Blood Ties

by Alexander Hartung

  Nik paused to consider what he had been told. ‘So that’s van Berk’s business.’

  Luca leaned back in his chair and nodded. ‘Now you know his background. He’s a dangerous man and as soon as you are on his radar, your life’s at risk.’

  ‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

  ‘What are you prepared to do?’ asked Luca, obviously quoting the film The Untouchables.

  ‘Anything,’ answered Nik, acknowledging the quote. ‘Just like Eliot Ness.’

  ‘Then I’ve got something for you,’ replied The Collector with a smile.

  ‘You know van Berk’s weak spot, don’t you?’

  ‘I know everybody’s weak spot.’ Luca placed one hand over the other and rested them on the table. ‘I’m a vindictive man and Olaf van Berk actually ruined an important business venture of mine a few years ago.’

  ‘So, you want to see him fall?’

  ‘God, you won’t be able to bring down van Berk. But you do have the potential to hurt him at least. Even with all the risk involved, I don’t want to lose this chance.’

  ‘I only want to talk to him, but there’s no way he’d give me an appointment,’ said Nik. ‘And . . . I need to be sure that when we talk, he tells me the truth. And for that I need some kind of leverage.’

  ‘I can arrange that. But first I need another espresso.’ Luca raised his hand. ‘This could take a while.’

  Nik sat on the couch in the living room, cleaning his picklock with a soft cloth. He lifted the small metal tool to the light and checked whether it was bent or not.

  ‘What are you breaking into?’ asked Balthasar from the door. Kara was sitting on his shoulder, pecking at a peanut.

  ‘A council flat in a large tower block,’ answered Nik, concentrating on his picklock. ‘Shouldn’t be a big deal.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Balthasar. ‘I’m an expert at picking locks.’

  Nik laid the picklock down and turned to look at Balthasar. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’ve only just started to feel better in the last couple of days. I don’t want you to get worse again if things get difficult.’

  ‘I carried out a self-analysis and I believe I’m ready to work again.’

  ‘You carried out a self-analysis?’ asked Nik, bewildered.

  ‘I had enough time during my degree to attend lectures in psychology and psychiatry.’

  ‘OK. And what was the result of your self-analysis?’

  ‘I’m now able to fall asleep without sleeping tablets and I’m no longer having nightmares,’ said Balthasar. ‘And I don’t jump every time a van pulls up beside me. Over the last few days, I made myself imagine kidnapping situations while walking down the street. When I started the exercise, I winced each time – especially with black vans without any windows. But that stopped yesterday.’

  ‘And what if there’s trouble at the flat today? If they threaten us with weapons or try to beat us up?’

  ‘Well, if that happens, then I’ll turn into a desperate, crying baby, of course . . . flailing around on the floor, stuttering and drooling.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ mumbled Nik.

  ‘Let’s have a competition.’ Balthasar went into his room and returned with a large suitcase. ‘We both have to pick three locks. If I’m faster than you, you’ll let me come.’

  ‘Picking locks is a hobby of mine,’ said Nik proudly. ‘It wouldn’t be a fair competition.’

  ‘Well, then you don’t need to worry, do you?’ Balthasar opened the suitcase. It was full of padlocks and door cylinders.

  ‘Do you collect this shit or something?’ Nik picked up a large padlock with a shackle that was about the width of his finger.

  Balthasar ignored the question. ‘Find us three each. Then we’ll see who’s better.’

  ‘If I have to.’ Nik frowned. He’d studied locking mechanisms during his police training and would regularly talk about them with the specialists from forensic technology. Only a pro burglar would be able to beat him. Definitely not some amateur. Nik chose two padlocks and one door lock with a double cylinder and anti-drilling protection. He gave three of the same kind to Balthasar as well.

  Balthasar took out a pencil case full of picklocks and planted himself beside Nik on the couch.

