The Valkyrie Song

3

Poseldorf was one of Hamburg’s trendiest addresses. The property was expensive and the shops and restaurants exclusive. But Poseldorf had started off as Hamburg’s poor quarter and the layout was a tangle of cobbled streets.

Anke used as many alleys and access lanes as possible, even clambering over walls to avoid using the main streets. She found herself on Hallerstrasse, near the TV studio and the Rotherbaum tennis stadium. The street was lined with cars, but most were expensive newer models with complicated immobiliser and alarm systems. She walked on. She would have to walk back to where she had left her own car. She needed to get it out of the area before it was treated as an abandoned vehicle, giving the police a positive ID and address for her. But she had parked far enough away from the Alsterpark to feel relatively secure. It was a decision that she regretted now with every step she took. Her calf throbbed and her entire leg began to ache, a result of the sudden and severe muscular contraction after the bullet had hit. It would not have been too long a walk if she had been able to continue straight along Mittelweg, but she knew that the police would, by now, be stopping almost every woman walking alone, so she was forced to take the most circuitous route, more than tripling the distance she had to cover.

Anke felt an enormous relief when she turned the corner and saw her Lexus saloon parked where she had left it. She sank into the leather seat and stretched her injured leg out straight, allowing herself a moment to rest. She eased her hand up the back of her boot and felt the wet leather. When she got back to the apartment she was going to have to stitch the wound, which, given its position, would not be easy.

Leaning her head back against the seat, Anke closed her eyes for a moment. She turned suddenly when she heard someone knocking on the side window.

Anke smiled and slid the window open. She assessed the situation: young policewoman — very young — alone, foot patrol, inexperienced. Every one else hunting the killer from the Alsterpark.

‘Is this your vehicle?’

‘Yes, it is. Is there a problem?’

‘You’ve been parked here too long. I’ll have to give you a ticket. What’s your name, please?’

You’re checking my name against the database, thought Anke. You’ve already radioed in the index number. It’ll be flagged up later. Her identity, her address, all compromised.

‘Jana Eigen.’ She gave the name she’d been living under for the last ten years. A name that had become as real to her as Anke Wollner. Now it was lost.

‘May I see your ID card and driver’s licence?’ The young policewoman was trying hard to project authority. Anke estimated she was no older than twenty-three; pretty, with dark hair under the police cap. Her blue police jacket was a size too big for her, giving her an almost childlike appearance.

‘Sure,’ said Anke, reaching into the shoulder bag sitting next to her on the passenger seat. ‘Here it is.’

Anke’s first shot hit the policewoman in the throat. She dropped beside the car. Anke swung the door open but it jammed against the policewoman’s body and she had to squeeze out, hurting her leg as she did so. The young policewoman was face down, the oversized blue waterproof jacket bunched up like a turtle’s carapace with the word POLIZEI emblazoned on it in white. A sickeningly wet gurgling sound issued from her and she was trying to crawl away. Anke fired a second round into the back of the policewoman’s head and she lay still. There were screams from onlookers and Anke knew that she’d have to move fast. The policewoman’s body obstructed the car so Anke had to drag it out into the road. Then she jumped back in the car and sped off.

She would have to dump the car. She would have to find a safe place.