The Child (14 page)

‘Andi was acquitted.’

‘So was O. J. Simpson. But enough of that. What’s more important is, I’ve had to cordon off another crime scene thanks to you.’

‘Would I have informed you about these murders if they were down to me?’

‘No. I don’t believe you’re a killer, Stern.’

They were the only words that tripped off Engler’s tongue.

The sun had gone down and the light had steadily faded the longer the conversation lasted. Engler was grateful for the inspection lamp that was dispelling a little of the gloom inside the shelter. He hesitated and cast an enquiring glance at Brandmann.

Should he really do it? He was very reluctant to, but Brandmann gave him an encouraging nod, so he stuck to the strategy they’d previously agreed in consultation with Chief Superintendent Hertzlich.

‘All right, I’m going to give you some info, but only because it’ll be in all the papers tomorrow morning. The name of the guy with the axe in his skull was Harald Zucker. The one in the freezer was Samuel Probtyeszki. We hadn’t heard anything of them for fifteen and twelve years respectively. Would you like to know why we couldn’t have given a shit about them till now?’

‘They were criminals.’

‘Correct. Villains of the first order. Murder, rape, prostitution, torture. They worked their way through all the capital crimes in the penal code and left a bloodstained trail the length and breadth of the country. We still haven’t managed to clear up the mess they left behind.’

Engler heard Brandmann light a cigarette.

‘Zucker and Probtyeszki belonged to a gang of psychopaths. They weren’t the only ones to disappear over the years. We failed to trace a total of seven of them.’

In the distance, forensics officers were combing the rain-sodden field with halogen spotlights. Two of the team were down in the mud in their white overalls, digging up another grave. Pluto might not be the only resident here. Engler couldn’t help thinking of Charlie. Fortunately, a girlfriend of his was looking after the poor beast today and taking him for his walkies, though he doubted if the Labrador would enjoy it in this rain.

‘What about this latest find?’ Stern asked. He sounded rather absent, as though still digesting the information he’d just been given. ‘How does it fit into the series? A child, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. We think he was a twelve-year-old boy named Lucas Schneider. He’s down to Probtyeszki – the victim of an unsuccessful ransom attempt on the gang’s part. His body was discovered on a rubbish dump, but we never managed to find the head. Until today.’

Engler groped in his trousers for a handkerchief. He failed to find it in time, so he sneezed through his mouth and pinched his nose at the same time. Someone had warned him that this built up pressure in the head and laid him open to the risk of a stroke, but he could hardly imagine the sword of Damocles would descend on him in an animal cemetery, of all places.

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ he heard Stern ask. He looked indignantly at Brandmann. That was just the question he himself had asked earlier on, during their conference with Hertzlich. It was such a cheap trick, any fool was bound to see through it. Stern certainly would.

‘Because I know what your game is,’ Engler replied reluctantly, as agreed.

‘Really? I can’t wait to hear.’

‘You’re no pro, Stern, you make too many mistakes. The only smart thing you’ve done so far is to exchange your mobile for the satellite phone you’re calling me on right now, but you probably got that tip from Borchert.’

‘I’m not on the run. I haven’t murdered anyone.’

‘I’m not saying you have.’

‘Well?’

‘OK, I’ll summarize the facts for you. Number one, seven psychopaths have disappeared from the scene in recent years. Number two, you’ve delivered two of them to us – as stiffs. And number three, you’re a defence lawyer by trade.’

Engler heard Stern groan at the other end of the line.

‘What are you getting at?’

‘It’s your profession, associating with scum. This has nothing to do with Simon Sachs. He’s just window dressing. I suspect that one of your perverted clients has been tipping you off about the location of the bodies.’

‘Why should anyone do that? For what purpose?’

‘Maybe this client has hidden something with the victims – something you’re supposed to get for him. No idea what, but you’ll tell me in due course. As soon as I’ve arrested you.’

‘That’s a ridiculous idea. Totally absurd.’

Engler waved away a cloud of Brandmann’s cigarette smoke, which was wafting into his eyes.

