Nemesis: Innocence Sold (5 page)

“What?” Surprised by the change of topic, Mark had to think for a second to register whom Stephan meant. “No, of course not. Why, because she tried to arrest me twice? Apart from that she’s made a good impression.”

The hint of a smile could be seen on Stephan’s face. “Sven has already told me about your relationship. I’d love to have been there, and it’s not like she was completely wrong, right? But nothing’s certain yet—she’s coming to an interview tomorrow around noon.”

The man Stephan was calling finally answered. After apologizing for calling so late, Stephan explained what was going on and arranged a meeting for the following day.

“One other thing, Stephan, have you heard anything from Daniel?”

Stephan looked shocked, and Mark couldn’t blame him. For good reasons, he kept his friendship with Dirk and Pat separate from his role as team leader, and he was mindful that Stephan and Doc were also close friends. For the first time he had crossed a boundary he’d set himself.

“Nothing since he met with Russell. But I don’t think you need to worry about your team breaking up. I’m sure he’ll stay here.”

Mark gave a small nod. He wasn’t happy with how well Stephan had guessed his own fears.

“Another thing, Mark.” Sven stood next to him and looked at him with an indefinable expression. “Probably this is clear to each of us, but I’d like to say it anyway: Dirk’s not going to let the perpetrator get away. Or does one of you seriously think that he’s just going to go back to business as usual? We all know the skills he possesses, but we also know his limits. We have to make sure he doesn’t lose control.”

These words were not without a certain comic effect, spoken as they were by a man whose fits of rage were legendary. “That’s exactly why I want to go over to his place, Sven. He’s obviously obsessing over this. But I don’t think he’s losing control.”

“No matter what you call it, we mean the same thing. But that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, Mac.” Sven laughed. “SEALs against a pedophile. That’ll be interesting.” Sven dropped onto his chair and gazed at the whiskey collection on the shelves.

“Leave some for me,” Mark said with a wink and closed the door behind him. SEALs on German territory, chasing a ring of pedophiles? Things were getting interesting.

Mark quietly opened the door of the house with his duplicate key. It was characteristic of their relationship that he first took a quick look into the bedroom on the upper floor to ensure that Alex and Tim were asleep cuddled up next to each other. The glow of light and loud music coming from Dirk’s study on the ground floor had already revealed where he would find his friend.

To avoid waking Dirk, he opened the door cautiously, although he doubted Dirk was asleep. Mark grimaced when he recognized the music. Dirk had surely not chosen Deep Purple’s “Child in Time” at random. Dirk had his eyes closed and his hands locked behind his head and didn’t react to Mark’s arrival.

Ian Gillan had hardly ended his screaming orgy and the last of Ritchie Blackmore’s guitar riffs had barely faded when the song began again, and after the insistent tones of the Hammond organ and Gillan’s complaint about the line between good and evil with which the child should be familiar, Mark had had enough. He bent down and reached for the remote control. The stereo fell silent, and Dirk’s eyes opened. His gaze was cloudy, and the normally brown irises showed a greenishness Mark knew all too well. He took a closer look at the whiskey on the coffee table. He had given Dirk the Talisker himself in appreciation of his help with the simulation of a mission involving freeing passengers from a hijacked airplane. The bottle was now half-gone.

“Let the song go on,” Dirk demanded, not surprised by Mark’s appearance.

“Forget it. Any more Ian Gillan and my eardrums will break. We’ll get the bastards. Together.”

Dirk stood up and took a heavy crystal glass from the shelf. He filled the glass and pushed it over to Mark. “Good. Thanks. Completely normal perverts, right? Nothing to do with the LKA or the US Navy. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

Dirk’s gaze became clearer. “What do you have?”

“Are you sure you want to hear this today?” Mark looked at the bottle.

“It doesn’t work. No matter how much I pour down my throat. It doesn’t drive away the pictures of what would have happened to Tim if . . . I don’t know. Tell me what happened. I had my hands full calming Alex down and distracting Tim and only caught half of it.”

Mark had only a vague notion of how much strength the last few hours had sapped from Dirk. “Alex and Laura had agreed to meet at the playground with the boys because both the school and the day care center were closed. While they were talking, at least two men were occupied with trimming hedges. Nicki has said he and Tim played with each other at first. Then they got mad at each other. Nicki told Tim he had already fired my gun and called him a baby. Tim was insulted and ran away and was called over by one of the supposed gardeners. The guy asked him about the argument and promised to show him a pistol and let him fire it. Nicki heard this and wanted to keep him from going along with it. When Tim proved to be stubborn, Nicki ran to Alex. Alex came immediately but only arrived in time to see a man trying to pull Tim into a van. The vehicle drove off, and Tim lay on the road, unconscious. Sven also learned the following from your son and Maria: Tim actually saw a gun and said that his father’s was bigger. The man then asked why his father had a gun, and Tim answered that his father was a police officer with a special unit. The man in the front passenger seat had a ‘smelly cloth’ and tried to hold him. At that point Tim struck him on the wrist and kicked him in the shin. The driver screamed that the whole thing had gone wrong and that Kalle should let him go.”

