Until the Debt Is Paid (18 page)

“Cudgels and steel rods are prohibited. Purchase and ownership are forbidden. You do know that, right?”

The bodyguard nervously wrung his hands. “Listen, Herr Police Detective. I’m sorry, but there’s people I got trouble with.”

Jan suppressed a grin. When thugs started getting civil, you had them in the palm of your hand.

“I got it all,” he heard Chandu saying in his ear. “We can go.”

The plan had worked. Now Jan only had to get something good out of his situation. He gave the bodyguard a stern stare.

“All right, fine,” he began, sounding generous. “We are searching for assassins, not heavies. Since I dread all the paperwork involved, I’m going to let this pass. I’ll confiscate that blackjack, but don’t ever get caught with this again.”

The big bodyguard nodded and thanked him profusely. “Promise, Herr Police Detective. Won’t happen again.”

Jan stood, went back over to his table, and waved at Zoe.

“We’re out of here,” he whispered. He set a twenty-euro bill on the table and left the café. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed the bodyguard heading for the restrooms. Whatever the guy found in there, it was sure to end his career in the underworld.

Chandu sat on the couch and sighed.

“If I would’ve known how much fun you have solving cases, I would’ve joined the detectives.”

Jan ignored the remark. “What were you able to find out? On the recording we only heard the toilet flushing and a bunch of French cussing I didn’t understand.”

“Oh, our friend got quite creative,” Zoe explained. “In one part he’s calling Chandu an African locust muncher whose dick is the size of a—”

“That’s about as much as I need to hear,” Jan interrupted. “Just tell us what info he spat out after downing that toilet water.”

“One thing I have to make clear first,” Chandu told them. “I don’t usually go in for violence, but Nathan is a bag of shit even for the Berlin underworld. So it was my duty to treat him like that.”

“You’re the kind of good Samaritan I don’t want to meet in a dark alley,” Zoe said, which earned her another deprecating look from Chandu.

“I have to admit it was a tall order, but after that toilet bath he started singing like a lark,” he said.

“Michael Josseck was one of his clients. The guy did four thousand euros a month in business with him. As far as his sexual requests, he was into gay sex, rough S&M, and even pedophilia. Apparently Josseck tried everything Nathan had to offer.”

“He know the judge?” Jan asked.

“No.”

“Could it be that one of the girls was abused by the both of them and decided to take her revenge?” Zoe asked. “She could have come to the judge some other way.”

Chandu shrugged. “That would be one possibility. Over the years, Nathan has pimped hundreds of girls whose names he never bothered to get to know. He can’t help us any further, toilet bath or no. Prostitutes won’t get us anywhere.”

“Damn it,” Jan said. “Keep thinking. The two murders must be connected. There’s more to it.”

“I might have something to offer,” Max broke in. They all turned to the hacker.

“I checked out Nathan Lefort. As you guys might imagine, he’s been to court countless times already. Assault, money laundering, inciting prostitution. Nothing special for him, but one time he was under suspicion of murder. It was for a woman named Stein. She was his drug courier.”

The name struck Jan like a bolt through the head.

“You mean Marie Stein?” He jumped from the couch.

“Yes,” Max said. “You know the case?”

“Marie Stein was the sister of Patrick Stein, my fellow cop.”

Chapter 12

“Patrick Stein joined the Detective Division because of his sister’s murder,” Jan began. “Supposedly, an illustrious career as a lawyer was in his future. He was the family’s golden boy, but his sister had gone off the rails. She was taking hard drugs and ran away at sixteen. Next two years, she kept getting arrested for drug-related crimes, casual prostitution. She must have met Nathan somewhere in there. He got her working as a drug courier. She allegedly smuggled heroin from Russia to Germany. Her parents had already given up on her by then. Only Patrick stood by her. She was found in a gutter eventually. Someone had beaten her to death and cut open her stomach to retrieve the dope.”

Jan turned a beer bottle in his hands, deep in thought.

“The case was never solved. Her pimp, who we now know as Nathan, was the main suspect, but the evidence was sparse and he was let go. On the day the verdict came down, Patrick broke off his studies and applied for the police. He worked hard from the very first day and passed with flying colors. He got into Homicide. The first few years went well, but then his rise got the brakes put on it.”

“Why?” Chandu asked.

“He lacked the instinct,” Jan told them. “Patrick knows all the rules, regulations. He is a good cop, but when standard operating procedures fail him, he gets nowhere.”

“And you were better at it, and you spoiled his career?” Zoe asked.

“I’m not better, just more driven by instinct. Which meant I made progress on cases when he was never able to. I didn’t destroy his career. He’s the one still working as a detective.”

“So why does he hate you, then?”

“Two reasons for that. First, I made jokes at his expense. That’s an initiation ritual. Nothing dramatic, but he took it the wrong way coming from me. The final break came when I interfered with one of his cases. His investigation had gone down the wrong road, but thanks to my help, the case was solved. But it made Patrick look stupid. He’d wasted two weeks without getting any results, and I got it done in one day. I can get where he’s coming from, but we’re in Homicide. All that counts is catching who did it. It doesn’t matter who gets the credit for solving the case. That’s the way I look at it.”

