The Oath

by Klaus-Peter Wolf

  What kind of woman wouldn’t be impressed? Regardless of whether they were twenty years younger than he was.

  ‘So what do you want? Four coffees or what? Just tell me. Can’t you see I’m busy here?’

  ‘I don’t have to write it down. I keep such details in my head. So I need a tea—’

  ‘What kind of tea? East Frisian?’

  ‘Nah, one of those that women always drink.’

  ‘Harmony herbal tea?’

  ‘That stuff that’s not even real tea.’

  ‘Rooibos?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Vanilla?’

  ‘Are there other kinds?’

  ‘You don’t have a clue, man!’

  ‘And then a boiled sausage with double mustard, a piece of apple cake with whipped cream.’

  ‘We don’t have any more apple cake, but I do have East Frisian torte.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Rupert only knew the man they were looking for from the descriptions and pictures Weller had taken in Gelsenkirchen. He was tall and thin. Because he’d apparently disguised himself as a woman once, Rupert assumed he could use any hairdo as a disguise.

  The guy over there with the dreadlocks almost down to his bottom looked very suspicious. Surely that hair wasn’t real. And the beard as well.

  Rupert couldn’t remember ever having seen someone with both dreadlocks and a beard. He thought people only wore their hair like that because they couldn’t grow a real beard.

  He was at least six foot five, maybe six foot six tall. Shoes at least size twelve. His right shoe was loose. The ends of the shoelaces clacked against the ground with every step. His shoes were more suitable for mountain climbing than an island holiday.

  He was carrying a bag on his back, with plenty of room for a weapon.

  The waterproof fishing vest he wore with all the pockets could also be a bulletproof vest in disguise.

  ‘Bingo,’ Rupert said. ‘I think we’ve got him.’

  The answer from the button in Rupert’s ear was unpleasantly loud. ‘Do not arrest! I repeat: do not arrest! Stay as close to him as possible. We’ll get him, if he goes to the bathroom or disembarks. Not now. There are too many people—’

  But Rupert saw his chance that very minute. No more than two metres away, the beanpole was bending over to tie his shoelaces with a nice double bow. It didn’t get better than this!

  Rupert was there in two steps and kicked him in the back. The man slammed to the ground and Rupert had already overwhelmed him.

  The dreadlocked guy screamed. ‘Help! I’m being attacked! What do you want?’ But before Rupert could slap the cuffs on him, he was attacked himself, by Miriam and the girl with the spaghetti straps.

  ‘Leave Lars alone! Let him be, he didn’t do anything to you!’

  Miriam grabbed Rupert’s nose and twisted it. He’d been through plenty in his lifetime, but he’d never seen that kind of self-defence.

  It hurt like crazy, and Rupert didn’t dare hit away her hand because he was afraid his nose could suffer serious damage as a result.

  He whined, although he couldn’t recognise his own voice through the nasal tone. ‘Ouch! Ouch! I’m . . . in —olice.’

  He wanted to pull out his badge, but Miriam slammed her elbow against his lower ribs. Rupert had the breath knocked out of him. He knelt on the floor. Lars, the man with the dreadlocks, stood up and went to the women’s table, protected by the four of them, who were grouped around him like professional bodyguards.

  Rupert’s colleague laughed behind the bar. ‘It really isn’t your day, is it? Are those your daughters? Was that guy hitting on them? He looks like a pothead. I wouldn’t like it either if my daughter came home with someone like that. My God, I don’t even want to think about it!’

  Rupert touched his nose and tried to get his breathing back under control.

  Should he call up the SWAT team now and initiate the arrest, or should the whole thing be filed under ‘mistakes can happen if you’re nervous’?

  *

  He made her prance up and down repeatedly, insisting she sway her hips and smile. He didn’t think she had enough makeup on, but he liked the hairdo now.

  She was already outside of the cell. What a feeling! Although there was still a locked steel door and she had no idea how it was opened, she could already feel freedom was in touching distance.

  ‘I’m going to do everything you ask,’ she said, ‘and I’ll follow your directions exactly. You can rely on me.’

