JF02 - Brother Grimm (28 page)

‘But …?’ Maria Klee gave a small, knowing smile.

‘But … I just don’t see this as a team. We’ve been there before in a previous case and this just doesn’t feel the same. This is a single hand. So let’s take Olsen first – what have we got?’

‘He seems solid for the Naturpark killings,’ said Maria. ‘He has a motive for killing Grünn and Schiller – sexual jealousy. But, as you say, how does this square with the other, apparently random, murders?’

Fabel took a sip of his espresso. ‘It just doesn’t fit with the picture we’re building of Olsen. He’s all rage. Our guy sees poetry in his violence. Olsen stays at the top of the list, but to know more we’re going to have to nail him. In the meantime: what about Fendrich, Anna?’

‘He’s not our guy. I’m sure of it. If he had sexual motives, which he denies, I don’t believe he did anything about them. I’ve checked and rechecked his background. No record. No previous suspicions or concerns about his conduct as a teacher. He appears not to have had any kind of steady relationship for the last three years, when he split up with his long-term girlfriend, Rona Dorff. I spoke to Rona. She’s a music teacher at another school. According to her their relationship was a very lukewarm one at the best of times and they broke up after Paula disappeared.’

‘Is there a connection?’ asked Fabel.

‘Well, yes, there is. But it would tend to exculpate rather than incriminate Fendrich. Rona said that Fendrich became obsessed with helping the Ehlerses to find Paula. Then, when Klatt from the Norderstedt police got on Fendrich’s back, he got angry and depressed.’

‘Violent?’

‘No. Distant. As Rona put it, their relationship faded away rather than broke up.’

‘It could be that Fendrich’s behaviour after Paula’s disappearance was a cover,’ Henk Hermann said. There was an eagerness in his voice. ‘Lots of murderers disguise their post-commission feelings of guilt and fear of detection as grief or concern.’

Fabel had seen it himself many times before. And on more than one occasion he’d been convinced by the crocodile tears of a cold-blooded killer.

‘And then there’s the “Grimm” analogy that the killer is using.’ Hermann seemed to have been encouraged by his new boss’s appreciation of his previous point. ‘We know that the Paula lookalike found on the beach, Martha Schmidt, was from a so-called underclass, and the killer stretched this to be analogous with the “underground people”. It could be that Fendrich saw her as being trapped in the stifling confines of her parent’s low expectations of her. Could he have felt that, by killing her, he was “liberating” her?’

Fabel looked at Hermann and smiled. ‘You’ve been reading Weiss’s book too, haven’t you?’ Hermann’s face reddened slightly beneath the freckles, as if he’d been caught cheating on a term paper.

‘Yes, Herr Erster Kriminalhauptkommissar. I thought it would be good background.’

‘It is. And call me
Chef
, it saves time. What do you think, Anna?’

‘It could be, I suppose. Although he’s been very supportive of the Ehlers family, he couldn’t disguise his contempt for their low expectations and aspirations. But Fendrich is only connected to the Paula Ehlers disappearance, which, technically, is still not part of this murder investigation. He doesn’t have an alibi for the others, but, as I said, he lives alone in that big house he used to share with his mother. If he had alibis for the others, then I would be suspicious. Anyway, my gut instinct is that he’s not our man. Although the thing with the gift of the Grimm fairy tales bothers me. Even if he freely volunteered the information.’

‘Okay, but we keep Fendrich on the suspect board. That leaves us with Weiss, the author …’

‘Well,
Chef
,’ said Maria, ‘he’s very much your baby. Why include him as a suspect?’

‘Well, first and foremost, there are disturbing parallels between these killings and Weiss’s
Märchenstrasse
novel. Both are “Grimm” themed, both involve a serial killer bringing fairy tales to life. Weiss is reaping media attention and increased book sales because of this very connection.’

Anna gave a small laugh. ‘You can’t be suggesting that these killings are some kind of twisted launch event for his book.’

‘Not specifically. But maybe Weiss is capable of living out his theories. He is certainly a self-important, arrogant prick. But more than that, he is a disturbing person to be around. And he’s big. Really big and powerful. And the autopsy on Laura von Klosterstadt suggested she was restrained by someone with a huge hand span.’

