The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set

by Michele E. Gwynn

  The tube slowed, stopping. She got off, making her way up the snow-covered stairs and around the corner to Frau Kluge’s shop. Birgitta was already inside, standing on the dais, wearing her gown. She looked beautiful. Tears blurred Elsa’s eyes as she walked inside.

  Mahler turned. “It’s about time you got here. Some maid of honor you are...” Birgitta looked at the redhead reflected in the mirror and stopped. “What’s wrong?” She jumped down from the dais, and ran to Elsa, earning a frown from Frau Kluge.

  “Nothing,” she smiled. “Oh, my gosh, Birgitta!” She grabbed Mahler’s hands, holding them out as she stepped back, admiring her. “You look stunning. Joseph is going to melt into a puddle when he sees you!”

  The alarmed look in Mahler’s eyes faded away, replaced by sheer joy. She smiled, looking hopeful. “You think so?”

  “I know it! You are the most beautiful bride ever,” she gushed.

  “Stop crying already. You’re going to get me started.” Birgitta hugged her. “Thank you, Elsa. I needed to hear that.”

  “Break it up. You’ll ruin my work!” Frau Kluge stepped up, separating the two women. “You,” she said, looking at Elsa, “go get undressed. Your gown is hanging in the first dressing room. Chop, chop! I don’t have all day!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Elsa laughed, giving Birgitta one last kiss on the cheek before following Frau Kluge’s orders.

  Minutes later, Elsa joined the two women in front of the three-way mirror. Birgitta grinned when she saw her.

  “Talk about stunning! If Lukas doesn’t drop to one knee and propose when he sees you, then you should leave him.”

  Elsa stood before the three mirrors, admiring her dress. “I feel like royalty in this.” She turned this way and that, one red eyebrow raised. The design of the gown was similar to Birgitta’s. Off the shoulder, lined in delicate French lace over the décolletage, and cut to the curvature of her body. From her waist, it flowed in an A-line to the floor. Royal purple satin with a mock-wrap skirt held one fine line of silver piping running from the silver, tulle fabric rose at her left hip down and across the front to the far bottom right where it continued around the hem. Her shoes were strappy silver heels to complement the piping.

  Birgitta came to stand next to her. Together, they admired each other, grinning like schoolgirls. Unlike Elsa’s gown, Birgitta’s didn’t have the mock wrap style, but rather, it gathered at the back, and draped down into a full train. The delicate cream color brought out the roses in her cheeks, and set off her dark, sable curls. Silver threads were woven into the cream tulle fabric of the bow around her waist, and also used in her veil.

  Elsa reached out, taking Birgitta’s hand. “I’m so happy right now.”

  Mahler laughed. “I guess absence made your heart a little fonder for your man?”

  “Maybe. At least, I’m not going to worry about it anymore. I’m just going to enjoy everything.”

  “That’s all you can do, Elsa. Life is too short to spend it waiting for the bottom to fall out. We see enough of that in our line of work. At least we can go home to someone we love, who loves us in return.”

  “You’re right, of course. It just took,” she stopped herself, rethinking what she was about to say, “it just took a little time away, I guess.”

  Birgitta looked at her. “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy. As long as Lukas makes you happy, I won’t have to kill him, yes?”

  Frau Kluge looked up from sticking pins in Elsa’s hem. “Men, can’t live with them, can’t bury the bodies deep enough to stay out of jail.”

  “Frau Kluge!” Birgitta chortled.

  The old woman looked at them. “What? I was married once. He drove me crazy.” She stuck in a few more pins. “I miss Herr Kluge every day,” she mumbled.

  Elsa looked at Birgitta, whispering, “She didn’t kill him, did she?”

  Trying to smother her laugh, she responded, “I don’t think so. They were married for fifty-two years.”

  “I am not hard of hearing, ladies. Stay still, Officer Kreiss,” Kluge ordered. Elsa straightened, behaving for the rest of the fitting. When all was said and done, Frau Kluge informed them that the dresses would be completed and delivered to Mahler’s home by Saturday.