  Nik reached for the first padlock. It had five security pins. The key for the lock could turn these five pins to the side, allowing the shackle to click upwards. Picking a lock like this required very sensitive fingertips. Firstly, Nik put in the clamping tool: a piece of metal in the shape of a square S. He pulled the tool towards him, thus applying pressure to the locking mechanism, then reached for a picklock with a tip that was bent upwards, and put it in the lock. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the pins. Millimetre by millimetre, he pushed the pick further until he reached the next pin. Whenever he managed to push a pin upwards, there was a soft click. It was an exceptionally delicate task and one that demanded a calm hand and a lot of patience. And then, as the fifth pin was pushed upwards, the clamping tool turned and the shackle sprang out. He turned to look at Balthasar with a satisfied grin.

  The pathologist, however, was leaning back on the couch, with not one, but three open locks sitting on his lap. He even had a chocolate biscuit in his hand. ‘You’ve got a very interesting technique,’ he said, munching on the biscuit. ‘But you need to work on your speed. Furthermore, your clamp is too thick . . . and you apply too much pressure to it.’

  Nik looked down at the three open locks. ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘Our nanny always used to hide the chocolate biscuits from me,’ said Balthasar. ‘And since she always kept the key on her, I had no choice but to learn how to pick locks. As you can see, I became very good at it.’ Balthasar patted his tummy. ‘Right, I’m off to feed Kara and then we can get going. What d’you say?’ The pathologist stood up. ‘I’ve got an idea for our disguise.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ mumbled Nik under his breath as Balthasar left the living room. Nik inspected the locks closely, but they seemed fine. He threw his picklock down on the table. ‘And I do not apply too much pressure to the clamp!’ he called out to Balthasar.

  Clemens Grohnert sat at Naumann’s desk, with his arms crossed. He pursed his lips as he stared at the CID officer. It looked as if he was about to pounce on him at any second. Grohnert had arrived half an hour later than arranged, only to then park illegally in front of the station’s main entrance. An offer of coffee had been turned down with a grunt.

  ‘We understand your irritation,’ said Naumann, trying to calm him down, ‘but we’ve been waiting for your daughter to say something for four days now. Not only might she be able to give us important information about Ismail Buchwald’s motive, she might also be able to tell us why he was on Olaf van Berk’s property.’

  ‘Have you seen what’s happened to my daughter?’ asked Grohnert, not actually looking for an answer. ‘She barely speaks and sits staring out the window most of the time or just watching TV. She doesn’t want to eat, drink or sleep, and nothing seems to give her any pleasure anymore. She’s stopped reading and she ripped down her poster of Polina Seminova from the wall. I haven’t seen her smile once since your officers found her.’

  ‘I know children can be severely traumatised after an abduction . . .’

  ‘You don’t know anything!’ Grohnert growled. ‘If my daughter’s well-being was in any way important to you, your team wouldn’t have tied her hands together and dragged her violently out of that warehouse.’

  ‘She was going to attack SEK with a knife.’

  ‘You mean after they blew up the warehouse door and stormed the building with their weapons drawn?’

  ‘We thought the kidnapper was in the warehouse,’ said Naumann, defending his, and the team’s, actions. ‘We suspected he was armed and willing to use violence.’

  ‘Do you know what my wife found underneath Greta’s pillow yesterday when she made her bed? A massive kitchen knife!’ said Grohnert. �
��A knife! As if we were living in some fucking war zone!’

  ‘Ismail Buchwald was shot,’ Naumann explained. ‘He doesn’t pose a danger anymore. So I don’t understand why . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference if you understand Greta’s fears or not,’ interrupted Grohnert. ‘The fact is, she still can’t sleep at night and doesn’t dare leave the house. She doesn’t even go into the garden!’

  ‘Have you spoken to her about it?’

  ‘I’ve tried hundreds of times,’ answered Grohnert. ‘But she avoids any conversation.’

  ‘We’ve got a good psychologist who’d like to speak to Greta . . .’

  ‘Not a chance! I won’t let anyone bring up those horrifying memories.’

  ‘We could organise a team of officers to monitor your property,’ suggested Naumann.

  Grohnert shook his head vigorously. ‘I don’t have enough faith in you or your men for that,’ he said. ‘I’ve hired a private security company to monitor the house.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Naumann lifted his hands to show his compliance.

