A Slow Death (Max Drescher Book 1) (9 page)

15

Michael Rahn appeared in front of Max’s desk, looking genuinely annoyed. ‘Erwin Helmes has been arrested.’

‘Again?’ Max frowned. ‘The Counsellor really is a busy boy. I didn’t even know that they’d let him out after the last time.’

‘He was released on bail after less than twelve hours in a cell,’ Michael sighed.

‘Shame we don’t still use the guillotine. What happened this time?’

‘The usual: stoning a police car, resisting arrest, damage to public property.’

Max raised an eyebrow.

‘He kicked a hole in the front desk downstairs,’ Michael explained.

‘Exactly the type of behaviour that we’ve come to expect from our elected representatives,’ Max mused. ‘Where was he nicked? Just down the road?’

‘Yeah,’ Michael nodded, ‘the fighting has been getting worse again. There were hundreds of cops in there last night again.’

‘Well not us,’ Max said cheerily. ‘We were safely tucked up in bed.’

Michael looked doubtfully at Max. His dishevelled boss looked like he’d had anything but a regulation eight hours’ sleep.

‘The whole thing,’ Max continued, ‘is a complete bloody farce. It’s just a game to these idiots. They realise that a few Molotov cocktails and some burning cars gets them on television and makes them celebrities.’

‘It’s more than just a few petrol bombs,’ said Michael. ‘Another hundred police officers were injured last night. Gregg is complaining about the flawed security policy by the Berlin political authorities.’

‘Martin Gregg,’ Max huffed, ‘the beloved head of our union, is, by definition, a bloody politician.’

‘I guess so.’

‘What’s he gonna do about this mess? Nothing.’

Reaching across the desk, Michael picked up the business card lying next to the phone and studied it carefully. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘I went back to the bookshop for another look around,’ Max lied. ‘It was under the plastic tray in the till.’ Cursing under his breath, he wondered what he’d done with the bit of paper with the numbers on it. Surely he hadn’t left it at the café?

‘So, who are Isar Services?’

‘No idea,’ Max admitted.

‘Do you think they could be connected to the killings?’

‘No idea,’ the Kriminalinspektor repeated. He was getting irritated by his sergeant’s questions and realised he was going to need a lot more coffee if he was going to make it through the rest of the morning.

Michael gestured in the direction of the Kriminalkommissar’s office. ‘Have you shown this to Marin?’

Max shook his head. ‘I want us to do some more digging first. We can’t just drop something like this on the Kriminalkommissar’s desk without knowing whether it’s actually of any relevance. They might just be a supplier to the bookshop or something.’

‘So you want to go and pay them a visit?’

‘Not yet.’ Max retrieved the card from Michael. ‘It’s a Gesundbrunnen address. Do you know anyone up there we can talk to? See if anyone has heard of this Isar Services?’

‘Well –’

‘In my experience they are a bunch useless sods up there,’ Max reflected, ‘so it would be good if we could use unofficial channels.’

Michael thought about it for a moment. ‘What about Ulrike?’

Max made a face signifying that the name hadn’t immediately registered.

‘Ulrike Hell,’ Michael said dreamily, ‘don’t you remember her? The big blonde SchuPo officer. Worked here until a couple of years ago; looked like a Helmut Newton wet dream.’

‘I’m sure Sarah would be impressed by your powers of recall,’ Max grinned. ‘Of course, I don’t pay as close attention to those things as you do.’

‘She married some guy from somewhere up around there and got a transfer. I heard she got promoted to the KriPo last year.’

‘Blonde and well stacked,’ Max mused, beginning to recall the girl in question, ‘I bet they love her over there. Presumably she has blue eyes too.’

‘Hazel,’ said Michael, a little too quickly.

‘Okay, loverboy,’ said Max, dropping the business card into the top drawer of his desk in an attempt not to lose it, ‘see if you can get hold of your Amazonian Queen and work some of that famous Rahn charm on her. See what you can find out about Isar Services and then maybe we’ll go and check them out.’

The bastard hangover was coming at her in waves, the nausea getting progressively worse until Carolina was convinced that she would have to puke on the carpet – or over the unhappy woman in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she cautiously opened her mouth and pushed out a few words, trying to sound both sober and menacing. ‘Nice place you have here. Very quiet.’

‘Where’s my husband?’ It was less of a question than a plea. Magda Grozer shifted uneasily on the white leather sofa as she looked up at the woman standing on her prize Persian rug, radiating hostility from behind a pair of outsized Ray-Bans. ‘Why can’t he come home?’