“Patrick sees it otherwise,” Chandu said.

“I dismissed it all so easily. I never would’ve thought it would lead to something as big as this.”

“You’re saying he’s behind all of this?” Zoe said. “That’s a pretty harsh allegation.” She blew cigarette smoke at the ceiling. “I hardly know Patrick, but he doesn’t seem like a psychopathic murderer to me.”

“There’s a madman inside all of us,” Chandu stated. “You only need that trigger. His sister’s brutal murder might have done it.”

“I don’t want to go suspecting anyone too easily,” Jan said. “But with Patrick, we have found the connection to me. Plus, he’s the perfect murderer.”

“Because he’s with detectives?” Chandu said.

“Who can pull off a murder better than someone who’s preoccupied with it all day long? He’d know crime-scene methods, forensics, how to track clues. He’d know how to observe a target, figure out their weaknesses, and determine just the right moment to commit murder. Patrick possesses all the skills for going on a killing spree.”

“And since he runs the homicide squad, that caps it all off,” Chandu said. “He just diverts the investigation away from himself and straight to you.”

“I feel so much safer now,” Max remarked.

“I still don’t see why he decided on you,” Zoe said.

“I was an easy target,” Jan said. “He knows my apartment, my car. He knows all my colleagues and friends—he easily could have found out that Judge Holoch and I had a history.”

“How did he get at your blood and fingerprints?” Max asked.

“It must have happened sometime after Betty and I went out Friday. He could have spiked something I drank with knockout drops, at my place even.”

“They wouldn’t have seen that on a blood test? They found the ecstasy, after all,” Max said.

“No,” Zoe said. “Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, for instance, one of the most common knockout drugs, is only detected in the blood for twelve hours maximum. They would have had to check Jan’s hair.”

“Let’s assume that Patrick is the murderer and wants to take revenge on you,” Chandu said. “What’s the connection between him and the two victims?”

“It’s pretty apparent that Marie wasn’t just a drug courier; she was also a prostitute,” Jan contended.

“That I get,” Chandu said. “But how did Patrick know that Marie was abused by Judge Holoch and Michael Josseck?”

“She would have told him,” Zoe said.

“Really?” Chandu said. “Would you tell your own brother that you were doing tricks with all kinds of perverts to fund your drug addiction?”

“He was all she had,” Zoe argued. “Her parents didn’t want anything more to do with her, and if she was a true addict, she didn’t have any real friends.”

“There are unanswered questions,” Jan said. “But since Nathan Lefort is a dead end, Patrick is the best we got.”

Max turned on the projector. A picture appeared of Jan’s fellow cop wearing a suit. “Ladies and gentlemen. Allow me to introduce—our new main suspect, Patrick Stein.”

“So what do we do now?” Zoe asked. “We can’t go ambush Patrick in a café and stick his head in a toilet bowl.”

“Although that does work on cops,” Chandu said, grinning.

“We have to be careful,” Jan warned them. “Right now the homicide squad is only focusing on me. If someone guesses that Chandu’s hiding me or that Zoe’s helping me, we’re all going to be in big trouble.”

“We wouldn’t be personally introducing ourselves to him,” Chandu reassured Jan. “Patrick only needs the slightest suspicion to launch an all-points dragnet. The fact that he’s seen Zoe once isn’t that bad. But another encounter would get him suspicious.”

“That supposed to mean I can’t take part in the plan?”

“I’m eternally grateful that you’ve been helping me, Zoe, but I won’t allow you to ruin your career and end up on unemployment.”

Zoe laughed, choking on smoke.

“That really is sweet of you, Jan, but I don’t need you to protect me.”

“If you get thrown out of Forensics, you’ll have trouble finding—”

“What kind of shoes are these?” she cut in, raising her right foot.

Jan blinked, confused. “Black boots?” he tried.

“I love guys like you. Know the soccer scores going back ten years, yet think ‘sneakers’ is a shoe brand.”

Jan couldn’t see anything special about her boots. The leather looked well made. The boot had a slightly raised sole and a metal ring on the upper.

“Those are Gucci,” Chandu said. “From the winter collection.”

Zoe nodded approvingly. “I didn’t know they had Gucci in Africa.”

“Oh, there’s loads. See all the things you don’t know?”

“So, Jan,” she said. “The million-dollar question: How can a medical examiner with the police department afford sixteen-hundred-euro shoes?”

“Sixteen hundred euros for a lousy pair of leather boots?” Max blurted.

Zoe punished the hacker with a disparaging glance. It shut him up instantly.

“Uh, medical examiners make that much?” Jan ventured.

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Have you ever seen me wearing the same pair twice?”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t—”

“Forget it. Obviously you can’t follow my train of thought. I’ll put it in a way that your simple male brain can grasp.” Zoe glared, searching Jan’s eyes. “I do the job for fun. I have enough dough that I never actually have to work.”

