I Am Your Judge: A Novel (10 page)

“Ms. Albrecht, would your mother have told you if anything strange was going on?” said Bodenstein, turning to the daughter. “How was your relationship with your mother?”

“Good. And very warm,” Karoline Albrecht replied. “I’ve always worked a lot, but I phoned Mama every day. Sometimes only briefly, but occasionally we would talk for an hour or more. She is … She
was
always the steady rock in my life.” Her voice quavered, but she had her emotions fiercely under control. “I … I’m quite sure she would have told me if there were anything on her mind or worrying her.”

Pia sensed what it must be costing this woman to keep her composure. In addition to her grief over her mother, she was clearly concerned about the emotional welfare of her daughter. At some point, her strength would inevitably run out, and the floodgates of despair would open. Pia hoped for the sake of both Ms. Albrecht and herself that this would not happen right now. That sort of emotional meltdown could seriously hinder future contact with the woman. She would be ashamed of her behavior, and that would not make another conversation any easier.

Bodenstein, Pia, and Andreas Neff, who had actually kept his mouth shut, got up. Karoline Albrecht also stood up.

“My mother was a dear person who never hurt anyone. Nobody would have any reason to kill her.” She uttered an inarticulate sound, half laugh, half sob, and then her father, too, lost his iron self-control and began to weep. “There are thousands of people who deserved to be shot instead of my mother!”

*   *   *

On the drive back, Pia took the wheel. She didn’t want to go by the zoo again, so she turned off toward Bommersheim. From there, the L 3004 led directly to the junction with the A 66 at the end of Miquelallee, and she avoided driving through town with all the traffic lights and drivers creeping along at less than thirty kilometers an hour because they didn’t have on snow tires.

Usually, she and Bodenstein shared impressions after an interview, discussing the answers, reactions, and behavior of the people they had questioned. But this time, Andreas Neff prevented any such exchange of ideas. He started talking as soon as he hit the backseat, dissecting every sentence spoken into its smallest components. He didn’t seem to take even a single breath.

“Good Lord, I can’t form one clear thought with all your babbling!” Pia finally yelled at him. “Are you a psychologist, too?”

“Never in my life has anyone called my observations and analyses ‘babbling,’” Neff replied, offended. “I have learned that things can best be brought into a cognitive perspective by exchanging opinions with one’s colleagues immediately following an interview.”

“Just imagine, we came to that realization years ago,” Pia snapped. “I would appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut for the next ten kilometers.”

Before Neff could say a word, the phone rang and Bodenstein pressed the speaker button, but when he saw the caller’s name on the display he took the call on his cell. He listened, grumbled agreement a couple of times, and ended the conversation without saying good-bye.

“Engel?” Pia asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Bad?”

“You could say that.”

“Because?”

“Pressure from IM.”

“The media, huh?”

“Yep.”

After working together for seven years, Pia and Bodenstein were like an old married couple, and they sometimes communicated in telegraphic style.

“I take it this rudimentary type of communication is intended to exclude me,” Neff grumbled in the backseat.

“Not in the least,” said Bodenstein, astonished at his insinuation. “Dr. Engel called to tell us that after all the media reports, the public is starting to panic, and the Ministry of the Interior is concerned. In plain speak, that means we’re getting pressure from above. Satisfied?”

“Hmm,” Neff grumbled.

Pia glanced at the clock in the dashboard. Four forty-three
P.M
. By now, Christoph must have left for the airport, and she wouldn’t see him again for three endless weeks.

“There’s certainly not much happening on the road today,” Bodenstein said. “Normally at this time on Fridays, we’d be sitting in a traffic jam forever.”

“You’re right,” said Pia. “You think it’s because of…?”

“Afraid so,” Bodenstein said with a nod.

“It’s terrible the way the two of you massacre the syntax of our beautiful language,” Neff carped.

“For real?” Pia sounded surprised.

“Totally,” Bodenstein said with a grin.

And then they both laughed, although there was nothing really to laugh about.

*   *   *

The police had tried in vain to find witnesses in Oberursel, and Niederhöchstadt and to coax any information out of the victims’ acquaintances. They were feeling frustrated. All day long, they had gone from one house to another, knocking on doors, gleaning nothing but regretful denials and shrugs. Even on the hotline, not a single sensible tip had come in.

