Without Options (3 page)

“This is the fifth body in two months,” Gustav said, his eyes cast upon the scene outside, where yellow crime tape had already cordoned off the park, including the bridge from the north side. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.”

The two of them got out, Gustav spitting his old used-up gum into the grass and replacing it with a new piece as they walked toward the scene.

They got to the edge of the bridge and Gustav gazed down, watching a crew hoist a man’s body into a basket and then start up the embankment.

“Just like the others?” Andreas asked his boss.

“We’ll see.” Gustav chomped on his fresh gum, gaining no great pleasure from the act. He looked up river toward the Mitte of the city. With the current, the body could’ve come from almost anywhere upstream. But he knew from the natural flow that many things had gotten caught up along this edge of the Tiergarten. The bridges here along the park acted like a sieve, catching anything and everything that floated. During World War II he’d heard that city officials had a crew of body collectors who ran up and down the river picking up the dead. The Tiergarten had been a particularly fruitful patch of real estate.

The emergency medical crew set the body in the basket onto the grass next to the inspector and his assistant. Gustav stooped down for a closer look. He looked up at one of the medical technicians and said, “What about the back of his head?”

“Not pretty, Herr Inspector. A hole the size of your fist.”

“So, the bullet entered through the eye and out the back,” Gustav said. “Just like the others. Any identification?”

“No, sir.”

“How long in the water? Rough estimate.”

The medical technician studied the body. “It’s been cold. Perhaps two days.”

That’s about what Gustav guessed. He saw all he needed for now. His crime scene investigators would comb over the area and find nothing, he knew, since the body wasn’t killed here. They’d also probably find nothing of importance on the body. Nothing out of the ordinary at least. “Have the medical examiner call me when he’s done with his exam,” he said to the technician.

They hauled the body away and Gustav drifted over to a grassy area, his critical eyes glancing about the edge of the park at those watching the action. Only a small gaggle of perhaps twenty people.

“Get someone to photograph the folks hanging around,” Gustav ordered.

“Already on it, sir.”

Although it hadn’t worked with this case, they had caught people in the past showing up to observe their work. Yet, Gustav had a feeling this killer was special. Gifted in the art of killing.

Walking back toward their car, Andreas was right at Gustav’s side. “What do you think, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Gustav said, and he meant it.

“You think we have a serial killer?” his assistant asked eagerly.

“Maybe. It makes sense. This makes five. And all of the bodies have been dumped in the Spree.”

“What do the Americans say?” Andreas asked, holding back a smile, “A killing spree?”

Gustav glanced sideways at his assistant. “How long have you waited to say that?”

“Since the third body.”

“Quite the restraint on your part.”

“I try, sir.”

“Try harder. Now, what else do we know?”

Andreas Grosskreuz hunched his shoulders. “Shot from the front. Looking directly at the killer. So, he either knew the killer or the killer had somehow gained the man’s trust long enough to shoot him in the face. We’ll probably find powder on his face like the others, which means close range.”

“Good. And?”

“Silencer perhaps?”

“Are you asking me, Andreas?”

“Well, sir, we have no reports of shootings in the city.”

“How far could the body travel in two days?”

“Depends on a lot of factors. The body might sink initially, get caught on the bottom, then it bloats and rises again. Could be a couple of kilometers or more. Of course it could have been caught on the bridge for a day without notice.”

His assistant was good, which is why Gustav had brought him along with him from Munich. He not only trusted Andreas with his life, he knew the younger man would someday have his job. And that was just fine with Gustav. The way he felt now, that day couldn’t come soon enough. But not until they got this killer.

“That would place the kill site somewhere in the southeast side of the city,” Gustav postulated. “What’s over there?”

“Mostly industrial.”

Gustav considered that carefully. “I’ll bet the man was shot at night. That area of Berlin is dead at night. Very little traffic.”

“Of course the killer could’ve simply dumped the body there after shooting the man somewhere outside of the city. Somewhere out in the country.”

