A fear of dark water

Chapter Twenty-Two

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, Fabel knew something was wrong.

He passed Anna walking in the opposite direction. She hesitated for a moment and her mouth moved to say something but she was cut off by van Heiden, who leaned out into the corridor behind her and called Fabel into the Murder Commission. Anna walked on, but not before firing Fabel a look so laden with warning that he felt a sudden sinking in his gut.

They were waiting for him in the Murder Commission’s main office: van Heiden, the BfV man Fabian Menke, and Werner, who smiled at Fabel with something between sympathy, frustration and desperation. Whatever it was that had sunk in Fabel’s gut when he had passed Anna sunk some more.

Over the years Fabel had become used to Criminal Director van Heiden’s lugubrious greetings. He often felt that his superior was a man of very limited emotion. It seemed to Fabel that van Heiden had only two expressions: gloomily serious, and even more gloomily serious. His moroseness was usually prompted by unwelcome press or political intrusion into an investigation that was still in progress, or by some newspaper headline critical of the Polizei Hamburg. But this, Fabel knew, was something different. Whatever it was that now played across the Criminal Director’s face, Fabel hadn’t seen it before.

‘Why do I have the feeling I’ve just arrived at a funeral, only to find out it’s mine?’ Fabel smiled at van Heiden and was reminded by his unresponsiveness that the Criminal Director’s sense of humour was as limited as his emotional range. ‘What’s happened?’

‘You had better come with us,’ said van Heiden. ‘You too, Senior Commissar Meyer.’

‘Okay…’ sighed Fabel as they made their way in the lift up to the fifth floor. ‘Do I get some kind of clue?’

‘It’s Muller-Voigt-’ started Werner, only to be silenced by a sharp look from van Heiden.

Fabel let his boss and the BfV man lead the way. The fifth floor of the Hamburg Police Presidium was somewhere, if you were of Fabel’s rank or below, you were led. This was the management level of the Presidium and when Fabel realised they were headed for the Presidial Offices, his feeling of foreboding ratcheted up a notch or two. When they reached the reception area they were admitted immediately into the Police President’s office.

Hugo Steinbach stepped around from behind a huge desk to meet Fabel and the others. Just as van Heiden could not be anything other than a policeman, Steinbach looked as though he should be anything but a policeman. Fabel had always felt the avuncular, habitually smiling Steinbach looked more like a provincial family doctor, or even a jovially hospitable rural hotel proprietor. But he was a policeman, through and through. Steinbach had entered the police as an ordinary beat patrolman and had worked his way up through every rank and every department. He prided himself on the fact that whenever he talked to one of his officers he knew exactly what it was like to do their job, to face whatever they had to face. That was even true of Fabel: Steinbach had been a lead detective in the Polizei Berlin’s Murder Commission.

‘Is this about my expense account?’ Fabel said with a small, uncertain laugh.

‘Sit down, please, Fabel,’ said Steinbach with a gentleness that unnerved Fabel even more. He sat down, his unease now beginning to give way to anger.

Steinbach sat casually on the corner of his desk and picked up a file, which he examined briefly.

‘Last night you rang into the Presidium for an ID check on a woman. Someone called Julia Helling.’

‘Oh, yes… yes, I did. What about her?’

‘And you confirmed to the officer on duty that she lived in Eppendorf. Why did you check out that particular name and address?’

‘It was after I left the Presidium last night. I was going to pick up something to eat and I forgot…’ Fabel checked himself. It sounded insensitive to say the least that he had forgotten that his friend of twenty-odd years was dead. And, as he sat there feeling as if he was under interrogation, the fact itself seemed odd. ‘… I forgot that the place had closed. Then this woman sort of appeared out of nowhere. Her behaviour was, well, odd. I don’t know why, but I got the feeling that she knew who I was.’

‘What made you think that?’ asked Steinbach.

‘I don’t know, exactly,’ said Fabel honestly. ‘There was just something about the things she said. She knew all about the guy who used to own the snack stand. And it was as if she knew that he had been a friend of mine.’

‘Dirk Stellamanns?’ asked Werner, frowning. Exactly the reaction Fabel had been concerned about. It did sound odd. Fabel nodded.

‘So you asked this woman for her ID?’ asked van Heiden.

‘Yes. Will someone tell me what this is all about?’

‘All in good time, Fabel.’ Steinbach took the edge off it with a smile. ‘I know this is all very unusual, but this is a very serious matter and we have to establish some of the facts and chronology of events. Could you describe this woman?’

