Time Heals No Wounds (10 page)

Three hours later, Hannes and Fritz met back at the station. Fritz furrowed his brow as Hannes brought the Jeep to a screeching halt in the parking lot and rammed it into first gear before he finally turned off the engine.

“Maybe you treat your own car that way, but I’d like to keep my Jeep for a few more years,” Fritz said as Hannes opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” said Hannes without the slightest hint of remorse. “I couldn’t resist. It’s really fun to drive a car where everything works and you don’t have to deal with funny noises or backfiring. Your car’s still in good shape and—don’t worry—no scratches.” He pounded happily on the roof and looked in amusement at the vehicle, which had seen better days. “Or should I say, no further scratches, because here . . . and there . . . and over here . . .”

Fritz took the key from Hannes and slammed the car door.

“The trip was worth it,” Hannes said and patted a bulging blue bag with the yellow Coast Guard logo. “Everything’s in here. It’s amazing all the info the Coast Guard collects.”

“Big Brother’s watching you,” Fritz said. “Let’s hope our brothers and sisters at the Coast Guard also filtered the data into something useful. Let’s go eat, I’m really hungry.”

“How did it go with you?” asked Hannes as they walked toward the cafeteria.

“I have always hated being the bearer of bad news. In all these years, I still haven’t found a suitable way to do it. Especially since those left behind all react differently. Some collapse, others are silent, and others attack you because they don’t want to believe it.”

“And Mr. Ternheim?” Hannes asked.

“He was shocked, and obviously wasn’t expecting to hear that his sister was dead. However, he was quick to regain his composure. And I did learn some interesting tidbits. But one thing at a time. Let’s deal with the food first.” Fritz studied the menu at the counter. “Spelt patties with sprouts and mashed potatoes! Who comes up with this crap? Mrs. Öztürk, is it health-food week again?”

Mrs. Öztürk wiped her hand on her apron and winked. “Ah, Detective Janssen! You haven’t been here in a long time. There’s healthy food on the menu every day. You don’t like it?”

“Healthy’s good, but taste matters too,” Fritz said.

“Either way, there are no more patties! You got here too late. There’re only leftovers now. But if you want, I’ll make you currywurst, okay?”

“Two, please, and a large plate of fries,” said Fritz, his mood brightening.

Hannes pulled a bulging salad bowl from the refrigerator and cracked open a soda bottle of sparkling water while Fritz grabbed a bottle of beer and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“You don’t seem to mind the health campaign,” said Fritz.

“And you seem more concerned about your taste buds than your health,” Hannes said. “Because I can’t work out at the moment, I have to adjust my diet. I’m burning almost nothing right now.”

Fritz shook his head and steered them toward a secluded table in the corner by the window. “When I hear you talk like that and compare our trays, it makes me feel bad.” He put his tray down and slid into the booth with a groan. “Our brains have to kick into high gear now, so maybe I’ll burn off at least one of my currywursts.”

He speared his first piece of meat and shoved it into his mouth. Satisfied, he watched as Hannes balanced a leaf of lettuce on his fork.

“Enjoyment trumps everything,” Fritz said. He took a long sip of coffee before switching to his beer, which he drank with a satisfied sigh. Hannes looked at him in disbelief and shivers ran down his spine. Fritz shoveled another bite of sausage into his mouth. “Put that down for now and tell me what the Coast Guard has for us. Then I’ll tell you about my meeting with the victim’s brother.”

Hannes fished a stack of papers out of his bag and placed the documents next to his plate. Then he unfolded a sea chart.

“This is a map of the area in question. As you can see, the various sectors are labeled. Ms. Ternheim was found here”—he pointed to a cross near the shoreline—“at six thirty on Sunday evening and pulled from the water just before eight. By Maria’s estimations, she died twenty to thirty hours prior. They’ve divided the waters around the crime scene into four zones according to calculations of current and wind conditions. As a precaution, in case there was a mistake determining the time of death, they extended the window to between fifteen and thirty-five hours.”

