JF02 - Brother Grimm (44 page)

‘A happy girl.’ Werner stared hard at the picture, as if the intensity of his gaze could squeeze more from it that he could currently see. ‘A happy girl at her birthday party …’

‘No …’ Maria Klee moved closer. Her eyes scanned the sequence of images, just as Fabel had. ‘No … that’s not it …’ Her eyes locked with Fabel’s. ‘The birthday cake. It’s the birthday cake.’

Fabel smiled grimly but did not speak, inviting Maria to take it forward. She stepped up and pointed to the second image.

‘Martha Schmidt … the girl found on the beach at Blankenese. A stomach empty of anything other than the remains of a meagre meal of rye bread.’ She moved to the next image and her voice became tighter. ‘Hanna Grünn and Markus Schiller … the
breadcrumbs scattered on the handkerchief … and Schiller was part-owner of a bakery …’

As Maria spoke, Fabel nodded across to Anna. ‘Get me the Vierlande Detention Centre. Tell them it’s urgent that I speak to Peter Olsen …’

Maria moved to the next image. ‘Laura von Klosterstadt?’

‘Another birthday party,’ answered Fabel. ‘A glitzy one organised by her agent, Heinz Schnauber. It would have been catered. Schnauber told me he always wanted Laura to feel that it was still her personal birthday party and not simply some promotional event. He said he liked to arrange little surprises for her: presents … and a birthday cake. We need to know who the catering company was.’

‘Bernd Ungerer.’ Maria moved along the inquiry board as if she and it were alone in the room. ‘Of course, catering equipment. Bakery ovens … And here … Lina Ritter, posed as Little Red Riding Hood, with a freshly baked loaf of bread in her basket.’

‘Fairy tales,’ said Fabel. ‘We’re dealing in fairy tales. A world where nothing is what you think it is. Everything has a meaning, a symbolism. The big, bad wolf has nothing to do with wolves and everything to do with us. With people. The mother is everything bountiful and good in nature, the stepmother is the other side of the same coin, everything in nature that is malicious and destructive and evil. And baked goods: the simple, honest wholesomeness of bread; the lustful temptation of baked delicacies. It is a motif that runs throughout all the Grimm tales.’

‘
Chef
,’ Anna called over to Fabel, her hand shielding the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘The custody
officer wasn’t happy about it, but I’ve got Olsen on the line.’

Fabel took the handset.

‘Olsen, this is your chance to put yourself completely in the clear for these killings. You remember we talked about Ungerer, the equipment salesman?’

‘Yeah …’

‘What was it that Hanna said about the way he looked at her?’

‘What … I dunno … oh yeah, that his eyes were all over her.’

Yes, thought Fabel, and those eyes were gouged out and ended up all over someone else.

‘Was there anyone else in the bakery who was attracted to Hanna?’

Olsen laughed. ‘Most of the male staff, probably.’

‘But was there anyone in particular?’ Fabel’s tone was impatient. ‘Someone who might have made a nuisance of himself?’

There was a silence at the other end of the phone.

‘Please, Herr Olsen. This is very important.’

‘No … no, I think that her boss, Herr Biedermeyer, the Chief Baker, was very strict about that kind of thing. She even complained to him about Ungerer. He said he would have a word with Frau Schiller.’

It was Fabel’s turn to fall silent.

‘Is that what you want to know?’ Olsen said uncertainly. ‘Does that put me in the clear?’

‘Perhaps … probably. Let me get back to you.’ Fabel hung up. ‘Get on to the Kassel KriPo,’ he told Anna ‘Find out if Martha Schmidt had been to any kind of birthday party or catered function in the few weeks immediately before she was abducted.’

‘Okay,
Chef
, but given her family background that would seem unlikely. I don’t see her junkie parents being organised or interested enough to accept an invitation and take her to a party.’

‘The sad thing is, Anna, Martha maybe took care of that kind of thing herself. She was probably the closest thing to a responsible adult in her family.’ Fabel sighed. The image of a shabby Martha Schmidt arriving, alone and without a present, at a birthday party stung him. ‘The other thing I’d like you to do is contact the Ehlers family – they know you – and find out where Paula’s birthday cake came from.’ He called over to Maria Klee. ‘Maria, I want you to get in touch with Heinz Schnauber, Laura von Klosterstadt’s agent, and find out who he got to do the catering for her party. Again I want to know where the cake came from.’