  ‘Yes,’ he laughed, ‘it’s nice to be on the right side of things, isn’t it? It’s a good feeling, like being praised by your parents because you’ve completed a difficult task.’

  She made an effort to smile. ‘Yes, that’s exactly how it feels.’

  ‘There are transmitters,’ he said, ‘in your earrings. I’m listening to every word you say. And I’ll know soon enough if you take them off. It makes a rustling sound that I—’

  ‘No, I won’t do that! I won’t disappoint you!’

  He wants to send me somewhere with these stupid earrings. I don’t care what he hears, though, she thought. I’ll run to the police and ask them for help. And then this madman will finally be arrested.

  ‘And I also have a wonderful belt for you,’ he said. ‘Look.’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Women wear things like that these days. Instead of a handbag. You tie it around your stomach and you keep your money and phone inside it, so they can’t be stolen.’

  He sounded so friendly and had such a wide smile that she knew there was something else going on.

  ‘You’ve already guessed, right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come, tell me: what’s inside?’

  ‘A phone?’

  ‘Oh, come on! Don’t pull my leg. What do you think it could be? Don’t act so stupid! It’s an explosives belt. It just looks better than those things the terrorists always wear.’

  He raised a little transmitter. It resembled her old Nokia phone that had died years before.

  He was giddy, like a kid with a birthday present. ‘I can use this to trigger the explosion. It works remotely, like a phone call. So if I hear,’ he said, stroking the left side of his face, ‘anything I don’t like, then . . . baaaaang! If you try to take it off or throw it away – baaaaang! There’s only one way to get rid of it, sweetie: you come back to me, and then I’ll free you of it. And then we’ll celebrate together. Don’t try to cross me!’

  *

  In keeping with his request, Wilhelm Kaufmann had received a Walther pistol. Since he’d been carrying it in his right blazer pocket, he almost felt as if he’d been reinstated to the police force, a volunteer member of the team.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be on a first-name basis,’ he asked Ann Kathrin Klaasen. ‘We’re practically colleagues again.’

  She only nodded gently, but then he called out enthusiastically, ‘Give me five!’ and she did as he asked. What they needed now was a little hope and a lot of luck.

  Ann Kathrin dialled Büscher’s number, in Kaufmann’s presence. He answered immediately.

  ‘It’s not a good idea to take the first ferry, Martin.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We’re pretending that Willy Kaufmann is a tourist, off to the island for fun, for a break at his holiday flat. He’s stayed in the Benser Hof Hotel in Bensersiel before. Wouldn’t it be better to let him sleep in, eat breakfast and then catch the ferry? If he’s already being watched, then it will be much more credible.’

  Büscher immediately agreed with her. ‘Of course. You must do what’s best. Should I inform the SWAT team that you—’

  ‘No,’ she answered, ‘that’s exactly what I don’t want.’

  And Büscher understood that she didn’t trust anyone. From the very beginning, she hadn’t planned on having Wilhelm Kaufmann take the first ferry at 6.45. She’d only said that to prevent any possible disruptions, to mislead eavesdroppers. She’d have him go at 9
.30, maybe even at 11.30. Maybe Kowalski would already be over there and waiting for his new victim.

  *

  Weller had taken a plane to the island. They still had their suitcases in the Strandeck Hotel. Weller had been lucky. There was still a room available.

  The killer, Weller thought, would hardly be surprised to see detectives on the island. After all, Holthusen had been murdered there. He might even think that we are still trying to arrest Wilhelm Kaufmann. Besides, Weller was planning to explore the island with a pirate’s bandana underneath his helmet, to disguise his face.

  You will have used a bike too, Weller thought. There’s no better, faster transport here. The island isn’t that big. If we meet, I’ll recognise you and then—

  In his dreams he was duelling with the culprit. But in reality he wasn’t really looking forward to that. Instead, he hoped the boys from the SWAT team would be able to put an end to it on the ferry without spilling too much blood. Then he would carry out the official arrest here on the island and accompany the killer back to the mainland.