Finally, Gustav caught his young colleague. “Ah, good point. However, why go through all the trouble? If you shoot a man in the forest, why not simply leave the body there? Let the ravens pick over it.”

Andreas scratched his head. “I’m an idiot, sir. That’s why you bring in the gross Euros.” His young assistant thought hard now. “Definitely a silenced gun, sir. And killed near the river and dumped immediately. No doubt about it. A professional.”

His young colleague seemed almost disappointed they didn’t have a sick serial killer to investigate. Gustav guessed he had watched too many American crime dramas.

Gustav smiled and started walking toward the car, his associate falling in to his side. Whatever the case, he’d get to the bottom of this. But he had to admit to himself that he didn’t have a hell of a lot to go on. No identification. Not even a bullet fragment found. No motive. No real crime scene. Only bodies. Someone was killing people in his city and he didn’t like it one bit.

●

Across the wide expanse of the Tiergarten, ostensibly taking photographs of the park with a telephoto lens, the man with the watch cap covering a near-bald head focused his attention on the commotion toward the Spree River. He clicked a few digital shots, and then looked at the back LCD screen to verify his work. His main subject, of course, was the two Polizei officers investigating the death of the men around Berlin. When he got the shots he desired, he moved the camera in another direction and pretended to shoot pictures of other people, those standing around watching the action. He wasn’t stupid enough to be caught by the Polizei cameras. Did they really think they could catch him that way?

He had monitored the Polizei channels and heard of the discovery of another body floating in the river; he knew it had to be his work. And he just had to see the reaction of this new find of theirs. Based on the radio traffic alone, he was driving the local Polizei crazy with these deaths. He only wished he could be a tiny hummingbird fluttering over the man in charge of the investigation to hear just how frustrated he’d become.

An inadvertent smile crossed his face. He had to get closer. Get a better look at his work. No. That was crazy. They could catch him in one of their photos. And it wasn’t important. These deaths were insignificant. Covering tracks, he knew. Nothing more. But he had to make it look like it was much worse than it was, so it would keep the Polizei busy. Two birds, one stone.

His eyes shifted back toward the water’s edge as a medical crew hoisted the bloated corpse from the Spree and set it onto the grass at the foot of the Polizei investigator. He knew everything there was to know about this chief homicide officer—from his Catholic upbringing in northern Germany, to his rise through the ranks to run a successful office in Munich, and to his proclivity for young prostitutes. Know thy enemy, he mused, and you shall know thyself. Was that from Vogler’s bible? Who knows. He even knew the great inspector was trying to quit his cigarettes, having purchased boxes of nicotine gum and enough patches for his entire Berlin Polizei force.

Satisfied he had what he needed, confirmation of his work, he wandered back to his Audi A3, far from the view of any cameras, and got behind the wheel. Sitting there for a moment, he contemplated his next move. First, he needed to keep the pressure on that American pig. Now that he was out of the hospital, he could finish what he started. He should’ve killed him in the hospital, but that would have been poor form. A man shouldn’t die as he lay in bed half dead. What kind of pleasure could be found in that? No, he was nothing if not patient.

He turned over the engine, glanced one more time across the park at the crime scene, and slowly pulled out toward the east side of Berlin.

4

Jake had been out of the hospital for two weeks now, living in his old second-floor apartment across from the Inn River with a view of the Alps to the south. He had rented the place to a man who had become somewhat of a local Innsbruck celebrity—a model whose remarkably handsome face was plastered all over Tirol on everything from billboards, which were rare in Austria, to the sides of buses—hawking products and becoming the face of the area ski scene. Every woman wanted him, but he played for the other team. With a quick phone call Jake had found out his old Polizei buddy, Franz Martini, had laid it out for the man quite clearly. He would have to move out of the apartment or something bad might happen to that pretty face of his. It wasn’t a threat, Jake had later explained to the man, simply a fact of life or death. Jake didn’t want the guy caught in any crossfire. He’d been a great tenant for over two years, and, as Jake told him, it was time for the man to buy his own place. Regardless, the tenant had made a positive impact on Jake’s old place, stereotypically transforming bland white walls to various shades of aqua marine, yellows and reds. He would come back for the dozens of plants, so Jake would have to try to keep them alive while he did the same for himself.

