‘So what are you saying?’ asked Brauner. ‘That the Network Killer has been here too?’
‘I can guarantee you it wasn’t the Network Killer, Holger. That’s one thing I’m certain about. It was someone else who turned this place over and took Julia Henning’s computer and cellphone. Someone who didn’t want us to know who the Network Killer was and what had happened to him.’
‘Now you’ve lost even me,’ said Anna.
‘All in due time,’ said Fabel. ‘In the meantime can you do the follow-up here? I want to get back to the Presidium. I need to talk to Fabian Menke about-’
He was interrupted by his cellphone ringing.
‘Hi, Jan, it’s Werner. You’re not going to believe this… we’ve got another body in the water. The Harbour Police have just notified us that they’ve fished a body out of the river near the mouth of the Peutehafen. They’re transferring it to Butenfeld.’ Werner used the police shorthand for the mortuary at the Institute for Legal Medicine, where the bodies of all sudden and suspicious deaths were taken.
‘I’ll be right there,’ said Fabel.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Fabel, Nicola Bruggemann and Werner Meyer stood without speaking and looked down at the body that had been wheeled out into the main morgue hall by the attendant. Outwardly, it looked like some token of respect: a moment’s silence. The truth was that they were doing what they had learned to do as police officers. You took a moment to look, to examine, to assess. To bring your fresh perspective to someone’s death.
The body on the mortuary trolley was thin and pale, the ribs showing through the pallid skin and the upper arms skinny. Despite the evidence of stubble on his chin, the dead male looked more boy than man. There were four holes, now bloodless, in his skull, two above the hairline and two below, puncturing the skin of his broad forehead. Fabel noticed dark mottling on the pale skin of his brow: powder burns from a close-quarter shot. He was on his knees, thought Fabel. Probably begging for his life.
A larger, uglier wound gaped beneath his jaw, where one of the rounds had exited. There was a dark green tattoo on his left breast, like a small inverted loop.
‘These, apparently, are the mortal remains of one Harald Jaburg,’ said Werner, with an expression that suggested he had just tasted something sour. ‘We found his ID in his jeans pocket. Unemployed. Twenty-eight years old.’
‘I thought he would be younger,’ said Fabel absently. He turned to Bruggemann. ‘Our workload seems to be growing exponentially. I think I’ll take you up on your offer.’ He ignored Werner’s quizzical look.
‘He has a tattoo on his chest,’ said Bruggemann. ‘Right above his heart. Some kind of symbol.’
‘I saw that, too,’ said Fabel. ‘It looks to me like the lowercase version of the Greek letter gamma.’ He turned the corpse’s arms over to examine the inside of the forearms. ‘No track marks.’
‘He doesn’t look the Classics type to me,’ said Werner.
‘No…’ said Fabel. ‘Nor me. Do we have an address for him?’
‘Billbrook. We’ve got uniform onto that,’ said Werner. ‘God, Jan, if we go on like this, we’re going to have to hire a fishing boat to trawl the Elbe for all the stiffs in the water.’
‘It would never be allowed,’ said Bruggemann. ‘I think we’ve already exceeded our EU quota.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Fabel. ‘Werner, I know you’re up to your eyes and I’ve left Anna at Meliha Yazar’s place, but I’d like you and Henk to follow this one up too. Run his name through the computer and speak to Organised Crime Division. This looks like a drugs thing, but he wasn’t a user as far as I can see. Ask them if there’s any gang they know of that uses the symbol gamma as a tag.’
‘Okay, Jan. But he looks to me even less like a gang member than he does a Classics scholar.’
‘Could have been small fry,’ said Bruggemann. ‘Someone suspected of cheating or being a snitch. But no, I agree he doesn’t look like the type.’
The mortuary attendant came back carrying a heavy-duty polythene bag. He dumped it unceremoniously on top of the dead man’s chest. ‘You asked for his clothes,’ he said. ‘They’ve been bagged for the forensics people. They’re still wet, so they’d better get them out of that bag quickly or they’ll go mouldy.’
‘Cheery chap,’ said Werner sarcastically after the attendant had left them alone again. ‘It must be the job that brings out the optimist in him.’
Fabel read the evidence-tag list attached to the bag out loud. ‘Black or dark grey hooded top. Black or dark grey jeans. Dark green T-shirt. Studded leather wrist band, right wrist. Broad leather-banded wristwatch, left wrist. Alloy metal neck chain with symbol pendant…’ Fabel shook and tilted the clear polythene bag. There was a considerable amount of oily water trapped in it with the clothes, but he spotted the neck chain. As he suspected, the pendant was also in the form of the Greek letter gamma. ‘… Dark red ankle-length socks. Black leather engineer boots. Leather wallet containing ID, twenty-five euros in notes, further fifteen euros in coins. White boxer-style undershorts.’
‘Funny, that,’ said Bruggemann. ‘I would have put him down as a briefs type.’
Fabel did not respond but instead took out his notebook and flicked back a couple of pages. When he found what he was looking for, he leaned across the body and handed the open notebook to Werner, who frowned as he read Fabel’s notes.
‘No…’ Werner said, handing the notebook back. ‘You don’t think
…?’ He nodded towards the corpse between them.
‘His clothing exactly matches the description of what the rider of the motorbike was seen wearing.’
‘It’s a common enough look, Chef.’
‘Are you talking about the arson killing?’ asked Bruggemann.
‘We need to get a time of death for this guy,’ said Fabel. ‘My money is on it being after the Schanzenviertel attack.’
‘You still want me to check with Organised Crime?’ asked Werner.
Fabel nodded. ‘It could still be something else. But I have a line of enquiry I want to follow up myself…’
There was no doubt in his mind this time. Fabel had only driven fifty metres from Meliha Yazar’s apartment when he had thought that he had seen the large VW Tiguan pull out from behind a parked van and into traffic four or five cars back. But then he had lost sight of it and there had been no sign of it behind him as he had driven up to the Butenfeld mortuary in Eppendorf. But when he had left the morgue he had seen it again, once more keeping a distance of four or five cars back. Sometimes it was as if the VW did not need to keep him in view at all. A couple of times, when the four-by-four was out of sight behind a corner, he had taken a sudden turn off the road and followed a new route, only to see the VW appear a few blocks later.
He continued to head towards his destination, the docks. There was much less traffic now and the VW found it difficult to find cover in the thinning camouflage of other cars. It was now only two cars behind him. Fabel used his cellphone to contact the Presidium. Anna Wolff, who was now back from Meliha Yazar’s apartment, took his call.
‘I’ve got good news and bad news, Anna. The good news is that I’m not growing paranoid in my old age.’
‘The tail? Are you sure?’
‘Positive this time. I’ve just passed the Fischmarkt. Could you contact Ops Room and ask for a marked car to be on standby down at the junction of Grosse Elbestrasse and Kaistrasse? It’s quiet enough down there for us to pull them over and have a chat.’
‘I’ll do it now. But I’m coming down too.’ She hung up before Fabel had a chance to answer. He continued to head west. Again there was no sign of the VW on his tail. They had been stopped at the traffic lights and had obviously decided to use the opportunity to open up a little space between them and Fabel’s car.
He was on St Pauli Hafenstrasse when he saw it again, three or four cars back. These guys were good. Or they had help. Fabel began to wonder about what could have been attached to his car during his guided tour of the Pharos.