‘Bodo won’t be back,’ Carolina Barbolini said grimly, ‘until we recover the money that he stole from us. Do you understand?’

The woman let out a sob before managing a tentative nod.

‘This is a very serious matter.
Very
serious indeed.’ Glancing out of the window, Carolina watched Volkan Cin attacking the back lawn with a spade with a commendable determination. How did he manage it? If anything, last night, he had been even more drunk than she had herself. Where did he get the stamina? What the boy lacked in intelligence, he certainly made up for in energy. ‘Where is the money?’

‘I don’t know,’ Grozer groaned. More sobs followed. Carolina shook her head. They didn’t have time for this shit. If Bodo had been an idiot, it seemed that his wife was worse. Placing her hands on her hips, she looked enquiringly at Stefan Hug, standing by the fireplace with a bored expression on his face. When he didn’t respond, she gestured for him to step up to the plate. It was time for him to play good cop to her bad cop.

‘Look, Mrs Grozer, we just need to get this sorted out.’ Stepping forward, Stefan crouched down and gave the dowdy hausfrau a gentle pat on the knee. He supplemented it with a reassuring smile, before sliding onto the sofa beside her. ‘There was just a misunderstanding. Miss Barbolini here just wants to get the matter resolved. Once we can get it sorted out, everything will go back to normal.’

Magda looked at each of them in turn. ‘So why doesn’t Bodo tell you where he put the money,’ she wailed, ‘if he took it like you say he did?’

Stefan glanced at Carolina who gave him a
You’re on your own
shrug. ‘Well, the thing is, he can’t really remember – at the moment – what he did with it.’

Wringing her hands, Magda rocked forward on the sofa, her unfocused eyes staring at an ill-defined spot on the wall. ‘He can’t remember?’

‘No.’

‘But Bodo’s always had such a good memory. Maybe I should talk to him. See if I can help him remember.’

‘No,’ Stefan said gently. ‘That’s not a good idea.’

Seeing as he’s dead.
Another wave of nausea waved over her and, this time, Carolina knew that she was going to puke for sure. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’ she mumbled, not waiting for an answer as she rushed towards the door.

Feeling much better after having disgorged the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl, Carolina was splashing water on her face when there was the sound of a pop from the living room, followed by a groan and a loud crash. Resisting the urge to rush out to see what had happened, she carefully dried herself and slowly, carefully reapplied her make-up. After cleaning away all traces of her presence from the basin, she flushed the toilet twice, before stepping back out into the hall. Returning to the living room, she found Volkan standing over the body of Magda Grozer. There was broken glass all over the floor and a darkening stain, spreading slowly across the cream rug.

‘The silly bitch fell on coffee table,’ he grumbled, stuffing a small semi-automatic into his jacket pocket. ‘I bet that it cost a packet, too.’

Keeping her own counsel, Carolina looked at Stefan. Hands in pockets, he was staring determinedly out of the window, as if events inside the room were nothing to do with him.
You are becoming too much of a spectator,
she thought.
It’s as if we embarrass you.

‘I got the money.’

‘What?’ She turned back to the grinning Volkan, who pointed towards a dirty case standing in the corner.

‘The genius buried it in the garden. You could see where the lawn had been dug up and put back again.’

‘So why did you shoot her, then?’ Stefan groused, his gaze still focused on the grey sky.

‘We don’t want any witnesses,’ Volkan shrugged. ‘No loose ends.’

‘That’s right,’ Carolina nodded. ‘No loose ends. Let’s go before someone turns up.’

Walking up the gravel drive, Manfred Penzler stopped to admire Bodo Grozer’s imposing detached home. A sudden gust of wind reminded him that the only noise he could hear was the leaves on the trees that kept the neighbours at bay. It was almost as if the city behind him had disappeared.

Nice place,
the Kriminalinspektor thought,
very quiet.
And very expensive.
If there had been any doubt in Penzler’s mind that the dead accountant had been bent, the massive pile in front of him sent it scurrying for the shadows.

Resuming his march towards the front door, he was just about to reach for the bell when the door flew open and a tanned, elegant woman wearing a pair of outsized sunglasses stepped over the threshold.

Penzler was confused. His first thought was that the woman belonged in the pages of one of those glossy magazines that his wife read by the bucket load. She certainly didn’t look much like the wife of a fifty-something bean counter.

Maybe it’s his second wife.

‘Frau Grozer?’

‘Who are you?’ the woman snapped.