  As they left the shop, they passed a rally in the square. The Women’s Socialist Alliance was campaigning outside of a school for gifted children. They were advocating for young girls to study the sciences and medicine. There was quite a crowd.

  “Elections are Sunday, and they’re still campaigning,” Elsa stated. “I’ll be happy when it’s all over.”

  Mahler nodded. “Their party is ahead. Obermeyer’s shooting, and subsequent scandal, has sunk him and his party.”

  “Good riddance, I say. The bastard.”

  Mahler grew quiet, thinking about the recent events, and how she’d discovered Vera Wolf’s involvement in leaking information to the press. With all the focus on Oppel, and the human trafficking case, they’d all lost sight of that small detail. Wolfgang Hachmeister all but stated out loud that Wolf was the one who gave him his scoop. Then Oppel had been picked up, and she never did follow up on that information. It seemed like a moot point after Rudi confessed to running illegal brothels and colluding to import drugs and prostitutes. Once he placed Karl in Marilyn’s room that night, no one asked anymore questions. Now she knew, Karl was never there, after all. Her intuition screamed at her, but Levitz had already closed the case, figuring Oppel had lied, and was, indeed, the killer. Her captain stated it was the BND’s problem now. Rudi Oppel was their bird, and he was singing. Much was being laid at this bird’s feet, but he would not be punished nearly long enough or tough enough for his crimes as long as he cooperated. The Obermeyer threats were a footnote in a case file marked closed. “He’s awake. I visited him at the hospital this morning. He’s fit to be tied, but too weak to do anything about it. His career is at an end, and he knows it.”

  “He’s lucky he’s not being thrown into jail,” Elsa snorted.

  “There were no grounds. Soliciting escorts is no crime, and he didn’t know they were being held illegally.”

  “So he says,” Elsa added.

  “Yes, and that’s all we have to go on. You should have seen his face when he read that his ex-lover, Vera Wolf, was being put forth as the SDP’s candidate.”

  “I bet he loved that.” Sarcasm dripped from her lips.

  Mahler looked at her. “He called her a cunning cunt, and an ambitious bitch. I tell you, I was shocked. I asked him why he ever dated her if he felt that way.”

  “What did he say?” Elsa shoved her hands into her pockets. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and the snow fell in wet streams now.

  “He said, and I quote, she really knew how to suck a cock.” Mahler rolled her eyes.

  “What a pig!” Elsa huffed. “Well, then I’m even more glad she’s kicking his ass. She’ll do far better for Germany than he has, and I know all law enforcement will benefit after that bastard’s indecent budget cuts.”

  “True. I still can’t understand what she ever saw in him.”

  “Opposites attract. I mean, what else could it have been? I don’t think she necessarily needed him politically.”

  Birgitta shrugged. “I don’t know. Being seen with him in public may have boosted her career, if in no other way than by providing a stark contrast between the two of them. The papers were cranking out articles left and right over their political differences.”

  “Maybe. Who knows? I fucking hate politics. It’s a breeding ground for the worst scum of the earth.”

  They rounded the corner to the UBahn. “Yes, but in rare cases, it gives us some of the very best people who only want to help.”

  Elsa descended the stairs. “Did I tell you Sarah’s coming next week? She’ll be here for the wedding.”

  “What? No! That’s good news.”

  She laughed. “And I may have added to your guest list.”

  “Who?”

  “Paul Christ
iansen. I called him.”

  Birgitta looked at Elsa’s face as a sly smile spread across the redhead’s lips. “What are you up to? Are you matchmaking?”

  The tube slowed to a stop in front of them. As they stepped off the platform onto the car, she chirped, “Possibly. Maybe.” Seeing Birgitta’s raised eyebrow, she sat down, laughing. “Okay, yes. Yes, I’m matchmaking, but don’t scold me.”

