from all sides, and while SEK officers started packing away their equipment, the forensics team arrived at the scene with bags and cameras, ready to examine every inch of the hideout. Naumann appeared. He was wearing a bulletproof vest over his shirt. The task-force leader from special operations was filling him in on everything that had happened.

  ‘The kidnapper, Ismail Buchwald, and Simon Fahl were not inside the building, sir,’ said the man. ‘But there were four used beds in the warehouse, so we can assume the two of them had also been staying there.’ He took off his helmet and balaclava and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a towel.

  Naumann shook his head. ‘And what happened to the girl?’ Nik had seen two paramedics supporting Greta as she left the building, before lifting her carefully on to a stretcher.

  ‘She and Hannes Lepper had hidden themselves behind a table when we entered. After getting over her initial shock, she positioned herself in front of the boy, as if she was trying to protect him from us. She threatened us with a kitchen knife. We were able to take it off her, but she still refused to come with us and defended herself forcefully. In the end we had to put her in handcuffs.’

  ‘Did she say anything?’

  ‘That we wouldn’t understand and that she had to stay there.’

  ‘And the boy?’

  ‘He just sat hunched over on the floor, staring at his hands. He was unresponsive and didn’t react to our questions. But he did let us take him out of the building without any resistance.’

  ‘Hannes Lepper was diagnosed with autism at an early age. His behaviour can be explained but what the hell was Greta playing at? Trying to attack her rescuers with a knife?’ Naumann wondered.

  ‘Stockholm syndrome, sir?’

  ‘Can’t think of a better reason right now.’ Naumann sighed loudly. ‘But I’ll leave it up to the experts to make that decision.’ He patted the SEK officer encouragingly on the shoulder. ‘I’m just pleased we at least manged to get two of the three kids. Everything else will be solved in good time.’

  The man shivered as he took his mobile out of his pocket and called a saved number. He ran through the instructions in his head again: never mention any names or addresses, or obvious descriptions of places, and finally, be brief.

  He listened to the phone ringing. One ring. A second ring. ‘Hello?’ answered a man in a solid, scratchy voice.

  ‘We’ve found the girl,’ said the man instantly.

  ‘Do you have her?’

  ‘Not right now. It’s still not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t tell you on the phone, but if you just read the local paper, you’ll have all the necessary details.’

  ‘Did anyone notice anything?’

  ‘Not as far as we know.’

  Both men went silent. ‘OK,’ the powerful voice said finally. ‘Don’t lose her again and leave the mobile turned on. I’ll be in touch.’ He hung up.

  The man nervously wiped away the sweat from his forehead and exhaled loudly. It had all gone well and he was still alive. To celebrate, he decided to treat himself to a nice breakfast in a cafe. Whatever he wanted. And a couple of half pints. Maybe then his hands would stop shaking.

  Nik had spent the whole day pinning up photos of the crime scene, reading reports and scanning every news article he could get hold of. He was now sitting on a chair with a cup of coffee, trying to build a picture of the SEK operation. Kara was on the coffee table working her way through a bowl of sunflower seeds. After retrieving the seed, she would use her beak to push the shells to the side of the table and over the edge. She watched with curiosity as the shells fell, as if expecting something spectacular to happen when they hit the ground. The telephone rang. Nik stood up and put the call on speakerphone. Balthasar appeared with a steaming cup of ginger tea and sat down on the sofa.

  ‘I’ve read through all the reports and looked at the hideout features in detail,’ began Nik. ‘Together with the incidents over the last few days, I’ve come to a conclusion.’ He picked up his cup of coffee. ‘I don’t have the faintest idea what’s going on.’

  As if acknowledging Nik’s disappointing words, Kara squawked loudly and flew on to Balthasar’s shoulder, managing to sweep the remaining shells off the table in the process.

  Nik stood and looked at the photos of the hideout. ‘The location was well chosen: it’s possible to get on to the road unseen via the rear area of the premises; the few windows are made of frosted glass; and the two regular doors are just as solid as the rolling door on the right-hand side of the building. The front entrance was barricaded, and the rolling door’s mechanism was broken. Until now everything seems to fit a kidnapper’s hideout. But the first inconsistency comes with the rear door.’

  ‘Why? It was bolted from the inside,’ said Jon over the hands-free.

  ‘Yes, with a firm but easily opened bolt,’ added Nik. ‘The children could have walked out at any time.’

  ‘And so why didn’t they?’ asked Jon.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Nik. ‘And that’s exactly what doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Maybe Buchwald had sedated the kids before he left.’

  ‘Neither drugs nor medication were found in their blood,’ explained Nik. ‘And no drugs were found at the premises. They also didn’t find any chains or handcuffs, or any other kind of restraining device.’

  ‘Maybe he’d scared them so much they didn’t dare run away?’