Fritz leaned over the map and studied the four zones, which spread out like a fan. “A fairly large area. Basically, the zones extend like a somewhat wobbly triangle from the crime scene out into the sea, and only the first zone touches land. That means . . .”

“. . . that the woman did not drift from somewhere else along the coast,” Hannes completed the thought. “Where she was found, the coast juts out a little farther into the sea like a sort of promontory or small headland. Since this headland is shielded on the left by rocks, the body could not have floated there from elsewhere, otherwise it would have gotten stuck on the other side of the rocks. That leaves only the right-hand side, which leads to the lighthouse. But the direction of the current precludes this possibility.”

“That’s very important information. If she wasn’t thrown overboard but was placed in the water, it must have happened right at the site. How many ships passed through these marked areas?”

Hannes slid a piece of paper across the table. “In total, twenty-five ships were recorded, one of them a big passenger ferry.”

“Hold on! That’s just the boats that have been recorded. What’s with all the recreational boaters like our real estate agent? There’s tons of them floating around on weekends!”

“Actually, that’s a problem, because yachts, speedboats, and fishing boats aren’t recorded. Some smaller boats, including virtually all fishing boats, are still equipped for safety reasons with a radar system that automatically sends information to the Coast Guard. All other boats are detected by radar but are only a blip on the screen.”

“Which is perfectly fine,” said Fritz. “At least there’s still freedom on the water. But let’s get back to the topic. So how many of these unidentifiable blips do we have?”

“Fortunately, the stretch of coast in question isn’t highly trafficked. I saw a screenshot of a tourist area, and it was teeming with recreational skippers. All in all, there were just twelve smaller boats in our area.”

“So we’re talking about a total of thirty-seven vessels, twenty-five of which we already know. That doesn’t make me particularly optimistic,” said Fritz.

“Maybe. All recorded ships were radioed and checked. None of them reported any incident or noticed anything unusual. So we can cross them off our list.”

“So long as what they said is the truth,” said Fritz. “And it’s not really possible to verify. We would have to board all the boats, question all the crew members, review their statements, and possibly make further inquiries. We wouldn’t be done until winter.”

“Especially since the ships are now all over Europe.”

“Since we can’t inspect the ships, we should consider the responses accurate and concentrate on the investigation here on land. Figuring out which boaters were in the area would most likely be impossible. We must be judicious in our use of resources, and after my conversation with Mr. Ternheim, I doubt we have to look on the water. According to him, his sister would instantly get seasick and avoided boats like the plague. So why would she have been on Schneider’s boat? She would never have willingly boarded, at least when she was alive.”

When he saw Hannes’s disappointed expression, he offered rare and encouraging praise. “Still, your information helps. We can rule out the big ships, and thanks to the sea chart, we have a more accurate picture of the situation. Who knows, maybe we’ll take another look at it later.”

Hannes dabbed a ketchup stain on the chart with a napkin and gathered the papers. “What was the outcome of your visit to the drug company?”

Fritz speared the last piece of sausage and stared at the plate, then told Hannes about his visit to Lagussa.

As Fritz had exited the bus, the steel-and-glass facade of the company’s headquarters towered before him. The forecourt was spacious and attractively laid out with trees, planters, and seating. There were several covered bicycle racks in addition to a fountain.

Fritz had entered through one of the building’s revolving glass doors. He glanced down at himself and realized that he in no way fit into this environment. He was relieved to have at the very least polished his leather shoes that day.

“Can I help you?” a woman had asked.

“Yes. I’m Detective Fritz Janssen. I’d like to speak with Mr. Ternheim.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Fritz shook his head. “It’s very important that I see him.”

The receptionist did not seem convinced. “Do you have a badge?”

Fritz had held his badge out without saying a word.

“All right. Would you please come to the reception desk? I’ll see if Mr. Ternheim has time for you now. But I cannot make any promises, since he has a very busy schedule.”

“I’m sure he’ll spare time for me,” said Fritz, following the young woman. She was dressed formally and balanced atop a pair of high heels. She picked up the phone at the reception desk. While she negotiated with Mr. Ternheim’s secretary, Fritz looked around the huge hall.