  Grohnert stood up abruptly and pointed to each of the CID officers in the room. ‘Nobody is allowed to question Greta before she gets better. And until then, I ask you not to bother us anymore.’

  Nik straightened his tie impatiently and smoothed down his jacket. He was sitting on a garden chair in front of a small table that was covered in an indeterminable sticky layer, stirring a coffee that had gone cold a long time ago. The high-rise flats in front of him were blocking out the evening light and casting a morose shadow over the busy streets below.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Balthasar. He looked abnormally conservative in his dark grey suit. As per usual, the pathologist was in a good mood and seemed unaffected by the depressing surroundings.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ Nik pointed to the small notepad in his hand. It had the word ‘Enlightened!’ on the front.

  ‘We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses! It’s perfect,’ said Balthasar. ‘Firstly, people avoid you, and secondly, they don’t take you seriously.’ He smiled at an elderly woman who walked past on the pavement. ‘So, what do you want to do in the money launderer’s flat?’

  ‘I want to plant something.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Instructions for building a bomb.’

  Balthasar let out a quiet whistle.

  ‘Harsh, I know,’ Nik continued. ‘And I only feel OK doing it because the money launderer isn’t exactly a saint. But if you want to get out now, I understand.’

  ‘Listen, these abductions are the only thing I think about right now,’ said Balthasar. ‘So, if this is the only way to get to the bottom of them, then I’m fine with it.’

  ‘Our man is one of van Berk’s most important money launderers. We’re never going to get to van Berk directly, so we’re going to take down his business ventures, one by one.’

  ‘By getting his money launderers sent to jail?’

  ‘Oh, that’s just an added bonus. You see, according to my sources, the guy who lives here received another large cash payment today. He’ll now launder the money and invest it over the next few days in luxury goods. After that, he’ll sell the goods on large auction platforms and in online forums throughout the whole of Europe, using various accounts. The money will then wander into foreign bank accounts which the German authorities have no access to.’

  ‘So how much cash are we talking here?’

  ‘A large seven-figure sum.’

  ‘So why don’t we just break in and steal the money?’ asked Balthasar. ‘I’m sure van Berk wouldn’t like that either.’

  ‘Because it’s not enough,’ Nik explained. ‘The money will be in a safe, and that’ll be much harder to pick than a flat door. Also, we have to make sure the money launderer gets put under so much pressure that he testifies. The money in the safe doesn’t prove a thing. But if we frame him with bomb-making materials, he might admit to the laundering in order to escape a terrorism sentence.’

  ‘And van Berk’s name is supposed to appear in this statement, is it?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘That’ll be why you’re carting that around with you then?’ Balthasar pointed to a tattered old brown leather bag that was sitting on a free chair.

  ‘Just a couple of toys: cables, a soldering iron, two digital timers, a metal box and lots of nails.’

  ‘And that’s reason to call up the police?’

  ‘I think you’re forgetting I worked for the CID,’ replied Nik. ‘I know exactly where to call and what to say for SEK to storm the flat and rip the place apart, right down to the thinnest carpet fibre.’

  ‘OK. So we’re just going to wait here until our money launderer goes out shopping, right?’

  ‘That’s right. And according to my source, he’s a late sleeper and doesn’t leave the house before five in the afternoon.’

  ‘It’s almost six o’clock,’ Balthasar remarked.

  ‘Yes, I can see that,’ said Nik. ‘It’s not like I’m waiting here for the soggy croissants.’

  ‘What does the man look like?’

  ‘About five seven, slim, with red hair and freckles. Apparently, he likes wearing flashy jackets and shoes.’

  Balthasar lifted his cup to his mouth. ‘I think he’s awake.’ He nodded towards the high-rise entrance. A man exactly matching Nik’s description of him was standing in front of it. He was wearing a shiny blue jacket with a bright white skull-and-crossbones on the front and camouflage sleeves. On his bottom half he was wearing washed-out jeans and white trainers with thick soles that made him appear a foot taller than he was. He looked up at the dreary sky, as if letting the non-existent sunrays hit his face, and smiled. It was a smile that oozed a mixture of satisfaction and arrogance, demonstrating his assurance that he thought he was the king of the neighbourhood. He lifted his collar and set off towards the U-Bahn.

