Grave Intent (3 page)

“Till tomorrow,” Jan said.

Max raised one hand in salute as he yanked the cable from his laptop with the other.

“Happy hunting,” Chandu said and left the room.

Back out in the hall, he looked around warily. The policewoman in the tight T-shirt was nowhere to be seen, so he hurried off, squeezed past a group of cops, then crossed through the lobby without drawing attention to his fast pace. He slipped out the front entrance and onto the street, breathing an audible sigh of relief. It was a weird feeling, working for the other side.

Bernhard Valburg’s practice stood in a quiet suburb of Berlin. Single-family homes lined a street free of traffic, the sidewalk punctuated by narrow beech trees. Cherry laurel greened the entrance, where a sign was taped to the glass door: “Practice Closed Until Further Notice.”

Still, Jan could see a light on inside, so he pressed the bell. A moment later, a woman in a white lab coat opened the door. Everything about her fit the mold of the long-serving doctor’s assistant. She wore her hair pinned up and just enough makeup not to be intrusive. She smiled, but her tear-filled eyes told a different story.

“Yes?” she asked wearily.

“Detective Tommen.” Jan showed his badge. “I’m from Berlin Police, and I’m working on Dr. Valburg’s murder.”

“Vanessa Ziegler,” she told him, opening the door all the way. “I was Dr. Valburg’s assistant for twenty-three years.”

Jan stepped inside the office. A mountain of files was piled on the reception desk. Hastily scribbled notes lay next to the telephone. The aroma of fresh coffee mixed with the musty smell of file folders.

“I have to tell the doctor’s patients about his death,” Vanessa explained. “I’m trying to assign some to other pulmonologists in Berlin.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since earlier today. Dr. Valburg had me listed as an emergency contact.” Sighing, she pointed to the files. “And when I’m done with all that, I’ll have to straighten up the offices for his successor, including getting all the personal items removed and shredding a lot of files.”

“Do you know who his successor will be?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have anything to do with that. The practice is in good shape, and Dr. Valburg had a spotless reputation. Whoever takes over is going to have it easy. There aren’t many pulmonologists looking for a practice, so it could take a while.”

“How was your relationship with Dr. Valburg?”

“He was a good boss. We bickered, sure, but I liked working here.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Hit the unemployment office. Hope there’s a position available.” She shrugged. “It’s not easy when your life changes course overnight. I was hoping to stay here till I retired.”

Vanessa was having trouble holding back the tears, and she turned her face away. Jan waited till she pulled herself together. She took a deep breath, then faced him again.

Her smile was back. “So how can I help you?”

“I need a list of Dr. Valburg’s patients.”

“Don’t you need some kind of official warrant for that?”

“I actually do.” Jan winced a little. He’d been hoping to leapfrog over that paperwork.

“Well, doesn’t matter to me. If it helps find the murderer, then I’m happy to do it.” Vanessa went into the neighboring room, started up the computer, and hit a few keys. “How do you want the list? Should I print it out or send it to your e-mail?”

Jan’s cell phone rang before he could reply.

“Yeah.”

“It’s me, Max. I found something interesting.”

“What’ve you got?”

“I entered Bernhard Valburg’s name in the database and got a hit.”

Jan pulled his notepad from his pocket and sat in a waiting-room chair. He wrote down every detail Max gave him. Two minutes later, he’d forgotten about the patient list and was hurriedly saying good-bye to Vanessa Ziegler.

“I’ll be back,” he said quickly, “that or call.”

On the way to the car, he dialed Chandu’s number. For the next round of questioning, he would need his friend’s help.

Max strolled happily over to the candy machine and pressed the lever for a bag of gummy bears. He wouldn’t have believed that doing an internship with the Berlin Police could be so much fun.

The guys in IT were
almost
as good as he was. His system access came with a tracker that showed them his every keystroke and mouse click. That way it would be impossible for him to pull some scam or use his access for something other than his official assignments.

It took him two days before he noticed it. But these cop geeks simply were not Maximum, the master hacker.

