Until the Debt Is Paid (16 page)

“What are you hoping to get?”

“A possible motive. A year in the pen doesn’t turn a crooked construction supervisor into some sick serial killer. On the other hand, it’s bizarre that Esel went into hiding right after being set free. Plus, I want to find out more about this thing Manuel mentioned, that Esel seemed to be acting flush.”

Jan checked himself out in the mirror, satisfied. The disguise fit perfectly. “If nothing else, maybe I’ll find out more about any connection between Judge Holoch and Josseck. There has to be more than a few court decisions. I called Zoe and Max. We’ll get together tonight. I’ll tell you how my questioning went.”

He faced Chandu, grinning. “Till later then.”

“Take care, Martin.”

Once the door clicked shut, Chandu shuffled into his bedroom. He pulled off his shoes and dropped into bed. Until Jan was back, he was going to have himself a little nap.

Jan let his gaze roam the empty visiting room. Visiting time was over now, but his badge had granted him access anyway. He anxiously patted his beard, hoping the glue wouldn’t lose its stickiness.

The door opened. Horst Esel’s cellmate was an obese man, with thinning hair and an unshaven face. He sat down looking grumpy.

“I already told the tax people everything,” he began. “What do the police want from me?”

Jan glanced at his notes. “Gregor Linz, I take it?”

“Yes. I’m hoping you have good news about my motion for reduced sentence.”

“I’m not here because of you.”

“Why, then?”

“Because of Horst Esel.”

“Horsti? What’s up with the guy? Was he moving goods again?”

“I can’t tell you, because I don’t know where he is,” Jan explained. “Maybe you can give me a tip.”

“I’m sorry, boss.” Gregor held his hands up in defense. “Got no idea.”

“Herr Linz,” Jan said gently. “If you help me, I will speak up for you about that reduced sentence. Otherwise you’ll have to sit out the full sentence, because I’ll tell the review committee that you weren’t cooperative.”

Gregor pinched his eyes shut, and then opened them wide and glared at Jan. His indignation at this veiled threat was clear.

“Fine,” Gregor said, the tension draining from his face. “Well, so? What do you want to know?”

“The whereabouts of Horst Esel.”

“I can’t help you there. Horst did tell me about his house, though. Built it with a guy he worked with. In prison he even worked out plans for a swimming pool. If you can’t find him there, something must have happened after he got out.”

“Okay,” Jan said. “Now, tell me about your stay together in here.”

“He got a cozy deal. Someone had seen to it that he was put in with me.”

“What’s so special about that?”

“Me, I’m sitting here because of tax evasion. I don’t hurt a fly.”

“And that’s it?”

Gregor shook his head. “He was always getting all kinds of stuff. Magazines, food, that kind of thing. Don’t ask me from who.”

“That didn’t bother the other prisoners?”

“That was the thing. One of the baddest guys in the joint was watching out for him.”

“Who?”

“I only know him by his nickname, Troweler. Real name Otto or something. Skinhead. Over six foot six with hands like sledgehammers. Broke two guys’ necks. A goddamn plague, but he always kept an eye on Horst.”

“So, why?”

“Word was, there was lots of dough flowing his way. Hundred a day.”

“Who paid him?”

“Some kind of builder type guy.”

“Michael Josseck?”

“That’s it.” Gregor clapped his hands. “Horst was always telling me how he’d gone to prison for the guy.”

“Just because? Brotherly love?”

“No. Horst got dough for that too. Plus this Josseck had promised he’d get him work right away once he was out.”

“Did he say anything about what kind of work?”

“Something on a building site. I’m sure Horsti doesn’t know anything else. He seemed along for the ride.”

“Nothing else? Maybe ripping off building materials? Or some other big scam?”

“I never knew of anything like that. His time in the joint was earning him a tidy little sum. That was the main thing.”

“All right, thanks a lot, Herr Linz.” Jan put away his notebook and stood. He wasn’t going to get any more than this out of the man.

“Hey, boss,” he shouted after Jan. “You will put in a good word for me. Without Horsti’s food donations I’m croakin’ on this grub here.”

“First thing tomorrow,” Jan lied.

He left the room. He waved to the guards. He hadn’t gotten much closer to Horst Esel. Tonight, he hoped the combined forces of his whole ragtag team could make sense out of all the puzzle pieces.

Chapter 10

The gatherings were almost falling into a routine. Zoe and Jan made themselves comfortable on the couch while Chandu fiddled with the coffeemaker. Max stayed absorbed in the tech, fine-tuning the images coming from his little projector. With the smell of cigarettes in the room, the whole scene reminded Jan of a night of poker with friends. The only things missing were cards and beer.

“How did it go with Esel’s cellmate?” Chandu asked from the kitchen.

