The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set

by Michele E. Gwynn

  Elsa’s stop was next. She stood up and looked around, desperate. If she continued home, he said he would start telling people her secret, the one Heinz warned her never to reveal lest it kill her new career. Despite Germany’s liberal ways in the eyes of the world, the police force was still very patriarchal, and word arriving at her captain’s desk of her past would surely sink her. She wasn’t sure how Lukas would take it, but it wasn’t the image she wanted him to have of her. One of the finest qualities of any sex worker was discretion. It protected both the dommes, and the clients. As the tube slowed, she had only seconds in which to make her decision. Get off here and go home, risking that Ivchencko would make good on his threat, or continue on, switch trains, and then head into Charlottenburg from there, and then find out exactly what this creep wanted. She didn’t like her options. Still, she was used to handling men like him. It may have been a while, but she figured it was like riding a bike. She could get into character if need be and tell this Russian bastard to fuck off. No one manipulated Mistress Elsa. She was the one in control. He probably was looking for someone to tie him up or beat him. She’d recommend Nadia or Nicolette, and then go home—after she chewed him out for daring to threaten her.

  “SHE’S NOT ANSWERING.” Heinz waited through the voicemail greeting, then left a message. “Elsa, it’s Joseph. I need you to call me as soon as possible.” He hit END and looked at the dashboard in frustration. Rain began to fall in fat drops.

  “Let’s head back to your office. I think we must be missing something in these reports.” Mahler’s instincts kept telling her that there was more to Greg Koslov than he cared to reveal, something in his manner that was nagging at her.

  “I suppose until we get toxicology and analysis back on Anna Popovich from Dr. Menghala, that’s all we can do. And you’re right. We’re missing something.”

  He started the car, flipped on the windshield wipers, and pulled into traffic. As they drove out of the neighborhood, they passed a church with tall spires. It was much older than the surrounding buildings, rather gothic. A Lutheran church, perhaps one of the originals that survived the decades and wars. It had an add-on that appeared more modern, but the integrity of the main building stood the test of time. Mahler blinked. “Why church?”

  Heinz was lost in his own thoughts. “Hmmn?”

  Birgitta continued to gaze out the window. “Church. Why the church? All three girls went to that church. Koslov is a visitor here, so he claims, yet he has been attending that church. This morning, I noticed his mannerisms. He was focused during the mass, almost in rapture.”

  “You think these missing girls are related to religion in some way?”

  “You saw the Popovich girl. Were there any marks on her body, any religious symbols?”

  “None. She was raped, but there didn’t seem to be any ritual to it. In fact, Dr. Menghala mentioned he thought it was a rather clumsy attempt.”

  “Clumsy, how?” Mahler was intrigued.

  “Well, he said the girl’s hymen wasn’t completely torn, and that most of the semen was spilled outside of the body. He mentioned that the rapist was either terribly clumsy or didn’t know what he was doing. He also said that the manner in which the body was partially submerged into the river water showed haste, a desperation to hide the original crime.”

  “Shame,” she muttered.

  “That’s what I said.” He glanced briefly at his partner admiring her quick mind. “The perpetrator exhibited shame with that act.”

  “Those brought up religiously or in some church Order might harbor that type of shame. It’s what they teach, isn’t it? That the body and its desires are shameful?” Her mind was spinning like a top.

  He remembered his own response to seeing her nakedness and shook his head. “And you just said he seemed almost rapturous during services.”

  “Yes. And all three girls came from that church.” She pulled out the computer and began typing.

  “What are you doing now?” He tried to see what she was typing and keep an eye on the road at the same time.

  “I’m casting the wider net. I’m adding a search tag to Koslov’s inquiry. We should be looking for someone who belongs to a Russian Orthodox Church or Order, someone who recently left the area.”

