‘I’ll double-check these details,’ said Anna. ‘But, to be honest, his alibi doesn’t put him entirely in the clear for Hauser’s death. If he had gone straight from the restaurant to Hauser’s apartment, and if we allow a margin of error in the estimated time of death, then he could just about have done it.’
‘It would be stretching the timeline pretty far,’ said Fabel. ‘Although I have to admit there’s something about Lang that bothers me. But the main thing that puts him out of the picture is the fact that your sequence of events just doesn’t fit with Schuler’s statement. He saw Hauser sitting with a guest who broadly fits Lang’s description somewhere between eleven and eleven-thirty; Lang’s alibi is solid for that time.’
Fabel dropped Henk and Anna back at the Presidium and drove home to Poseldorf. Hamburg glowed in the dark warmth of the summer night. Something sat heavy in the back of Fabel’s mind, obscuring what this case was all about, but his tired brain could not shift it out of the way. As he drove, he knew that he was dealing with a case that was growing cold on him. A lead-less case. And that meant he might not get a break in it until the killer struck again. Considering he had killed twice within a twenty-four-hour period, and had not struck since, it was entirely possible that the killer’s work was over.
And that he had got away with it.
Midnight: Grindelviertel, Hamburg
As Fabel was driving home from the Police Presidium, Leonard Schuler was sitting in his one-bedroomed Grindelviertel apartment, counting his blessings. He had not been charged with anything. He had admitted to stealing the bike, to going out equipped to break into houses that night but, just as the older cop had said, they had not been interested in any of that. The older cop had really rattled Schuler with his talk of hanging him out as bait for the nutter who was scalping these guys. But even if Leonard had been scared, he had stayed smart: he knew not to give them any more than the absolute minimum. The reason the older cop’s threat had scared him so much was because Leonard had got a much better look at the guy in the apartment than he had admitted. And the guy in the apartment had got a good long look at Schuler.
It had been Schuler’s intention to break into the flat if there had been no one at home. He had planned his getaway with slightly more foresight than usual. Having prised open the lock on the bike, he had left it propped against the wall of the alley before slipping around to the courtyard. It had not been too dark that night, but when Leonard had sneaked around to the back of the apartment the height of the buildings surrounding the yard had cast it into dark shadow. It had been a gift to a burglar, thought Schuler, but one of the occupiers had obviously been security conscious and a motion-sensitive security light had suddenly flooded the small courtyard with blazing light. Schuler had been temporarily dazzled and had taken a blind step forward. The recycling bins must have been too full because he had knocked over some bottles that had been set beside the bins, causing them to clatter loudly on the cobbles of the courtyard.
Schuler had taken a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden bright light. It was then that he had seen the two men. They had clearly been disturbed from their conversation by Schuler’s clumsiness and had come to the window and looked out directly at him – he was only a metre and a half away. There had been an older guy, whom he now knew to have been Hauser, and a younger one. It had been the expression, or lack of it, on the face of the younger man that had really spooked Schuler. Even more so now, knowing as he did what this individual had gone on to commit.
He had looked into the dead, expressionless face of a killer.
Now, when Schuler thought back to that stare, to that dreadful calm on the face of a man who must have known what horrors he was about to perpetrate, it chilled him to the core.
The older cop, Fabel, had been right. He had described a monster who took people into hell before they died. Schuler wanted no part of it. Whoever – whatever – this killer was, the police would never catch him.
Schuler was out of it now.
10.
Thirteen Days After the First Murder: Wednesday, 31 August 2005.
9.10 a.m.: Police Presidium, Hamburg
Fabel had been at his desk since seven-thirty. He had again gone through the BKA files that Ullrich had lent him and had taken out the sketch pad from his desk and plotted out as much as he could from the information at his disposal.
He phoned Bertholdt Muller-Voigt’s office. After he explained who he was, Fabel was told that the Environment Senator was working from home, which he often did, as yet another visible commitment to reducing his travel kilometres and therefore his impact on the environment. His secretary said she could, however, get right back to Fabel with an appointment for that day.
Fabel made another call. Henk Hermann had got Fabel the number for Ingrid Fischmann, the journalist.
‘Hello, Frau Fischmann? This is Principal Chief Commissar Jan Fabel of the Polizei Hamburg. I work for the Murder Commission, and I am currently investigating the murder of Hans-Joachim Hauser. I wondered if it would be possible to meet. I think you could help me with some background information…’
‘Oh… I see…’ The woman’s voice at the other end sounded a lot younger and lacked the authority that Fabel had somehow expected. ‘Okay… how about three p.m. at my office?’
‘That’s fine. Thank you, Frau Fischmann. I have the address.’
Within a few minutes of hanging up from Ingrid Fischmann, Bertholdt Muller-Voigt’s secretary phoned back saying that the Senator could fit Fabel in if he could make his way directly to Herr Muller-Voigt’s house. She gave Fabel an address near Stade in the Altes Land, outside Hamburg and on the south side of the Elbe. He doesn’t mind me clocking up the kilometres, thought Fabel as he hung up.
Muller-Voigt’s house was a huge modern home that had ‘expensive architect’ written in every angle and detail, and Fabel reflected on how the former left-wing environmentalist firebrand seemed to have embraced conspicuous consumption with great enthusiasm. As he approached the front door, however, Fabel noticed that what had appeared to be blue marble tiling along the whole front elevation was, in fact, a facade made up entirely of solar panels.
Muller-Voigt answered the door. As Fabel remembered him from Lex’s restaurant, he was a smallish but fit-looking man with broad shoulders and a tanned face broken by a broad, white-toothed smile.
‘Herr Chief Commissar, please… do come in.’
Fabel had heard of Muller-Voigt’s charm: his primary weapon, apparently, with women and political opponents alike. It was well known that he could turn it off whenever necessary. He could be an aggressive and highly outspoken opponent. The politician showed Fabel into a vast living room with a pine-lined double-height vaulted ceiling. He offered Fabel a drink, which the detective declined.
‘What can I do for you, Herr Fabel?’ asked Muller-Voigt, sitting down on a large corner sofa and indicating that Fabel should do likewise.
‘I’m sure you’ve heard of the deaths of Hans-Joachim Hauser and Gunter Griebel?’ asked Fabel.
‘God, yes. Terrible, terrible business.’
‘You knew Herr Hauser rather well, I believe.’
‘Yes, I did. But not socially for years. Not so much at all recently, in fact. I would bump into Hans-Joachim at the occasional conference or action meeting. And, of course, I knew Gunter, too. Not so well, and I hadn’t seen him for an even longer time than Hans-Joachim, but I did know him.’
Fabel looked startled. ‘I’m sorry, Herr Muller-Voigt – did you say you knew both victims?’
‘Yes, of course I did. Is that strange?’
‘Well…’ said Fabel. ‘My entire purpose in coming here was to see if you could cast light on any possible connection between the two victims. A connection, I have to add, that so far we have been unable to establish. Now it looks like you are that link.’