‘You think so? The judge considered it very believable half an hour ago, when he signed a warrant for your arrest. We’re killing three birds with one stone, by the way. Carina Freitag and Andreas Borchert are being charged with aiding and abetting the abduction of a minor.’

Engler hung up, still fuming. He couldn’t understand why Brandmann was holding out his fleshy paw.

‘What is it?’ he demanded, incensed at the way the conversation had gone. In his view, it had taken a wholly mistaken direction.

‘Your mobile,’ said Brandmann.

‘What for?’

‘To give to the technical boys. They may be able to pinpoint the call. Even when a number is withheld—’

‘There’s a possibility of tracing the caller. I’m aware of that.’ Engler tossed him the mobile and took a step closer. ‘That was the last time. I’m never doing that again, OK?’

‘What?’

‘That charade. I may be wrong – Stern may have something to do with the murders after all – but we’re shooting ourselves in the foot if we let him in on our investigations.’

‘I disagree. Didn’t you hear his voice? It steadily rose in pitch. That means you scared him. Stern is a beginner at this. He’s an inexperienced, nervous civilian on the run with a cancer-ridden youngster in tow. If he gets any more nervous he’ll make a mistake. He’ll trip up and come a cropper, and then, to borrow the chief’s expression, we can squash him like a bug.’

Brandmann dropped his cigarette butt on the muddy ground and ground it out with his right heel, exerting his full weight like someone trying to drive a nail into a thick plank. He left the shelter without another word and, avoiding a number of small puddles, plodded down the hillside towards his car.

Engler watched him go. As the bizarre special investigator gradually disappeared from view, he tried to remember if he knew anyone at Federal CID headquarters who could get him a copy of his personal file.

Stern pressed his burning cheek against the one-way mirror.

Seven psychopaths have disappeared from the scene in recent years
.

The detective’s words reverberated in his head as he looked down at the gleaming dancefloor twenty metres below him.

The office presided like a glass crow’s nest over the heart of the complex, which could only have been designed by a would-be ship’s captain. Even from the outside the giant club resembled a ship. Its emblem, a floodlit pink funnel, loomed over the main building’s snow-white bow. Visible for kilometres after nightfall, it attracted the disco-dancing teenagers of Brandenburg like a magnet. Borchert still had a key, which was why the Titanic was providing them with a hideaway for the next three hours. At least until the club opened to the public.

Stern moved to join his three companions on the dancefloor. As he rode down in a glass-sided lift worthy of a five-star hotel, he wondered how to break it to them. From here on they were fugitives from the law. Andi Borchert was familiar with that situation, but for Carina it would definitely be a first. He didn’t hear the music until the lift door opened.

‘Hey, the boy’s got good taste,’ Borchert sang out. He was standing at the other end of the floor with Simon, wiggling his hips. The boy was laughing delightedly and clapping in time to the rock song blaring from the speakers.

‘He’s hooked up Simon’s MP3to the in-house sound system,’ Carina explained. Stern, who hadn’t seen her coming up behind him, gave a start.

Fifteen metres away Borchert was singing with his head back and trailing an invisible mike lead behind him like a dog leash.

Stern came straight to the point without trying to sweeten the pill. ‘We’ll have to turn ourselves in,’ he said, and went on to summarize his conversation with Engler. ‘I’m sorry,’ he concluded, searching Carina’s face in vain for any signs of alarm.

‘You needn’t be,’ she replied. ‘I brought the two of you together. You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me.’

‘Why are you taking it all so calmly?’ Stern was suddenly reminded of a scene two years ago. In the McDonald’s car park, where he had terminated their relationship and Carina had smiled anyway.

‘Because it’s been worth it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Just look over there. I’ve known Simon for eighteen months, and I’ve seldom seen him so happy.’

Stern saw Borchert beckoning to him. He wondered if he would ever see the world through Carina’s eyes. They had actually spent a mere ten days together when he ended their affair to avoid falling genuinely in love with her. When she’d smiled and gently stroked his cheek in farewell, he discovered something important about himself. He realized that he lacked the existential filter that enabled Carina to fade out the negative in any given set of circumstances, however unpleasant. She was the kind of person who would discover a rose on the edge of a battlefield.

