Until the Debt Is Paid (26 page)

It was a strange feeling being home again. Jan had dreamed of this day again and again, yet his return was not like he’d hoped. He tiptoed up the stairs, Zoe and Chandu in tow. It was dark, the halls empty. He cursed at how loud the stairwell was, his soft footsteps echoing like thunder. Even so, all remained calm. No door opened and no lights turned on to give them away.

At the door to Father Anberger’s apartment, Jan gave Chandu the signal, and he went to work on opening the door. They would surprise Father Anberger inside his apartment. The more unprepared someone was, the more you could find out. So if the three of them had to pull the old man out of bed, that was a good thing.

Jan felt torn between rage and betrayal. He had believed that Father Anberger was his friend, and even more than that, his confidant. But the priest had not only lied to him, he had used Jan’s confessions against him.

Chandu bumped at the blank key in the lock. He needed only two attempts and the door came open. As if on silent command, the three hurried inside and paused in the foyer, which led to the living room. Jan switched on his flashlight. And stopped himself from swearing out loud. This, he had not expected.

Jan had been in the old priest’s apartment only once before, when he’d helped the man with his groceries. At the time he’d noticed the spartan furnishings and the clinical order of things. Now the furniture was the same, but there was no more order. The kitchen floor was covered in the shards of a broken ceramic flower pot. Dirt and water had blended into a brown, pulpy puddle. The little table in the middle of the room was tipped on its side. A wooden chair with a busted backrest lay against it.

Chandu went into the bedroom and shone his flashlight around. Zoe checked the bathroom.

“No one here,” the big man said. The medical examiner shook her head. Jan inspected the furniture and discovered a small drop of blood on the chair. Zoe bent down and examined the sticky glop.

“Not too old,” she said. “From a few hours ago.”

“What went on here?” Jan said, wracking his brain. “I just don’t get it.”

“If it wasn’t for that blood? I’d guess a break-in,” Zoe said.

“This looks like a struggle,” Chandu remarked.

“But who was struggling, exactly?” Jan asked.

“Maybe it was the father and his next victim,” Zoe said.

“All the victims were killed in their homes,” Jan said. “Why would he bring someone here?”

“Who knows what a serial killer’s thinking?” Zoe replied.

“I’m going with an abduction,” Chandu said, shining his light over a house key and wallet left on a side table. “Someone nabbed the priest.”

“Then there must be a third party. Judge Holoch, Michael Josseck, the Esels, and Father Anberger knew each other. With the first three, it’s not hard to imagine them up to some disgusting shit, but how does a priest fit into this?”

“They got child abuse in the church too,” Zoe said.

“We’ve just happened upon a child-porn ring,” Chandu said. “What if the murderer is an abused child? When I think of all those DVDs at the Esels’, there’s a ton of suspects.”

“They don’t just have to be abused children,” Zoe added. “Have to consider parents or friends too.”

“So where’s the connection to me?” Jan asked them.

“Maybe it was just bad luck,” Chandu said. “The murderer sought you out as a scapegoat. Could be that you didn’t even know him.”

Jan cursed under his breath. Every time he thought he’d found the murderer, his hunch dissolved into nothing. He was relieved Father Anberger was only a victim, but it set him back. They still had nothing.

“The priest could still be alive,” Jan began, “and if I call the police, my fellow cops will show up here at the door any minute. But every second I wait, his chance of survival keeps dropping. So. Check out everything. The apartment is small. I’ll give us five minutes. Then we clear out and I’ll report an abduction.”

Zoe rushed into the bathroom as Chandu hurried into the bedroom. Jan started on the living-room cabinet. Two minutes later, he had found their clue.

Chapter 17

Jan stared at the picture in his hands. It was the same one he’d seen in Sarah and Horst Esel’s photo album. But on this copy, the bottom area was not cut off. It showed a girl, sitting in the meadow and dreamily smelling a flower in her hand. The photo was about ten years old, but Jan knew that face like no other.

“Betty,” he whispered.

“You find something?” Chandu shouted.

Jan started, stuck the picture in his bag.

“Yes. I don’t know how it helps, but I’ll tell you in a second. Let’s get out of here quick.”

A minute later they were back out in the open air, sneaking through the rear courtyard to the car. Jan started dialing on his cell before Chandu could drive off.

“Max,” he said into the phone, “look and see if the Esels had any children.”

“Just a sec,” Max said. The sound of typing on the keyboard clattered in the background.

“They did,” he confirmed. “Bettina and Johann.”

“Goddamn it.” Jan had suspected it. But finding out for sure was horrific. He felt like throwing up.

“You going to tell us?” Zoe asked him.

Jan sighed. Something inside made him want to resist sharing the news, as if he’d be sharing some private, intimate secret about Betty. But he had to start talking.