Professor Rudolf had never heard the name Ingeborg Rohleder, and likewise Renate Rohleder had no idea who Margarethe Rudolf was. The only similarities that seemed to exist between the two victims was that they were both women and each had a daughter.

The crime scene investigation in Oberursel had produced no leads, just like the one in Niederhöchstadt the day before.

“No traces of the projectiles, no cartridge casings, no footprints, and no clues about the perp, who remains a phantom,” Christian Kröger concluded his disappointingly brief report.

“Unfortunately, I have nothing more to add,” Bodenstein said. “Apparently, there were no striking warning signs such as threats, anonymous phone calls, or the like for either victim. It seems that we’re dealing with two rather hopeless cases, and we’ll have to wait for ‘Inspector Coincidence’ to check in. Or for the perp’s killing instinct to expose him.”

Silence descended on everyone seated at the table in the conference room.

“I don’t regard these cases as hopeless as the rest of you seem to do,” Andreas Neff piped up.

“Well, great,” Pia muttered, rolling her eyes when he stood up, straightened his tie, and buttoned his sport coat.

“For me,” Neff began, “a clear pattern is already emerging. The perpetrator is proceeding arbitrarily, true, but having made thorough plans. We must also assume that he is a very intelligent person who, although impulsive, has his impulsiveness well under control. He is no longer young, but no more than about thirty, because he must be able to run and climb well. The type of victim is also beginning to crystallize—women between sixty and seventy-five. And although a case analysis has little to do with psychology, but is based on criminology, I will venture the prognosis that the perpetrator is a man with a pronounced mother complex.”

He gave a self-satisfied smile and looked around the table expectantly.

“What are we supposed to do with that?” Ostermann whispered to Pia. “Maybe issue a bulletin: ‘Warning, all women over sixty! Don’t go outdoors and keep your blinds shut when you’re at home.’”

Pia just shook her head and made a face. She hoped that Dr. Engel, who was on the phone out in the hall, would soon notice what a pompous ass this guy was. Pia was listening with only half an ear, because she was eagerly awaiting a call from Christoph.

“Pardon me saying so,” Kröger replied, “but that’s utter nonsense. With the few clues we have, you can’t possibly work up a profile of the perp.”

“Maybe
you
can’t,” Neff snapped, still smiling. “But I can. From the FBI, I learned—”

“I was in the States for two years, and I learned a lot over there, too,” Kröger cut him off. “Above all, that you don’t rush to make prognoses before all the facts are on the table. You can only evaluate the whole picture once every single detail is considered.”

“And that’s exactly why I’ve been called in,” said Neff genially. “To keep the big picture in mind, because people like you often get rashly tied up in details.”

Kröger’s face turned red. Surly muttering was heard from the other officers. Even though Kröger sometimes acted like a prima donna, his skills were indisputable. His meticulous work methods and his keen perceptions had often contributed to solving a case.

“So, that’s enough of that,” Bodenstein intervened when he felt that Neff had gone too far. “Inspector Neff, I’d like to have a word with you in my office. The rest of you can go. Have a pleasant evening. But please remain available. Tomorrow morning at ten, we’ll meet for our next discussion.”

“Oowee-oowee,” Kai Ostermann whispered. “Engel’s secret weapon is going to be on Christian’s shit list.”

“Mine, too,” said Pia. “A shame he has to put on that macho act. I really think that a profiler could help us a lot.”

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Kathrin Fachinger looked as though she’d just been snatched from the jaws of death. Her thin face was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes. She dragged herself into the conference room and dropped into a chair.

“Watch out that the sniper doesn’t shoot you down,” Kröger said cynically. “You look like your own grandmother.”

“Why don’t you take a look in the mirror. You’re not as fresh as the morning dew either,” Kathrin countered, sounding annoyed. “I put in extra hours to help you out, and the first thing you do is insult me.”

“Christian didn’t mean it personally.” Ostermann grinned. “But Engel’s secret weapon posed a theory yesterday.”

“Who?” Kathrin asked, and sneezed.

