Time Heals No Wounds (8 page)

T
UESDAY
N
IGHT INTO
W
EDNESDAY
M
ORNING

Dreams have different origins. They are based on imagination, stories, fears—and memories.

As in the dreams of years past, it begins pitch-black. A beam of light appears when the hand of a small child pushes the door open, allowing for a glimpse into the adjacent room.

A young woman with a battered face and gray hair sits in a poorly furnished living room. The dull glow of the single lamp in the room falls on her hunched back. A sewing machine sits in front of her on the rickety wooden table, a mountain of fabric next to it.

The child enters the room. The previous night, he slept at a friend’s house and received a set of pajamas as a gift from the friend’s mother. The child knows his own mother earns very little, and any purchase poses a heavy burden. His own pajamas are old and worn, and he had outgrown them.

The child beams and innocently skips in the light of the lamp and, spinning in circles, presents his gift. He figures his mother will be so happy when she sees the new blue-and-gray striped pajamas!

Tired, the mother raises her head, and her eyes widen. A scream comes out, and she stretches out her arms in defense. Panicked, she jumps up from her chair and backs away. Inarticulate sounds are all she produces before she throws herself on the threadbare sofa, buries her head in the pillow, and sobs. Shivers run up and down her body. The forlorn child stands in the center of the room, his arms at his sides, before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Darkness is all that remains.

W
EDNESDAY
M
ORNING

It’s cold,
Merle thought as she slowly regained consciousness. She felt déjà vu as she lay on the soft mattress, trying to get her brain to work again. It was as though she had been transported back in time to when she had first woken up in this room. Everything still felt the same, right down to the chill that gave her goose bumps.

Then she remembered the food and the subsequent grogginess. She became restless. She listened to her body and then moved slightly. No pain. No handcuffs. Everything seemed fine. So why the sleeping pill in the food?

She touched her thigh and froze. She had been left in only her underwear.

Merle trembled uncontrollably and moaned. Without clothes, she felt even more vulnerable and helpless. Someone had entered the room while she’d slept and undressed her.

Merle began to sob. As she turned on her side and curled up in a ball, she felt something soft next to her. She examined the item with her hands and unfolded it. It was too small to be a blanket. The item had two buttons and an elastic waistband. She realized it was a pair of pants and a long-sleeved shirt. She slipped on the garments. The material was thin but warm.

I don’t understand! Why would someone put sleeping pills into my food, undress me, and place a pair of pajamas on the bed? What do they want? And why won’t they talk to me?

When Fritz came into the room, Hannes was sitting at his desk, his eyes slightly bloodshot. He was badly hungover.

“What’s wrong? You look like you spent half the night hugging the toilet,” said Fritz. He was wearing his typical black jeans and blue polo shirt and was carrying a coffee cup.

Hannes shook his head. “I told you about the people I met on the Ferris wheel. Ines’s birthday was yesterday, and she invited all of us. I didn’t get to bed until five, and now I’m feeling it.”

“How many beers did you have?”

“I lost count.”

“Well, it’s about time you started training again, otherwise you’ll lose sight of your goals and get completely out of shape. Was there at least a woman you’re interested in?”

“They’re all interesting, but Ines has a boyfriend and Elke’s a lesbian. You’d like Ben. He’s a committed Nazi hunter and has even gone to jail for it.”

“Well, looks like you’ve got yourself a fine group of friends. Probably better not to tell me everything this Ben character is up to . . .” Fritz leaned against the desk. “I called the Coast Guard again yesterday evening. The owner of that unmoored motorboat’s named Florian Schneider, and the report reveals he was negligent in properly tying his boat up. Mr. Schneider has naturally tried to make up excuses, but the circumstantial evidence is clear. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was his boat the farmhand saw on Saturday.”

“Did the Coast Guard send you photos?” Hannes asked.

“They e-mailed me a picture of the boat, but they don’t have a photo of Mr. Schneider. Persons involved in accidents aren’t booked or fingerprinted.”

“What does Mr. Schneider have to say about the deceased?”

“So far nothing, because he hasn’t been questioned. I drove past his house yesterday, but it was deserted, and he was also unreachable by phone. But I know where he lives and where he works. He runs a real estate office downtown, so we can grill him in person. And I have a special job for you while we’re there. This isn’t official, but it’ll certainly speed things along.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were studying the window display at the Schneider Real Estate office. It was a bright, cloudless day, and the sun’s reflection glared in the windowpane. Fritz squinted as he examined the listings and then shook his head.

“I should buy myself a condo downtown! Here, look at this crappy place: eight hundred square feet, three rooms, balcony, centrally located, great potential. Only 450,000 euros!”