  “Good thinking. But what we also may need to be thinking about is what would cause someone raised in an Orthodox Order to suddenly begin kidnapping girls. Let’s add to that search. See if we can find any recent missing girls of the same description around any Orthodox communities in Germany, and also in Eastern Europe to Russia. Popovich was not his first.”

  Mahler’s fingers tap-danced over the keys. “This may wield more than we can filter through.”

  Heinz nodded. “Or it may narrow it down to one.”

  They drove past the entry to the UBahn, continuing on toward the office where they might once again pour over the files provided to them by Faust.

  ELSA CLIMBED THE STEPS up from the tube station onto the busy street. According to her phone’s GPS, she needed to go left, and walk three blocks before turning left again onto Baumgartenstrasse. By the time she arrived at the address, she was cold, wet, and miserably tired. The trek up the long driveway to the guard gate tripped her up twice as she slipped on the wet gravel, almost falling.

  The older man inside the gatehouse didn’t seem surprised to see a woman walking up on foot.

  “Officer Kreiss here to see Herr Ivchencko.” Her teeth chattered from the cold.

  “He is expecting you.” The bald man looked more like a Russian KGB agent than a gate guard. A loud click signaled that the gate was unlocking. It swung open automatically, and Elsa slipped through walking up to the large gray manor house. It reminded her of a mausoleum from the outside. She stopped at the door as her phone vibrated again. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Anno asking when she’d be home. She quickly typed in a short message. Running an errand. Should be home within the hour. E.

  As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened. Standing before her was a short, round gentleman in a butler’s uniform.

  “Please come in, madam. Herr Ivchencko is expecting you.” He backed up and swept his arm out indicating she should enter and walk in that general direction. “Can I take your coat?” He stood waiting.

  “Nein. I won’t be here that long. Which way?”

  He smiled at her terse reply, but it was an odd little grin. “As you wish. This way, please.”

  She followed him down a long hallway that was more of an art gallery. On all sides were paintings from throughout the centuries, some she recognized, and others she didn’t. He was genuinely a collector, that much was obvious. The butler led her into a library where a fire roared in the mantle.

  “He’ll join you shortly. Please make yourself comfortable.” The butler left, closing the double doors behind him.

  Elsa walked up to the fire and put her hands out trying to warm them. She glanced around the room, and then looked up, noting the two canvases adorning the space above the fireplace. They were Paul’s paintings from the exhibit the night before. Lukas’s gallery had delivered them. That meant that Lukas quite possibly had been here earlier. She wasn’t sure, though, as she hadn’t asked about his plans for the day. He hadn’t mentioned going on a delivery today when he texted her all morning. And by his own words on the day they first met, he didn’t do deliveries. He set up exhibitions, and sometimes helped procure art for the gallery. Still, the thought of him made her smile.

  “I see you’re admiring my Christiansens.”

  Elsa jumped. The Russian was suddenly a few feet behind her, and she hadn’t heard him come in.

  “Herr Ivchencko, you startled me.” She turned to face him.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt your appreciation for my artwork.”

  “I wasn’t appreciating it, actually.” She stuck her hands in her pockets.

  He walked nearer, standing a mere two feet away, a little closer than she
cared for. He was inside her personal space without her invitation. “You were smiling.” He looked at her with his cold gray eyes.

  “I was thinking about something else. Why did you send me this message?” She pulled it out and tossed it at his feet.

  “Right to the point, I see.” He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to gaze at the paintings, ignoring the wadded-up missive.

  “I’m always right to the point when someone threatens me. What is the meaning of this? What secret do you think you have knowledge of that you can infer threats?”

  Ivchencko noted the defiance in her voice and stance. He smiled, then said, “One which you obviously responded to. You’re here, after all. If you didn’t have a secret, you would be home, da?”

  Elsa drew in a steadying breath. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m tired, and this has gone far enough already. What is it you want?”

  “You’re quite the spitfire, aren’t you?” He walked over and sat down in one of the two wingback chairs facing her. “Very well. It’s simple, really. You, yourself, noted it last night at the gallery. I have a diseased mind.”