“Betty was the daughter of Sarah and Horst Esel.”

“Oh, man,” Zoe said.

“How do you know?” Chandu asked him.

“I found an old photo.”

“I guess she changed her name? She wasn’t Esel.”

“Her last name was Windsten, but I never saw her ID. She must have changed it.”

“I hate to reopen old wounds,” Zoe began, “but this could be the reason your girlfriend killed herself.”

Jan nodded. “Judge Holoch getting murdered brought it all back to her. Doesn’t take much to guess she was abused for child porn too.”

“My God,” Chandu said. “Who does such a thing to a child?”

“At least we have a new suspect,” Zoe said.

“Who you mean?” Chandu asked her.

“Well, the brother, right?” Zoe said to Jan, “Did you know him?”

“No. Her parents supposedly moved to Bavaria and had little contact with her. She never mentioned siblings.”

“I hate to spoil your fun,” Max’s voice clanged through the phone, “but we can cancel the idea of Johann Esel as the murderer.”

“How come?” Jan asked him.

“You can thank your fellow officers in Homicide for that. They went searching for any kids of Sarah and Horst Esel. They never found Betty—they lost her trail after she was nineteen years old. But Johann, he has been in a clinic since he was fourteen. He’s got a whole range of mental disorders, the kind that keep you living in a closed institution for a long, long time.”

“That’s perfect,” Zoe said. “Now we have our psycho.”

“Actually not,” Max remarked. “According to the notes, Johann is catatonic and can’t move a finger. Jan’s fellow cops followed up. He hasn’t left his room for months. Surveillance camera recordings in his psychiatric ward confirm it.”

“So we still got nothing,” Jan said. “What we do is, we find Father Anberger and hopefully catch the killer in the act.”

“Where are we supposed to look for him?” Chandu said.

“Normally, the murderer kills the victims at their homes,” Jan observed. “Abducting him like this, it doesn’t fit the normal picture.”

“Father Anberger could have faked his abduction with the idea of trying to bolt,” Chandu said.

“He didn’t need to trash his apartment for that. He had enough time to take off. Pack a suitcase, buy the plane tickets, done. No, he was abducted.”

“Maybe the murderer dragged him to some place with special meaning,” Zoe said.

“Since we don’t know who the murderer is, we can’t know that,” Jan replied.

“Well, it could also be a place that’s important to Father Anberger,” Chandu said.

“Meaning where?”

“That church, his old congregation.”

“It’s a possibility,” Jan said. “The church is not even two minutes from here.”

“We don’t have anything better,” Zoe said, lighting up a cigarette. “Let’s head over.”

Chandu made a breakneck maneuver changing lanes and stepped on the gas.

Jan pounded on the seat again in frustration. They should have broken into the Esels’ house sooner. Then they would’ve found Father Anberger alive and would know who was behind all this.

“What’s eating you, Jan?” Chandu asked him. “We’re almost there.”

“I’m pissed off, that’s what, that the murderer’s always one step ahead of us, that my instincts have totally failed me. First I suspect Horst Esel, then my coworker Patrick, and even Father Anberger. Each one of them was the perfect suspect—and now we still have no idea who’s doing it.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Zoe warned him. “Apart from the Esels, who are certifiably dead, we can’t rule anyone out. Patrick might be a terrific actor, or maybe you didn’t know the old priest as well as you thought.”

“Anything’s possible,” Jan said. “But we’re talking about four murders at least. Judge Holoch, Michael Josseck, and the Esels. Maybe Betty’s death was no suicide. And now, Father Anberger.” He raised six fingers. “That would make six dead, and we’re still stumbling around in the dark.”

“We’re closer to him than we’ve ever been,” Chandu said. “If the killer took the priest into that church? We’ll get him.”

“Let’s hope,” Jan said.

Chandu drove past the church and parked the car on a side street. Then he reached under the seat and handed Jan a pistol.

“Please don’t lose it this time.”

Jan checked the ammo. He turned to Zoe. “Stay here.”

“No way.”

“Zoe,” Jan said, on edge. “There might be a psychotic serial killer in there. This isn’t a game. I’m not going to discuss it anymore.”

“Then don’t. I’m going in with you.”

“You don’t even have a weapon,” Chandu said.

Zoe reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a silver surgical knife. She sprung open the scalpel blade with a little click. “Damascus steel with a special cutting edge,” she explained. “Custom-made for my specific needs. Cost three thousand euros, but worth every cent. Compared to this, those scalpels from Forensics are just butter knives.”

Zoe folded up the blade and sprang from the car. Jan released the safety on his gun and followed after her.

“So what’s the plan, Mister Homicide Squad?”

“The church is closed at this hour,” Jan said. “Let’s check the doors anyway and see if we can get in somehow.”

