I Am Your Judge: A Novel (44 page)

“So that those left behind will feel the same pain that they had caused out of indifference or greed. That’s what he wrote in an anonymous letter to the police.

“Oh God.”

“My mother apparently had to die because my father had incriminated himself in murder out of greed and vanity.” Karoline found it easier than she’d feared to speak these words. “My father is a transplant surgeon. He was the one who removed the organs from Helen’s mother.”

Vivien stared at her, openmouthed.

“I want to find out the truth, because my father never told me anything,” Karoline went on. “I have to know what really happened back then, what my father and his doctor colleagues did. My thirteen-year-old daughter was standing next to my mother in the kitchen when the sniper shot her. You can imagine what a shock that was.”

The young woman nodded, obviously moved.

“If I find out that what the sniper wrote is true,” said Karoline, now lowering her voice, “I will never be able to forgive my father. I’ll see to it that he ends up in prison.”

She took a deep breath. Vivien stared at her with a steadfast gaze, then grabbed her handbag and took out a worn black notebook.

“This is Helen’s notebook. Everything she found out is in here. She always left it with me because she didn’t trust anyone else. Maybe I should have given it to the police, but I was afraid.” Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. “I … I think that the sniper is Jens-Uwe. He … he used to be a doctor, and he was somehow mixed up in the whole thing.” Vivien rummaged in her purse until she found a pack of tissues. Karoline waited until she’d blown her nose. “I’m deathly afraid of him after he attacked me that one time. The guy is capable of anything. In three days, I’ll be back in the States, and I’ll be safe there. But until then, you have to promise me that you’ll keep my name out of all this. Okay?”

Karoline could tell her fear was genuine. There was no reason for her to mention Vivien Stern’s name. Or was there? Wouldn’t the police inspector want to know where she got the notebook?

“I want to be honest,” she replied. “If the notebook is important for the case, I’ll have to give it to the head of the investigation and tell him where I got it.”

Vivien looked at her and swallowed. Then she nodded slowly.

“At least you’re not lying to me,” she said. “Everyone else would have promised me anything, swear to God.”

She shoved the black notebook across the table.

“Take it. I hope it helps.” The young woman gave her a serious look. “Maybe then the police will catch the bastard who killed Helen.”

*   *   *

Pia opened the glass door and nodded to her colleague in the watch room who had let her through the security gate. The team meeting in the special commission room on the ground floor had already begun. Pia took the vacant chair next to Kai. Bodenstein was just reporting on his conversation with Lis Wenning. It was her turn next.

“I’m sure that Hartig is lying when he claims he couldn’t remember any more names,” she said.

“In my opinion, there’s only one explanation for why he doesn’t want to help us: He’s the sniper and wants to finish what he started,” Kathrin replied. “Why don’t we bring him in?”

“Because we don’t have any evidence against him,” said Bodenstein.

Pia wished she were as convinced as Kathrin that Hartig was the perp, but she wasn’t.

“I just talked to Henning on the phone, and he spoke again with a doctor who was working at UCF at the time,” she went on. “He stated that in the case of Kirsten Stadler there was definitely something fishy going on, but he didn’t want his name to be mentioned. We seem to be uncovering nothing but contradictions, and I’m getting the feeling that no one is telling us the truth. But why?”

“The sniper seems to be harboring a deep-rooted hatred that’s been festering for a long time,” Kim suggested. “Helen’s suicide could have been the trigger—the spark that set off the powder keg.”

“I agree with you.” Andreas Neff nodded and pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. He gave the impression that he’d unearthed a lot of news and was just waiting for the right moment to give his report. “I’ve also been looking into Dirk Stadler some more. By the way, all resources are available to us at State Criminal HQ.”

“Show-off,” Kai muttered.

“Stadler was born in Rostock, in the former East Germany, but he has lived in the West since he fled in 1982. Civil engineer. He was a project leader with the Hochtief firm here and also abroad. No priors, currently four points on his license. A car is registered in his name, a silver Toyota Yaris, license number MTK-XX 342. Since 2004, he’s been employed by the City of Frankfurt. He has a valid handicapped ID.”