  “Herr Ivchencko, I’ve no interest in your mind, diseased or otherwise—"

  “Mistress Elsa! I am a man who tolerates very little, and I will not tolerate being interrupted.” He held up a hand.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what you tolerate. State your business, and let’s be done with this. I’m tired and wish to go home.” She quickly went through a mental checklist. Her gun was still holstered on her left side, but her jacket was zipped. She slowly reached to unzip it, talking as she did to keep him distracted.

  “Do you know how those paintings arrived today?” His question threw her.

  “I imagine someone delivered them, why?” Her jacket now unzipped, allowed her easy access to her firearm should this situation escalate out of control. She had a queasy feeling in her stomach.

  “Yes, they were delivered. But not by Lukas. I was expecting Lukas, but instead, that black bitch entered into my home with two other employees of the gallery.”

  Elsa’s eyebrow came up. “And? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Didn’t I just say?” He looked at her as if she should understand, but something in his eyes was not quite right.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I was expecting Lukas. I was expecting the one person I’m familiar with, that I trust, to deliver my items. Instead, he sent that filthy woman into my home. There are many things in this world that I do not tolerate, and Ms. Bishop is one of them.”

  “The woman that works with Lukas?” Elsa’s brain churned on this information. What was this man’s problem? “What in the world does that have to do with me?”

  “Your boyfriend has offended me. He sent that filthy black woman into my home. And she doesn’t like you at all, by the way.”

  This surprised her. “I don’t even know her. What problem could she possibly have with me?”

  Ivchencko laughed. “Apparently, you have something she wants, something she wants badly. In fact, her jealousy is so profound, she went out of her way to dig up a little dirt on you. You can thank your friend, Christiansen, for that.”

  Elsa’s face lost all composure. “She wants Lukas? This is all about Lukas?” Her tired thoughts were jumbled as she considered his words. Ms. Bishop wanted Lukas. She viewed Elsa as a threat, and then did what? Seduced Paul for information on her? Goddammit! She was going to throttle that drunken fool. And now because this cold Russian psycho had personal prejudices toward black people, he’d threatened her all because he was mad at Lukas.

  “Look. Whatever your problems are with Lukas, you can take them up with him. I’ve only just met him. Last night was our first date. After this nonsense, it’s also our last. Good day to you.” She turned and began walking to the double doors where she came face to face with a young man with dark hair.

  “Excuse me.” She tried to go around him, but he reached out and grabbed her neck. She felt a sting, and then a warm sensation followed by intense lethargy before she lost all consciousness.

  Chapter Ten

  “WE HAVE A HIT ON OUR Koslov search.” Mahler noted the ping on her computer and clicked to open the message.

  “What is it?” Heinz looked up from the stack of files.

  “It’s out of Pskov.” She kept reading.

  “Where is that?”

  “Western Russia. There was a Koslov, Boris J., who accrued quite a record for public intoxication, battery, larceny, and beggary. Wife, Emily, and one son, Gregor.” She caught his eye as Heinz came to stand behind her chair and read over her shoulder. “This was more than ten years ago, though.”

  “And where is this Gregor now?” He leaned down, the action bringing his lips not far from her ear.

  A shiver ran down Birgitta’s spine. She focused on the information. “No record. But Boris has popped up in Ukraine and the Czech Republic since for similar charges. Oh, wait. There’s an obituary.” She clicked on the link and read. “Hmmn. It’s for Emily Koslov. Two years ago. Cause of death is listed as natural causes.”

  “That’s not helpful.” Heinz straightened and went back to his file.

  She scrolled to the next page. “Well that is curious.”

  He looked up again. “What?”

  “The obituary says nothing at all about the son. No mention of Gregor Koslov at all.”

  “Maybe that particular Koslov is dead, too.”