Max began to say, “So where did you—”

“None of your fucking business, Computer Brains,” she shot back. “Best you start thinking about how we nab Psycho Patrick.”

She leaned back on the couch. “Am I actually going to get any more of that jungle sludge you call coffee, or do I have to run to Starbucks?”

Chandu stood and took her empty cup. “It would be my pleasure, Zoe,” he said with excess hospitality, adding a bow.

As the big man went into the kitchen, Jan turned to the image on the wall. “So. How do we close in on Patrick?”

“You can forget about a stakeout,” Chandu shouted from the kitchen. “He’ll notice.”

“What good would that do, anyway?” Zoe asked. “Even if he returns to the scene of the crime, he can always justify it as head detective.”

“Maybe he’s not finished yet and already has a third victim in mind,” Chandu said.

“You mean Nathan?” Jan wondered.

“Would be a clear candidate.” Chandu set down a cup in front of Zoe. “He might even know who really murdered his sister.”

“It wasn’t Nathan?” Zoe said.

“No, that’s not his style. He might well have killed people, but he would never bother with a small-time drug courier. He has a staff for that.”

“Then you guys are going to have break into his place,” Max offered.

“Max,” Jan said in a fatherly voice. “This is not
CSI
. Patrick surely doesn’t have the kind of door you can just click open with a matchstick. And he’s not leaving his balcony door unlocked, either.”

“Then present yourselves as police detectives to the building manager and get the door opened. By the time he comes home, you’ll have any evidence you need.”

“A bad idea,” Jan replied. “The building manager would be able to describe me, and Patrick would be tipped off. He doesn’t know that we’re on his trail. The element of surprise is the only advantage we have.”

Jan stood up and paced. “How do I avenge my sister’s death?”

Max began to say, “I didn’t know your sister—”

“It’s hypothetical, nerd,” Zoe snapped at him.

“Ah,” Max said. He went back to the computer in his lap.

“You’d have to know everything about your target,” Chandu said.

“That’s not a problem. I can find all important files on any police computer. In my free time? I study the victim and record his every movement.”

“You have to write it down somewhere,” Max said.

“What do you mean, write it down?”

“You want to kill two or more people and go about it painstakingly, you have to make notes somewhere. Nobody can keep all that in their head.”

“So where do we find notes?” Chandu asked.

Max said, “Either Patrick is supercareless and keeps his notes at wor
k . . .
”

“Or they’re at his place,” Jan finished.

“Exactly,” Max said. “Which means, there’s no other option but to break in.”

“I’m afraid Max is right.” Jan turned to Chandu.

The big man sighed. “My record is nearly spotless. But since I’ve been chilling with you? Seems I’m just dying to get into the big house.”

Jan gave a sheepish grin.

“Make all of yourselves comfortable,” Chandu said. “I have to go visit a friend, get up to speed on the latest in security systems. Tonight we’ll plan some more.” He took a key, pulled on his jacket, and left the apartment.

“Any more coffee?” Zoe said.

Chandu wasn’t gone long when someone knocked on the door.

“You expecting anyone?” Zoe said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“Maybe Chandu forgot his key,” Max suggested.

Jan bounded over the couch and pulled out a pistol from under a pillow. He rushed to the door and gestured Zoe over.

“I hope it’s not Jehovah’s Witnesses,” she muttered, went over to the door, and pulled down the handle.

“Is Herr Tommen there?” Jan heard Father Anberger’s voice ask. “I have mail for him.”

Jan sighed in relief, set his gun on the entry table, and stood next to Zoe.

“Well, Father Anberger,” he said, to make the priest feel welcome. “Come on in.”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, but your mailbox was full, so I came by after church service.”

“That’s kind of you.” He waved Father Anberger inside. As much as Jan liked the priest, this visit wasn’t exactly well timed. When Chandu came back, they were going to figure out how to break into Patrick’s apartment. And before then, Jan had a lot of thinking to do.

“I’d like to introduce you to my friends Max and Zoe.” The hacker gave the father a friendly wave. Zoe lit up another cigarette.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Have a seat.” Jan gestured to an armchair.

Father Anberger sat down, handing Jan the mail.

“I know that, at the moment, you’re having som
e . . .
trouble coming back home,” the priest said in a secretive whisper.

“You don’t have to worry. Max and Zoe know all about it.”

“Ah,” Father Anberger said. “Are you doing well, Herr Tommen?”

“Despite my situation, I’ve been lucky enough. I have a place to sleep and friends helping me look for the real killer.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“We only have guesses as of yet, but we’re hoping to have something concrete soon.”

“Things are getting worse all the time,” the priest said. “I just read about another murder. Some building contractor was tortured to death.”

“Ah, you mean Michael Josseck?” Max said.

“I think that’s his name. You knew him?”

“We’re working on that case too,” Jan explained.

“Is it the same murderer?”

“Possibly.” Jan was a little surprised the priest was interested in the murders.