Büscher asked, ‘What does this mean? In your personal assessment of Merle Ailts you wrote: Merle Ailts would like nothing better than to be a mountain. Is that some kind of code I don’t understand?’
Rupert returned the Big Mac to its cardboard box and placed it on the desk next to Büscher’s banana peel. Büscher caught himself wondering what would happen if Rupert left the office quickly and forgot the Big Mac. Büscher could easily picture himself scarfing it down in two bites.
Rupert wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He spread out his hands and laughed. ‘Please, she’d like to be a mountain. What’s not to understand!’ He used gestures to emphasise his words. She just wants to stand around, be admired, and mounted from time to time.’
Büscher cleared his throat. ‘This kind of thing,’ he said, ‘doesn’t belong in a police file. It isn’t serious enough.’
‘Really? Ubbo drilled it into us to write our reports like this. If I were you, I wouldn’t criticise him.’
‘Your former boss surely didn’t tell you that you should liken a woman to a mountain.’
‘No, that’s just my assessment. Trust me, I know plenty of her type.’
Now Büscher was less sure if it had been such a good idea to have been on a first-name basis with everyone from the start. Maybe a little distance would have been better in some cases – with Rupert, for example.
He tried to explain his view of things to Rupert. ‘You just can’t do this. You might as well write down the lady’s dress size, her—’
Rupert looked at Büscher with interest.
‘I mean, bra size and things like that, sexual preferences.’
Rupert nodded. ‘Sure, I suggested that too, but the feminist faction was against it. Ann Kathrin staged a real revolt, and then all of them joined in.’ He counted on his fingers, ‘Sylvia Hoppe, Rieke Gersema and most of all Fat Arse.’
‘Who?’
Rupert gestured his defeat. ‘Marion Wolters from the operations centre. I’m good at guessing bra size. But Merle Ailts wasn’t even wearing a bra. I mean, it would be a B, guaranteed, maybe 34 or 36.’
Büscher slammed his fist on the table. He hit the banana peel, which first stuck to his hand and then flew across the desk and landed on Rupert’s hamburger box like a yellow octopus. ‘Just shut up, Rupert! What is going on here is far too important for—’
Rupert pointed his finger at Büscher and finished the sentence that he’d heard from Ubbo Heide. ‘Ubbo said everything is important! Many thousands of little pieces make a big puzzle in the end.’
‘New bosses,’ he grumbled, ‘don’t often grow old here. You think I don’t know that you went out for dinner with Ann Kathrin? Something like that gets around fairly quickly in East Frisia. Did she set you against me? Are you batting for her team now?’
Rupert slammed the door behind him.
Büscher looked at the banana skin. Then he snatched it up, threw it into the wastepaper bin and grabbed Rupert’s leftover Big Mac, biting down.
In his mouth, the fatty meat was still more appealing than that banana mush.
For a brief moment he yearned to be back in Bremerhaven.
*
He had to leave Svenja alone for a while now. He could see the pictures from all the surveillance cameras on his iPhone’s display and even move them around so she wouldn’t be unobserved for a second.
Despite that, he didn’t like leaving her alone. She had brought herself to the edge of death with her rebellious ways. How long could she survive without water?
He had no interest in returning to find a woman who’d died of thirst. But he also didn’t want to provide her with unearned relief.
He had to find a logical reason for turning on the water but didn’t want to tell her that he needed to disappear for a while. It was better to leave her in the dark so that she wouldn’t get any stupid ideas and have her resistance reinforced. Under no circumstances could she notice the pressure he was under. He would have to improvise again, even though he hated it. Why wasn’t life predictable like a play?
He had read something similar by Clausewitz. ‘All strategies of war are true until the battle begins. Then chaos rules.’
And only those who were quick and spontaneous could win in the chaos. Improvising didn’t mean just quickly winging it, but rather adjusting to the new situation in a calm and concentrated way in order to master it.
He’d practised that over the past couple of days. Again and again.
The door opened with a whirr, and he was standing in front of her.
She looked terrible. She wouldn’t last much longer.
‘I’m going to ask you three questions now. You will receive water if you answer them honestly.’