Fumbling in the inside pocket of his jacket, Penzler struggled to retrieve his ID. ‘I’m –’ sensing movement behind the woman, he looked up in time to see a young guy marching forward, arm outstretched. Pushing the woman out of the way, he pointed the gun at Penzler’s stomach and pulled the trigger.

16

Taking the U-Bahn to Kurfürstenstraße, Max headed for Stauffenbergstraße. Passing the Bendlerblock, he watched as a couple of elderly tourists, hunched over a map of Tiergarten trying to locate the memorial to the attempted coup against Hitler of July 20, 1944. ‘Not my idea of a holiday,’ he mumbled to himself, upping his pace as he walked past, eyes kept fixed on the sidewalk in front of him. 

A hundred metres further down the street, office buildings gave way to a row of eight villas which had been rebuilt after the war. Coming to a halt in front of the second house, Max pulled out a set of three keys. Slipping the first into the metal gate set into a high brick wall, he let himself into a small courtyard. Quickly crossing the space, he used the second key to open the front door.

Peter Behle’s apartment was on the top floor. Reaching the top of the stairs, Max took a moment to regain his breath, ringing the doorbell even though he knew for certain that there would be no one home. After a few seconds, he slipped the third key into the lock and stepped into a hallway, smiling as his shoes started squeaking on the highly polished parquet flooring. Dropping the keys on the side table, as Peter had instructed, he squelched down the hall towards the bedroom at the far end. When he got there, he found the bed had been neatly made and everything was clean and tidy, just as it always was. Shaking his head, Max chuckled to himself. It was as if Peter was waiting for his flat to feature in a photo spread for his beloved ‘Homes & Gardens’ magazine. To the right of the bed was a small chest of drawers. Pulling a C&A plastic bag out of his jacket pocket, he dropped on one knee, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a modest selection of shirts, underpants and socks that had been left from previous visits. 

Closing the drawer, he struggled to his feet and padded out of the bedroom, back into the hallway. He was about to step into the bathroom, to retrieve his shaving gear and some aftershave, when something in the lounge caught his eye.

‘Peter?’

Apart from the background hum of traffic outside, there was silence.

Dropping his bag on the floor, Max moved slowly towards the open way. Groping for his Beretta, he groaned silently when he realised that he’d left it in his desk at the Polizeipräsidium.

‘Peter?’

Taking a deep breath, Max shoved his head into the doorway. Immediately, he relaxed and tensed at the same time. His mouth dropped open, but it took several seconds for any words to come out.

‘Oh, fuck.’

Max ground the stub of his last HB into the dirt with the sole of his boot as he watched Michael Rahn walk slowly towards him across the lawn.

‘We found this.’ Michael handed Max a clear plastic evidence bag containing a single sheet of paper and stepped back a respectful distance.

Max glanced at the Charité Universitätsmedizin logo at the top of the page and knew immediately what he was looking at. It was exactly the same letter that he himself had been given. Only the name was different.

‘So you got yourself tested as well,’ he muttered. ‘You always were a terrible pessimist.’

‘Have they taken him away yet?’

‘Yeah,’ Michael stepped tentatively forward, head bowed. ‘They’re putting him in the ambulance now.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I’m really sorry Max. It’s a terrible situation.’

Max nodded.

‘It must have been a hell of a shock.’

Desperate for another smoke, Max said nothing.

‘He seemed such a –’ when words failed him, he regrouped and tried again. ‘He seemed so in
control
of things. Not the kind of guy you’d expect to down a dozen sleeping pills with a bottle of vodka.’

‘No.’

Michael, nodded towards the apartment. ‘I just realised; it was only three months or so ago that Sarah and I were here.’

‘God, yes,’ Max laughed, ‘I’d forgotten about that myself. He cooked dinner for us all. Or tried to. His bloody beef casserole.’

‘Yeah,’ Michael grinned.

‘How can you make such a mess of a beef casserole? It took him days to get it all ready and it still tasted terrible. That’s why we all ended up so drunk.’

‘Sarah had a hell of a hangover. She’ll be heartbroken at what’s happened.’

Max stared at his boots, covered in mud. ‘I’ve given my statement. I’m going to head off now.’

Michael put a consoling hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

‘Me?’ Max looked carefully at his partner. ‘Of course. I’m fine.’

‘Good.’

‘But I need you to do something for me.’

‘Sure.’

‘I need you to tell his wife.’

Michael didn’t flinch. ‘Tell her about you?’