Fabel had the answers he needed. Or enough of the answers he needed. The Kassel police had been, so far, unable to confirm whether or not Martha Schmidt had been at a birthday party before she was abducted. Anna had also found out that Martha’s mother had never returned home from her visit to identify her daughter. It annoyed Fabel that the Mordkommission had to find out from a distant police force that Ulrike Schmidt had committed suicide while still in Hamburg: information that he should have received from the Polizeidirektion involved. Once the annoyance that there had been such a communications breakdown within the Polizei Hamburg subsided, Fabel remembered how Anna had been so hard on Ulrike Schmidt, simply taking her for a heartless, self-centred junkie. She had been a mother after all, in her own way.

Anna had contacted the Ehlerses, who had confirmed that Paula’s cake had been supplied by the Backstube Albertus. Maria’s check revealed that Heinz Schnauber had arranged for a vast, ornate cake to be custom-made for Laura von Klosterstadt. It hadn’t, however, come from the caterers: he had
organised it himself with a specialist bakery who had delivered the cake directly. The bakery had been the Backstube Albertus.

The girl behind the reception desk in the Backstube Albertus was clearly unsettled by the sudden presence of so many police officers. When Fabel held out his oval Kriminalpolizei disc and asked if Frau Schiller was in she simply nodded.

Fabel had stationed uniformed SchuPo officers at the main entrance of the bakery, as well as at its fire exits and the delivery bay. Anna Wolff and Henk Hermann waited down on the bakery floor. The air was rich with the odours of dough and warm bread, but when Fabel, Werner and Maria entered Vera Schiller’s office it still had the hard, functional feel of industrial administration. And Markus Schiller’s desk still had the look of recent abandonment. Vera Schiller stood up, an incandescent fury in her eyes.

‘What is the meaning of this? I demand to know why you have barged into my premises … into my office …’

Fabel held up a hand, and when he spoke it was with a quiet, calm, authority. ‘Frau Schiller, we have some very important questions for you and your staff. I know this has been a distressing time for you. Please don’t make things any more difficult than they have to be.’

Vera Schiller sat back down, but her pose remained tight, rigid. The dark fire still burned in her eyes.

‘Do not presume that you know the slightest thing about me, Herr Kriminalhauptkommissar. You don’t know anything about me at all.’

Fabel sat down opposite her. ‘That’s as may be. But there is something I do know: seven murders
have been committed … perhaps even eight. Each of them the most horrific murder, including your husband’s. And each of them is connected to the Backstube Albertus.’

‘In what way connected?’ Vera Schiller looked as if a sharp jolt of electricity had passed through her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Laura von Klosterstadt. You must have read about her murder. Yet you didn’t think to advise us that you had supplied the cake for her birthday celebrations.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t supply a cake for her. I would have remembered.’

Fabel gave her the dates. A computer sat, slightly off to one side, on her desk. She punched some keys on her keyboard.

‘No, nothing. You can see for yourself.’ She swivelled the screen towards him.

‘That’s it.’ Fabel pointed to an entry on the table displayed on the screen. ‘It’s in the name of Heinz Schnauber. He’s Laura von Klosterstadt’s agent.’

Vera Schiller peered at the entry. ‘Oh yes, a large cake. A special. Plus a full delivery of bread rolls and pastries. I remember that order, but he didn’t tell me it was for the von Klosterstadts.’

‘Who didn’t?’ asked Fabel. But already he had in his mind the image of huge hands working with incongruous delicacy.

‘Herr Biedermeyer, of course. Our Chief Baker.’ She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a heavy ledger. She flicked through the pages, checked the computer screen again, then ran a red-varnished fingernail down a column. ‘Yes … here it is … Herr Biedermeyer delivered the order himself. He’s very thorough.’

Fabel looked over his shoulder to Werner and Maria.

