Self's Murder (13 page)

“We’ve got a second storeroom at the end of the corridor. I can have a bed set up.”

As I lay there, my thoughts went to Samarin. Was the air in his room as stuffy as it was in here? Did he too feel claustrophobic? Did he hear the humming of the central heating? The room had no window, and it was pitch-dark. I held my hands in front of my face but couldn’t see them.

Sometimes I think something is over and done with when in fact things are just beginning. That’s what had happened to me in the morning, when Welker and Samarin had walked me to my car. Sometimes I also think I’m in the middle of something, but in fact it’s already over. Was what we had wanted to bring to an end that night, in effect, already over? Of course it hadn’t happened yet. But were the roles already doled out in such a way and the conditions such that whatever happened, whatever we chose to do, would still have the same result?

It was only a feeling. A fear. The fear of being too slow again, of not being fast enough to see what was actually taking place. So I weighed everything that Welker wanted, what Samarin wanted, at best what both of them would get, at worst what both would lose, what they might surprise each other with, and what they might surprise us with.

Immersed in these reflections, I fell asleep. At midnight the nurse woke me up. “The others are back.”

Philipp, Nägelsbach, and Welker were sitting in the nurses’ room, discussing where the exchange was to take place. Welker wanted a hidden, secret place, preferably somewhere on the outskirts of the city.

Nägelsbach preferred an open, brightly lit area, or a street somewhere downtown. “I want to be able to see these people!”

“Everybody started to chip in. So we can make sure they don’t try to trick us? We’ll tell them where and when we’ll meet. We’ll inform them of the time of our meeting so they won’t be able to trick us.”

“But a place that is well-lit and open …”

“During the exchange, one or two of us should be standing by—someone who can see everything, but won’t be seen. Someone who can step in if need be.”

We decided on the Luisenpark. There were trees and shrubs behind which one could hide, but there was also a wide lawn. Samarin’s men were to drive up the Werderstrasse, while we would come up the Lessingstrasse with Samarin. The exchange would take place in the middle of the park.

“Shall we do the exchange, Philipp, while the two of you stand in reserve?” I suggested. The others nodded, and Nägelsbach agreed to wear his police jacket and cap again. “Perhaps it’s good if we can act as if the police are on our side.”

All we could do now was wait. The big old alarm clock in the nurses’ room chopped the time into little pieces. Nägelsbach had found some boxes of matches and was building a little tower, two matches one way and two the other, all the heads facing outward. Welker kept his eyes shut. His face was tense, as if he were concentrating on a difficult mathematical equation. Philipp was excitedly looking forward to the exchange as an adventure.

I went to the storeroom, turned on the light, and had Samarin talk to his men. “They’ve already been at the Augusta-anlage for ten minutes.”

“Tell them to wait there until they get further instructions.”

Then I released his straps and helped him off the bed.

“What about this?” he asked, nodding down to the strait-jacket that tied his arms across his chest.

I hung his coat over his shoulders. “Your men can take that off for you.”

Even in the straitjacket he looked dangerous, as if he could crush me against the wall with his massive, powerful body. I kept my distance until we got to the car. He didn’t say a word, not when he saw the others, among them Nägelsbach in uniform, not when Nägelsbach and I had him sit between us on the backseat, not during the drive.

We parked in the Lessingstrasse, and Welker and Nägelsbach got out and walked off. I explained to Samarin where his men were to take the children into the park, and he informed his men.

Then we got out, too, and waited at the entrance to the park, Philipp to the right of Samarin, I to the left. I couldn’t see Nägelsbach and Welker, but I could see the shrubs at the other end of the park where they were going to hide. There was a half moon, bright enough for the bushes, trees, and benches to be clearly visible. The broad lawn shimmered gray. I was again beset by the fear that I had overlooked something and tried once more to weigh everything. We would send Samarin and they would send us the children. Or would they just shoot Philipp and me? Might they fail to turn up for the exchange and simply watch us and wait for us to retreat, exhausted and rattled, and then attack us? Might they … But my fever wouldn’t let me think straight. Suddenly I found the situation unreal, bordering on the absurd. Somewhere in the distance Nägelsbach and Welker lay in wait, ready to jump out and shout “Surprise!,” terrifying the enemy. Next to me Samarin stood like a bear with a ring in his nose and a chain on the ring. I wouldn’t have been surprised had I heard the chain clink with every step. Philipp peered into the darkness with anxiety and pleasure, like a hunter on the prowl.

