‘It’s good we’re not travelling along the Elbchaussee this morning,’ she said.
‘We may have problems getting to the airport anyway. I would imagine that there’s going to be more traffic, what with the diversions and everything. We’ll have to leave that bit earlier,’ Fabel replied, looking pointedly at his watch. Susanne made a face and went back to a leisurely enjoyment of her coffee.
‘I’ll phone the airport just to check the flights are on time…’ Fabel made to lift the phone.
‘Why phone in?’ asked Susanne from behind her coffee cup. ‘Just check it online.’
‘You never know when these things are updated,’ said Fabel. ‘At least if you talk to a human being…’
Susanne snorted. ‘A human being? We’re talking about someone who works in an airport. Trust me, use the computer — it’s less robotic. I tell you what, I’ll do it when I’m dressed. I just don’t get why you’re so technophobic.’
‘I’m not technophobic,’ muttered Fabel. ‘I’m traditional. Anyway, I fully admit that I’m not too keen on the digital age. Look at this so-called Network Killer we’ve been chasing for the last six months… or at the havoc that reliance on computers causes. We’ve had all kind of memos about this Klabautermann Virus that’s been hacked into the Hamburg State email system.’
Susanne laughed. ‘You don’t hack a virus. Tell me, how come you survived when the meteor hit?’
‘What meteor?’ Fabel asked irritatedly.
‘You know, the one that wiped out all the other dinosaurs…’ Susanne emphasised the word and laughed at her own witticism. ‘Anyway, as far as I can gather, the Klabautermann Virus hasn’t breached the Polizei Hamburg’s security. We’ve got it at the Institute for Legal Medicine, though. It’s a pain, I’ll give you that. But we were able to back-up all our emails before it hit.’
‘I’ve got a simpler solution. It’s called print on paper.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Susanne put her cup down and sauntered past him, letting her hips swing as she walked. ‘Then we wouldn’t have to worry about Klabautermann Viruses or system crashes… all we’d have to worry about would be little bookworms like you, wouldn’t we, honey?’ She ruffled his hair as she passed. Fabel frowned.
It had stopped raining by the time Fabel and Susanne made their way to where Fabel’s BMW convertible was parked, but the sky was glowering and heavy, the colour of ship steel. Fabel sighed as he put Susanne’s suitcase and attache case in the trunk.
‘Another shitty day,’ said Susanne gloomily. She closed the car door and cursed when a trail of rainwater from the roof dribbled into her hair. ‘This thing’s leaking — you know that, don’t you?’
‘It never used to be a problem,’ said Fabel in an almost-mutter. ‘I had covered parking at my old place.’
‘You really should think about trading this in.’ Susanne ignored his comment. ‘It must be ten years old now. You’re always banging on about the environment; this can’t be that fuel-efficient or environmentally friendly compared with what you could get now.’
‘It does me fine,’ said Fabel, manoeuvring the car from its parking space. ‘I don’t see how adding another car to the roads could be considered environmentally friendly. And anyway, if you’re so green, why are you flying to Frankfurt? You could have asked to go by train.’
‘You’re the tree-hugger, not me.’ She grinned maliciously. ‘It must be because you hardly saw a tree when you were growing up in the good ol’ flatlands of East Frisia. I suppose all that wind blew them down.’
‘We had trees. Maybe not as many as you had in darkest Bavaria, but we had trees.’
‘We had trees, all right,’ said Susanne. ‘Forests full of them. And mountains. You know what a mountain is, don’t you Frisia Boy? It’s like a really, really, really big dyke.’
‘Very funny.’
‘I’m surprised you moved here to Hamburg. We must be all of two metres above sea level. Don’t you get nosebleeds?’
Fabel laughed. ‘If people like you keep taking domestic flights then we’ll be below sea level soon enough.’
‘Then I’ll travel by boat. Or U-boat.’ Susanne started to hum the tune of ‘Yellow Submarine’, smiling contentedly.
Rather than battle through the city, Fabel headed out along Behringstrasse and onto the A7 autobahn. As they approached the ramp, Fabel noticed a huge poster by the side of the road: a picture of a tumultuous sea beneath a stormy sky, a small, distant lighthouse casting a beam of light across the waters. Beneath the image was a logo of sorts: the words THE PHAROS ENVIRONMENTAL PROJECT in English, next to what looked like some kind of stylised eye. The slogan below stated in German: The Storm is Coming.
‘D’you think it’s real?’ Susanne asked abstractly, watching a huge four-by-four Mercedes thunder past them.
‘What?’
‘Anthropogenic climate change.’ Susanne repeated the question while tilting the rear-view mirror in her direction as she applied lipstick. ‘Do you think it’s real? That we’re responsible for screwing up the climate. Creating storms like last night?’
‘Of course it’s real.’ Fabel snapped the mirror back to its correct position, pointedly sighing his irritation. ‘All the evidence points to it being real. You’re a scientist, you’ve seen the data. You saying you don’t believe it?’
‘No… I’m not saying that. But maybe it’s not all us. Maybe there’s a natural shift. It’s happened before. And as well as natural shifts, a single volcano can do more damage than we’ve done over our entire history. Just look at the impact of all that Icelandic ash belched out into the atmosphere. If that baby or one of her bigger brothers really blows, then it could be winter for years. Mass starvation. Maybe even total and irreversible climate change. That’s not us. That’s Nature.’
‘Maybe there is a natural shift, but we’re definitely adding to it. It makes sense: releasing millions of years’ worth of stored carbon energy in a century and a half.’ Fabel sighed and looked at his watch. The road was even more congested than he had predicted. Luxury congestion: from the number of Range Rovers and battleship-sized Mercs and Lexuses, Fabel guessed that most of the usual commuter traffic from the affluent suburb of Blankenese, a little further upriver and upmarket from his Ottensen flat, had been redirected away from the Elbchaussee, the main route running along the side of the river.
‘Maybe I should think of trading up, after all,’ he said dully, watching the slow procession of luxury marques.
‘I hope we’re still talking about cars…’ Susanne grinned at him. ‘I’ll phone you tonight from my hotel, after the seminar.’
‘I’ll probably still be in the Commission.’
‘This Network Killer case?’ asked Susanne.
‘Yep. I’ll be chasing electronic ghosts until midnight,’ he said gloomily. He was about to say something else when the buzzing of his car phone interrupted him.
‘Hi, Chef, it’s Anna…’
‘Hi, Anna. What’s up?’
‘You on your way into the Presidium?’
‘No… or, at least, not yet. I’m dropping Susanne off at the airport, then heading in. What’s up?’
‘You maybe want to make a diversion down to the Fischmarkt. We’ve got a wash-up.’
‘Shit…’ Fabel paused for a moment and sighed. Not another one. ‘Does this look like the Network Killer?’
‘Actually, no. Not this one. Not unless he has completely changed his modus. This is a partial body. Dismembered.’
‘But female?’
‘Yes. She doesn’t fit with the other Network Killer victims, but it still looks like it’s one for us.’
‘Okay,’ said Fabel. ‘I’ll come straight there from the airport.’
Chapter Six
The man behind the desk sat with his back to the view. The wall behind him was completely made of toughened glass strengthened with pale steeclass="underline" an edgeless window looking out across an edgeless expanse of sodium-grey water beneath a sodium-grey sky. It created the impression that the office was unconnected to anything; just suspended, untouched by gravity and removed from the environment around it.