“Very good.” Bodenstein nodded his approval. “Have you double-checked all this?”

“Of course. I also ran a check on Mark Thomsen. It was a little harder to pull the info on him, but I have my connections.”

He paused briefly to look around the table, but when he received no applause for his efforts, he continued.

“The official version is that Thomsen had to leave the Border Patrol in 2000 because of an unfavorable psychological report after he shot two individuals to death even though there was no tangible threat in the situation. In reality, he was suspended and then given a less than honorable discharge from the police force. During his time with the Border Patrol, he fatally shot a total of seventeen people.”

This fact alone was the basis for ranking him number one on the list of suspects.

“I also thought it might be very interesting to take a look at the bank accounts of Hartig, Stadler, and Winkler. As well as their e-mails.”

“For that we need a court-approved warrant.” Bodenstein shook his head.

“Not in a volatile situation like this.” Neff smiled innocently. “As I mentioned, I have a few good connections and just went ahead and did it.”

“Without discussing it with me first?”

“You have enough on your plate. I didn’t want to bother you,” replied Neff. “You should be glad that someone on your team shows some initiative.”

“Well, I’m not!” Bodenstein said sharply. “There’s a huge difference between showing initiative and taking steps without proper authorization! That is a gross violation of civil rights and will not hold up in court.”

“Don’t worry.” Neff grinned. “We can always get a warrant after the fact.”

For a moment, Bodenstein wrestled with himself. He knew that Neff was right, but he didn’t like this sort of disregard for regulations. As head of the investigation, he was responsible for everything that his team did. On the other hand, he reluctantly had to admit that information via e-mails and phone calls could be a valuable asset in their currently desperate situation. In the end, he decided to take the risk and include Neff’s results in their investigation.

“All right, then, what did you find out?” he asked.

Smiling confidently, Neff pulled a fat pile of computer printouts out of his briefcase.

“Thomsen made very few calls in recent weeks,” he began. “We have checked out all the calls. He phoned the Winklers a couple of times on the landline. Otherwise, I think he used a prepaid cell, which can’t be traced. Yesterday at twelve forty-four
P.M.,
he received the first call in a long time on his landline.”

“That’s correct,” Pia confirmed. “He got a call while we were at his house. And afterwards, he suddenly started acting nervous.”

“Were you able to trace the number?” Bodenstein asked.

“Not yet.” Neff shook his head. “It was a cell number in the Netherlands. Thomsen was also sparing about the e-mails he sent. Because he used to be a police officer, he knows all the things we’re able to do, so he has been very careful. He has only one bank account at a savings bank with a balance of €2,644.15. His salary goes into that account, and payments are regularly deducted for telephone, electricity, mortgage, a newspaper subscription, a private supplementary medical insurance, and a credit card. He has a MasterCard that he apparently uses to pay for everything: liquor, groceries, sundries. All pretty much unremarkable.”

Although Bodenstein knew only too well how much surveillance was actually possible these days, he was again amazed at the detail the government could find out about every single citizen. And in almost no time, with very little effort.

“It gets more interesting with Jens-Uwe Hartig.” Neff was visibly enjoying the undivided attention of the rest of the team. “He has a number of accounts, but he’s also deep in debt. The apartment in Kelkheim and the house in Hofheim have high mortgage balances. His business is in a rented shop. He pays alimony to his ex-wife in Bremen. And listen to this: Up until September, Dirk Stadler transferred a thousand euros to him every month with the reference code ‘Helen.’ Shortly after Helen’s suicide, Stadler and Hartig spoke on the phone often, and several times a day. Hartig also frequently called Erik Stadler. In November, these calls stopped abruptly, as though they had broken off contact.”

Pia and her boss exchanged glances. This confirmed what Hartig had previously told her.

“However, three days ago, on December twenty-eighth,” said Neff, his eyes gleaming, “Stadler and Hartig spoke on the phone from seven forty-five
P.M.
to nine minutes past nine
P.M.
I have no idea what they talked about, because we have no wiretap on their lines.”

“Then we’ll just ask Stadler what they were talking about for an hour and a half,” Pia suggested, and Bodenstein nodded.

