Hunter's Rain (18 page)

Then the entire, raging fireball collapsed upon itself. Shards of hot metal and burning wood hissed in sharp bursts into the water, loud enough for the four men to hear quite clearly. A huge pall of dense, black smoke boiled upwards.

Gatto was running towards the flames, shouting. “Paul! Paul!
Paul!”

He did not get far. Two burly members of his team flung themselves upon him and brought him down. Despite the fierceness of his struggles, they held him fast.

“Sir!,” one of them bawled at him. “You can’t do anything! He’s gone! No one could have lived though that!”

“Let me go, you bastards!
Let me go!”

They were immovable.

“No, sir,” the second one said.

The other two stood by, faces grim, ready to add their own weight upon their still resisting commander, if need be.

After long moments, Gatto stopped fighting.

“Alright,” he said with unnatural calm. “You can get off me.”

They released him, and got to their feet warily.

Gatto stood up. A large swathe of his clothes was a huge damp mark, with bits of grass upon it. It looked funny, but no one was laughing.

He turned to stare at the billowing of flame and smoke that had become Paul Zimmer’s pyre.

“Sound,” he said tightly, face stretched in a mask of sorrow and anger. “Something in there caused enough interference, forcing us to shout at each other to be heard. It was voice activated. Paul triggered the bomb himself. They could have put it anywhere. No wonder everything looked nice and clear. No wonder there were no tripwires. They didn’t need them. Bastards.
Bastards!”

Wannsee Station, Brücke C, the white lettering on the blue background declared.

The bastards in question, were two men across the water. They had been standing near one of the boarding piers for the lake transport shipping lines. On spotting the rising cloud of the explosion in the distance, they hurried along the stretch of waterfront to the right of the pier, until they came to what seemed like a deserted rescue station, behind a wire fence. They could go no further without vaulting the fence.

Just beyond it was a large, square box with a red cross within a blue

circle upon it, fixed to a post. Atop the box, was a big clock with black figures on a white dial. It had stopped at 10.35, and seemed to have been like that for a very long time. The whole structure looked very much the worse for wear.

One of the men leaned against the fence and raised a pair of binoculars that was hung about his neck. He paused to stare across the grey of the water, then brought them to his eyes. He focused on the location of the explosion.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said.

He passed the binoculars to his companion, who put them to his own eyes.

“Boom,” the second man said, and gave a silent laugh.

Both men, in deck shoes and yachting gear, attracted no curious glances from the few people about who had decided to brave the weather. Those few were now staring puzzled at the distant pall of smoke.

The voice of one of the onlookers came drifting upon the light breeze. “Some accident somewhere.”

Those who had even bothered to look at the two men, had worn expressions that had clearly betrayed their thoughts. The two they assumed, were fanatical sailors who had been crazy enough to take to the water on such a day.

They turned and retraced their steps for a short distance, before crossing a patch of green to take a surfaced path that zigzagged up to where they had parked their car.

Pappenheim sat at his desk, head in his hands. Ten minutes before, he had
received a distraught call from Max Gatto, and had not touched a cigarette since.

Wearily, he passed his hands through his hair. “Paul Zimmer. Wife, two kids under five.”

Finally, he took out a cigarette from the pack on his desk, lit it, then drew loudly upon it. He did not look as if he found it enjoyable. He gave a sigh of foreboding.

“The shit,” he said, “is about to hit the fan.”

He picked up a phone, and called Müller.

Müller was just about to leave his room to go downstairs. He got out his phone at the first ring.

“Yes, Pappi.”

“Paul Zimmer is dead,” Pappenheim said without preamble.

Müller shut his eyes briefly, said nothing, went across to the large four-poster, and sat down at its edge.

“How?” he asked at last.

Pappenheim gave Müller the full details, as had been related to him by Gatto. “It was a sucker job,” he added in a hard voice. “I want those bastards.”

“That makes two of us.”

“We’re in a queue. You should have heard Max. He sounded as if he was chewing his phone.”