Fabel outlined a description of the unremarkable, business-suited woman he had encountered down by the docks. As he did so, a thought struck him: the couple he had seen in the cafe that morning had been dressed in a very similar manner. He dismissed the thought. They all did look the same: corporate clones.

‘You say she was blonde?’ asked van Heiden. ‘Not a brunette?’

‘She was blonde. Like I said.’

‘And you have had no previous contact with her, or with anyone else with the same name?’ asked Steinbach.

‘No, I haven’t. Why do I feel like a suspect all of a sudden? What is the significance of this woman?’

‘Please bear with us, Fabel,’ said Steinbach. He handed Fabel a photograph from the file. Fabel knew the picture had been taken in the Butenfeld mortuary, because he recognised the dead woman instantly.

‘And this is not the woman?’ asked Steinbach.

‘Of course it isn’t. You know it isn’t. This is the woman we found at the Poppenbutteler Schleuse. How could it have been her? She was long cold and in the morgue last night. The woman I spoke to was very much alive.’

‘We got an ID for her, Jan,’ explained Werner. ‘It came through this morning.’ He nodded apprehensively towards the photograph in Fabel’s hands. ‘ This is Julia Henning. She lived at the address in Eppendorf you phoned in with.’

‘ Shit,’ Fabel said in English. ‘So the woman I met must have something to do with these killings.’

‘That’s not our main concern at the moment, Fabel,’ said van Heiden. ‘We’ve had a report from Chief Commissar Kroeger and Technical Section about the phone you handed in. They say there is no trace of you having received a text message that said “Poppenbutteler Schleuse”.’

‘Like I said, it’s been deleted somehow.’

‘Herr Kroeger assures me that even if it had been deleted,’ said van Heiden, ‘his team would have been able to retrieve it. And they have checked the records of your service provider. Again, no trace.’

‘You see where this leaves us, Chief Commissar,’ said Steinbach. ‘You seem to have had prior knowledge of where a victim was going to be found, then you radio in the victim’s name and address before we have an identity for her.’

Fabel stared at Steinbach incredulously. ‘You can’t seriously be saying that these coincidences make me a suspect?’

‘On their own, no…’ Menke spoke for the first time. ‘But they are not on their own. We talked at length yesterday evening about the Pharos Project, and you instructed Frau Wolff to gather as much information as possible on the organisation. This is a day after Senator Muller-Voigt quizzed me persistently on the same subject.’

‘So?’ Fabel resented the BfV man becoming involved; this was a police matter.

‘I asked you where you had been the night before last,’ cut in van Heiden. ‘You evaded my question. Why did you do that, Fabel?’

‘Quite frankly, Herr Criminal Director, what I do in my own time is none of your affair.’ Fabel was beginning to feel outnumbered and exchanged a glance with Werner.

‘Quite the contrary,’ said van Heiden. ‘If you are using your own time to meet and discuss police matters with a member of the Hamburg Senate without my knowledge, I feel that that is very much my business.’

‘If you know where I was, then why did you ask me?’

‘ Did you visit Herr Muller-Voigt at his home the night before last?’ asked Steinbach.

‘Yes, I did. After we finished our meeting here in the Presidium, he asked me if I would come out to his home that evening.’

‘Why?’

Fabel drew a long breath before launching into the story of Muller-Voigt’s missing girlfriend, the Senator’s belief that someone had deliberately erased all trace of her existence in Germany, his suspicions about the Pharos Project, and how Muller-Voigt had asked Fabel to make his enquiries ‘unofficial’.

‘So that’s why both you and he quizzed me about Pharos,’ asked Menke.

Fabel nodded. ‘And the more I find out about it, the more I believe that there could be a connection to this woman’s disappearance.’

‘Since when did you have the licence to undertake private investigations, Fabel?’ Something like a storm cloud darkened Van Heiden’s expression. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing agreeing to snoop around for Muller-Voigt?’

Fabel held his hands up. ‘Let’s get one thing straight: there’s a limit to how unofficial my enquiries were. To start with, I told Muller-Voigt that there was no way I could spare the time, but then I realised that there’s a good chance that the torso that was washed up at the Fischmarkt is that of Meliha Yazar. And that was the only reason I agreed to look into it. And I have to say that Senator Muller-Voigt accepts that I cannot guarantee to keep his name out of the spotlight. To be honest, all he is interested in is finding out what has happened to this woman.’

There was a pause and an exchange of looks between Steinbach, van Heiden and Werner. Fabel made an exasperated face.