She was kneeling upright on the bed. Her eyes lay deep in their sockets. Her fingers were digging into her thighs. ‘Turn off the heat,’ she said. ‘I’m suffocating in here. I need some fresh air! Give me water and turn off the heat.’
He ran his fingers along his shirt collar and laughed. ‘It’ll be even hotter than this in hell. This is like a kind of training camp, believe me. It’s not up to you to make demands.
OK. And now my questions: did your first husband have life insurance?’
She yelled the answer to him, happy she could pass the test: ‘Yes!’
She rubbed her thighs and nervously wobbled up and down on the bed.
‘How much was it?’
‘Fifty thousand.’
‘And your second husband? He had life insurance too?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how much was it?’
‘One hundred thousand.’
‘So twice as much. That’s what I thought.’
‘What’s the point of these questions? I’ve answered all of them right. Do I get water now?’
‘That was only two questions.’
‘No, damn it, that was four! It was actually four!’
The way she looked at him, she knew that he had complete control. He didn’t have to keep his word to her. He could simply walk away, laughing, and let her die.
‘Did you kill the men to get their money?’
‘No!’ she yelled. ‘No, damn it, I didn’t do that!’
‘Too bad,’ he said. ‘You didn’t tell the truth so there won’t be any water.’
While listening to his own words, he thought: fuck, fuck, how could I be so stupid? Of course she wouldn’t just admit to the crimes. Now I have to find another reason for turning on the water or I’ll risk her croaking before I get back.
He was already wondering if it would actually be that bad if she died of thirst.
‘Is this some kind of witch trial?’ She shrieked. ‘Do I have any chance? You put the witch in a bag, tie it, and throw it in the water. If she drowns, she’s innocent, if not, she’s a witch and will be burned?’
Her lower lip split and a drop of blood emerged, making a red film on her teeth.
Somehow I have to find a way to be more generous, he thought.
‘Did you cheat on your husbands?’
‘Yes!’ she yelled. ‘Yes, damn it! Both of them!’
‘Were you happy that they died?’
She jumped up from the bed and went to the bars. She grabbed them and shook them. ‘What are these questions about? Is this Judgement Day? Are you God?’
He slowly stepped back. It was supposed to look deliberate. Not like someone trying to sneak off.
Standing in the doorway, he turned to her and said, ‘I’ll give you water.’
The steel door had hardly closed when Svenja Moers was at the tap to turn it on. But she hadn’t ever turned it off. In her panic she no longer knew which way you had to turn it to make the water flow.
She had no idea how long that lunatic would let the water flow so she needed a container to collect as much as she could. There was a plug for the wash basin. She pushed it in carefully.
The empty pipes made noises in the wall. Then with a gurgle, water squirted into the basin.
>
She cupped her hands under the tap and drank from them. It was delicious! It was life!
Energy returned with every gulp, and the knowledge that she wouldn’t give up. Never!
She had survived her capricious mother, two marriages and a bankruptcy. She would survive this too!
*
They met in Ubbo Heide’s apartment, not far from the police station.
Although it was very warm, his wife Carola had draped a rug over his knees, as if to protect him.
They drank tea, the way he liked it. Not with sugar and cream, but black with fresh peppermint leaves. The hot tea was refreshing, despite the sticky air in Aurich.
Ann Kathrin and Weller sat on either side of Ubbo. Each had only one cheek on the cushion, barely making use of the comfortable furniture, both looking as if they wanted to jump up, completely fixated on Ubbo and what they had planned.
Weller felt the slight pain in his back that he sometimes got when something in his life was off kilter and he had relationship problems. Now he tried to ignore it.
‘The key to everything lies on Langeoog,’ Ubbo Heide said.
‘It’s about Steffi Heymann. Someone’s clearing up here. Is taking revenge or—’
He fell silent.
Weller added, ‘Or is eliminating accessories because he’s afraid he’ll get caught anyway?’
Ubbo nodded. ‘Conceivable.’
‘Basically, we have to reopen the case and look closely at the individuals involved.’ Ann Kathrin pulled out her pencil and notebook. ‘Who did you work with back then, Ubbo?’