Max frowned. ‘No. That’s not necessary. Tell her about the test. She needs to know.’

‘Do you think she knows,’ Michael asked, ‘about you, I mean?’

‘About me personally? Or about Peter’s double life in general?’

‘Either,’ Michael shrugged. ‘Both. What kind of marriage would it be if she didn’t know that her husband was –’

‘Bisexual? Maybe she knew and just looked the other way, for the sake of kids or whatever. I don’t really know. I didn’t pry too much, but I always had the impression that they were a loving family. Certainly, he was very fond of Angela. That’s her name by the way, Angela something-Behle. The family home isn’t all that far from here. You’ll find the address inside.’

‘Right.’ 

‘Obviously,’ Max continued, happy just to keep talking, ‘she’ll have to decide what to do about all this. At the very least, she deserves to be told in a sympathetic and confidential manner, not by some pimply youth in a uniform.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s nothing. I’ll go and see her now.’

‘Good.’

Michael bit his lip. ‘Are you not worried?’

Max’s eyes narrowed. ‘Worried?’

Clearing his throat nervously, Michael gestured towards the piece of paper in the bag in Max’s hand. ‘About this.’

Max looked at him carefully for a moment.
Fuck it,
he thought
, there’s no point pissing about on this.
‘No, Michael,’ he said quietly, handing back the evidence bag. ‘I’m not worried about Peter’s test.’

‘No?’

‘No. I was tested myself a couple of weeks ago. I’m HIV positive.’

Michael took an involuntary half-step backwards, then quickly corrected himself. ‘Shit, Max,’ he said softly. ‘I‘m really sorry.’

‘Thanks.’ Max gave Michael a consoling pat on the shoulder. ‘I’m fine.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know what it’s going to mean for the job, but I’m fine.’

Michael frowned. ‘Will they make you resign?’

Max shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe. There would be a payoff. I’d rather stay on the job, but we’ll see. It might be possible to be a gay policeman in Berlin, but one with AIDS? I just don’t know.’

Stepping closer, Michael clamped his partner in a bear hug.

‘Hey,’ Max chuckled, ‘it’s okay. We don’t want the crime scene boys thinking you’ve gone a bit funny.’

Michael broke off and stepped back. ‘Sorry,’ he said, laughing. ‘But, to be clear, I will never have a problem working with you.’

Max bowed slightly. ‘To be clear,’ he grinned, ‘thank you. I appreciate it, I really do. But the most important thing for the moment is that nothing about this can go any further, okay?’

‘Sure.’

‘You can tell Sarah of course, but you must say absolutely nothing to anyone at Polizeipräsidium, Marin especially. I have no doubts that the Kriminalkommissar will try and get me straight out the door if this comes to light.’

‘Won’t the union help you?’ Michael asked.

‘Up to a point, maybe. I’ve already spoken to Clara Ozil about it. But she needs a bit of time to work out what my options are. In the meantime, it’s got to be business as usual for us.’

‘Fine by me.’

‘Rest assured, I’m up to the job,’ Max smiled. ‘I’m as fit as a fiddle.’

Michael looked at him doubtfully.

‘Well, as fit as I always was.’

‘And when was your last medical?’

‘Sod off. I’m fine.’ Max’s face darkened. ‘However, if this does end up being the end of the road for me, I want to go out with a bang. I want to make sure that we get the bastards that murdered those Beerfeldt kids.’ Looking up, he fixed Michael with a steely gaze. ‘And get them good. Did you get anything interesting from your friend in Gesundbrunnen?’

              ‘Ulrike? Not really. She’s never heard of Isar Services, but she’ll ask around. I wouldn’t hold your breath though. Things are in chaos after what happened to Manfred Penzler.’

              ‘Fair enough,’ Max grunted. News of the killing of a fellow officer had raced round the Polizeipräsidium in a flash. He didn’t know Penzler personally but when a cop got shot everything else went into the pending tray.

              ‘He was a decent guy.’ Michael shook his head. ‘He had a family.’

              ‘So I heard,’ Max sighed.

              ‘All available resources are going on that one. Ulrike will try her best but she may not be able to help much.’

              ‘Don’t worry, it was always a bit of a long shot.’ Max began walking towards the gate. ‘Go and speak to the wife and I’ll see you back at the station. We’ll keep working this one on our own.’

              ‘Sounds like a plan.’ Nodding, Michael followed after him. ‘Something will turn up.’

              ‘Sure,’ Max agreed. ‘Something will turn up. It always does.’