  ‘That conflicts with the state of the warehouse’s interior,’ said Nik, walking over to the photos. ‘All four beds were comfortable and clean. The fridge was bursting with food and drink – albeit the majority of which was a nutritionist’s worst nightmare: chips, chicken wings, cola, chocolate, crisps and gummy bears. For breakfast there was cornflakes, Coco Pops, muesli and milk. And there were even gluten-free products for Hannes, who has coeliac disease. There were takeaway boxes from a local restaurant in the bin and three empty cases of Coke. There was a TV on the wall and it had been hooked up to a games console. The bathroom was clean, every child had their own towel, and there was
strawberry shower gel. Clothes had been hung up to dry in a side room – clothes which Buchwald must have bought himself so they’d have a change.’

  ‘So, from what you’re saying, we could assume Buchwald was actually trying to protect the children from something and was trying to make things as comfortable as possible,’ remarked Balthasar.

  ‘Yes. But who or what was he trying to protect them from?’ asked Nik. ‘The only dangerous man in the picture was Vincent Masannek. And he’s lying in the morgue at forensics.’

  ‘Until now, we’ve been thinking that Masannek was working for himself,’ said Jon. ‘But what if he had actually been hired?’

  ‘By whom?’ asked Nik. ‘We haven’t seen the slightest bit of evidence to suggest who that could be; neither in the security company’s database nor at any point since the kidnapping.’

  ‘We also don’t have a link between Masannek and the births,’ said Jon. ‘We don’t know who the men were that day in the hospital and we know just as little about the woman who gave birth – not her name nor why she fled right after giving birth.’

  ‘Are there statements from the children?’ asked Balthasar.

  Nik shook his head. ‘Greta’s still under medical supervision and Hannes doesn’t talk.’

  ‘And what’s with Simon?’

  ‘Still no sign of him whatsoever,’ said Jon. ‘The four beds made it pretty easy to conclude he’d been in the warehouse too. He just managed to get away . . . like Buchwald.’

  ‘And how did Buchwald manage to get away?’ asked Balthasar. ‘I thought you heard his and the children’s voices.’

  ‘I heard the voice of an adult who had difficulty speaking,’ Nik explained. ‘I thought because of his injuries that must’ve been Buchwald. And I also heard Greta’s voice . . . which was why I got you to call special operations. And as soon as I did that, I left immediately so I wouldn’t bump into the police when they arrived. There was enough time for Buchwald and Simon to disappear.’

  ‘Maybe Buchwald saw you,’ said Jon.

  ‘I don’t think so. Then he would’ve taken Greta and Hannes with him,’ explained Nik. ‘And Buchwald’s cupboard was still full of clothes and a suitcase. There was nothing pointing to a hasty getaway. He was very lucky.’ Nik took two steps back and stared at the wall of photos, longing to make sense of it all.

  ‘So what happens now?’ asked Jon, stealing Nik from his musings.

  ‘Well, the entire Bavarian police force is looking for Buchwald, so we should concentrate on Simon,’ said Nik.

  ‘We already tried to find him before without any success,’ said Jon. ‘And now, after an SEK operation, he’ll be hanging out even less at his usual spots.’

  ‘I’m going to speak to someone who maybe didn’t tell me the entire truth during our first chat. But I’ll need a little pocket money for that.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Twenty thousand,’ said Nik. ‘I need to track down a guy who even the CID can’t get hold of.’

  Nik ran along the hall towards the forensics department. It was hot and sticky. All the children’s parents were there: the Grohnerts, the Fürstes and the Leppers. And beside them were Nik’s former colleagues, Naumann and Danilo. He could also see Jon, Balthasar and the dead Vittoria Monti. They were all furious with him; hitting him, spitting on him and blaming him for everything. Their faces were grotesquely contorted and they were pointing towards a large room that was flooded with a glaring light. A room where the reeking stench of formaldehyde made Nik gag. He staggered on, covering his head with his hands to protect himself from the blows, until he had managed to leave the corridor. All at once, the screaming stopped, as if somebody had closed a heavy invisible door. The silence was blissful. Nik lowered his hands and went further into the room. The smell of formaldehyde was still suffocating and black smoke was wafting up from the floor. The light was so bright that he couldn’t see the walls. But he could make out three chrome tables, on top of which lay the bodies of Greta, Simon and Hannes. Their eyes were wide open, as if death had seized them in a moment of horror. Their skin was pallid, and their fingers were still clawing agonisingly at the sides of the tables.

  He heard approaching steps, quiet at first, then louder, until the floor started to vibrate. Vincent Masannek emerged from the light. He was wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and shiny polished shoes. His hair was perfectly styled. His fingernails were manicured and the smell of his aftershave even managed to cover the stench of formaldehyde. He stopped two steps in front of Nik and casually leaned on Greta’s chrome table.