At the other end of the park headlights appeared. A big car stopped and two men got out. They opened the back doors and helped a boy and a girl get out. They walked toward us and we walked toward them. There was silence, except for our steps on the gravel.

When we were twenty meters away I said to Samarin: “Tell them to stop and send the children to us.”

He barked some orders in Russian. The men stopped and said something to the boy and the girl that sounded like “Go on!” The children came toward us.

“I guess that’s that,” I said.

Samarin nodded and walked toward his men. He reached them and they exchanged a few words, then began to walk toward Werderstrasse. The children asked what was happening and where their father was, but Philipp growled at them to keep quiet and hurry. When we got to the entrance of the park we looked back. We looked back at the very moment it happened.

We didn’t see where the shot came from; we only heard it. After the first shot there was immediately a second one. We saw Samarin collapse and his two companions crouch down to assist him, or to shield themselves, or both. I thought Oh God! and heard the silence in the park and the echo of the shots in my head, and then mayhem broke loose. Samarin’s men got up and, still firing shots, ran toward their car, jumped in, and were gone.

Before I could even formulate the thought Get the children in the car, one of us with them! they were running off, shouting, “Dad!”

Welker had come out from behind the bushes at the other end of the park. He came toward them and hugged them. Philipp ran over to Samarin. When I got there, out of breath, Philipp straightened up. “He’s dead.”

“Where’s Nägelsbach?”

Philipp looked around. “Where’s Nägelsbach!” he shouted at Welker.

Welker pointed to the bushes at the end of the path. “That’s where he …”

Then we saw him. He came toward us, dragging his feet, his hand pressed to his side.

“You idiot!” Philipp said to Welker. I had never seen him so furious. “Quick, Gerhard! We’ve got to get him to the car.”

We ran over to Nägelsbach, propped him up, and slowly, step-by-step, made our way to the car.

Welker followed us. “What should I—”

“Wait for the police to come!”

The lights went on in some of the houses.

W
e managed to get Nägelsbach to the car, to the hospital, and into the operating room. Within two hours Philipp had removed the bullet and sewn him up. He sat down next to me, took off his scrub cap and mask, and grinned at me brightly. “I’ve got something for you.”

I took the bullet. “The police will want that,” I said.

“No, this is the one the police will be wanting.” He was holding another bullet between his thumb and index finger.

I looked at him nonplussed.

“He must have caught a shot years ago, and I guess it would have been too dangerous back then to remove the bullet. But the old bullet wandered and ended up not far from the new one.” He looked around. “Have the police been here yet?”

I shook my head.

“It was Welker who shot Samarin, wasn’t it?”

“It seems Samarin had a gun, which Welker had taken from him,” I said. “Did Welker pay Samarin a visit in the storeroom?”

“Perhaps while you were asleep,” Philipp said. “He didn’t tell us he was going, and I didn’t keep an eye out. Wouldn’t Samarin have noticed Welker coming in? Wouldn’t he have said something?”

“I’m sure he noticed. But as for saying something … No, it wouldn’t have been his style to tell us that Welker had taken his gun away.”

“Everything was going so well until that idiot—”

“Are you talking about me?” Welker said, suddenly appearing in front of us. “You didn’t see what happened. Gregor and his men were whispering among themselves, then they reached for their weapons, and just at the moment when—”

“That’s nonsense! Samarin was in a straitjacket—he could hardly have attacked anyone! And why didn’t you aim at his men? Why shoot him in the back?” Philipp asked.

“I …” Welker fought back his tears. “I realized it wasn’t going to work. Samarin had lost the battle, but not the war. I knew he’d stay on my case, and then I’d be back at square one.” The tears he was fighting back were tears of anger. “Damn it, don’t you see? That man was terrorizing me, month after month! He had my bank under his thumb, he murdered my wife, he threatened my children! No, I’m not sorry for what I did! I’m at my wit’s end, but I’m not sorry!”

