Deception

TWENTY-SEVEN

‘You are free to leave, Mr Tate. . Herr Hefflin.’ Drachmann handed both men their documents. He didn’t look pleased. They had been in the local station for over three hours, providing detailed statements along with answering a list of supplementary questions. It had all been very low-key, but there had been no mistaking the intensity behind the queries. ‘If it were my choice,’ he continued bluntly, ‘I would have you stay in Schwedt until we had completed our investigation. But I have my instructions from the Bundesministerium — the Ministry of the Interior.’

‘Thank you. What now?’

‘As long as there are no problems, the body will be released in a few days, after our Senior State Medical Examiner has satisfied himself. After that you may make arrangements for it to be returned to England.’ He stared at Harry for a long moment, giving the impression that he wanted to ask a lot more questions, but could not. ‘Our forensics personnel say that in their opinion the lack of gunshot burns indicate it cannot be a death by suicide. Somebody unconnected with the shooting may have found the body and removed the gun — perhaps to sell. We will never know. It would be useful to know who might have wished harm to Sergeant Barrow, a complete stranger in this area.’ He lifted his eyebrows and waited.

Harry shrugged easily. The tactic was one he recognized, meant to draw him into saying more than he might want to. ‘I wish I could help,’ he said eventually. Ballatyne must have intervened at a high level to facilitate their release. If so, it would explain Drachmann’s general air of reluctance to let the matter drop. ‘I’m as puzzled as you are. I can only think they might have been criminals acting on chance.’

‘Criminals.’ Drachmann considered the word as if it were new to him. ‘Ah. You mean the Mafiya?’

‘Of course.’

‘A possibility. They are everywhere.’ He didn’t look as if he believed it, but he nodded and walked away.

They were heading towards the hotel where Harry had booked a room in expectation of an overnight stay, when his phone rang. It was Rik.

‘Daddy, I’m home!’ he sang cheerfully.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m about ten minutes out. Where shall we meet?’

Harry gave him the name and location of the hotel. He hadn’t seen the Passat for a while but he could almost feel its presence out there. The man wouldn’t have followed him all the way here from Tegel just to lose interest and leave. ‘Come up to the room whenever you can. I’ll see if I pick up the tail on the way there.’

He drove Ulf to his flat and said goodbye. They would be unlikely to meet again, and for Ulf’s sake he wanted to put some distance between them. His story about finding Barrow’s phone and passport would only stand up for as long as it remained convincing and uncomplicated. If Harry stayed with Ulf too long, Drachmann might start to wonder why and dig a little deeper.

He arrived at his hotel, a functional, two-storey block near the outskirts of town, and saw Rik in the car park behind the wheel of an anonymous Nissan. He was taking his low profile instructions seriously. There was no sign of the Passat.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door of his room. He checked the spyhole. It was Rik. He was dressed in jeans and a casual jacket, and wearing glasses. His normally spiky hair was only just this side of tidy.

‘Your man’s outside,’ Rik told him. He slumped on the nearest bed. He looked drained and was nursing his shoulder. ‘He pulled in on your tail but stayed out on the road.’

‘Well done. Who is he?’

‘The car’s registered to a Carl Petersen. He’s listed as a security specialist, but for that read private eye. Ex-German military, sometime heavy for a small gang in Berlin, he does low-level divorce and commercial stuff.’

‘That fits.’ The man’s surveillance skills were hardly top drawer. He was a watcher, hired to follow and report. He brought Rik up to date on finding Barrow’s body. ‘My guess is this Petersen will have called it in already. What we don’t know is how much he knows or who he’s speaking to. If he’s any good, he’ll be looking for someone to contact in the local police department — possibly posing as a journalist. The Bundespolizei will be keeping it close to their chests, so it might take him a while. But he’ll get there eventually.’

‘Isn’t that what you want him to do?’

‘Yes, but I want to be the one he sees, not you.’

‘No problem. I’ll get out there and watch him.’ Rik saw the mini-bar. ‘Any chance of a Coke? I’m parched.’

‘Help yourself. I don’t know what Petersen’s main purpose is, or what he’s doing other than watching me. What’s with the specs?’ When he’d first met him, Rik was wearing oval spectacles which seemed a must for the geeky look. But over time he’d dropped them without explanation. Now they were back.

‘It’s part of my disguise. You said inconspicuous. . and as my mum always says, men don’t look at people who wear glasses.’

‘I think your mother was referring to girls.’ Harry watched as he groped about inside the fridge, inspecting the bars of chocolate and small bags of peanuts and crisps. He was worried about the effects of the journey on Rik’s wound, but decided against saying anything. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

‘Right, I’m going.’ Rik grabbed two cans of Coke and some chocolate, then left, promising to stay in touch. Harry decided to get his head down and recharge his batteries. Food could wait.

He was woken an hour later by a knock at the door. Rik was back.

‘Petersen’s been down at the police station,’ he reported, walking over to the mini-bar and helping himself to another Coke. ‘He was inside ten minutes max. He came out and was texting someone. He looked pretty pleased with himself, like someone who’d just got a pay day. I think you’re now more than just on the radar: you’ve been lit up like a Christmas tree.’

Harry nodded. Now the Protectory — if that was who Petersen was working for — knew his name. What they didn’t know was that his WO-2 status was a cover. He hoped it stayed that way for a while longer. For now, it would put the pressure on them to decide what to do about him. And pressure led to mistakes.

‘Is he still around?’

‘No. He headed for the Autobahn. Looks like he got called off.’

Harry nodded and got his things together. ‘In that case, they don’t intend any further action. Time to head home.’