“Kalle? That’s more a category than a name.” Dirk laughed. “Did you know Alex and I argued about guns this morning? I wanted to give Tim a reasonable explanation about the Sig, so this crap would lose its fascination. If these bastards hadn’t been afraid of abducting the son of a police officer, we’d have never heard from Tim again, nor found out what happened to him. And I’m not a ‘police officer with a special unit’ at all. Damn it, what would have happened if Tim had said ‘accountant’? What kind of world are we living in?”

“Your son’s upstairs sleeping. That’s the important thing, Dirk. We already know the world can be lousy. We’re not going to eliminate the problem, but we can take on those who are responsible.”

When Dirk made a move to refill his glass, Mark restrained him. “Don’t you think that’s enough for today?” When Dirk tried to resist, Mark placed the bottle on the desk, out of Dirk’s reach. “Your family needs you, and tomorrow you need to convince Tannhäuser to support us. It’d be pretty silly if we were to work completely without a net, and you’re hardly going to convince him if you allow your cover to become a reality. By the way, damned good work.”

The praise resulted in a grimace that with a great deal of goodwill could be interpreted as a grin. “Thanks for sending Fox and Tom over. Had those two not been here I’d have hardly started in on the Talisker, alarm system or not.”

With a furrowed brow, Mark took a sip. “If you noticed those two were out there, I’ll have to have a talk with them,” he said and placed a plastic container on the table. “Here, with greetings from my sister. She was worried you wouldn’t eat a proper meal today.”

“Lisa?”

Dirk’s fears were unmistakable and caused Mark to smile. They had all suffered because of his sister’s vegetarian experiments, especially her husband, Jake. “No, from Shara. Her famous goulash.”

“Well, all right, then . . .” Dirk did not take the time to get silverware from the kitchen but took the spoon Mark held out to him. Dirk ate the lukewarm food directly out of the container. Mark saw this as a sign that Dirk had himself under control for the most part. When Dirk had finished, he looked at Mark. Once again the greenish coloring of his irises was unmistakable. “No matter what Tannhäuser wants, I’m going to find the bastards and take them out. One way or another.”

Mark withstood the inquisitive look, which held an unspoken question. “We’ll take care of it together.”

CHAPTER 5

Six thirty in the morning and Sandra was ready to write the day off as a complete waste. First, not a single drop of hot water had come out of the showerhead, then the refrigerator had given up the ghost, the milk smelled sour and had, in fact, gone sour, and Sandra could only get black coffee down with difficulty. After a few sips she felt her stomach revolting against the unaccustomed bitterness of the beverage. But all this was nothing compared to the warnings on her laptop. Her knowledge of computers was sufficient for her to be able to understand the contents, and it gnawed at her that she had ignored her brother’s urgent warning. She had forgotten to hide her IP address on one occasion, and now someone had tried to access her computer. While this attempt hadn’t been successful, the right contacts with her Internet provider would make it possible for the person in question to find out her name, phone number, and address. She sipped her coffee. How likely was it that someone had the necessary contacts?

She let out an ironic snort; she wasn’t going to fool herself. If necessary, a fifty-euro bill would be sufficient to get the information from one of any number of employees at the Internet service provider. She took a screenshot of the warning so she’d be able to send it to her brother later with a well-formulated confession of her lack of diligence. She could already imagine the lecture this would provoke. No matter how tired and irritated she’d been, Martin, as an IT specialist working for the BKA, the Federal Office of Criminal Investigation, would have no sympathy for her. She loved her brother, but his scrupulous sense of order could drive her to distraction. A thought occurred to her. Almost every day, she and Martin sent each other short, affectionate e-mails, and once a week she got a longer message, usually containing witty stories about his daily work with police computers or what his beloved German shepherd, Kaspar, had been doing.

With a furrowed brow, she checked her in-box and gasped when she discovered not only a message from her brother but also one from Stephan Reimers. Her hand froze over the keyboard. Why were the e-mails marked as read? A flaw in her e-mail program? Or had someone obtained access to her laptop? Cursing, she opened the message from the department head with her pulse racing. Instead of the expected form rejection, the brief message indicated that he would be pleased if she had time for a personal interview today around noon. She read the e-mail three times in disbelief. She still had a good five hours before the appointment and was certainly not going to waste them at her desk.