  ‘Jesus. One day, I’d really like to meet a criminal who isn’t a cliché,’ mumbled Nik as he stood up from the chair. He grabbed his bag and crossed the road with Balthasar. When they reached the tower block, the pathologist pressed four buttons. After a moment the fragile voice of an elderly woman sounded through the intercom.

  ‘Post!’ said Balthasar with a friendly voice. A second later, the door buzzed open.

  ‘Post? At six in the evening?’ Nik said as they made their way inside.

  ‘It’s a reflex,’ said Balthasar. ‘Works every time.’

  When they got up to the flat, Balthasar inspected the lock. ‘No big deal.’ He reached into his jacket pocket for his picklock. ‘Let’s just hope he doesn’t have an alarm.’

  ‘He does,’ said Nik.

  Balthasar turned to look at him. ‘And how do you plan on turning it off?’

  Nik pulled out a piece of plastic about the size his hand. It looked like a garage door opener.

  ‘What’s that? A universal alarm disabler or something?’

  ‘Such a thing doesn’t exist,’ said Nik. ‘But if the person buys their alarm system online and doesn’t properly secure their account, then talented hackers can easily find out which model they bought and disable the alarm when necessary.’

  ‘But it will still register the door opening.’

  Nik took his gloves out of his pocket and put them on. ‘Yes, it will, and by that time the SEK will also be on their way too. So no dilly-dallying, Herr Super Intruder. Get picking!’

  Balthasar demonstrated his disapproval by raising one eyebrow, but then got to work and a few seconds later, the door was open.

  Nik took his bag off his shoulder and went inside the flat. ‘Time for some redecoration,’ he said, grabbing a roll of thin cable.

  Chapter 13

  Nik sat on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, sipping at a cold beer and holding a large packet of crisps under his arm.

  ‘The press is being awfully quiet, considering the police just arrested a guy on suspicion of terrorism,’ said Jon over the speakerphone.


  ‘Officially, they’re calling it a “drug crackdown”,’ explained Nik.

  ‘Which is probably true if you think about where the dirty money actually came from,’ Balthasar remarked. He was sprawled over an armchair wearing his baggy yoga trousers and a salmon pink T-shirt, and was feeding nuts to Kara, who had established herself firmly on his shoulder.

  ‘The plan worked,’ said Nik. ‘The money launderer was arrested and won’t be getting out for a long time.’

  ‘How much money was in the safe?’ asked Balthasar.

  ‘Three hundred thousand euros,’ said Jon. ‘When they picked him up on his way home, he was wearing a Rolex and a two-carat diamond ring.’

  Balthasar let out a long whistle, obviously impressed.

  ‘Even van Berk’s gonna feel the pinch after losing that kind of money. Not to mention the fact he lost one of his best money launderers in the process.’

  ‘And he’ll have no idea why his man was arrested on suspicion of terrorism,’ added Nik. ‘That’ll make him nervous.’ He took a gulp of beer with a satisfied expression on his face.

  ‘I haven’t managed to find an interrogation report,’ said Jon.

  ‘That can wait,’ said Nik. ‘I’ve already got the next target in my sights. And for this one I’ll need fake IDs.’

  ‘Am I allowed to tag along again?’ asked Balthasar.

  ‘As long as you dress up.’

  ‘Dress up? You mean like for carnival? With a fake nose and a wig?’

  ‘Just something that means you can’t be identified.’

  ‘What are you planning?’ asked Jon.

  ‘I’m going to a restaurant where van Berk does a fair share of his money laundering.’

  ‘And why do I need to dress up?’

  ‘Because the restaurant has CCTV and I want van Berk to concentrate only on me.’

  ‘And who are you going to go as?’ asked Jon.

  ‘A food-safety inspector.’

  ‘Perfidious,’ said Balthasar with a grin.