  *

  Twelve cameras recorded everyone who parked their cars in the car park in Bensersiel, purchased a Langeoog Card in the ticket hall or waited for the ferry. No one could board the ferry without being recorded from at least two different angles. There were also several surveillance cameras on the ferry itself.

  The staff at Café Waterkant were helpful and provided a room for Ann Kathrin Klaasen and Martin Büscher, who now sat there in front of the monitors. They were accompanied by Sylvia Hoppe, who was able to move the individual pictures onto another screen. Then they could immediately send any pictures they wanted to all of the police officers on duty.

  ‘When we identify him here, he will be done for,’ Büscher said. He was delighted that the fact they had been present at Ubbo Heide’s reading in Gelsenkirchen had given them a definite advantage: they knew what Kowalski looked like.

  Büscher was so nervous that he couldn’t drink coffee or tea. His hands were sweaty. He kept wiping them on his trouser legs. Everything he’d heard about Ann Kathrin Klaasen appeared to be true. She was completely calm in situations of total crisis. She only got worked up in her everyday life when the washing machine didn’t work or the car wouldn’t start. The words ‘cold-blooded’ came to mind.

  She checked every person with a quick glance.

  ‘Please zoom in on the Japanese woman in camera one!’

  ‘The man in the wheelchair! I want to see his face. He’s under the camera frame!’

  ‘Can I please have the blonde a little bigger? Watch out, she’s about to walk in front of the second camera and I need her from the front.’

  She gave clear instructions and was highly focused. In between times, she called Rupert and reprimanded him. ‘No more going it alone, you understand?’

  ‘What do you mean, going it alone?’ Rupert defended himself. ‘I just didn’t want the chance to slip away.’

  ‘The chance to die for justice?’ she asked harshly. ‘Or to become a superhero?’

  ‘OK,’ Rupert grumbled. ‘I’ll admit I think I’m capable of more that the kids from the SWAT team. They all have to show their ID in the cinema if the film is an 18.’

  ‘Rupert!’ She reproached him. The way she said his name was sufficient to convey her feelings.

  ‘The main thing is for this to end soon. I’ll go crazy if I have to play the waiter any longer. It’s just not a job for me. It looks so easy if you’re sitting at a bar, but in reality—’

  ‘Do you want us to bring you out? Are you not up to the job?’

  ‘No, I am. I’m still serving boiled sausages. But if another one of those tourists messes me around, I’ll pour pea soup on their head!’

  Büscher grinned. He liked the way Ann Kathrin dealt with Rupert. He decided to learn from her.

  Weller checked in. ‘I’m trying the apple cake here in the café. I’m about to ride my bike around and then return to the ferry terminal. I’ll recognise him if he’s already on the island.’

  ‘Thanks, Frank. I’d like an update every fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Sure, sweetie.’

  ‘Don’t call me sweetie on an official operation. This is all being recorded, and maybe later on—’

  ‘Sorry, sweetie.’

  Ann Kathrin hung up.

  ‘What kind of trip is he on?’ Büscher asked.

  ‘He’s jealous of you,’ she said, and Büscher looked astonished.

  ‘Of me?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Büscher liked that. Somehow it made him feel better. He wanted to say something, make a gesture, but Ann Kathrin motioned to the screen. ‘This is where the action is.’

  *

  Carola Heide had brewed tea and set the table for two. The teapot was on a warmer and there were peppermint leaves on the table, filling the room with their scent.

  Ubbo was exhausted. Carola was worried about him. When he thought no one was looking, he threw his head back and exhaled in a way that she didn’t like at all. It was as if he was fighting for air.

  He liked to downplay his physical weaknesses. He’d learned that an enfeebled boss had much less authority that one who was fighting fit. Everyone at the police station could be ill, but he couldn’t. He’d lived according to this principle for too long.

  ‘Good that you’re at home,’ Carola said to him. ‘I was afraid for you.’

  He waved her away but even that gesture was difficult for him.

  ‘Oh, you,’ he tried to smile. ‘My job is done. I can’t make an arrest as a volunteer. It’s the young officers’ turn now. I’m keeping out of operations. This was my final show.’