Lagussa’s specialty lay in the manufacture and distribution of psychotropic drugs. The walls were covered in oblong banners with descriptions of the company’s products. Dispersed throughout the hall were thematically appropriate art installations, like the sculpture of a brain made from iron. Large planters and rippling water flowing through glass at the end of the hall were intended to create a friendly atmosphere. However, Fritz felt uncomfortable and completely out of place.

“Mr. Janssen?”

He turned around and saw a lean elderly lady with a stern face and gray hair pulled into a bun. She scrutinized him through her glasses, and Fritz noticed that her green eyes were set too close together.

“I’m Ruth Wagner, the executive assistant. Mr. Ternheim is waiting for you in his office. If you would kindly follow me.” She pointed toward the glass elevators next to the fountain.

While the elevator zoomed up, Ms. Wagner said, “Have you found Ms. Ternheim? I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s not like her to not call.”

Fritz ignored the question. “Are you the assistant to both Ms. and Mr. Ternheim?”

She nodded. “There are actually three assistants. The other two are subordinate to me and work more behind the scenes.”

Fritz noticed her firm tone and the pride that emanated from her. “How long have you worked for the Ternheim siblings?”

“Thirty years. In the beginning, I worked as Mr. Ternheim Sr.’s secretary. When his two children took over ten years ago, I remained their assistant.”

Fritz had noted her name. Well-informed secretaries were always a treasure trove of background information.

The elevator stopped at the twentieth floor, and the doors opened to a completely different scene than the one in the foyer. The nicely furnished room with dark-brown carpeting and moss-colored upholstery was home to three tidy desks. Two younger women looked up from their flat monitors and warmly greeted Fritz.

“Ms. Maler and Ms. Stahl,” said Ms. Wagner, introducing her colleagues. Fritz politely greeted them. She’d then steered him to the leftmost of three doors and turned to him. “Have you found Ms. Ternheim?”

Fritz had faced the massive wooden door and opened it after a brief knock. The room was decorated with wood paneling and comfortable upholstered furniture, suggesting that Mr. Ternheim placed no great value on modern functionality.

A gaunt gray-haired man stood by the large panoramic window, with his back to the door. He turned around and looked at Fritz. He was clean shaven and had no wrinkles, even though he was well into his fifties. Only a birthmark under his right eye marred his otherwise flawless face. At the sight of Ternheim’s suit, which perhaps might have been stylish in the 1980s, Fritz no longer felt so badly dressed.

“Mr. Janssen, you’re the lead detective in charge of finding my sister?” asked Ternheim.

Fritz cleared his throat and decided not to beat around the bush. It did not look as if it was necessary to take a cautious approach.

“I am. However, we had already found your sister before you notified us. Mr. Ternheim”—he cleared his throat again—“we unfortunately found her body Sunday night on a beach located about three miles from the old fishing port. We were only able to identify her after you filed a missing-person report. I’m sorry.”

Mr. Ternheim shifted slightly back toward the window and stared out over the city. Fritz knew there was nothing he could say and remained silent.

Quietly, almost as if to himself, Mr. Ternheim said, “I was afraid something happened.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Ternheim turned around. “How did she die? An accident?”

“We don’t know yet,” Fritz said. “I very much hope you can help us in this matter.” He’d described what had happened, without getting into too many difficult details.

“And how should I be of any use in the investigation?” asked Ternheim. “That’s clearly your job. After all, you should have enough experts who are familiar with such cases. If you want to know if she had enemies, she had none as far as I know. Of course we have competitors that would prefer to get rid of us. After all, we’re the industry leader! But otherwise my sister had few contacts. Like me, she devoted her life to the company. That leaves little time for a private life.”

“Excuse my next question, but I have to ask: Do you think she might have committed suicide?”

“Out of the question.”

“Of course, there’s the possibility of an accident. Your sister could have fallen from the cliff. Do you have any idea what she might have been doing on that section of the beach?”

Ternheim scratched his chin. “She was probably visiting our father. She sees him at least once a week and provides him with the essentials. In recent years, he has greatly declined. However, he lives in a place near the cliffs. Maybe she went for a walk . . .”