‘Muller-Voigt is dead, Jan,’ said Werner. ‘He was found by his cleaner in his living room first thing this morning. That’s where Anna was headed when you came in.’

Fabel sat stunned for a moment. Then, as if a current had been switched on, he stood up suddenly. ‘I’m going out there…’

‘That would be inadvisable, Fabel,’ said Steinbach. ‘You can see that yourself, given the circumstances.’

‘You can’t seriously be suggesting that I am a suspect?’

‘No one is suggesting that,’ said van Heiden in a vaguely offended tone that still did not convince Fabel. ‘But you are compromised as far as both of these murder investigations are concerned. You simply cannot be seen to be heading up an enquiry in which you feature. You must understand that.’

‘So what happens? Am I suspended?’

‘Of course not,’ said Steinbach.

‘Then I insist on leading the Muller-Voigt case.’ Fabel still could not believe he was referring to the man he had sat and talked with just two nights before as a case. ‘That is my job, after all. And I have a personal stake in this…’

‘But that’s exactly the point,’ said van Heiden. ‘It’s precisely because of your personal involvement that we have to place the case in the hands of another officer.’

‘I suggest we all head out to the crime scene,’ said Menke. ‘There’s clearly more to this than meets the eye. And, in my opinion, Herr Fabel hasn’t compromised himself: someone else has deliberately gone out of their way to remove him from the investigation.’

Fabel looked at Menke: he was surprised that the intelligence man had spoken up for him.

‘I agree,’ said Werner. ‘This is all crap, the thing with the text messages and this woman with a victim’s identity. It’s all engineered to get Jan off the case. Unless you really believe that he is a suspect. In which case you can suspend me as well.’

Fabel shot Werner a warning look: Van Heiden, who now glowered at Werner, was by-the-book enough to take him up on his suggestion.

‘You lead the investigation, Werner,’ said Fabel. ‘The Criminal Director is right. I’m too close to all of this.’ He turned to van Heiden. ‘But I still want to see the Muller-Voigt murder scene.’

Fabel sat in the back of the Mercedes that took them out to the Altes Land. Werner followed. Stuck in the back of the car next to Menke, watching a huge sky above a billiard-table landscape slide by, Fabel still felt more than a little like a suspect and found himself resenting the intelligence man’s presence.

‘What did Muller-Voigt say to you about this supposedly missing woman?’ asked Menke.

Fabel remained quiet for a moment. Long enough to make the point that he resented Menke questioning him.

‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ said Menke into the void.

Fabel sighed. ‘She’s not just supposed missing, she’s a supposed woman. Muller-Voigt told me that he said that he could find no trace of her existence. He asked me to investigate because he felt that if he were to go through official channels he would look like he was losing his mind.’

‘You do realise,’ said Menke, ‘that this all ties up. Your encounter with a woman who shows you identification that belongs to someone already dead, your problems with electronic messages disappearing.’

Van Heiden twisted around in the front seat, edged his broad shoulders so he could turn to Menke. ‘If you have some information we should know, Herr Menke,’ he said, ‘then I strongly suggest you share it with us.’

Menke shrugged. ‘I was just making an observation, that’s all.’

Holger Brauner and his team had been at the Muller-Voigt murder scene for some time and when Fabel entered the house with Menke, van Heiden and Werner, Anna Wolff was standing in the lounge, talking to a uniformed officer. She came over and spoke directly to Fabel, pointedly ignoring van Heiden.

‘Muller-Voigt is over there…’ She indicated the seating area where Fabel had talked with the politician two days earlier. Fabel could see a scattering of books and magazines on the floor next to the coffee table. Muller-Voigt’s feet were just visible: he had obviously fallen between the sofa and the coffee table. There was an arc of blood spatter visible on the leather of the sofa. ‘You want to see?’

Anna handed Fabel blue stretch overshoes and a pair of latex gloves but ignored van Heiden. The Criminal Director began to fume and Fabel shot Anna a warning look. She handed the Criminal Director a set. Anna was an officer of great ability and promise, but Fabel knew her very obvious problem with authority meant she would never be promoted much above her current rank. It frustrated him but somewhere deep inside he was heartened by these little displays: maybe her rebellion was not at an end after all.

‘Signs of struggle?’ asked Fabel as they approached the body.

‘Minimal,’ said Anna. ‘It looks like he knew his attacker. There’s no sign of forced entry and all this…’ she indicated the scattered books and magazines ‘… could have been simply when he fell, or at the most after a very brief struggle.’