  Mahler sat down next to her. “Okay, I won’t. Actually, I kind of like the idea. I still remember the puppy dog looks he used to give her. Poor Paul, he didn’t stand a chance with Anthony around then.”

  “Ja, but that was almost four years ago now. They’re both a little older, a little wiser. Paul’s in a good place now, and Sarah was attracted to him then. Maybe this time they’ll make a go of it.”

  “Well, this ought to be fun, at least.”

  The doors to the car closed, and the tube slowly sped up, leaving the station.

  SUNDAY’S ELECTION WAS a landslide victory for the Socialist Democratic Party, and its new Minister of the Interior, Vera Wolf.

  Heinz sat on his couch, happy to be home, finally, and with the woman he loved. His barroom brawl ruse rolled off his tongue yet again as his fiancé asked him to explain how a man trained to take down criminals managed to get so beat up. He did his best to keep the lie to a minimum claiming that after so many rounds of drinks, he didn’t quite remember the ‘fight’ or even how it began. All he knew were the results which happened to be a black eye, split lip, and bruised ribs. His phone had been lost, and he was unable to call her while he recuperated. As a side note, he quietly reminded himself to purchase a new phone—even though Herman had his old one. The price of the new gadget, and the inconvenience of transferring data would be his punishment.

  “How in the world did you manage to finish up the seminars?” She asked.

  “Well, they were very accommodating at the hotel. One of the presenters lent me his computer to go through all the Power Point presentations. I was able to do most of the work in my room.” He hated himself for the lies.

  Birgitta kissed his cheek. “That was very nice of them. Still, I wasn’t there to help take care of you.”

  He smiled, thinking maybe his lie might have an upside. “And how would you have taken care of me, my love?”

  Sitting on her knees, curled up at his side, she ran her fingers through his hair. “With some tender loving care, of course,” she said, then clenched a fistful of hair, pulling his head back, “after I kicked your arse for being so stupid. What did I tell you about Swedes?”

  Heinz cringed, laughing. “Am I to be an abused husband?”

  Her fingers relaxed. “Of course not. I’m sorry.” She resumed caressing his scalp.

  “That’s better. There’s my girl.” He picked up her free hand, kissing her fingers gently. “You had your hands full here anyway.”

  “That’s because you were gone. If you’d stayed, you could have dealt with Obermeyer. So you see, it was all your fault.”

  Heinz watched her face, a happy smile on his lips. “One more week, and then you’re all mine.”

  Birgitta sighed. “Yes, one more week.”

  He shifted, slipping his arm around her, and pulling her onto his lap. “I missed you,” he whispered, and then kissed her.

  She melted, allowing him to take the kiss deeper. Before they knew it, she was straddling his hips as his hands roamed freely over her backside. When his fingers slipped beneath her blouse, she shuddered, and pushed against his chest.

  “Stop!” She pulled back, panting.

  Heinz sighed. “Are we still waiting until our wedding night?”

  She giggled. “Yes, Joseph. We are!”

  He gripped her hips and pulled her against the evidence of his desire, rubbing. “Just so you know, you’re killing me, woman!”

  A soft moan escaped her. “It’s killing me too, but just think how wonderful it will be.”

  “I think it would be wonderful now, here, on this couch.” He looked around the living room. “With the evening news serenading us.”

  “Joseph Heinz!”

  He laughed low, kissing her nose. “Yes, Birgitta Mahler soon-to-be-Heinz?”

  She touched his face, wondering how she could’ve been so mad at him. “Nothing. Just...I love you.”

  He kissed her lips, a soft, sweet kiss full of promise. “I love you too.” They remained that way, staring at each other. “Will you marry me?” He broke the silence. When she laughed, he added, “I’m serious! I need to know. Last I heard, you were scolding me about drinking with Swedes, and threatening me with bodily harm.”

  “You’re a crazy man, you know that? Of course I’ll marry you, but not until next week.” She climbed off of him, and grabbed the remote, turning off the television. “For now, let’s just go to bed.”