“I didn’t get much further. Josseck was making sure, from the outside, that Esel had a pleasant prison stay. There’s no reason Esel would want to kill the builder. More like the opposite.”

“So, another dead end,” Zoe remarked.

“It’s conceivable Esel took off for vacation. We should focus on Josseck. Meantime, maybe Max finds something on the Homicide server.”

Max sensed he’d been called upon. “Your fellow officers have been hard at work,” he said. He was wearing the same threadbare jeans he’d had on when they first met. His unkempt hair was sticking up all over, and his attempt to let his stubble grow was looking pathetic. His T-shirt boasted a
Sesame Street
character aiming a pistol. Underneath it read, “Make My Day.”

The first image Max showed was of a big, burly man. The guy’s sparse hair was combed back with gel. A wide grin split his flabby face, which captured a mix of arrogance and lechery. His shirt was open. Almost lost among his thick chest hair was a gold chain.

“That loser washes less than you do,” Zoe commented.

“Thanks for that expert criticism.” Max pointed to the picture. “Allow me to introduce—Michael Josseck. Former building contractor, now harp player in heaven. Was sent from this life to the next with concrete in his stomach.”

“You going to tell us something new while you’re at it, Maximum Nerd?”

Max pressed the remote and the image of a tube appeared. The gray plastic was smeared with concrete. He gestured at the wall with both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen—the murder weapon. A plastic tube, found with Jan’s fingerprints on it.”

“Ha!” Jan sprang up from the couch. “That’s good news.”

“Doing all right there, Janni?” Zoe asked, mystified.

“Yep.” He sat back down wearing a satisfied grin.

“I think maybe you didn’t quite get all that,” Chandu said to him. “Your fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. Which means you’re the main suspect in not just one murder case, but now two.”

“Not a big deal.” Jan waved away the thought. “The main thing is, now I know that I’m not Judge Holoch’s murderer.”

Zoe and Chandu exchanged telling glances. Max, unsure, scratched at his head.

“My God. Do I have to explain everything?” Jan moaned. “I had a mental blackout lasting about thirty-six hours on the weekend that Holoch was murdered. From Friday night till Sunday morning, I was blacked out. I have no idea what I was doing. I would swear on my life that I’d never kill the judge in a sober state, but clearly I’d been drugged. They found ecstasy in my body, something I would never take, so it’s possible other drugs were put in me too. All this means I couldn’t be fully sure that I was
not
at the judge’s house on the night he was killed. But now that my fingerprints were found at this builder Josseck’s place, it’s clear that someone’s trying to put the blame on me. I haven’t had any blackouts the last few days. Most importantly, I was of sound mind and body on Tuesday night when Josseck was killed.”

“So where is this person getting your fingerprints?” Zoe asked him.

“No idea. The perpetrator was planning both murders for a long time. When he got my blood and fingerprints for the first murder, he must’ve pressed my hand onto that tube there too.”

“Huh,” Chandu said. “Your hunch might sound logical, but I’m guessing it’s not going to be enough in court.”

Jan waved it aside. “Not important right now. At least I wasn’t completely berserk last weekend.”

“That’s nice for you,” Zoe remarked. “But this doesn’t get us any further.”

“But it does help, because now we know that the murderer was planning to pin both crimes on me all along.”

“You must have really stepped on someone’s toes,” Chandu said.

“Not necessarily. Revenge is the obvious motive, but maybe the murderer was simply able to get at my fingerprints and blood easily. Add my connection to Judge Holoch and I’m the perfect fall guy.”

“This does narrow down the possible suspects,” Zoe said.

Jan turned to Max. “Write this down.” He raised a finger. “First off, the perpetrator comes from my environment. That can mean my circle of friends as well as my fellow cops, but also persons nearby like neighbors, the baker around the corner, people at my local bar.”

“Second, he must have insider knowledge,” Zoe interjected. “Your relation to Judge Holoch wasn’t the talk of the town. Just your circle of friends and your lawyer knew about it.”

“And your fellow cops,” Chandu added.

“There’s more than a few wusses on the Homicide squad,” Zoe said. “Plenty in Forensics too. I have a hard time imagining any one of them as a serial killer.”

“You know the hammer murderer?” Max asked them.

“We haven’t been introduced yet,” Zoe replied.

Max’s fingers flew over the keys. Soon an image appeared of a black-haired man with a full beard. He wore a dark suit and tie. His piercing glare was directed sideways.

Max pointed to the picture on the wall. “Allow me to introduce—Norbert Poehlke. The hammer murderer. Good old Norbert was a police sergeant in Stuttgart, got deep into debt and saw no other option than to start committing murder-robberies and holding up banks. He killed three people total. Once they were hot on his trail, he murdered his wife and his eldest son. After doing that deed, he fled with his youngest kid to Italy. After they’d finally cornered him, he went and killed the kid too before blowing his own head off.”