The first full day in his old place Jake went by taxi to a local bike shop and purchased a high-end bicycle—a touring bike for eventual rides in the country. Franz had made sure his mountain bike with front and rear suspension had been shipped to his apartment from Vienna. But Jake knew he’d have to wait to go off-road for a while. There was no way his knee could handle that pounding.

For the rehab of his left knee and his overall musculature, he propped the road bike onto a stationary wheel, riding at least a dozen kilometers a day and building up to thirty kilometers this morning. While he rode the stationary bike, he read through the digital files Franz Martini provided him of the investigation of Anna’s murder to date, finding no great clue as to who wanted him dead. Disturbing, yes, but not entirely unexpected. The killers were professionals. Their only flaw had been not finishing the job. Not killing Jake. One of the shooters had gotten away, but Jake wasn’t overly concerned with finding him, unless that man could lead Jake to the person who had ordered the hit. Strangely enough, Jake didn’t harbor too much animosity toward a hired shooter. He was only doing a job which he or she was uniquely qualified to perform.

If Jake was smart he’d simply lay low until he could solve this case, a case which he was nearly his own client. Sure Franz gave him a retainer of sorts with the Glock, which he carried night and day, and which even hung from a holster strapped to the handlebars of his bike while he rode, but Franz was only trying to make his continued stay in Austria legal. He needed to continue to work to maintain his visa there. He had friends in high places within the Austrian government, yet he was sure that those friendships might be somewhat strained following a few shootings in the past couple of years. Jake also knew that Franz was probably the reason he still had a carry permit in Austria—not that not having one would deter Jake anyway—without a weapon he wasn’t only a sitting duck, he was a dead one.

But Jake didn’t depend only on the kindness of Franz for his safety. He’d gone to his local bank branch and retrieved a few items from his safe deposit box, including one of his stashed handguns—a Beretta PX4 Storm also in .40 cal, with two extra magazines. No need to keep two different calibers. He also picked up a few passports, two from the U.S., one from Canada, and one each from Germany and Austria. All with different identities and photographs. Old habits.

His only ventures other than the bike shop, the bank, and the grocery store was spending a few hours shooting his two handguns at an indoor range. Like riding the bike, he hadn’t lost his skill at punching holes in paper. He did have to modify his stance somewhat with the new knee.

Riding the stationary bike, he had plenty of time to think about his life—what he had and what he had lost. Was he the man he always thought he would become? If so, he wasn’t sure he liked himself too much right now. At this time, forgiveness was not a huge part of his vocabulary.

Jake finished his bike ride and slowly dismounted, his legs tired and nearly collapsing beneath him as he stood for a moment to catch his balance on his special bike shoes. He’d given up the cane for the past couple of days and hopefully wouldn’t need it again. Although used with his left hand to take pressure from his left knee, he felt vulnerable with the cane and not as quick to pull his gun if needed.

He lowered himself into a leather chair and glanced at his 24-inch LCD monitor, which picked up multiple wireless cameras positioned outside the apartment, front and back, and in the front foyer where he could watch those from the first and third floors come and go. He’d also placed a number of motion detectors that would alarm him any time someone came in view of a camera. The one on the sidewalk out front was annoying, going off anytime someone passed by walking a dog or going to a car. But if Jake really wanted to play it safe, he’d go to America or South America and pay cash for everything. There were hundreds of great trout streams in Patagonia he hadn’t wet a fly in yet. Instead, he’d taken up residence in his old place and bought food with a visa in his own name. He wasn’t hiding. He was waiting.

He took off his bike shoes and socks and let his bare feet spread out onto the cool hardwood floor.

Part of him expected his wait to be short. After all, someone had blown his perfectly fine VW all to hell just two days before he’d gotten out of the hospital. The trail was fresh and Jake was now ready for anything. His strength was almost back to one hundred percent.