‘May I look at your delivery ledger?’ he asked Frau Schiller. She held his gaze for a moment, but the anger had subsided. She turned the ledger around so that it faced Fabel. He took his notebook from his pocket and checked the date of Martha Schmidt’s disappearance. Then he flicked back through the pages and found the date he sought. The moment seemed to stretch and an electric current now arced in the nape of his neck. ‘Herr Biedermeyer takes time out from his supervisory duties to make deliveries like this?’ He pointed to the entry in the ledger.

‘Yes. Well, in cases like this, he does. The Konditorei Wunderlich is a very big customer of ours. Herr Biedermeyer ensures that they feel they’re getting attention from a senior level.’

‘And the Konditorei Wunderlich is in Kassel?’ Fabel heard Werner and Maria already moving towards the door before he received an answer.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Does Herr Biedermeyer use one of your panel vans to make his deliveries?’

‘Sometimes. Yes. Why are you asking about Herr Biedermeyer?’

Fabel ignored the question. ‘Is Herr Biedermeyer here just now?’

‘He’s on the production floor –’

Before Frau Schiller had time to finish her answer, Fabel had risen from his seat and was following his officers down the stairs.

Just as Fabel remembered from the first time he had seen him, Biedermeyer was leaning over, placing a small floral decoration on a cake. Again it seemed an impossibly delicate operation for his huge, heavy hands and the icing flowers looked tiny and fragile
between his massive forefinger and thumb. As he saw the group of police officers approach him, he straightened up and his good-natured features broke into a broad grin. Anna and Henk broke off from the advancing group and started to usher the other workers out of the production hall. Biedermeyer watched with amusement.

‘Hello, Herr Kriminalhauptkommissar. Excuse me a moment, I just have to put the last two flowers on this cake.’ Again the forefinger and thumb picked up a decoration from the palm of his other hand and placed it on to the cake. He repeated the operation with the final flower. Straightening up his huge frame, Biedermeyer took a step back to survey his handiwork and said, ‘There!’ He turned back to Fabel. ‘Sorry to keep you, but I had to finish that.’ The smile across his big face remained friendly, warm almost, and the creases around his eyes deepened. ‘I like to do things just right. Get them finished properly. Perfectly. With something like this, I always feel that the detail is everything.’ He looked at the other officers and then back to Fabel. ‘But, there again, I think I’ve already proved that, haven’t I? Did you like my work, Herr Hauptkommissar? Did it amuse you?’

Fabel’s hand moved to his hip and he took his pistol from its holster. He didn’t raise it, but kept it at his side, ready. Biedermeyer looked at the gun and shook his head, as if disappointed.

‘There’s no need for that, Herr Fabel. No need at all. I have finished my work. I have done all I set out to do.’

‘Herr Biedermeyer –’ Fabel began to say, but Biedermeyer held up a hand, like a traffic cop stopping oncoming vehicles. He kept smiling, but his
size, his sheer bulk was more threatening than any expression.

‘Now, Herr Fabel, you know that is not my real name, don’t you? After all that you’ve seen?’

‘Then what
is
your name?’

‘Grimm …’ Biedermeyer laughed as if being forced to explain something dazzlingly obvious to a child. ‘I am Brother Grimm.’

Fabel heard the sound of firearms being drawn from their holsters.

‘Franz Biedermeyer, I am placing you under arrest for the suspected murder of Paula Ehlers, Martha Schmidt, Hanna Grünn, Markus Schiller, Bernd Ungerer, Lina Ritter and Max Bartmann. Any statement you make may be used as evidence.’ Fabel reholstered his gun, first checking over his shoulder that Werner and Maria had Biedermeyer covered. He removed the pair of handcuffs from his belt pouch and grasped Biedermeyer’s wrist, turning him round to handcuff him. Taking hold of Biedermeyer made Fabel even more aware of his bulk and potential power. The wrists were thick and solid. But, to Fabel’s relief, Biedermeyer offered no resistance.

As they took the Chief Baker out to the waiting cars, they passed Vera Schiller. Her dark gaze held Biedermeyer as he was led up the stairway and along the hall to the exit. He stopped, and Fabel and Werner became aware that they had hold of an immovable object. The smile faded from Biedermeyer’s face.