She quickly typed an e-mail and sent it off. “Unexpected absence for urgent personal reasons” wasn’t even a lie. Another day with her smug asshole of a superior and she would be ready for the psychiatric ward. The next question: How should she approach Stephan? The brief three-line e-mail avoided any manner of personal address. During their last encounter they had addressed each other casually, but she doubted that the familiarity observed among colleagues would be appropriate when one confronted a superintendent in the context of a job interview.

Shortly after eleven thirty—much too early—Sandra stood in the entrance hall of the star-shaped building in Hamburg-Alsterdorf and hadn’t gotten any further with the question of how she should address Stephan. At least she knew in what part of the building the narcotics unit was located, and her identification enabled her to enter without difficulty. Her plan involved looking around inconspicuously and spending the rest of the time in the corridors. She wouldn’t score any points by appearing almost thirty minutes early. She sauntered slowly across the hall and noticed too late that she’d already reached the narcotics unit. Before she had found Reimers’s office or could retreat, a door was pushed open, and Sandra barely avoided a collision with a man in handcuffs.

Blue eyes glared at her with amusement under a shock of brown hair. “Go ahead and come closer. I don’t have anything against a little human warmth.” The gaze was appraising but not unpleasant; the man seemed to like what he saw.

Sandra rebuked herself inwardly. If she needed a criminal’s confirmation that she looked good in jeans, a tight white T-shirt, and a dark blue blazer, then something was wrong with her. It was only after a moment that she noticed the woman, half a head shorter than the man, holding him by the elbow and looking amazingly relaxed. “Do you honestly think the lady likes riffraff like you? She’s got more class in her little finger than you’ll ever have in your whole body. And when you’re out again in ten years, no one’s going to be interested in you anyway.”

“Ten years? With her”—a slight nod in Sandra’s direction—“life would be all right.”

The woman tightened her grip until the man glowered. “That’s enough,” she warned him, and her gaze slid to an office door that was ajar. “Did I mention your buddy sang? You’ll be lucky to get only ten. We know all the dirty little details, and now get going, you lousy scumbag. The cell down there’s waiting for you.”

Despite her words, she remained where she was and gave Sandra a friendly look. “Can I help you in some way? And don’t take his stupid talk seriously.”

“I have an appointment with Mr. Reimers, but I’m actually quite early.”

The reserved friendliness disappeared. Instead both of them examined Sandra, and then the woman smiled. “Katharina Schlegel. I’d heard Stephan was doing an interview. The door after the next on the left. He’s talking to a colleague at the moment. I’m sure he’ll be done soon, and he’s not particularly concerned about exact times. Good luck.”

The man let out a groan. “Help! Not another one of these tough female bulls. Couldn’t you establish a quota for men?”

“Female bulls?” Sandra said. “Let me know what cell you’re in, and I’ll send you a biology textbook. Fourth grade’s about your intellectual level.”

Katharina snickered. “Finally someone who sees through this bigmouth immediately. Again, good luck. I could use some help out here.”

Sandra smiled. She could certainly live with having Katharina as a colleague.

After a knock to which, as she had expected, there came no answer, Sandra opened the door.

The room wasn’t particularly large, but the furniture was a class better than the standard police look. Through another doorway, Sandra could see into the neighboring room, in which there were eight desks but currently only two men. She recognized Stephan Reimers immediately, and she knew the man he was speaking with, too. Dirk Richter. Normally, she liked the accountant and appreciated his dry humor, but at the moment he seemed like a stranger to her. Cold and unapproachable. She didn’t understand what the conversation was about, but Stephan’s tone was insistent. Finally Dirk noticed her presence and waved. Stephan turned halfway around and nodded to her.

“Just a sec,” he said with a casual tone that put her at ease.