“The FBI genius from Wiesbaden,” Kröger said in a disparaging tone. “He knows everything, does everything better, and he claims that he pretty much solved the D.C. sniper case all by himself.”

“Andreas Neff, a case analyst from state police headquarters. He’s supposed to support our investigation,” Pia explained. “He analyzed both cases and is firmly convinced that the perp is targeting elderly women.”

“Great. Thanks a lot!” said Kathrin, her eyes shooting daggers at Kröger.

She was the youngest team member in K-11. With her smooth, girlish face, angular glasses, and petite figure, at first glance, she looked much younger than twenty-six. But her nonthreatening appearance was misleading. Kathrin was self-possessed and fearless. A few years back, she’d been the one who resolutely read Frank Behnke the riot act and finally made sure that he was suspended from the force.

“What kind of cop is that?” she asked.

“You’ll meet him in a minute,” replied Kai, who was leaning on the windowsill and looking down at the parking lot. “The poor man’s Dale Cooper is heading this way.”

“Let me give you a quick rundown of the meager results from the ballistics tests,” said Kröger, paging through the reports he’d brought with him. “After examining the two bullets, it’s clear that they were fired from the same weapon. Unfortunately, the weapon has never been registered, so we don’t have it in our system.”

“So it’s a sure thing that it was the same perp in both incidents,” Ostermann remarked.

“The one with the mother complex,” Pia added.

“Grandmother complex.” Kröger winked at her and then left the conference room.

Pia’s thoughts wandered to Christoph. Yesterday before his flight took off, they had talked on the phone. By now, he must have landed in Quito. There was a six-hour time difference from Frankfurt, so it must be four in the morning there. Too early to call. But she could send him a text and tell him how much she already missed him. After their phone call yesterday, she had unpacked her bags and gone to bed early. Amazingly, she’d slept soundly for the first time in a week. Maybe it was a sign that her decision to stay here was the right one.

Andreas Neff walked into the conference room. Dark suit, white shirt, black tie. His short dark hair was perfectly combed, his black shoes polished to a high shine. He carried a cup of coffee, ostensibly from the break room at the end of the hall.

“Good morning!” he shouted energetically. His eyes looked past Kai and Pia to Kathrin. “Ah, and who have we here?”

“Kathrin Fachinger,” she croaked. “Don’t come any closer if you don’t want to catch this cold.”

“My name is Neff. I’m from State Kripo headquarters.” He briefly looked her over and lost interest. “Are you the secretary of this department?”

Kathrin’s eyes narrowed.

Kai exchanged a glance with Pia and turned away, trying hard not to laugh. Some people could really put their foot in it.

“So,” said Neff, turning to Ostermann. “Last night, I thought of something else. Over Christmas, of course, nothing else is going to happen. Our perpetrator has strong social ties, as well as—”

“You have my cup,” Kathrin interrupted him.

“—a family, and he may have even left the area.” Neff paid no attention to her. He walked slowly around the table and took another gulp of coffee. “The timing of the murders is a clear indication. It’s significant that he struck before the holidays.”

Kathrin Fachinger got up, stepped in front of him, and pointed at the cup in his hand.

“That’s my cup,” she repeated emphatically. “It says so right there, see? ‘Kathrin’s Cup.’”

“Ah, yes.” Neff frowned. “The others were dirty. You ought to wash them more carefully. A little detergent works wonders.”

“Hand over the cup,” Kathrin countered angrily. “Next time, bring your own.”

“One should always try to get along with secretaries.” Neff smiled and handed her the porcelain mug. “Otherwise, the coffee won’t taste very good.”

“I am
not
the secretary,” Kathrin snapped. “I am Detective Superintendent Kathrin Fachinger.”

Andreas Neff was neither embarrassed nor did he apologize.

“All right, then. Where did I leave off? Oh yes. Back to the perpetrator’s profile.”

“Given the sparse information available, how did you come to such a conclusion?” Kai Ostermann asked.

“We have our methods,” said Neff superciliously. “And naturally, a good deal of experience.”

The telephone in the middle of the table rang. Pia, who was sitting closest, leaned over and grabbed the receiver. She listened for ten seconds. “On our way,” she said, and hung up.

“What is it?” Kathrin asked.