‘That could be Olsen,’ said Anna. ‘Or, for that matter, Fendrich.’

Fabel turned to Maria. ‘What did you get on Weiss, Maria?’

‘No criminal convictions. He’s forty-seven, married twice, divorced twice, no children. He was born in Kiel, Schleswig-Holstein. His mother was foreign. Italian, of aristocratic origins, and his father owned a shipping-related company in Kiel. He was educated in an expensive private Internat here in Hamburg as well as in England and Italy. University Hamburg … first novel published shortly after graduation, without much success … his first
Wahlwelten
novel came out in 1981 and was a massive success. That’s about it. Oh, there was a brother. A younger brother. But he died about ten years ago.’

Fabel looked stung. ‘A brother? Died? Died how?’

‘Suicide, apparently. Some kind of mental illness.’

‘Tell me, Maria, he wouldn’t have been a sculptor, by any chance?’

Maria looked surprised. ‘As a matter of fact he was. How do you know?’

‘I think I may have seen some of his work,’ said Fabel, and the snarling face of a wolf, carved out of ebony, flashed into his mind. He looked down at the water next to them. The swans had turned their back on the sodden bread in the water and were heading lazily towards the bridge. He turned to his team. ‘Kommissar Hermann is right. I think we should all consider Weiss’s book
Die Märchenstrasse
required reading. I’ll make sure you each get a copy by the end of today. And I want you to make sure you read it.’

Fabel had asked Anna to wait behind, saying that he would run her back to the Präsidium. Henk Hermann had loitered indecisively until Fabel had instructed him to go back with Maria. They sat alone at the table. Fabel ordered another coffee and raised a questioning eyebrow: Anna shook her head.

‘Listen, Anna,’ Fabel said, after the waiter had gone. ‘You are an exceptional police officer. In my opinion a real asset to the team. But there are, well, issues we need to address …’

‘Such as?’

He turned his face to her. ‘Such as your aggressiveness. And you need to work more as a team member, not an individual.’

Anna’s expression hardened. ‘I thought that was why you recruited each of us – because of our individuality. Because we were different.’

‘I did, Anna. But your individual talents are only of use to me in combination with those of the other team members.’

‘I think I know where this is going … Henk Hermann?’

‘He’s bright, Anna. And he’s keen. He’s a good policeman and I think that you two will work well together. But only if you let him in and give him the chance.’

Anna didn’t answer for a moment. Then she held Fabel in her usual defiant gaze. ‘Is it just me, or is it a hell of a coincidence that he looks so like Paul Lindemann? I was beginning to wonder if we had our own “changeling”.’

Anna’s joke annoyed Fabel and he didn’t answer right away. They walked back to Fabel’s BMW. He clicked off the alarm and lock with his remote and leaned an elbow on the roof, looking across at Anna.
‘I don’t recruit officers on sentimental grounds, Kommissarin Wolff.’ Fabel paused then gave a small laugh: he knew what she meant. Hermann had the same lean, lanky, sandy-haired look as Paul Lindemann, the officer they had lost. ‘He does a bit, doesn’t he? But he’s not Paul. And I recruited him because of his own merits and potential. I need you to work with him. It’s as much up to you as it is up to me to develop that potential – to bring the best out of him. And before you say it, I’m not asking you to nursemaid him. It’s just that he has a steep learning curve to deal with and I want you to help, not hinder him. And, I have to say, I think you could learn a few things from him along the way.’

They drove back towards Winterhude and the Polizeipräsidium. The cloud-blanched sun darkened and lightened, as if unsure what to do with the day. Anna remained quiet for most of the journey, then, out of the blue, she said: ‘Okay,
Chef
. I’ll do a little bridge-building with Hermann. I know I can be an asshole sometimes, but that whole thing last year, with Paul – and with Maria getting hurt – it got to me. Paul was so bloody straight, so by-the-book and precise in everything he did. It used to get on my nerves. But he was a good person: a genuine guy and you always knew where you were with him.’ She paused. Fabel didn’t look across at her because he knew that tough little Anna wouldn’t want him to see her upset. ‘He was looking after me …’ Her voice was tight. ‘That’s what keeps me awake at night. That he died trying to get me out of trouble. I survived and he didn’t.’