He smiled because she used the same writing utensils as him.
‘I was part of a task force. The best people were mustered especially for this case,’ he gestured, apologising for having put himself in the category of ‘best people’. ‘Do you know what a stir this caused in the press? The deepest of fears are unleashed when children are involved.’
‘Were you in charge of the investigations back then?’ asked Ann Kathrin.
‘No. That was Chief Detective Inspector Wilhelm Kaufmann. But then he was removed from the police force.’
‘Wilhelm Kaufmann?’ Ann Kathrin asked. ‘But he was at that birthday party in Reichshof.’
‘Yeah,’ Weller chimed in, ‘Rupert found out.’
Ubbo Heide laughed. ‘What? Rupert found that out? Didn’t I tell you guys?’
‘No,’ Ann Kathrin said, ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But that would have been important,’ Weller said in a strange tone, as if he was afraid that Ubbo Heide was losing his memory.
Ubbo laughed uncertainly. ‘You don’t really think that a former colleague stole my keys so he could decapitate two suspects who we couldn’t catch years ago?’
Weller and Ann Kathrin were silent. The two of them sipped their tea to bridge the resulting embarrassment, and Weller also reached for the raisin bread, which Carola had covered with a thick layer of butter. Weller raised his piece and motioned to Carola. ‘Delicious. So delicious!’
‘Ubbo, was Kaufmann guilty of anything?’
‘Well, back then I supported him. We were all really nervous, and there were certainly excessive measures taken. I don’t know all the details of his personal file. Back then I was furious when he was sacked. I think he completely left the police service. He opened a hotel on the River Unterweser, or somewhere. At any rate, he moved to Brake. I think he’d inherited his parents’ house in Emden. Maybe he sold it and then used the money to start something new. I don’t know exactly. We weren’t the best of friends, but I respected him. He was a good man. Sometimes the good ones are sacrificed when someone high up fucks up.’
Ann Kathrin took a sip and then put her teacup down. She liked the ringing sound of the porcelain, so she lifted the cup again and replaced it on the saucer. She felt strange, as if the little girl inside her was just discovering the sounds that objects make. She had an almost irresistible urge to break the pencil she was holding in her hand just to hear the wood snap.
‘We’ll need Wilhelm Kaufmann. Do you think he’ll be cooperative, or does he still hold a grudge against our lot?’
‘No, I don’t think so, he’ll help us with this. He was a cop, through and through. We’ll have to pull out all the old files and go over everything with him. He may remember some important detail.’
‘Tonight,’ Ann Kathrin said, ‘is the reading in Gelsenkirchen. Do you really want to go, Ubbo?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Why do you do it to yourself?’ Weller asked, although it had been his idea for him to go. Now he was worried that Büscher and Ann Kathrin would both go to Gelsenkirchen with Ubbo. He didn’t like that idea at all, and if anyone went, he wanted to go too. Under no circumstances did he want to leave Büscher and Ann Kathrin alone for too long. He didn’t like the thought of them spending a night together in a hotel.
Weller sensed that Ubbo would go through with it, despite all the difficulties. It was simply too important for him. So he suggested: ‘I’ll drive you. It’s the least I can do.’
Ann Kathrin nodded. ‘Sure, you can go together.’
Weller seemed relieved. ‘Of course the officers in Gelsenkirchen will support us, Ubbo.’
Ubbo waved that idea away. ‘For heaven’s sake! I don’t want a squad car in front of the door at my reading! How would that look?’
Ann Kathrin tried to put it differently: ‘Oh please, you’re the chief of police. Everyone will think it’s completely normal that colleagues come to pay their respects when you present your book. The whole thing is practically an infomercial for the security services.’
‘First of all,’ Ubbo Heide said, ‘I’m your former chief, and second it certainly isn’t an advertisement because I’m only talking about unsolved cases, about mistakes that we made and—’
‘Exactly,’ Ann Kathrin said. ‘That’s what I think is so great. Only someone truly commanding can do something like that. We have to admit our mistakes and talk about our difficulties. That makes us human and part of society.’