With that, the question of the appropriate level of formality had at least been resolved. In order not to seem like an eavesdropper, she stepped back and looked at the little interview corner. She had no idea whether Stephan would prefer to have the conversation there or at his desk. Her gaze fell on a framed photograph that stood on the tidy desk next to a laptop and was impossible to overlook. Before it occurred to her that this didn’t exactly constitute polite behavior, she was already holding it in her hand. About fifteen men were gathered together in two rows. The ones in the back were standing; the ones in the front had chosen sitting positions that looked more or less comfortable. The men were wearing camouflage clothing, and their faces were for the most part rendered unrecognizable with dark coloring, but she recognized Dirk, Stephan, and Sven Klein. The man who had laid a friendly arm around Dirk’s shoulder appeared to be Mark Rawlins. Her pulse accelerated. The sight of the SEAL was enough to ignite a deep-seated rage in her. She had never bothered to ask herself whether her anger had been caused by Rawlins’s arrogant behavior or the superiority over her that he had impressively demonstrated on two occasions. She suppressed the thought of the minutes during which he had displayed amazing understanding in confronting her. If Stephan and Mark were friends, she could forget the interview. She didn’t know the other men. A blond man whose tousled hair fell to the nape of his neck caught her attention. The photographer had captured the moment at which, laughing, he leaned against the man next to him. A vitality and nonchalance emanated from the two men, who were obviously friends. She wondered when she had last laughed with such abandon.

Someone cleared his throat behind her and caused her to jump. At least she hadn’t dropped the photo. Embarrassed, she turned around. “Excuse me—I didn’t mean to . . . But I didn’t know that you . . . you and Rawlins . . . I mean . . .” Sandra fell silent when she realized she couldn’t put a proper sentence together.

“I didn’t know it was a crime to look at a photograph. If I wanted to keep it a secret, I wouldn’t have it out. You have a sharp eye if you were able to recognize Mark. No one’s managed that before. Did you notice anything else?”

“Sven, Dirk, and you. You’re easy to recognize.” She managed to stop herself from mentioning the blond man. That would hardly interest Stephan.

“Correct. And how would you describe the mood?”

“Casual, relaxed, unburdened. Your faces show signs of a recent effort, but there’s more. Friendship? Camaraderie?” She tapped the blond man with a fingernail. “He’s particularly vibrant. It’s clear he and his friend are enjoying themselves.”

“What makes you think they’re friends?”

“Their body language. The blond man’s leaning against him with his shoulder. That’s relatively rare among men. Either they’re close friends or there’s more between them. My guess, however, is that it’s simply friendship. It’s similar to what one sees with Dirk and Rawlins; there again the body language is a kind that’s fairly rare among men.” It finally became clear to her that the apparently casual conversation was a test. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t produce another word.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

She declined in a friendly manner. In her current state she’d probably knock the water glass over or spill the coffee all over Stephan’s designer jeans. Inconspicuously, she took a closer look at him. His blond locks were styled with apparent carelessness and fell to his collar, but with his black jeans and his gray shirt, which complemented his eyes, he could have been a model for a women’s magazine.

He waved his hand toward the interview corner, just as his cell phone rang. After looking at the display, he accepted the call with a grimace. “He’s on his way to the office. Keep him busy somehow. We’re meeting at the steak house at one.”

Sandra gave free rein to her curiosity after Stephan had ended the call. “Is Dirk not well? He seemed . . .” She broke off awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be impolite. It’s just that . . .”

Stephan’s gaze became cooler. “Someone tried to kidnap his son yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, swallowing her question about whether the boy was four years old and had blond hair and brown eyes. In the best case, Stephan would consider her insensitive; in the worst case, he would think she was crazy. Nevertheless, the thought wouldn’t go away. She noticed that Stephan was looking at her expectantly. She hadn’t registered his question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t . . . Did you ask me something?”

A trace of impatience was evident in Stephan, and since she was familiar with his usual self-control, she knew this was intentional. “I can certainly ask the question a third time. Why the drug unit?”

This was exactly the question for which she had prepared, but now she was unable to produce a convincing answer. She retreated into cliché phrases and could tell she was losing his attention. Insecurity gripped her, paired with fear of letting this unique opportunity slip through her fingers. She began to stutter. The tone was equally cool during the rest of the conversation. When Stephan finally stood up, Sandra knew she had lost her chance. She hardly managed to look Stephan in the eye and forced herself to smile when he promised he would contact her again. Sandra’s hand was already on the door handle when she realized the door led to the office next door and not to the corridor. She had the sense that Stephan usually left this door open, and bitter disappointment over not getting the opportunity to work in this casual environment spread through her. Rather than crossing the office with a bright red face because of her error, she would end her visit to the drug unit by passing through this office.

“Just leave the door open,” Stephan said.

Without turning around, Sandra nodded. “I will.”

At one of the desks a man was bent over a rolling file cabinet but straightened up when Sandra approached. She stopped as if frozen. The brown-haired man, this time without handcuffs. He must have escaped her colleague somehow. Without hesitating, Sandra leapt forward and threw him to the floor with a hip toss. With a muffled curse, the man tried to get up, but Sandra held him down. “Is that close enough for you now? I have no idea how you got loose, but this is the last stop for you.”