‘Anna …’ Fabel began, but she cut him off, forcing a normal tone into her voice.

‘I’ll suggest to Henk Hermann that we get together
for a chat. A drink or something. Get to know each other. Okay?’

‘Okay, Anna.’

They parked at the Präsidium and Anna rested her hand on the car door but made no movement to get out. She turned her frank gaze on Fabel.

‘Why not Klatt?’ she asked bluntly and when Fabel looked confused for a moment she added: ‘I was convinced you were going to ask Klatt to join the team. I probably think the idea had crossed his mind too. Why did you decide on Henk Hermann instead?’

Fabel smiled. ‘Klatt is a good policeman, but he hasn’t got what it takes to be a Mordkommission officer. He got too focused on Fendrich. I don’t know, maybe Fendrich is our guy, but Klatt was too closed off to alternatives. If the killer isn’t Fendrich, then maybe, in those early days of the inquiry, maybe even in those vital early hours, Klatt didn’t register something on the edge of his vision that could have closed the gap between him and Paula’s abductor.’

‘God,
Chef
, that’s a bit harsh. There wasn’t that much to go on. Klatt focused on Fendrich more because there wasn’t anything or anyone else to focus on.’

‘That he saw … but anyway, like I said, he’s a good policeman. But you asked me why I picked Henk Hermann and not Robert Klatt. It was more to do with what’s right with Hermann than what’s wrong with Klatt. Henk Hermann was the first officer to deal with the scene in the Naturpark. He stood there staring at two victims in a tiny forest clearing with their throats cut and the first thing he did was to move his focus out from that spot. Fast. He did the opposite of Klatt. He widened his scope and worked in two directions at the same time: he
worked back from the scene of discovery to the moment of death, and he worked forward to a radius in which the cars would probably have been dumped. And all of that started with his instant recognition of a posed scene.’ Fabel paused for a moment, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the steering wheel. ‘We’re all runners in a race, Anna. Every one of us in the Mordkommission. And it all begins as soon as someone fires the starting gun by leaving another human being dead. Henk Hermann is faster off the blocks. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. And I need you to work with him as well as you can.’

Anna looked at Fabel intently for a moment, as if considering his words; then she nodded.

‘Okay,
Chef
.’

Max was an artist.

He cared very, very much about his art. He had studied it, properly, investigating its origins, its history, its development. Max was very aware that he was privileged to work in the very finest medium: the most noble and the most ancient. He worked on the same canvas that artists had worked on for millennia, throughout the human experience: probably even before they had started to create cave paintings. Yes, it was a great and noble and fine art. And that was why Max was so pissed off that, while he worked, he had a major boner. He did everything he could to take his mind off the erection that strained against the leather of his trousers. He even tried to concentrate on the detail of his work, but it was, after all, the simplest of designs, a heart wreathed in flowers, and he could have done it in his sleep. He wouldn’t even have agreed to tattoo it on to the shaved
mons pubis
of the hooker at this time in the evening had he not received a phone call from one of his best-ever customers, who had asked if he could come in to see Max at ten. He was going to be hanging around anyway, so when the hooker turned
up at the door he reckoned he might as well be earning.

‘Ouwwww … that hurts …’ The pretty young prostitute squirmed and Max had to hastily remove the tattooing needle. As he did so her pudenda writhed close to Max’s face and he felt himself stiffen a little more.

‘I won’t be long …’ he said impatiently. ‘But you’ve got to stay still, or I’ll make a mistake.’

The girl giggled. ‘This is going to look so classy!’ she said, and then winced as Max reapplied the tattooing needle. ‘The other girls get, like, tasteless things done, but they told me you was really good. A real artist, kinda.’

‘I’m honoured,’ Max said, unconvincingly. ‘Just let me get this finished.’ He wiped the ink and the blood from the tattoo, his thumb grazing her labia. The girl giggled again.