‘We’ll probably need a good three hours to get to Gelsenkirchen. When do you need to be there, Ubbo?’ Weller asked.
Ubbo Heide looked at his watch. ‘The reading starts at eight o’clock in the city library. But I have an interview beforehand. I told the journalist Silke Sobotta from the Stadtspiegel that we could talk at seven.’
‘Well then,’ Weller said, ‘we should go soon. The library has booked a room for Ubbo in the Intercity Hotel. We’ll need a room too. They have a lift, so no problem at all for Ubbo.’
Ubbo was astonished by such prescient planning from Weller. Clearly the shop was in good hands in his absence. After all, he’d trained his people well.
Carola Heide suddenly appeared by the table and, looking into the teapot, asked if she should top it up and if it would make sense for her to accompany Ubbo.
‘Sure,’ Weller said, ‘yes to both.’
However, Ann Kathrin saw from Ubbo’s face that that was exactly what he didn’t want. She placed a hand on Carola’s forearm and said, ‘You haven’t had it easy lately, Mrs Heide. Perhaps it would be better for you to relax a little. Your husband is in the best of hands with us.’
Carola Heide looked at Ann Kathrin fondly. ‘Yes. But he finds it difficult to dress and undress by himself. Even getting washed in the morning, he needs—’
‘No problem,’ Weller called. ‘We’ll take care of that. Right, Ubbo?’
‘Don’t worry, Carola,’ said Ubbo. ‘We’ll manage.’
‘Actually,’ Carola added, ‘Insa wanted to come with you, but I haven’t heard from her in days.’
‘Our daughter has her own life, Carola. We shouldn’t bother her with our affairs.’
‘Yes,’ said Carola Heide, ‘maybe you’re right.’
*
Peter Grendel, the bricklayer, turned his yellow van into the Distelkamp car park. Joachim Faust was already standing there, waiting for him.
Peter Grendel
mistook Faust for a tourist out for a stroll, not someone who wanted his services. Faust was approaching so he greeted him pleasantly.
Faust pointed to the ad on Peter’s van: Get Your Bricks on Route 66. ‘Great slogan,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing better than a convincing ad these days.’
Joachim Faust was a weakling compared with Peter Grendel. Faust wore a white linen suit, combined with a formal blue shirt the same colour as his fabric shoes. To Peter Grendel, he looked like a dandy who had intended to go on holiday to the Caribbean, but ended up in East Frisia.
‘Can I speak with you, Mr Grendel?’
Peter nodded and leaned on his van, listening.
‘Do you know me?’ Joachim Faust asked hopefully.
Peter Grendel shrugged his shoulders. ‘Should I?’
Faust extended his hand. ‘Faust. Joachim Faust. The Joachim Faust.’
Peter took his hand, shook it, and imitated Faust. ‘Grendel. Peter Grendel. The Peter Grendel!’
He must have squeezed a little hard because Faust made a face.
There was something about the man that Peter Grendel didn’t like, and it wasn’t so much his outfit, it was his smell. He didn’t smell like honest work, but of a strong perfume that seemed to Peter Grendel as if it had been used to cover something up. Peter grinned on the inside. Reminded him of Pepé Le Pew. He just couldn’t stand the guy.
‘You’re considered a friend of Ann Kathrin Klaasen. There are a couple of newspaper reports. You’ve worked for her in the past. Is that right?’
Peter didn’t answer. He just looked at the man and waited. What was he getting at?
‘Well, whatever. It’s probably not always easy to be friends with a famous woman. After all, she lives around the corner from you. House number thirteen, I believe.’
‘What do you want from me?’ Peter Grendel asked, crossing his arms over his chest. For Faust, he now seemed like an impenetrable obstacle.
‘Well, I want to be completely open with you, Mr Grendel. I’m working on a story about Ann Kathrin Klaasen, and right now I’m gathering opinions about her. Stories, anecdotes. It shouldn’t harm her if you talk to me.’
‘Does Ann Kathrin know that you’re talking to me?’
Faust smiled. ‘No. But we can keep it to ourselves, Mr Grendel. I’ll treat you to a round and then we’ll have a talk, man to man.’
The Oath Page 12