  She looked at him with relief. ‘A couple of weeks on Wangerooge will do you good,’ she said.

  ‘Do us good,’ he added and saw in her gaze how much this woman loved him, after all these years. It made him feel better, and in that moment he knew that he was prepared to do anything for her. For her and for their relationship. Life would have very different priorities from now on. He just wanted to spend a couple of good years with his wife and take better care of their daughter. He ignored the knocking on the door. But then someone rang the bell.

  ‘Send them away,’ Ubbo said, ‘whoever it is.’

  ‘You can count on that,’ Carola promised. She cleared her throat, put on a stern look, and went to the door. She feared there might be a police officer standing there with some important message, wanting to take Ubbo immediately to the headquarters on Fischteigweg. Well, they’d get an earful!

  The man was carrying a duffle bag. He looked like a marathon runner. Tall and gaunt. He gave the impression of being both energetic and burned-out at the same time.

  She was familiar with these contradictions in high-performance athletes, who played close attention to a healthy lifestyle, but then forced themselves to overcome their limits without paying attention to the body’s signals to stop. Ubbo was a little bit like that.

  ‘I have to speak to your husband,’ he said, immediately trying to squeeze through the crack of the door.

  She held the door with her foot. ‘I daresay. Lots of people want to see him. But my husband’s not available at the moment.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. He’ll be very glad to see me.’

  ‘I think I know you,’ Carola Heide said.

  ‘Yes. I once gave your daughter private lessons. She’s stupid, far less intelligent than her father.’

  With a gentle power he pushed the door further open and forced her into the hallway.

  ‘You can’t just—’

  ‘Oh yes. I can.’

  From the living-room window Ubbo Heide couldn’t see who was at the door. It didn’t interest him because it had never occurred to him that Kowalski would arrive on his doorstep.

  *

  The ferry docked at 11.20.

  Wilhelm Kaufmann listened to the roar of the diesel engine. He liked the noise when the ship’s propellers swirled the salty water. He knew somethin
g about ships and ferries. The Langeoog III was 45 metres long and 10 metres wide. It had a draught of 1.32 metres.

  Kaufmann stood in line and ticked off these facts mentally. It made him feel secure.

  He proudly stepped on board. He in no way felt prepared to die. Instead, he felt a crazy will to survive. All his colleagues were there. Those who had just been investigating him were now on his side. The tide had turned.

  He felt an enormous strength since he’d won the fight against Birger Holthusen.

  Everything’s going to be OK, he thought. Everything’s going to be OK.

  He stepped onto the ferry as if heading to a new life.

  Svenja Moers appeared three times on Ann Kathrin’s screens. She was visible for several seconds, both from the front and from the back.

  The resolution quality was exceptional.

  But Ann Kathrin wasn’t interested in a woman who was decked out like a diva from the eighties.

  Büscher pegged her as freshly divorced, looking for a new husband, or at least a lover. A holiday on the coast was an ideal opportunity. He never would have thought that the kidnapped Svenja Moers could be moving around unaccompanied. Even if he had noticed the similarity, it wouldn’t have made any sense. A prisoner who had been released usually went straight to the police or their relatives; they didn’t take the next ferry to Langeoog looking like that.

  Aside from her provocative stride, she didn’t act in any way strangely. She even stood very close to Willy Kaufmann in the queue, which was when she showed up again in the pictures.

  ‘She won’t get very far on deck with that hairdo,’ Ann Kathrin joked, trying to lighten the mood. ‘The East Frisian wind laughs at things like that.’

  ‘She’s not from here,’ Martin Büscher said.

  *

  Kowalski placed the duffle bag on the floor, adjusted Ubbo Heide’s wheelchair and patted him down. ‘You’re exactly the type who would carry a gun at home,’ he said.

  Scared stiff, Carola Heide was leaning against the wall and watching.

  ‘What do you want from us?’

  ‘Why,’ Kowalski asked aggressively, ‘do I have to listen to North Sea Radio all day long?’