“I can well understand.”

“They did everything right,” Pappenheim said. “Not their fault.”

“From what you’ve just told me, he certainly can’t be faulted. He could not have known they would have had a set-up like that. Not even Paul could have expected it. What about the local colleagues?”

“They’re okay. Sleeping drug. That was all. Two men in sailing gear came up to them asking some stupid questions. Deliberately so, if course. The colleagues reacted as would be expected. Idiot tourists out on the water on such a day. They did not take them seriously. Then wham…two needles in the neck.”

“Smart. Can they identify any of them?”

“Nothing we can use. Only one really spoke. The other positioned himself is such a way that the attack, when it came, was so quick and co-ordinated, the colleagues had no chance. Both ‘sailors’ had their rain hoods up, and screwed their faces as if against the light drizzle that was falling at the time.”

“They considered everything.”

“Hopefully not everything. Max and the others are scouring the place for clues. But we’ve got a big problem.”

“The Great White.”

“The man himself. I’ll have to report to him before he gets to know from other sources. You know he’ll do everything to nail you for this.”

“The surprise would be if he didn’t try,” Müller said in a voice born of experience.

“So what do you plan to do?”

“Coming back to Berlin won’t bring Paul back, nor help the case. Far better that I continue with my investigations, whatever the GW thinks. This is not just a personal case. It was never wholly that. These people are inimical to the country. They have killed a colleague today. They had a good try at killing you, and they nearly got Miss Bloomfield this morning. They once kidnapped the GW’s own daughter. Even he can’t be stupid enough to miss all these connections. If he hadn’t set up his ludicrous PR exercise of a talk for his pet VIPs, Max and his team would have got down in time, and Paul Zimmer would not have left a widow and two little kids behind.”

“Now you’ve got that off your chest, I can see the line of attack if Kaltendorf starts to flame from every orifice. Just so you know, I concur.”

“Okay, Pappi. Will you be calling Paul’s wife? Or are you leaving that to Max?”

“I think is appropriate for Max to do the initials. I’ll call her afterwards.”

“When you do, give her my condolences and sincerest regrets. And let her know we’ll get the bastards.”

“You can be sure of that. Now I’d better run off like good boy to Kaltendorf.”

“Thanks, Pappi. Terrible news.”

“Not good. I’ll keep you posted.”

But Pappenheim had already been eclipsed.

In his own office, Kaltendorf picked up one of his phones at the second ring. “Kaltendorf.”

“Ah, Heinz,” a familiar voice said. “What’s this I hear about one of your men going down?”

“
What?
None of my people are down. Where did you hear that?”

The smooth voice ignored the question. “It appears this happened at Wannsee…”

“I have no special teams out at the moment. Anywhere. What would they being doing in Wannsee.”

“Don’t you know where your own people are, Heinz?” The question had been deliberately framed to cause embarrassment. “Now I wonder who would authorise
Kommissar
Gatto’s team…”

“
Gatto?
Gatto was giving a talk – on my authority – to some dignitaries. His people were in attendance. What the devil are they doing in Wannsee?”

Again, a direct reply was avoided. “All I can tell you is that there was an explosion.
Hauptmeister
Zimmer is down.“

Kaltendorf’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, as he took in the news of the death of the senior sergeant.

“Down?” he said after a while, shocked voice so low it was almost inaudible.

“If you did not authorise this,” the voice went on, totally devoid of mercy, “who did?”

Kaltendorf, gripped his phone.
“Müller!”
he snarled.

But the other person had already hung up.

Kaltendorf slammed down the phone, then picked up another. He dialled Müller’s extension. When he got no reply he slammed it down, then picked it up again.

Pappenheim was just about to leave for Kaltendorf’s office when one of the phones rang. He picked it up almost before the first ring had stopped.

“
Pappenheim!”
came the roar in his ear.
“My office!”

“I was already on my way…sir…”

The sharp click told him that Kaltendorf had already hung up on him.

Pappenheim sighed. “And the condemned man had a last smoke.”