Fabel nodded a greeting to Holger Brauner. ‘Can I have a look?’

‘So long as you don’t contaminate my crime scene,’ said Brauner, with a grin.

Fabel looked down at Muller-Voigt’s body and Muller-Voigt looked back at him with an unblinking stare and an expression of surprise. It was not really an expression, Fabel knew, just the slack-jawed stare of eased rigor mortis. One side of the politician’s head, above the right temple, was badly deformed, as if dented, and the hair was parted by an ugly deep laceration where he had been hit with a heavy object. There was a halo of dark, thickly viscous blood around Muller-Voigt’s head. Fabel felt something unpleasant flutter dark wings in his gut when he realised that Muller-Voigt was wearing the same clothes as he had been the last time Fabel had seen him.

‘How long has he been dead, roughly?’ Fabel asked Brauner.

‘He’s not fresh,’ said the forensics chief. ‘More than a day. Maybe two.’

Fabel tensed.

‘What did you say?’ asked van Heiden over Fabel’s shoulder.

Brauner gave a small laugh and looked at Fabel quizzically before turning to van Heiden. ‘I said the victim’s been dead for more than a day. What’s the problem?’

‘I met with the victim the night before last,’ explained Fabel in a dull voice. ‘Here.’

‘Ah…’ Brauner said and frowned.

‘Wait a minute.’ Fabel turned to where Menke was standing. ‘Didn’t you say Muller-Voigt missed a meeting yesterday but got in touch to make his apologies?’

‘Yes… that…’ Menke said ponderously. ‘The thing is, we don’t have the email any more. Or, for the moment, any of our other emails. I’m afraid your concerns about email security were right, after all. You see, the message sent from Muller-Voigt’s computer had corrupted our entire system. It would appear to have been infected with the Klabautermann Virus. And, of course, an email doesn’t mean he was still alive. His killer could have sent it from his account.’

‘Muller-Voigt told me that his computer had been infected,’ said Fabel. ‘But he had sent it off for cleaning and repair. He told me that the computer he had was new and clean. And that he was using a new account to send emails. So I’d say your infected emails didn’t come from him.’

‘Herr Meyer…’ van Heiden called over to Werner. ‘I’d like you to take sole charge of this investigation.’ He turned back to Fabel, ‘I think you can understand, given the position we’re in.’

‘As far as I can see,’ said Fabel, ‘I’m the only one in a position.’

‘You said you saw a picture of this mysterious missing woman when you were last here,’ said van Heiden. ‘Where is it?’

Fabel pointed to the digital picture frame. ‘It’s on that.’

Leaning over the sofa, Brauner reached and picked up the remote control, handing it to Fabel. Van Heiden took it instead, frowning at the images.

‘These are all scenic photographs, as far as I can see,’ said the Criminal Director.

‘It’s a digital picture frame,’ said Fabel. ‘It stores hundreds of photographs. May I?’

A new image appeared every time Fabel pressed the frame’s button. Seascapes, lots of seascapes, some images of the countryside around the Altes Land, several littoral scenes, many with lighthouses. Nothing with Muller-Voigt in it. None of the other photographs he had seen when the politician had flicked through them. Before they had viewed half of the photographs, Fabel already knew that he would not find any photograph of Meliha Yazar.

‘And you say that you definitely saw the woman Muller-Voigt said had gone missing on this thing?’ asked van Heiden after they had gone through all the images.

‘Without a doubt. Someone has deleted it. And a lot of other images.’

‘Just like the text message you say you got about the location of the victim the other day.’

‘Just like…’ Fabel handed the digital frame back to Brauner. ‘You’d better bag that up. Whoever did Muller-Voigt has been playing with his toys.’

Brauner nodded. ‘By the way,’ he said, reaching down and picking up a large plastic evidence bag from the floor, ‘this would appear to be our murder weapon. Bloody ugly thing, if you ask me. Anyway, it has blood, hair and skin on the base and its weight and form seem consistent with the damage to his skull. We’ll take it back for a full fingerprint check. What’s up, Jan?’

Fabel stared at the evidence bag and its heavy, soiled contents in Brauner’s hand. In that moment he felt his career, his life unravelling.

‘It’s a bronze sculpture of Rahab. A Hebrew sea devil.’ Fabel’s voice was dull. Distant. He struggled for a moment to remember Muller-Voigt’s exact words. ‘ Rahab was the creator of storms and the father of chaos. And I think I’d better tell you now that you will get a good set of prints from it. Mine.’