  “No. I’ve found no obituary for him. He’s last mentioned in a census from 2002. Son, Gregor Koslov, age fourteen.”

  Heinz’s interest piqued. He went to stand behind Mahler again to read the screen. “The age sounds about correct. Any family members listed?”

  “Not on the reports.” She continued scrolling through the police reports.

  “What about churches in the area? Any orthodox churches?”

  Mahler switched to Google and searched for churches in Pskov, Russia. Two Catholic churches, one Russian Orthodox, and one commune came up in the results, the Order of Rasputin.

  “That one.” Heinz pointed to the Order listed on the screen, which effectively placed his arm around her. “What is that? A monastery?”

  Her skin prickled as she clicked on the link. The page opened to a pastoral scene of congregants working a farm. The site was very basic with a tab to donate, and an address to write to for more information. No phone number.

  “Google that one. See what we come up with.” Heinz waited while Mahler worked her magic with the search engine.

  “Here we go. It’s an off shoot of the Khlysty. They’re very much ‘back to basics.’ Old school orthodoxy. And that’s just the Khlysty. Not this third-hand manifestation. No telling what they believe, but the name Order of Rasputin ought to give us some clue, yes?” She read further down the page finding some local articles by bloggers. “Hmmn. They believe in self-flagellation for their sins, and often enter into ritual orgies. How about that? And I thought religious orders were no fun at all.” Her dry humor caused Heinz to smirk. She grinned back. Their eyes locked.

  Heinz’s phone rang. He answered thinking it might finally be Elsa. “Where have you been? I called over an hour ago?”

  “Joseph,” a confused voice replied.

  Heinz’s brow furrowed. “Anno? What is it?”

  “I was hoping you’d know where my sister is. She hasn’t come home, and I’ve texted her several times. She’s not answering.” The young man’s voice sounded full of worry.

  “Calm down, son. When was the last time you spoke with her?” He stood and paced.

  “Around four. I got a text from her saying she’d be home in an hour. She said she was running an errand, but that was almost three hours ago now. I’ve sent her five texts and called three times, and she isn’t answering. Is she still at work?”

  Heinz sent Mahler a look. “I don’t know but let me check. I’ll call you right back, okay? Don’t worry.”


  “Do you think this has anything to do with her new boyfriend? I don’t want to interrupt if her errand was him, but she should let me know.” Anno tried to be adult, but if his sister was just off with the new man, he was going to be really pissed at her for causing him to worry.

  “What do you know of him?”

  “Not much. Just that he works at the gallery, and it was really early this morning when she came home from their date.”

  Heinz didn’t want to hear that. He rubbed his hand over his face. “Okay. Let me call Captain Keller. I’ll find out where she is, and then call you back.” He ended the call.

  “What’s going on?” Birgitta looked at Joseph.

  “Elsa hasn’t come home. Anno said he last communicated with her nearly three hours ago.” He picked up his desk phone and dialed the operator. “This is Kommissar Heinz. Get me Captain Keller at the Hauptbahnhof, Tiergarten.”

  The line rang twice. “Keller. Mit wen spreche ist, bitte?” The gravelly voice answered.

  “Keller. Ist es Heinz.”

  “Joseph.” Keller’s tone lost its gravelly edge. “What can I do for you?

  “I’m looking for Elsa Kreiss. Is she still on duty?” Heinz tapped a pencil on his desk as he spoke.

  “Let me check.” Keller put the phone down and shouted, “Hey! Is Kreiss still on duty?”

  Moments ticked by as both men waited on a response. Finally, Keller came back to the line. “Sorry, Joseph. She clocked out three hours ago. I imagine she’s at home. She’s not scheduled to come back in until Tuesday. Is there a problem?”

  He sighed. “No. None that I’m aware of. Her brother is looking for her, that’s all. Thanks, Keller.”

  “Anytime, Heinz. Say, I’m organizing a poker game next week. I’ll give you a call with the day and time, Ja?”