*   *   *

“I doubt that Helen would commit suicide without leaving a note,” said Pia. “Maybe Stadler and Hartig withheld it because there’s something in it they didn’t like. I think we’ll have to start with her. Helen seems to be at the center of the whole case.”

No one contradicted her. Kai began to analyze the tips that had come in on the telephone hotline. After all the details of the murders had been revealed at the press conference, a veritable flood of tips came in. The police gave each one an internal tracking number and then followed up on the information, if only to identify the tip as false and rule it out. Eight officers from the search, burglary, and fraud divisions were employed full-time to connect either by phone or in person with all those who had called in tips.

“No hot leads yet,” Kai ended his report.

Cem and Kathrin had spoken with the director of the security company that Thomsen worked for. He had nothing unfavorable to say about his employee. Thomsen was punctual and reliable. He got along well with his colleagues, and he was a favorite of the firm’s clients. Wherever he was assigned, they had no more break-ins. At Cem’s request, the director printed out a copy of Thomsen’s time sheet, which listed each assignment, what time he’d come to work, and when he’d left. Several times per shift, the employees were required to check in, giving the time and location. This data was stored in the computer. In addition, the entire vehicle fleet was equipped with GPS by TopSecure, so that the location of each vehicle could be tracked at any time.

“Interesting to see Thomsen’s assignments,” said Cem. “For example, the Seerose commercial park in Eschborn. That’s where Hürmet Schwarzer was shot. Otherwise, he was off on all the other days when murders occurred.”

“The dog you saw yesterday with Thomsen belongs to his boss,” Kathrin added. “TopSecure owns five trained dogs. Thomsen often took Arko home with him, and no one seemed to mind.”

“Where is the dog now?” Pia asked.

“He was apparently returned to the kennel sometime yesterday,” replied Kathrin. “No one knows exactly when that was done, but this morning the dog was back.”

“That might mean that Thomsen is still in the area, hiding out someplace,” said Pia.

“Did you take a good look at the autopsy report on Helen Stadler?” Bodenstein asked Pia.

“Not really,” she said. “Kathrin handled that.”

“The impact from the train didn’t leave much of her body,” Kathrin put in. “But at the time of death, she had a large concentration of barbiturates in her blood.”

“That’s very interesting,” Bodenstein said. “Erik Stadler’s girlfriend just told us that Helen had undergone withdrawal treatment after Jens-Uwe had almost poisoned her with antidepressants and sedatives.”

His gaze fell on Peter Ehrenberg from the burglary squad, who was leaning against the doorframe, listening with his arms crossed.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“We’ve got something,” replied Ehrenberg, who had always gotten on Bodenstein’s nerves with his apathetic attitude. “From the high-rise in Eschborn. A woman claims she saw the perp on the scaffolding.”

“What? When did you get the tip?” Bodenstein seemed electrified.

“I think it was Saturday.”

Silence fell over the big room, and everyone stared mutely at the man who was in charge of evaluating the calls on the tip hotline.

“On
Saturday
?” Bodenstein asked in bafflement. “Today is Monday! How come you’re just mentioning it now?”

“Do you know how many tips we have to check out?” Ehrenberg fired back, insulted. “The phone has been ringing off the hook.”

“Didn’t anybody look at the surveillance tapes yet either? That was a direct order!”

“Of course we did, on Friday,” Ehrenberg defended his team. “But there are three hundred twelve apartments in that building, with hundreds of people living there. And there are construction workers going in and out all day long. If you don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, you’re not going to find a thing.”

With a great effort, Bodenstein brought his rising anger under control. He wanted to grab the fat little man by the shoulders and shake him, but then Ehrenberg would instantly go on sick leave. He grabbed the phone to inform Dr. Nicola Engel.

“Here.” With a sullen expression that gave little evidence of a guilty conscience, Ehrenberg handed Kai a USB stick. “Start at 11:33
A.M
.”

Without a word, Ostermann took the stick from him and stuck it into his laptop. The others gathered around his desk and stared tensely at his monitor, which now showed the glass entrance doors of the high-rise.

“What exactly did the man see?” Bodenstein inquired.