‘What?’ Reinhard said incredulously. ‘I get soaked in coffee for the sake of a stolen bike?’
‘Not just any stolen bike.’ Schreiner paused as he swung the Mercedes, tail first, out into Lipmannsstrasse. He took off after the cyclist again with a screech of tyres. ‘The person it was stolen from was Hans-Joachim Hauser. This could be his killer.’
The cyclist had lost the advantage of parked cars restricting the speed of the police car and again he mounted the pavement. Reinhard leaned forward in his seat, forgetting all about the coffee spilled on his uniform shirt. ‘Then let’s get the bastard.’
Schreiner could tell that the cyclist knew the Viertel well. He made a sudden left turn, swinging into Eifflerstrasse, heading against the flow of traffic on the one-way street and forcing Schreiner to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting an oncoming Volkswagen. Schreiner leaped from the car and raced along the pavement after the cyclist, Reinhard hard on his heels and the curses of the VW driver in his ears. The cyclist was getting away; he looked back over his shoulder at the policemen, grinning and raising a fist in a gesture of defiance. It was short-lived: oblivious to the chase on the pavement, the driver of a parked car swung open his door and its edge caught the passing bike, sending it crashing into the wall of one of the buildings. By the time the cyclist had rolled over onto his back, clutching his bruised knee, the two policemen had caught up with him and towered over him, their handguns trained on his head.
‘Stay on the ground!’ Reinhard shouted at the stunned bicycle thief. ‘Stretch your hands out above your head.’ The cyclist did exactly as he was told.
‘Okay… okay…’ he said as he gazed at the firearms pointed at him. ‘I admit it, for Christ’s sake… I stole the fucking bike!’
9.10 p.m.: Police Presidium, Hamburg
It was clear to Fabel that the pale-faced, blond-haired young man sitting in the Murder Commission interview room had nothing to do with Hans-Joachim Hauser’s murder. Leonard Schuler had the look of an animal caught in headlights. And from what Fabel had read of Schuler’s record as a petty criminal, he simply did not fit as Hauser’s killer.
Fabel hung back, leaning against the wall by the door. He let Anna and Henk lead the interview.
‘I don’t know anything about any murder,’ Schuler declared, his stare darting from one police officer to the other as if seeking confirmation that they believed him. ‘I mean, I heard about that guy Hauser getting killed, but until I was arrested I didn’t even know it was his place that I took the bike from.’
‘Well.’ Anna smiled. ‘The bad news for you is that you’re all we’ve got at the moment. Herr Hauser chained his bike up when he got home about ten p.m., then his cleaner finds him missing his hair at nine a.m. the following morning. There’s only one person we can place anywhere near him between those times. You.’
‘But I wasn’t anywhere near him,’ protested Schuler. ‘I didn’t set foot inside the apartment. I just saw his bike and I stole it.’
‘When was this?’ asked Henk.
‘I reckon about eleven. Eleven-thirty. I’d been drinking with friends and I suppose I’d had a bit too much. I was walking along the street and I saw the bike. And I thought, well, why walk when you can ride? It was just a prank. A joke. It was chained up, but I was able to prise the lock open.’
‘With what? From what we can gather, Herr Hauser was pretty fond of that bike and I would guess he had a reasonably sturdy security chain on it.’
‘I had a screwdriver with me…’ Schuler paused. ‘And a pair of pliers.’
‘Do you normally go out for a drink with your pockets full of tools?’ Henk threw a plastic evidence bag onto the table with a clatter. ‘This is what was found on you when you were arrested tonight
… Screwdriver, pliers, hacksaw blade and – this is really interesting – a couple of pairs of disposable latex medical gloves. I can’t work out whether you’re a twenty-four-hour joiner or a moonlighting surgeon.’
Schuler once more looked from Henk to Anna and back, as if hoping that they would give him an idea what to say.
‘Listen, Leonard,’ Henk continued. ‘You have three convictions for breaking into private dwellings and one for car theft. That’s why you did a runner when the patrol car tried to stop you. Not because you were worried about being caught on a stolen bike – you could have claimed that you’d found it dumped. You were out looking for an apartment to do over. Just the same as you were the night you stole the bike. I find it difficult to believe that you didn’t think it worthwhile to have a little look-see to find out if there was anything else worth nicking.’
‘I keep telling you… I didn’t go anywhere near Hauser’s apartment. I was a bit pissed so I nicked the bike. For Christ’s sake, do you think I would have held on to it if I had topped the owner?’
‘Good point…’ Fabel moved over from the door. He pulled up a chair next to Schuler and leaned his face close in to the young man. When he spoke it was with a quiet, deliberate menace. ‘I want you to listen to me, Leonard. I want you to understand something very clearly. I hunt people. In this case I am hunting a very particular man… like me, he is a hunter of other men. The difference is that he stalks them, he finds them, and then he does this to them…’ Fabel looked across to Anna and snapped his fingers impatiently. She handed him the file with the scenes-of-crime photographs. Fabel took one from the file and held it so close to Schuler’s face that the young thief had to pull back from it. When Schuler focused on the image, his expression contorted with disgust. Fabel snapped the photograph away and replaced it with another. ‘Do you see what my guy does? This is the person who interests me, Leonard. This is who I am after. You, on the other hand, are a worthless piece of shit that I am only taking the time to wipe off my shoe.’ Fabel leaned back in the chair. ‘I believe that it is important to establish a sense of perspective in these things. I just want you to understand that. You do understand that, don’t you, Leonard?’
Schuler nodded his head silently. There was a heartbeat’s pause.
‘I also want you to understand this.’ Fabel laid the photographs of both victims face up on the table’s surface. As with all scenes-of-crime photographs the colours were camera-flash stark and vivid. The dead-stare eyes of Hans-Joachim Hauser and Gunter Griebel gazed out towards the ceiling from beneath their ravaged heads. ‘If you do not convince me, within the next two minutes, that you are telling me the absolute truth… do you know what I’m going to do?’
‘No…’ Schuler tried to sound as though Fabel had not rattled him. He failed. ‘No… what will you do?’
Fabel stood up. ‘I will let you go.’
Schuler gave a confused laugh and looked across at Anna and Henk, both of whom remained expressionless.
‘I will let you walk out of here,’ continued Fabel. ‘And I will make sure that it is public knowledge that you are our principal witness to this murder. I might even allow one of the less scrupulous local newspapers to feel that they have tricked your name and address out of me. Then…’ Fabel gave a small, cruel laugh. ‘Oh, then, Leonard my boy, then you won’t ever have to worry about us again. Like I said, I don’t hunt small fry like you. But I can use you as bait.’ Fabel leaned close to Schuler once more. ‘You don’t understand this man. You could never even begin to think in the same way. But I can. I have hunted so many killers like him. Too many. Let me tell you, they don’t see or feel the world in the same way we do. Some of them don’t feel fear. Honestly. Some – most of them, actually – kill just to watch what it is like for another human being to die. And quite a few of them savour each death in the same way the rest of us would enjoy a fine wine or a good meal. And that means they like to make the experience last. To relish every last second. And trust me, Leonard… if my friend here believes that you might lead us to him, that you maybe saw him without him seeing you, it won’t cost him a thought to hunt you down and kill you. But he doesn’t just kill. Just imagine what it must feel like to be tied to a chair while he slices you up and tears your scalp from your head. And all that pain, all that horror, would be the very last thing on earth that you would experience. An eternal moment. Oh no, Leonard, he won’t just kill you. He’ll take you with him into hell first.’ Fabel stood up and extended an arm towards the door. ‘So, Leonard, do you want me to release you