Now, once again, he saw that same light in her eyes and those tiny laughter lines around her mouth. To Carina at that moment, no criminals, no cerebral tumour or arrest warrant mattered. She was simply happy to see a child disco-dancing for the first time. Stern, by contrast, was becoming more and more depressed – consumed with pity for a boy who would never get into hot water for coming home too late on a Saturday night after a prolonged necking session with his first love.

As if in tune with Stern’s negative thoughts, another track began. The hall was filled with the melancholy strains of a ballad with string backing.

‘Hey, they’re playing your song!’ said Borchert. Grinning, he disappeared behind an ornamental Ionic column. Moments later there was a hiss and the dancefloor was enveloped in a cloud of dry ice.

‘Cool!’ Simon cried delightedly, sitting down on the floor. Only his curly brown head protruded from the artificial fog.

Stern felt Carina take his hand. ‘We must get him back to the hospital,’ he protested.

‘Come on. Only for a minute.’

She led him on to the dancefloor just as she had led him into her bedroom that first night. As before, he didn’t know why he let it happen.

‘We can’t—’

‘Ssh …’ She put her finger on his lips and stroked his hair. Then she drew him towards her just as the refrain began.

Stern hesitated, still reluctant to return her cautious embrace. He felt like a parcel bearing a ‘Fragile’ sticker. Afraid of damaging something inside him if he held her close, he eventually overcame his foolish fear and put out his arms to her.

He couldn’t help thinking as he did so of the fleeting moment in Borchert’s car when he’d seen Simon asleep in her arms in the rear-view mirror. He had been unable to identify his emotion at first, but he knew now that what had filled him once more was a mixture of yearning and remorse. Yearning for Felix as well as for a similarly loving embrace. Remorse that he had denied Carina two things by rejecting her so abruptly: a child of her own and someone for whom she still, quite clearly, had feelings. Even though he couldn’t have been less deserving of them.

Carina, who sensed the contradictory emotions warring within him, demolished the last remaining physical barrier between them by nestling against him. Intoxicated by the feel of her warm, clinging body, Stern closed his eyes. His regrets evaporated, but not, alas, for long. The magic moment when he seemed to feel their hearts beating in time to the music was rudely interrupted by a high-pitched beep. He froze in Carina’s arms.

Impossible!

Borchert had told him that nobody knew the number. Despite this, the satellite phone in his trouser pocket had just received a text message.

‘Dammit, what’s going on?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

Borchert keyed an Internet address into the text field and clicked on ‘Change to’.

‘You said you’d never given anyone the number.’

‘Yes, yes, yes, give it a rest. I only use the thing in an emergency, and then
I
do the calling, OK?’

Like a number of Berlin entrepreneurs, Borchert didn’t put everything through his official books. When he was holding illegal conversations with his accountant, corrupt drinks suppliers or moonlighters, he called them by satellite phone. Now that the others had followed his advice and removed the batteries from their mobiles, the bulky satphone was their only link with the outside world.

‘So what
is
going on?’

‘We’ll soon know,
mes enfants
.’

Borchert got up from the desk and made room for Stern, who took his place in front of the flat screen. They had all gone up to the boss’s office after the text message came in. It consisted of only one line:

Nothing happened at first. The browser continued to display the Titanic club’s homepage. Carina read out the message in the bottom left corner: ‘Searching for proxy settings.’

Then the screen went black. A bright load bar appeared in the centre, and ten seconds later a postcard-sized video field opened up. Stern could see nothing of any significance, just a few erratic specks of light flashing across the dark field at irregular intervals, like shooting stars.

Borchert turned the loudspeaker boxes up to maximum volume, but without success.

‘No picture, no sound,’ he muttered. ‘What the—’

He was just saying ‘Balls!’ when the satphone rang again. This time the square display signalled ‘Caller unknown’.

Stern’s stomach rumbled as he picked up.

‘You haven’t kept to our agreement.’

The distortion was slightly modified. The voice sounded rather more human, and, for that very reason, far more menacing than it had on the DVD.