First thing he did was copy the top-level administrator’s password. “NCC-1701” was easy enough to crack—as if he had never seen a single episode of
Star Trek
! That night he created a new user account, one that couldn’t be traced, and then he quickly programmed in a back door to the system so he’d be able to get into the cop server when his internship ended.

He also tagged his file. Whenever someone pulled it up, he would receive a message with the name of the person opening it. That way he’d be warned in time if someone were investigating him.

Whistling the Imperial March, he went back to his desk. He was probably the only superhacker in the world with ongoing access to a cop server.

His phone was vibrating. Probably Jan with another question. He looked at the screen and froze. His sister had texted him.

In B this weekend. Coming Sat eve. xo Mira.

“Goddamn,” Max cursed. His weekend was screwed.

Jan was waiting on the street corner as Chandu stepped out of the taxi.

“You’re not driving?” Jan asked him.

“You sounded so worked up on the phone, I took off right away. Wasn’t any time to get a . . . loaner. What kind of clue is so hot you pull me off my own investigation?”

“Over there is the office of a Dr. Aaron Ewers. A cosmetic surgeon.”

Jan gestured at a garish building. Before it rose a little lane of blooming trees amid a lawn landscaped with a fountain and precisely trimmed shrubs. The rounded front entrance was all in glass.

Chandu nodded. “The Botox biz appears to pay off big-time. Why are we here?”

“The good doctor once threatened to kill our victim. Apparently Bernhard Valburg had set tax-fraud investigators on him. And they, annoyingly, caught some things that ended up reducing the clinic’s profit.”

“So why do you need me?”

“Max found not only Bernhard Valburg’s claim of a death threat—he found others’ claims too. This Dr. Ewers is bad-tempered and has little respect for authority. He faced five charges of insulting an official before a judge eventually slapped a suspended sentence on him. He may not respect me, as a police officer, but he might just be a little more intimidated by a six-foot-six tattooed black guy with giant arms.”

“I feel like I’m being judged by my appearance,” Chandu grumbled with a twinkle in his eye.

“It happens,” Jan said, smiling.

“It’s always a pleasure working with you.”

“Don’t be so sensitive. Got your fake badge on you?”

“Sure do,” Chandu said. “It’s scored me a few free drinks already.”

Jan raised his eyebrows in disapproval. “We should have a talk about the exact meaning of the word
responsible use
.”

“Those are two words.”

“Fine.” Jan waved away the thought. “Let’s head on in. Try to act as threatening as possible. It’s the only way to reach a person like this. Maybe he’ll even cave.”

“Sounds like fun.”

The foyer fulfilled all expectations set by the building’s exterior, from the shiny gray granite floor, to the soft piano music flowing from concealed speakers, to a faint aroma of artificial citrus. An attractive young woman sat behind the stark white reception desk, which was graced by two substantial floral arrangements and a bowl of expensive candies.

“Welcome to Ewers Clinic,” the woman said through her immaculate teeth. “How can I help you?”

“Berlin Police, Detectives.” Jan set his badge on the counter. “We have an appointment with Dr. Ewers.”

The woman looked at a screen. “I don’t have an appointment here. When did you—”

“Thanks. We’ll find our own way.” Chandu grabbed a handful of candies from the bowl and stuffed them in his jacket pocket.

“Dr. Ewers, room one zero four,” Jan read off a wall directory.

“One moment. The doctor is in a consultation.”

“Not anymore.” Chandu popped a candy into his mouth and let the wrapper fall to the floor.

As they headed for the room, the woman hurried out from behind her desk and tottered after them in her too-high heels. She scolded Jan and Chandu, “This is outrageous! You can’t just come barging in here.”

“Sure we can,” Jan told her. “This is a murder investigation. Whatever Dr. Ewers is doing can’t be more important than that.”

“There it is.” Chandu pointed at a door, pulled down the handle, and went in with Jan.

A man in a white doctor’s coat sat on a pale leather sofa in the elegantly appointed room. He had short, thinning hair. The tawny color of his face seemed fake, almost like makeup.

A middle-aged lady sat across from him. Judging by the jewelry on her hands and neck, she was quite well-off.