It had been the perfect place for him. His unshared space. But now, as his relationship with Susanne developed, all that was changing. A new phase in his life was beginning; maybe even a new life. He had asked Susanne to move in with him and it was clear that Fabel’s Poseldorf apartment would be too cramped for two of them. Susanne’s apartment was large enough, but it was rented and Fabel, having made the tricky leap into German home ownership, did not want to go back to renting. They had decided, therefore, to pool their resources and buy anapartment. The economy was pulling out of its eight-year-long dip and Fabel’s current flat would attract a good price, or it could be rented out, and their combined incomes would mean that they would be able to afford somewhere half-decent and not too far away from the city centre.
It all sounded good and sensible, and it had been Fabel himself who had suggested moving in together. But every time he contemplated the move from Poseldorf and his small, independent space with its great views, his heart sank a little. To start with, Susanne had been the reluctant one. Fabel knew she had had a bad relationship before, with a domineering partner. This guy had done a real number on her self-esteem and the relationship had been a disaster for Susanne. The result had been that she was very protective of her independence. That was about all Fabel knew: Susanne was a normally open and frank person but that was all she had been prepared to tell him about it. That part of her past lay sealed and locked from Fabel and anyone else. Nevertheless, she had gradually warmed to the idea of them moving in together and was now, if anything, the driving force behind finding a new place to share.
Fabel parked in the dedicated space for his apartment building and let himself into his flat. He took a quick shower and changed into a black shirt and trousers and a lightweight English jacket before heading out again and walking down to the Milchstrasse.
Poseldorf had started off as the Armeleutegegend – Hamburg’s poor people’s quarter – and it still had the slightly dissonant feel of a village in the heart of a great city. Since the 1960s, however, Poseldorf had become increasingly trendy and, consequently, the financial status of its residents had swung from one extreme to the other. Poseldorf’s image of impeccably chic affluence had been underlined by the success of names like the designer Jill Sander, whose fashion empire had started out as a Poseldorf studio and boutique. The Milchstrasse was at the heart of Poseldorf: a narrow street crowded with wine bars, jazz clubs, boutiques and restaurants.
It took Fabel less than five minutes to walk from his apartment to his favourite cafe-bar. It was already busy when he arrived and he had to squeeze through the throng of customers that had gathered in the bottleneck at the bar. He made his way to the elevated seating area at the rear and sat at a free table in the corner, with the exposed brick of the wall at his back. As he sat down he suddenly felt tired. And old. His first day back at work had taken a great deal out of him and he was finding it harder to get back into the swing of things.
Trying to summon an appetite, he sought to push the image of the scalped head of Hans-Joachim Hauser from his mind. But he found that another strangely took its place: the mortuary photograph of a young, pretty girl with high Slavic cheekbones who had been robbed of her name and her dignity by people traffickers and robbed of her life by a fat, balding nobody. Fabel had agreed with Maria more than he could admit: he would have loved to allow her to follow up the Olga X case, to track down the organised criminals who had dragged the girl down into a life of prostitution by offering the pretence of a new life. But that was not their job.
Fabel’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival at his table of a waiter. He had served Fabel before on several previous occasions and chatted with him unhurriedly before taking his order. It was a small ritual that marked Fabel as a regular; but it also underlined for Fabel himself a sense of place, a sense of belonging. Fabel knew he was a creature of habit: a predictable man who liked routines with which to measure and maintain the order of his universe. As he sat in the cafe that he invariably chose to dine in, he found that he became annoyed with himself: with the fact that the intuitive gambles he was prepared to take in his work did not seem to extend into how he managed his private life. But that was exactly how his private life was: managed. For a moment he thought about making an excuse and leaving; going a few paces down Milchstrasse to dine somewhere different. But he didn’t; instead he ordered a Jever beer and a herring salad. His usual.
The waiter had just brought over his beer when Fabel became aware of someone standing beside him. He looked up to see a tall woman in her mid-twenties, with long dark brown hair and large hazel eyes. She was dressed in a smart skirt and top which were plain and tasteful, but which could not conceal the deadly curves of her figure. She smiled, and her teeth shone in the full, lipsticked mouth.
‘Hello, Herr Fabel… I hope I’m not disturbing you.’
Fabel half-rose. For a second he recognised the face but could not quite put a name to it. Then he remembered.
‘Sonja… Sonja Brun… How are you? Please…’ He indicated the seat opposite. ‘Please sit down…’
‘No… no, thank you.’ She gestured vaguely with her hand towards a group of women sitting at another table, nearer the window. ‘I’m here with friends from work. It was just that I saw you here and wanted to say hello.’
‘Please, do sit down for a moment. I haven’t seen you in over a year. How are you?’ he asked again.
‘I’m fine. I’m more than fine. The job is working out really well. I’ve been promoted. That was the other thing…’ Sonja paused. ‘I really wanted to thank you again for all that you did for me.’
Fabel smiled. ‘There’s no need. You already did that. Many times. I’m just glad things are working out for you.’
Sonja’s expression became serious. ‘It was much more than things working out for me, Herr Fabel. I have a new life now. A good life. No one knows about… well, about the past. I owe that to you.’
‘No, Sonja. You owe that to yourself. You’ve worked very hard to achieve everything that you have.’
There was an awkward pause and then they chatted briefly and pointlessly for a while about Sonja’s work.
‘I must get back to my friends. It’s Birgit’s birthday and we’re out celebrating. It was really nice to see you again.’ Sonja smiled and extended her hand.
‘It was good to see you again, Sonja. And I really am pleased that things are working out for you.’ They shook hands but Sonja lingered for a moment. She held her smile but looked uncertain about what she was going to do next. Then she took a small notebook from her purse and scribbled on it before tearing the sheet out and handing it to Fabel.
‘Here’s my number. Just in case you’re ever in the area…’
Fabel looked down at the piece of paper. ‘Sonja… I…’
‘It’s okay…’ She smiled. ‘I understand. But keep it – just in case.’
They said goodbye and Fabel watched her as she walked back to her friends. She moved on her long shapely legs with the catlike elegance he remembered. Sonja rejoined her friends and they shared a joke and laughed, but she turned her head and looked back at Fabel, holding his gaze for a moment before re-immersing herself in the predictable jollity of an office night out.
He looked again at the scrap of paper and at the telephone number written in large figures.
Sonja Brun.
Fabel had come across her during a case in which a very brave undercover policeman called Hans Klugmann had lost his life. As part of his cover, Klugmann had become the boyfriend of Sonja Brun, a vivacious young girl who had somehow become drawn into porn shoots and part-time prostitution. Klugmann had clearly genuinely felt something for Sonja and had sought to free her from a degrading and self-destructive life. After Klugmann had been killed, Fabel had made a silent promise to a dead colleague: to finish the job and help Sonja escape from Hamburg’s notorious half-world of vice and corruption.