He pointed at Chandu and himself. “We will go first and you stay right behind us. Don’t talk. If we say take cover, then jump for cover. We say get down, you’re down on the ground a second later.”

Zoe saluted.

“We’ll start with the side entrance on the left,” he said to Chandu.

All Jan’s senses were keyed up. They had the element of surprise. If the murderer was inside there, they had to get as close as possible to him before he noticed. The church was vast and offered a lot of ways to escape. This psycho could not be allowed to slip out. He owed Betty that.

They made their way around the church, but every door was locked shut.

“Goddamn it,” Jan whispered. Either the murderer didn’t want to be interrupted, or they were simply all out of luck.

“Can you crack one of these locks?” he asked Chandu.

The big man shook his head. “These must be a hundred years old. We’d need a bigger key. I can’t do a thing here with a little tool like this.”

“We’ve wasted too much time looking for a way in. We’ll have to bust in. No more element of surprise.”

Jan took off his jacket, wrapped it around his hand, and punched through a window. The shards hitting the floor made a loud clang. He laid his jacket over the frame and climbed in. Once he’d made it, he guarded the window and waited for Chandu and Zoe to come inside.

The light in the church was dusky. Burning candles prevented utter darkness. They stood in a side aisle of the nave. Two banks of pews stood facing the altar. A small Maria figure glowed golden in a niche.

“Stay together,” Jan whispered. He went out into the middle of the nave. After three steps, he stopped. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Up at the altar lay a huge crucifix. But instead of a wooden Jesus, Father Anberger lay on it. He was naked. His hands and feet were nailed to the wood. Blood was running out a gash on his right side. Apart from the priest, no one could be seen around. It was a ghostly stillness.

Jan had to see if Father Anberger was still alive, so he kept creeping along, ducking down. The cross lay a couple yards from the closest pew. He would have to give up his cover. He’d make a perfect target at the altar. Still, Chandu and Zoe could keep an eye out.

“You two stay here and cover me,” he whispered. “I’ll get closer.” They both nodded.

Jan kneeled next to the cross and placed a hand on the priest’s neck. The man’s glassy pupils and lack of pulse told him Father Anberger was dead. The lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. His mouth was stuffed with pages from a Bible; its empty binding lay next to the crucifix.

“We’re too late,” Jan said.

“The murderer can’t be far,” Zoe said. “The blood is barely clotted.”

Zoe checked the body as Chandu stood guard next to her with his gun drawn. Jan went over to the top end of the crucifix. His eye caught, at the altar, a ring of intertwined twigs. He lifted it and almost cut himself.

“Crown of thorns,” he muttered under his breath. “Didn’t Jesus wear the crown on his head?” he asked them.

Zoe straightened up. “Yes. Why you asking?”

Jan’s eyes widened. This scene was not finished yet. They’d disrupted the murderer.

“Goddamn it.” He reached for his gun.

A bang pierced their ears, echoing through the nave. Zoe was thrown backward and Chandu doubled over, screaming. Jan lunged to his side as a second shot struck the altar just behind him. Splinters of stone scattered over them. He crawled behind a column while Chandu, wounded, pulled the motionless Zoe to the pews. If she’d taken a direct hit from the shotgun shell, she wouldn’t survive more than a minute.

Another shot hammered into the columns. A splinter of stone grazed Jan’s forehead.

“Bastard!” he yelled, getting out all his rage. A thin trickle of blood ran down his forehead. “Show yourself. Then we’ll end this.”

Chandu had squeezed in between two pews. The trail of blood along the floor was not a good sign. The big man shielded Zoe’s body, aiming his gun in the shooter’s direction.

Jan cursed himself for having left his cell in the car. It was routine not to carry a phone when called into action like this—a phone ringing at the wrong moment could pose a danger, and in the heat of action it was easy to forget to turn off the ringer. Now he’d give everything for his cell phone. He’d call Homicide, send all available units over here. Shootouts were a risky part of his job. But he’d brought his friends into it this time. And he didn’t want to be responsible for their deaths.

He pressed against the column and rose up. This was no time for tactical maneuvers. Chandu was shot and Zoe was probably dying. He had to locate the killer.
Right now.
Every second counted.

“You’re not getting out of here,” he shouted. His voice echoed loudly through the church. He was hoping the murderer would reply so he could get a better fix on him.

Silence. Only the crackling of broken stone and wood disturbed the calm. Chandu ripped apart his shirt and wound it around his leg, his face twisting with pain. Zoe still lay on the floor, not moving.

“I called the homicide squad,” Jan called out. He had to try. “In two minutes they’ll be storming the place. Throw down your weapon and you’ll come out of this alive.”

Still no answer. Jan thought he heard candle wax dripping onto the floor. Then a voice spoke out. It left him speechless.

“You never were a good liar,” said Betty.