“And in addition to that bargain price, you’ll also shell out 3.57 percent in commission directly to Mr. Schneider,” Hannes added, beginning to feel better. “That’s got to be around 15,000 euros. I don’t want to know how many hours I’d have to work to afford that.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re best friends with real estate agents.”

“I’m looking for a new apartment, and almost everything has to go through a real estate agent, no matter how rundown the place is. You have to fork over a month’s salary just to move.”

“And I now understand why Mr. Schneider can afford such a fancy speedboat. According to the info from the Coast Guard, he’s only thirty-nine. And his house is more of a villa with a small park,” Fritz said. “Now let’s see what he has to say.”

They entered a bright waiting room which, thanks to the black leather couches, palm trees, and modern art, exuded a sophisticated atmosphere. The glass reception desk was empty, and a short electronic buzz announced their arrival.

Hannes looked at the colorful paintings on the walls. “This is insane,” he said. “I could give my little nephew a couple of colored pencils and sell the work as”—he studied one of the titles—“
A Blind Woman’s Morning
for a fortune.”

“Don’t tell me you prefer Merlin’s paintings,” Fritz said and grinned.

“At least his paintings convey emotion and take talent. But this . . .” Hannes shook his head.

“Well then, you’ve found yourself another job, because you’re certainly not going to get rich being a police officer,” said Fritz. He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Is somebody going to come or what?”

The door at the end of the room opened, and a staid-looking gentleman wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a suit stepped out. “Thank you for choosing us” came the canned response from inside, and a tall, slender man with slicked-back blond hair and tan skin appeared in the doorway. “Let me know if I can do anything for you. I’m sure we’ll find a buyer for your little gem soon.”

While a scowling Hannes stared at the floor, the portly gentleman was ushered out. The real estate agent approached them with an outstretched hand, his grin revealing teeth as white as his suit.

“Forgive me for making you wait. My assistant called in sick today. What can I do for you? Are you interested in buying or selling?”

“Are you Mr. Schneider?” Fritz asked.

“Yes, I am. I’m the owner of the company, so you’re in the best hands.” His teeth illuminated his suntanned face.

“Detective Janssen.” Fritz pointed to Hannes. “You already met Niehaus this weekend.”

“I thought your faces looked familiar. And how can I help you? My lawyer’s taking care of the matter.” His initial friendliness waned with each subsequent word.

“We’re from the homicide unit,” said Fritz. “We’re not here about the fishing boat.”

Schneider’s face lost some of its color. “What about my
Dolphin
? My boat was seriously damaged in that accident.”

“Like I said, we’re not here because of the accident.”

“So why are you here? Did my boat hit someone as well?”

“I hope not,” Fritz said. “However, a woman’s body was found on the beach about three miles east of the port. Does that mean anything to you?” He watched him closely. “We have evidence that your boat was anchored at the exact same spot on Saturday.”

Schneider turned slightly red. His jaw dropped. “What’s this? You want to pin a murder on me now? Is this your private vendetta for the old bum with the dinged boat?”

“The one incident has nothing to do with the other. I’m only interested in what you were doing on Saturday at said beach area and who was with you on board your boat.”

“I didn’t anchor my boat near any beach on Saturday, and there was no one on board. What makes you think it was me?”

“There’s a witness who saw a boat near the beach on Saturday, and it bore a striking resemblance to your speedboat.”

“It resembled my boat? That doesn’t mean it
was
my boat!”

“Where were you on Saturday?”

“I don’t think I need to answer that.”

“And I don’t think we’re getting anywhere,” Fritz said. “We’re only asking because you could be an important witness. Nobody has assumed you did anything, but your responses do make me a little suspicious. If you believe you don’t have to cooperate, then we’ll gladly continue our conversation down at the station. However, you’ll have to close early today. Hannes, why don’t you call our colleagues and give them a heads-up.”

While Hannes pulled out his cell phone, Schneider looked on in shock. “You’re not fooling me with your dumb tactics. You think you’ve got me shaking in my boots? I have absolutely nothing to do with any corpse. I have no idea why you’re making up this story.”

“I’d watch what you’re saying!” Fritz roared in a hoarse voice, and Schneider jumped back. “No one’s making up any story! A woman’s mutilated body was discovered at the same site where someone in all likelihood saw you on your boat on Saturday afternoon. In other words, on the exact same day this woman died. Fittingly, a woman was also seen on your boat. So I’d better not hear any more lies out of you!”

