‘And this means what to me?’ asked Wiegand wearily.
‘I’ve been thinking about it a great deal, and I think I understand its significance. And I think it tells me what it was Meliha Yazar found out.’
‘Which is?’
‘I think we’ll save that for another time.’ Fabel stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Herr Wiegand. I look forward to our next chat.’ He looked around at the office, the glass walls, the dimmed view of the water around them. ‘Next time we can meet in my office, I think.’
It was fully dark as Fabel drove back along the narrow road towards Stade. It was deserted of cars and he could see there were no headlights in his rear-view mirror. Anyway, he thought, Wiegand knew exactly where he had been and the road he would take back to town. So there was no need for him to pick up a tail until he had reached the main road network.
Jan Fabel was a man who liked to do the right thing in every situation; to follow the rules. It sat heavy and hard with him that he had just done something he would never have allowed one of his junior officers to do: he had deliberately exposed himself to danger. Fabel had known that there was no way that he would ever build a solid case against an organisation as sophisticated, resourceful and skilled as the Pharos Project. He needed to flush them out. Flush Wiegand out. Wiegand had said that Fabel had been on a fishing trip and he had been right; except Fabel was the bait. Fabel had hinted that he possessed the same knowledge that Meliha Yazar had, and had been abducted and more than likely murdered over. Muller-Voigt had had his skull pulped in the belief that he might have had the information. And now they would believe that Fabel had that knowledge. And, as someone who could do infinitely more damage than either Yazar or Muller-Voigt, they would no doubt come after him.
The truth was, he was beginning to believe that he did know what it was that Meliha had found out. How he could ever prove it was another matter.
He was just approaching Stade when his cellphone rang.
‘Chief Commissar Fabel?’ It was a male voice. Deep — too deep and faintly robotic; punctuated with deep, rasping breaths. Fabel realised that it was being electronically altered.
‘Who is this?’
‘Call me the Klabautermann, that seems appropriate.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ Fabel laughed. ‘You want me to call you the Klabautermann? I’m guessing you read too many comics. Or what is it they call them these days? Oh yes, graphic novels. Now listen, you know you are speaking to a police officer, so I suggest you stop wasting my time…’
‘Now wait a minute…’ The menace of the electronically altered voice dissipated as the person behind it grew flustered. ‘You’ve got to listen to me…’
‘Lose the Darth Vader crap and we can talk.’
There was a pause. Then something clicked on the line.
‘Who is this?’ asked Fabel.
‘I can’t tell you.’ Now the voice was natural. Male, but high-pitched. Still punctuated with snorting breaths. Someone overweight, Fabel guessed.
‘Then I can’t talk to you.’
‘They’ll kill me,’ the voice said and something in the tone told Fabel he believed it.
‘Who will?’
‘The same people who killed Meliha Yazar. I know all about Meliha Yazar, I know about Muller-Voigt. I know about Daniel Fottinger.’
Fabel pulled over to the side of the road, putting on his hazard-warning lights. Snatching his cellphone from its cradle, he took the call off-speaker.
‘What do you know?’
‘I can’t tell you yet. They’re probably listening right now. Making me take the voice changer off will make it easier for them to find me, but they would have deprocessed it eventually. They can do anything with technology. Remember that, Fabel. Don’t use technology.’
‘Where is Meliha Yazar?’ Fabel’s voice was determined. ‘What happened to her?’
‘You already know that. It’s why it happened that you should worry about. I’ve got something they’re looking for. Something that Meliha left for me to find and I’ll die because I found it. Now they will find me, Fabel. They’ll find me and kill me. They’ll kill you too and anyone else they think knows.’
‘Knows? Knows what? Listen, if you really believe your life is in danger, then tell me where you are. We will protect you.’
There was a snort at the other end of the connection. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’ He paused. ‘I’ll be in touch later. I have to find a way of contacting you without them intercepting it. Do you understand?’
Fabel frowned, then, after a moment said: ‘Yes. I understand.’
The phone went dead.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fabel knew he was not going to get a warm welcome. He had phoned to arrange a meeting with Tanja Ulmen, the first of Fottinger’s alleged victims, and she had asked if they could do it on the telephone. She was happily married with children and living in Bad Bramstedt, a small town between Hamburg and Kiel. Her family knew nothing of the incident when she had been a student with Daniel Fottinger. This was part of a murder enquiry, Fabel had explained, so a telephone interview was not an option. The truth was that Fabel disliked anything getting between him and the reactions of the people he questioned. Tanja Ulmen reluctantly agreed to meet with him after she finished work. She was a teacher at the local high school, she explained. He had been slightly taken aback when Ulmen had insisted that he bring a female colleague.
It took forty minutes for Fabel and Anna to get to Bad Bramstedt and another ten to find the rest area off the 207 route to the west of the town. During the journey Anna had noticed Fabel checking his rear-view mirror more than usual.
‘Is it there again?’ she asked. ‘The four-by-four?’
‘No. I thought maybe it was… but no. Maybe I’m becoming paranoid in my old age.’
‘If you really think you are being tailed, especially with all of the crap that’s been going on with emails and texts going missing, then I think we should visit this Seamark International and get a few answers.’
‘It’s maybe nothing,’ said Fabel. ‘It could be coincidence or maybe I’ve mistaken two or three different cars as the same one. I want to be sure before we show our hand. Anyway, it’s not there now.’ He paused for a moment, then said uncertainly: ‘There’s something else, Anna. I mean, as well as the texts and stuff. I got a call last night. An anonymous call from someone who claims to know all about what happened to Meliha Yazar and Muller-Voigt.’
‘And you believe them?’ Anna sounded incredulous. ‘I mean, after everything else that’s been going on, don’t you think it’s likely to be the same lot playing games?’
‘I thought that, too. But, I don’t know, there was something about this call. He said they would find him and kill him and I believe he meant it. Maybe he is an ex-member or has some other kind of connection to them.’
‘So you are convinced it’s the Pharos Project behind this?’
‘More than that, Anna, I’m beginning to get an idea about what’s really happened. Look, there she is…’
It was the only car in the rest area: an elderly Citroen. The rest area was screened from the road by a thick curtain of trees and there was an even deeper wedge of forest to the other side. Frau Ulmen had insisted that they meet there: it was far enough out of town but close enough for her to get back home without causing too much suspicion.
‘I’ve told my children I’ve got shopping to do but I’ll be back in an hour,’ she said bluntly in greeting as she got into the back of Fabel’s car. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me about Daniel Fottinger?’ Fabel knew from the report that Tanja Ulmen was in her mid-thirties, but she had a weary look that would otherwise have made it difficult to guess her age on first sight. She had untidy blonde hair heaped on her head and held in place by a large wooden hair clasp patterned with a Celtic bow. Her clothes were baggy and vaguely bohemian. She looked every bit the eccentric art teacher, but Fabel knew that the subject she actually taught was information technology.