At least it bought him time to think.
He knew that his team would be somewhere on the perimeter of the evacuated area, waiting. When he had phoned in to the Presidium, he had spoken first to the bomb squad and then had asked for the Murder Commission. But the bomb squad had told Fabel not to make any more calls on his cellphone and to switch it off as soon as he hung up. Fabel could have left some kind of message, but he had decided not to. He still didn’t know what he was going to tell his colleagues. Seeing the photographs of Gabi had spooked him badly.
This guy had obviously been tailing Fabel. Stalking him. That would explain, perhaps, how he had found out about Leonard Schuler: the arrogant son of a bitch must have somehow been tracking every move that the Murder Commission team made. Maybe he had even followed Schuler home from the Presidium. No. That did not fit. How could he have known about Schuler? The young thief had been brought in by a uniform unit. Schuler had only ever been seen by the murder team while inside the Presidium building. An idea started to form in Fabel’s brain: Leonard Schuler had not been fully honest about what he saw; about all he knew about the killer. Why had Schuler held back? Had he been involved in the killings after all? Had he been in this together with the voice on the phone? Maybe Fabel’s radar had been faulty on this one.
Three LKA7 bomb-disposal officers joined their commander. They brought with them four large black canvas holdalls which they placed a few metres from the car and took equipment from them, laying it out on the ground. Fabel took comfort from the clearly well-practised methodology and the reassuringly purposeful movements of the squad members. Two officers took something that looked like an oversized chunky laptop computer along with some cables and disappeared from Fabel’s view and under the car.
Fabel sat in the BMW convertible that he had owned for six years and waited. As he did so, he did his best to think his way though this mess.
Gabi. Fabel had fought back the instinct to panic, to get the bomb squad to tell his team to arrange protection for her. If he had, he would have shown his cards to the killer, who would know that Fabel had divulged all their conversation to his superiors. For now, Gabi was safe: whatever business the Hamburg Hairdresser had that evening, it involved one of the people on his list. Gabi was his trump card held back for the moment. Fabel knew that while the killer had seemed to tell him more than would be advisable, he had told him only those things that he wanted Fabel to know. At least now Fabel knew for sure that this was all about the victims’ past.
There was a tapping sound from under the car as the bomb-disposal specialists worked. Delicate work, but to Fabel’s fear-heightened senses every tap reverberated through the car and his body like a hammer striking a bell.
He could do it. He could just drop the case. In fact, if he told Criminal Director van Heiden exactly what the killer had said to him his boss would probably insist that he pass the case on. Fabel reflected bitterly on the truth of the killer’s logic: these people meant nothing to him; his daughter meant everything. Give up the case. Let someone else take it on.
More tapping. Fabel’s mouth felt even dryer. He looked at his watch: 11.45 p.m. For three hours he had not been able to open a door or window and consequently had not had access to water. Maybe it would end here. A slip of a pair of pliers, the wrong connection severed, and it would all be over. This could be the end of the path he had taken all those years ago, after Hanna Dorn had been murdered. The wrong path.
Sitting in the stifling heat of his car, aware of every sound made and every move taken by the bomb-disposal specialists beneath him, Fabel was conscious of the fact that the person he had spoken to on his cellphone nearly three hours ago had probably already murdered and mutilated another victim. Ideas and images bustled around in a brain that was too tired to think; that had been too afraid for too long to see beyond this single experience. The pictures of his daughter, taken covertly by a maniac, flashed repeatedly through his head.
As Jan Fabel sat there, waiting for rescue or for death, he made a decision about his future.
It happened so fast that it was all over before Fabel knew what was happening. Suddenly the car door was thrown open by one of the bomb-squad team and he was being pulled out by another. The two men rushed Fabel clear of the car, out of the glare of the arc lights and across to the secured perimeter. Van Heiden, Anna Wolff, Werner Meyer, Henk Hermann, Maria Klee, Frank Grueber and Holger Brauner were all gathered by the cordon. Grueber and Brauner were already kitted out in their forensic oversuits, as were the five-strong forensics team with them. Fabel was handed a bottle of water which he gulped at greedily.
The LKA7 commander came over to Fabel. ‘We’ve made safe the device. We’re taking it apart to find the location for the second bomb. So far, nothing. What’s the deal with this guy, Herr Fabel? Is he a terrorist or an extortionist, or just a maniac?’
‘All of the above,’ said Fabel wearily.
‘Whatever his motive, this guy knows what he’s doing.’ The bomb-squad chief made to head off to his armoured vehicle. Fabel stopped him by placing a hand on his arm.
‘He’s not the only one who knows what they’re doing,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ The bomb-squad commander smiled.
‘You okay, Jan?’ asked Werner.
Fabel took another slug from the water bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘No, Werner. Far from it.’ He turned to van Heiden. ‘We need to talk, Herr Criminal Director.’
14.
Twenty-Six Days After the First Murder: Tuesday, 13 September 2005.
9.45 a.m.: Police Presidium, Hamburg
It was Police President Hugo Steinbach, Hamburg’s chief of police, with Criminal Director van Heiden by his side, who made the statement to the assembled press, radio and television journalists who formed a jostling throng on the steps of the Police Presidium.
‘I can confirm that a senior police officer serving with the Polizei Hamburg was the victim of an unsuccessful attempt on his life yesterday evening. As a result of this, for his own safety and to allow him to recuperate fully from the ordeal, he has been removed from duty.’
‘Can you confirm that this officer was Principal Chief Commissar Fabel of the Murder Commission?’ A short, fat, dark-haired reporter in a too-small black leather jacket had pushed his way to the front. Jens Tiedemann was well known to his fellow journalists.
‘We are not prepared, at this stage in the investigation, to give details of the identity of the officer involved,’ answered van Heiden. ‘But I will confirm that it was a member of the Murder Commission who was on duty at the time.’
‘Last night an area of Hammerbrook was evacuated and cordoned off,’ Tiedemann was insistent and raised his voice above the others. ‘It was reported that an explosive device was found and it was assumed that it was a piece of British ordnance from the Second World War and that a team from the bomb squad was defusing it. Can you now confirm that this was in fact a terrorist bomb planted in the vehicle of this officer?’
Tiedemann’s question seemed to fall like a spark that ignited a barrage of other questions from the rest of the journalists. When Police President Steinbach answered he directed his response at the small reporter.
‘We can confirm that members of the bomb-disposal team were deployed to make safe an explosive device at the scene,’ said Steinbach. ‘There is no suggestion of any terrorist involvement.’
‘But this was no World War Two bomb, was it?’ Tiedemann clung on with the persistence of a terrier. ‘Someone was trying to blow up one of your officers, weren’t they?’
‘As we have already stated,’ said van Heiden, ‘an attempt was made on the life of a Murder Commission officer. We cannot say any more at the moment, as our investigation is continuing.’