  ‘You failed,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest and looking at Nik. His grin became wider with each inhalation until a thundering laugh escaped his mouth and echoed throughout the room.

  Nik crossed the busy station forecourt and over the tram tracks to Schillerstraße. A headache had plagued him the whole morning. Even two cups of coffee and a cold shower couldn’t shift the nightmare from the night before. Masannek’s laugh was still bellowing in his head and the image of the dead children followed him with every step. Greta and Hannes might be safe for now, but nothing would feel resolved until he knew the reason for the abduction. Buchwald and Simon were still out there somewhere, and Masannek’s motive was still a mystery. He only had half the story.

  Walking along the narrow pavement, Nik took out his phone and called Jon.

  ‘Did everything work?’ asked Jon.

  ‘I got the money,’ answered Nik.

  ‘And who is it you want to bribe?’

  ‘A filthy dealer who’ll take me to Timo Fürste.’

  ‘That’s going to be pretty difficult as long as the Somalians are trying to kill him.’

  ‘In the Munich underworld everybody knows everybody, and everybody knows who to ask if they need something.’

  ‘And this dealer’s going to hand Fürste over to you just like that?’

  ‘The Somalians aren’t exactly a friendly bunch so nobody’s just going to hand him over. But I don’t present a danger, so I’ll at least be able to get a conversation organised.’ Nik stopped outside a grimy cafe beside a sex shop. There were plastic chairs on the pavement, and the stench of old fat smothered the smell of coffee, which was coming from a machine that looked as if it would fail every possible health and safety regulation. ‘I’ll be in touch later,’ said Nik before hanging up.

  The cafe was quiet. An old couple sat at one table complaining to one another about the lack of police in the area, while a long-haired man stood leaning against the door, absorbed in his mobile. There was a woman doing her best not to demolish the place in her attempts to catch a little boy. Next to them was a broad-shouldered man sweeping the floor, although looking at the broom’s grimy bristles, it was possible the place would look worse by the time he’d finished. There were six television screens hanging on the walls, all broadcasting different sport events. The man Nik was looking for sat in the corner of the cafe, left of a display fridge that was stocked with rolls and croissants. He absentmindedly stirred his coffee while watching a boxing match on the TV. His woollen hat was concealing most of his shaven head and spider tattoo.

  ‘Family’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?’ said Nik, planting himself down on the chair opposite Paddy. The man’s left hand inched its way to his hip, where he normally kept his knife, while his right hand carried on stirring his coffee. ‘If only you’d joined your brother here instead of dealing drugs, you would’ve had far fewer problems with the police.’

  ‘It was a pretty stupid idea coming here if you know this place belongs to my brother,’ retaliated Paddy with a smile. ‘You still owe me after our last meeting.’ He got up from his chair.

  Nik didn’t budge and pushed an envelope across the table towards him. ‘Why not take that as an apology.’

  Paddy froze, somewhat bewildered. He looked around him, as if expecting to see the SEK at the front door. He lowered his gaze and picked up the envelope with his right hand, his left not budging from his hip.
His eyes doubled in size when he saw the money. He folded the envelope over again and sat back down on the chair.

  ‘So where’s the catch?’ he asked, not taking his hand off the envelope.

  ‘No catch,’ said Nik. ‘I just need to speak to Timo Fürste.’

  ‘Fürste’s gone underground,’ replied Paddy. ‘If he shows his face in public, the Somalians will chop him into pieces.’

  ‘I don’t plan on meeting him in front of the main station. I want to see him in his hideout.’

  ‘And how am I supposed to organise that?’

  ‘You know everybody on the scene. Make some calls.’ Nik signalled to the money with a nod of the head and a raised eyebrow. ‘That’s twenty grand in there. I’m sure if you invest half of it in your contacts, an address will turn up. Ten thousand for making a couple of phone calls doesn’t seem like a bad cut to me.’ Nik shrugged.

  Paddy tapped his finger nervously on the envelope before standing up and turning to the man with the broom. ‘Make sure this prick stays put,’ he said, pointing at Nik. ‘And smack him if he so much as scratches his balls.’

  The tall man nodded sedately, still sweeping the floor. Nik leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. It was a welcome rest. With a bit of luck, the CID would soon get a breakthrough, but as long as they still hadn’t got hold of Buchwald, he’d have to keep looking himself.

  He was woken from his snooze by a firm shake on the shoulder.

  ‘In five minutes, a friend of mine will take you to Aying,’ said Paddy. ‘If you start any shit, he’ll put a bullet in your head. You get it?’

  ‘Lovely. Was nice chatting with you, Paddy.’ Nik stood up and waved goodbye, grabbing a croissant from the cabinet on his way out. He didn’t have high expectations for the meeting with Timo Fürste, but for the time being, it was his best lead.