“Fine. I was out on the boat Saturday. So it’s possible someone saw me in the harbor. But I went straight out to sea and was alone. I have nothing more to say without my lawyer present.”

“Fine. You’ll be hearing from us. We already have your address, and I recommend you promptly get in touch with your attorney. Have a nice day.”

Fritz and Hannes left the office.

“And? Did you get a picture of him with your phone?” asked Fritz as the two of them walked toward the illegally parked Jeep.

“Sure,” said Hannes. “You really unnerved that guy with your fake outburst.”

“That wasn’t fake. It was obvious that creep just told us a load of crap. You don’t need to be a psychic to know that. Why didn’t he admit he was on the water Saturday? I’m sure Tom will recognize him in the photo. I expect Mr. Schneider will have a few more excuses for us, because after his performance just now, I have my suspicions.”

“Maybe we should arrest him now? What if he tries to take off?”

“That won’t happen! We’ll wait here until our colleagues arrive to keep an eye on him . . . Damn it, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Confused, Hannes looked at Fritz. Fritz pointed at a parking ticket under the wiper. In order to get out of the fine, he would have to explain why he had parked illegally, and there was nothing Old Fritz hated more than paperwork.

Fritz hurried down the hall to his office, followed by Hannes. “That was dumb of me. I should have printed out the photo of the
Dolphin
and taken it with me. We could have saved ourselves the detour!” He pushed his office door open and turned on his old computer.

The door flung open again. “Can I have a word with you tomorrow, Fritz?” a heavyset colleague asked, leaning against the desk.

“How about knocking first?” Fritz asked and moved his coffee cup to safety.

The police officer grinned. “No time! I just want to hear your opinion about this case.” With that, he slammed a file on the table.

“Marcel, I’m flattered that you appreciate my advice, but we’re in the middle of an investigation. Can’t it wait until later?” Fritz eyed the brown folder. “What’s it about?”

“A missing-person report,” said Marcel, opening the file. “A young intern at the evening paper hasn’t showed up to work and hasn’t been reachable since the beginning of the week.” He pulled out a photograph and slid it over to Fritz. “Her name’s Merle von Hohenstein, twenty-seven years old, and there’s been no trace of her.”

“She looks sweet,” said Hannes.

“May I introduce you, Marcel? This is Johannes Niehaus, my current student. And as you’ve just noticed, I’ve been unable to break him of his impertinent behavior. He’s in that phase when you check out every woman to determine if she’d be a suitable partner.”

Embarrassed, Hannes stuck out his hand, and Marcel shook it with a grin. Fritz opened an e-mail from the Coast Guard and clicked print. The printer in the corner of the room started churning.

“I’m really sorry, Marcel, but my case has first priority,” Fritz said and shut down his computer. He grabbed the printout of the boat and nodded at Hannes. “Come on, we’ve lost enough time!”

The two investigators headed out of town. Hannes called the Olsens to let them know that they would be dropping in for another visit.

“Well, this is quite a stir,” said Mrs. Olsen as Fritz and Hannes got out of the Jeep. “Come in, I’ve baked another cheesecake. It might still be warm, but my husband says it tastes better that way.”

“That’s nice of you, but unfortunately we don’t have time for your delicious cake,” Fritz said. “Tom is an important witness. We may have found a lead because of him.”

Mrs. Olsen pushed Tom forward while Fritz opened a folder and held out the image of the battered speedboat.

“Is this the boat you saw on Saturday? And”—he waved to Hannes—“we would like to know if this is the same man you saw on the boat.”

Hannes opened the photo on his cell phone and held it out.

Tom grabbed the photo of the battered boat and scratched his head. “Hmm, yeah, I think it looked like that. I remember the painted red dolphin at the bow.” Then he took the cell phone and looked at the screen.

“We have three photos of him, so you can scroll,” Hannes said and took over after Tom gave him a quizzical glance.

“Yes . . . well . . . I only got a brief look at him, but he really reminds me of the man on the boat.”

“Do you think he does, or do you know he does?” Fritz asked.

“Hmm . . .” Tom scratched his head again. “Will he go to jail if I say he’s the guy? Because I’m not quite sure, the photos are kinda small.”

“But at first glance, do you recognize a distinct resemblance?” asked Fritz, and Tom nodded. “Then we should organize a lineup for you to see him in real life. Don’t worry; you’ll stand behind a two-way mirror so you can see him, but he can’t see you.”

After Mr. Olsen agreed to release him for a few hours, Tom climbed into the backseat of the Jeep, and they took off toward the station. As they entered the city, Fritz barely eased off the gas, continuing to barrel down the road toward the police station, when his cell phone rang.