“What did the police say?”

“I didn’t wait for them.”

“You just up and left?”

He sat down next to us. “I found a taxi at the Collini-Center and got the children out of there. It had been a day from hell for them. I wasn’t about to expose them to the ordeal of the investigation.” He laid his hand on my arm. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you were serious about the police. It’s not my field—I know nothing about legal matters. Was everything we did kosher? What you and your friends did? How’s the policeman, by the way?”

“He’ll be back on his feet soon enough.”

“Particularly in his case I was wondering what the consequences might be. Retired police officer runs amok—won’t there be a disciplinary hearing? Loss of pension? I didn’t want to bear that responsibility on my own, which is why I’m bringing all this up. I don’t know if we can take the initiative together without consulting him. When do you think we could talk to him?”

“In a few days,” Philipp said, shaking his head. “You don’t seriously think we can stay out of all this. There are four of us, and then there are Füruzan, her colleague the night nurse, and Frau Nägelsbach who are in the know—not to mention that someone might have seen our car, or seen Gerhard and me with Nägelsbach when he was wounded. As for Samarin working in your bank, the police will find that out in no time at all. What will you tell them?”

“The truth. That he was involved with the Russian Mafia, that he tried to use my bank for his money-laundering schemes, that he has a number of deaths on his conscience, and that things ended up spinning out of control for him.”

Philipp had called Frau Nägelsbach after operating on her husband. Now she was standing before us, eyeing us. “Who shot my husband?”

“Samarin’s men.”

“Why?”

“Samarin was shot.”

“By whom?”

“We’ve just been weighing what we can and should contribute to the police investigation,” Welker said, looking at Frau Nägelsbach entreatingly. “And if your husband would be pleased if the police … and the public …”

She read in his face that he was the one who had shot Samarin. She looked at him and shook her head.

“Take me to my husband,” she said to Philipp. “I want to be with him when he wakes up.”

They left. Welker stayed. “I’ll wait for your friend. I want Nägelsbach to have whatever he needs—the best of everything, whatever the expense. You must believe me: I am terribly sorry he was shot.” He looked at me as if he really were terribly sorry.

I nodded.

O
utside the hospital I hoped to find a taxi at the stand. But it was still too early in the morning.

A man came up to me. At first I didn’t recognize him. It was Karl-Heinz Ulbrich. “Come along, I’ll drive you home.”

I was too sick and too tired to turn his offer down. He took me to his car—no longer a beige Fiesta, but a light green Polo. He opened the door for me and I got in. The streets were empty, but he didn’t exceed the speed limit.

“You don’t look too good.”

What could I say?

He laughed. “Not that I’m surprised, after all you’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours.”

Again I said nothing.

“The water tower meeting—that was impressive. But in the park you had more luck than brains.”

“You really aren’t my son. You might be my deceased wife’s son, but I’m not your father. When you … when you were conceived, I was in Poland, far away from my wife.”

He wasn’t swayed. “I imagine you already know that the men in the blue Mercedes are Russians. They’re from Moscow, and have been in Germany for two or three years, first in Berlin, then in Frankfurt, and now here. I spoke to them in Russian, but their German isn’t bad.”

“They really trained you to be a pro in shadowing.”

“Shadowing was always my specialty. Do you see now that we’d make a great team?”

“The two of us a team? From what I can tell, you’re working not with me but against me.”

He was hurt. “It’s not like you’re letting me work with you. Anyway, it’s always good to know as much as possible.”

I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s just that I’m not a team player. I’ve never been one, never wanted to be one, and in my old age have no intention of becoming one.” Then I felt there was no reason not to tell him the whole truth. “Not to mention that the days of small detective agencies are numbered. The only reason I’ve been able to stay above water is that I know everything so well here—the area, the people, their way of life—and because I know to whom I can turn for help, and when. But nowadays that’s not enough. The few cases I still get barely pay for my office. If there were two of us, we wouldn’t be generating any more work.”