Max clicked the image away. “What I’m saying is, we should disregard no one. Even Jan’s coworkers in Homicide. Who knows what depths this person will sink to?”

“I’m telling you, the guy has gone nuts,” Andreas whispered, exchanging secret glances with the colleagues who’d joined him in the investigations room. Every photo of Jan’s apartment had been painstakingly pinned to the wall. Most of the photos were sharp, but some looked like shots taken with a disposable camera. Yellow Post-it notes were attached to some photos taken elsewhere, bearing titles such as Potsdamer Platz, Oberbaumbrücke, or Tiergarten. Others had red Post-its with probable locations. The rest of the photos were unmarked.

Patrick stood before a shot showing Jan and a friend in front of a cabin in the forest. The identity of Jan’s friend and the location of the cabin remained unknown.

“Where are you, Jan?” Patrick muttered. The detective’s dark hair hadn’t been combed in some time. His eyes were rimmed red, and he was chewing his fingernails. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his gray suit bore a big coffee stain.

“He didn’t go home last night,” Andreas whispered to the female detective next to him.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” she responded. “He’s even wearing his sidearm, like the murderer’s going to ambush us in here.”

“It’s his first case as head of a homicide squad. Up till now, Jan was always standing in the way. Now he doesn’t just get the chance to solve a highly public case, he gets to remove his biggest competition.”

“But why is he s
o . . .
fanatical about it?” The detective raised her eyebrows. “The evidence in the Holoch case was damning enough. Now we’ve got fingerprints on the murder weapon used on Michael Josseck. At some point, Jan’s going to turn himself in or get caught in the dragnet. Then Patrick can celebrate.”

“I don’t know.” Andreas shook his head. “I just don’t feel right about this. Something’s off.”

“Let’s turn to Michael Josseck,” Jan proposed. “What’s the investigation turned up so far?”

“Like with Judge Holoch, everything centers on you. They found your fingerprints, which makes you the main suspect. Now they’re looking for a motive, trying to figure out why you’d kill the builder.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to any of them that I don’t have a motive?”

“It looks like any leads that didn’t point to you were put aside.”

“Oh, man,” Jan said. “Patrick is even stupider than I thought.”

Max clicked the remote. “I concentrated on the leads that they tossed.” A list of e-mails appeared. “These are threatening hate e-mails Josseck received in the last few months,” he explained. “They range from threats to kick his ass, to murder.”

“We know who sent them?”

“Partly. Your fellow cops didn’t try too hard. I went rummaging around and figured out a few of them.”

A new list appeared. Jan scanned the names.

“I don’t know a single one. Who are they?”

“All had done business with Josseck, either as partner or as the builder’s client. I searched for any connections to you but found nothing.”

Jan sighed. “So that’s a dead end. We got anything else?”

“Only Josseck’s notebook.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know, not exactly. I could only find a comment in the investigation files saying that Josseck had written down incoherent stuff, in some little book.”

“Incoherent?” Chandu asked.

“Probably some type of code. No one had bothered to decipher the entries.”

“What’s this code look like?” Jan asked.

“That’s the problem. There’s only a photo of the notebook, of the cover.”

Jan folded his hands together. He had to find out more about Josseck’s crooked business dealings, about his connection to the judge. If he nailed that piece, the murderer would emerge from the slew of potential perps.

“We need that notebook,” Jan declared. “Or at least we have to know what’s in it.”

“I hate to tell you this,” Chandu said, butting in, “but you can’t exactly go back to your old workplace.”

“I’m not getting the book. Zoe is.”

The blonde medical examiner coughed. “Excuse me? Are you on something?”

“You’re the only one who can go prowling around CID without it looking suspicious.”

“I work in Tempelhofer Damm,” Zoe said. “I get over to your offices maybe twice a year.”

“Then take some evidence over to CID,” Chandu suggested.

“I’m a medical examiner, Mr. T, not a courier.”

“Maybe the courier will be busy, so you’ll have to bring something by in person.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Jan said.

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Transferring evidence has a procedure. People have to sign for it, keep a list, stuff like that.”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

“So what do you propose? That I go marching into Homicide, wave nicely to everyone, then make myself copies of the murder victim’s little book?”

“We’ll have to proceed with subtlety,” Jan said. “You’ll have to go there at a time when they’re all out. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I propose the evening. By seven, few people will still be hanging around, since there’s no new evidence that really needs going over.”

“What do I do then? Just walk up to a copier and lay the book on it?”

“You can take good photos with that cell of yours,” Chandu said. “Our computer freak here can edit them how we want them.”

“You did want to get out of Forensics,” Jan added. “Now you have your chance.”

Zoe blew cigarette smoke toward the ceiling. “Bad fucking idea.”