  He stood, taking her hand. “I can’t wait until that means more than just going to sleep.”

  THE WEEK BEFORE THE wedding was chaotic. Heinz returned to work. He received word that his A16 promotion would occur at the first of the year. Captain Levitz was glad to have his lead detective back, and he spent Monday getting Heinz caught up on recent events.

  The news was full of stories about illegal smuggling of exotic pets following a raid at the port in Hamburg. With no one the wiser, the BND, with cooperation from the LKA, confiscated two tons of heroin and five abducted Swedish girls who were returned to their homes. With their cargo seized, the Bratva, and their business partner, the FSB, had a very public, and deadly falling out. Tensions grew between Russia and Turkey when millions in lost revenue could not be repaid. Incidents between the two countries escalated, resulting in the deaths of criminals, soldiers, and politicians. The underworld had erupted.

  Mahler hadn’t heard from Lukas. The mystery of the owner of the numbered Swiss bank account remained unsolved, but one new piece of information surfaced. After Dieter’s men scoured the files taken from Madame Denouve’s, they found, of all things, a stash of uncut heroin and a box of syringes in the Madame’s possessions. Knowing the autopsy results showed Wiedner died from an opioid overdose, apparently her first usage, and finding heroin and needles in the Madam’s possession revealed evidence he couldn’t ignore. She was interrogated again, this time, by Dieter using military tactics. When Denouve broke down, a startling confession followed. She murdered Marilyn. The BND and the local police hadn’t caught it at first, but closer examination of the Omni Hotel security tapes confirmed not one, but two women in blonde wigs, dark glasses, one wearing a fur coat, and another in a more conservative Trench coat entered the lobby that night. The one in the Trench coat arrived first. Not thirty minutes later, the one wearing the fur coat showed, and proceeded up to the suite occupied by Wiedner.

  The police and Dieter thought both were Oppel returning dressed as Rachel at the time, not noticing right away the differences in outerwear or the time stamps. He was surprised to learn the first one had been Madame Denouve. Lukas let Mahler listen to the taped confession.

  “Is this you?” Dieter was clearly showing her printouts from the tape.

  “It is.”

  “And why are you dressed this way?”

  “Because I knew she’d open the door thinking I was Rachel,” the woman answered. Her sultry voice was filled with contempt.

  “How do you even know about Rachel? What’s the connection? Why did you murder this woman, your employee?” Dieter hammered her with questions.

  Denouve exploded. “Because he is my son! This slut thought she could take him away from me, turning him into some kind of pervert! I was not having it, I tell you! Rudi is mine, and I have sacrificed everything for that ungrateful brat! He is meant for more than one such as her. She only fed into his sickness!” She slammed her hand on the table.

  Mahler sat shocked that day. She still couldn’t believe it now. In a fit of maternal jealousy, Madame Denouve had killed another female considered, oddly enough, a rival for her son’s affections. Now she kn
ew why, for that one fleeting moment, the old woman had seemed familiar. She could see it now, the similarities between her and Oppel. Rudi was a bastard, his father unknown. Denouve used her real surname on the birth certificate and affected a French surname for business. She’d been a prostitute herself long before rising to the rank of Madame. Now she would descend to the rank of inmate alongside her son, but in separate facilities. He would get out in ten years for cooperating with authorities. Denouve would die in prison for murder, a murder her son knew she’d committed. It was clear now why he’d implicated someone else as being in the room that night with Marilyn. He knew his mother had been there. He may have even been there when she did the evil deed. Either way, he was complicit. His attempt to somehow protect his mother by pointing authorities in another direction failed.

  That case was now solved, and she was glad for it.

  Stepping outside, she headed to Frank’s to grab a bite of lunch. Joseph was running an errand so she was on her own. The sun decided to come out, melting some of the snow, but more was expected that night. September was winding down, and fall was upon them. The Schnitzel at Frank’s was famous in this part of Berlin, and the counter was always busy. She went through her email while standing in line.