With great deliberation, he took a cigarette from the pack, and lit it. He leaned back in his chair and smoked the weed slowly, taking it out every so often to look at it, before putting it back into his mouth. He continued like this until it had burned right down, then he took it out for a last look, before stubbing it out with the same deliberation that he had used when smoking.

He stood up, and brushed the specks of ash off his clothes. They showered onto his chair, the desk, and the floor. The phone began to ring as he moved from behind the desk. There was something about its insistence that led him to believe it was Kaltendorf.

He let it ring, and went out.

Kaltendorf was on his feet and glowering when Pappenheim entered.

“You’re late!” Kaltendorf barked.

“I came as quickly as I could, sir,” Pappenheim said calmly.

“I want an explanation, Pappenheim!” Kaltendorf raged. “One of my officers is down! I want to know what
Kommissar
Gatto’s team are doing in Wannsee! I want to know why they were called out without
my
authority…
don’t…
interrupt me!
I
am in command here!
Not
Müller!
How many times do I have to say it?”

Pappenheim held on to his calm. “May I speak now, sir?”

“Make it good! I want to hear you justify the death of
Hauptmeister
Zimmer!”

“
Hauptkommissar
Müller, sir, is investigating a group of people whose activities are inimical to the state…”

“Who gave him permission?”

“Sir,” Pappenheim began, grimly maintaining his careful calm as he went for the jugular, “these are the same people who kidnapped your daughter last summer; and the same people who tried to kill me last May.”

Mention of his daughter caused an involuntary twitch to flit across Kaltendorf’s right cheek.

You poor bastard, Pappenheim thought with short-lived sympathy. You’re still on the hook. They’re still yanking your chain.

He pressed home his advantage. “
Hauptkommissar
Müller was following a lead which took him to Wannsee, where he discovered a body…”

Kaltendorf stared at him. “A
body?
Whose?”

“I’ve no idea, sir,” Pappenheim lied. “He called me and asked that I send down Gatto’s team. He wanted the place immediately made secure, and a thorough check made…”

“Why not a normal forensic team…”

“With respect, sir, if I may finish.”

Still shaken by the reference to his daughter’s kidnapping, Kaltendorf nodded.

“A normal forensic team might have inadvertently destroyed clues that Müller would recognise, given his experience with the case. The explosion proves he was right. Gatto’s team are highly expert. Had it been an average forensic team, we might have been looking at the deaths of several colleagues, instead of one.”

Even Kaltendorf could not have argued with that logic, so he allowed Pappenheim to continue.

“Müller ordered that we ask the local colleagues to put two officers to guard the scene, until Gatto’s people arrived. The officers were instructed not to enter the building, to avoid unwitting obliteration of vital evidence.”

“So what killed Zimmer?”

“Lateness, sir.”

Kaltendorf gave Pappenheim a baleful look. “Lateness?”

“Yes, sir.” Pappenheim replied, face expressionless. “I wanted Gatto and his team to get down there immediately. Müller thought people might try to get into the house to take away incriminating evidence. Unfortunately, they were held up.”

“How?”

“They were, sir, at a talk being given to…”

Kaltendorf paled with outrage. “Are you trying to lay the blame on
me
, Pappenheim?”

“Not at all sir. I am stating facts, regarding timings. Because of the delay, persons unknown had time to do the very thing Müller feared. The local colleagues were assaulted by two men posing as sailing enthusiasts, and injected with a drug that put them to sleep. The men then entered the house, and removed the body. They then cleared the building of incriminating evidence, placed most of it in the boathouse with the body, and rigged a booby-trap.

“Despite all the normal precautions - and we all know how careful Paul Zimmer was – an explosion occurred, killing Zimmer, and destroying the evidence that had been left. The body in the house has been torn to pieces. Most of it is gone. The trigger was voice-activated. I will have a full report from Gatto and the surviving members of the team, on their return. They are currently sifting through the place for anything that might lead us to the perpetrators.”