The books were not the only thing that Fabel recognised: there was a large poster of the Neu Versen bog body on the wall. Red Franz.
‘I am very sorry for your loss,’ he said. Fabel invariably felt awkward in these situations, despite years of experience of them. He always did feel genuinely sorry for the families of victims, and he was always aware that he was stepping into shattered lives. But he was also there to do a job.
‘I take it this is your room?’ he asked. ‘You live here permanently with your mother?’
‘If you can call it permanent. I’m often away abroad on digs. I travel a lot, generally.’
‘Your mother ran a business from home?’ asked Fabel. ‘What was it she did?’
Franz Brandt gave a bitter laugh. ‘New Age therapies, mainly. It was crap, to be honest. I don’t think she believed any of it herself. Mostly to do with reincarnation.’
‘Reincarnation?’ Fabel thought of Gunter Griebel and his researches into genetic memory. Could there be some kind of link? Then he remembered. Muller-Voigt had mentioned a woman who had been involved with the Gaia Collective. He took his notebook out and searched through his notes. It was there. Beate Brandt. He looked at the pale young man before him. He was near to breaking down. Fabel looked around the bedroom-cum-study and his gaze again fell on the poster.
‘I know this gentleman…’ said Fabel, smiling. ‘He comes from Ostfriesland, like me. It’s funny, but recently he seems to keep on cropping up in my life. Synchronicity or something.’
Brandt smiled weakly. ‘Red Franz… It was my nickname at university. Because of my hair. And because everyone knew that he was my favourite bog body, if you know what I mean. It was Red Franz that inspired me to become an archaeologist. I first read about him at school and became fascinated with finding out about the lives of our ancestors. Discovering the truth about how they lived. And died.’ He went quiet and turned his head towards the door that led to the living room where his mother lay. Fabel rested a hand on his shoulder.
‘Listen, Franz…’ Fabel spoke in a quiet, soothing tone. ‘I know how difficult this is for you. And I know that you are shocked and afraid right now. But I need to ask you some questions about your mother. I need to get to this maniac before he gets to anyone else. Are you up to this?’
Brandt stared at Fabel for a moment, his eyes wild. ‘Why? Why did he do… that… to my mother? What does it all mean?’
‘I don’t know, Franz.’
Brandt took a sip of water and Fabel noticed how his hand trembled.
‘Does your mother have any connection with the town of Nordenham?’
Brandt shook his head.
‘Was she politically active in her youth, as far as you know?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I just need to know – it may have something to do with the killer’s motives.’
‘Yes… yes, she was. Environmentalism. And the student movement. Mostly in the nineteen seventies and early nineteen eighties. She remained involved in environmental issues.’
‘Did she know Hans-Joachim Hauser or Gunter Griebel? Do these names mean anything to you?’
‘Hauser, yes. My mother knew him well. Earlier, I mean. They were both involved in anti-nuclear protests and later with the Greens. I don’t think she had much contact with Hauser over recent years.’
‘And what about Gunter Griebel?’
Brandt shrugged. ‘It’s not a name I can say I’ve heard of. She certainly never discussed him. But I can’t say for certain that she didn’t know him.’
‘Listen, Franz, I have to be totally honest with you,’ said Fabel. ‘I don’t know if this maniac is acting out of a desire for revenge or just has something against people of your mother’s generation and political leanings. But there has to be something linking all the victims, including your mother. If I’m right, she may have made the link between the deaths of Hauser and Griebel. Have you noticed anything strange in your mother’s behaviour over recent weeks? Specifically since the press announced the first killing, Hans-Joachim Hauser?’
‘Of course she reacted to that. Like I said, she had worked with Hauser in the past. She was shocked when she read about what had been done to him.’ Brandt’s eyes filled with pain as he realised that he was talking about the same horrific disfigurement that had been performed on his own mother.
‘What about the other murders?’ Fabel sought to keep Brandt focused on his questions. ‘Did she talk about them at all? Or did they seem to trouble her particularly?’
‘I can’t say. I was away on another dig for the university for about three weeks. But, now that you mention it, she did seem very withdrawn and quiet over the last couple of days.’
Fabel watched the young man closely. ‘You found your mother this morning when you came down for breakfast?’
‘Yes. I was late in last night and I went straight to bed. I assumed that my mother was already asleep.’
‘How late?’
‘About eleven-thirty.’
‘And you didn’t go into the living room?’
‘Obviously not. If I had, I would have seen my mother like… like that. I would have phoned you right away.’
‘And where were you last night until eleven?’
‘At the university, writing up some notes.’
‘Anyone see you there? I’m sorry, Franz, but I have to ask.’
Brandt sighed. ‘I saw Dr Severts, briefly. Apart from that, I don’t think so.’
It was at the mention of Severts’s name that it fell into place for Fabel.
‘That’s where we met before. It’s been bothering me. It was you who discovered the mummified body down at the HafenCity site.’
‘That’s right,’ said Brandt bleakly. His mind was on things other than where he had previously met the detective investigating his mother’s brutal murder.
‘You’re not aware of your mother expecting any visitors last night?’
‘No. She told me that she was going to have an early night.’
Fabel caught sight of Frank Grueber, who had entered the room and nodded now to indicate that the scene was clear for Fabel to enter.
‘Is there anywhere you can spend the night?’ Fabel asked Brandt. ‘If not, I can arrange for a car to take you to a hotel.’ Fabel thought about his own recent situation; about how he had been torn from his own home by an act of violence.
Brandt shook his shock of red hair. ‘That’s not necessary. I have a friend, a girl, who I can stay with. I’ll phone her.’
‘Okay. Leave the address and number where we can reach you. I really am so terribly sorry for your loss, Franz.’
15.
Twenty-Seven Days After the First Murder: Wednesday, 14 September 2005.
1.00 p.m.: Police Presidium, Hamburg
The days were losing their definition: running into each another with a seamless lethargy. Fabel had grabbed a couple of hours of fractured sleep at the Presidium. But the fact that two murders, executed in totally different ways by the same killer, had coincided meant that, even with all the resources at his disposal, he was working himself and his team harder and longer than he should. They were all tired. When you were tired, you did not work at maximum efficiency. And they were hunting a maximum-efficiency killer.
It had been the morning before Fabel had found the time to head home for a few hours’ sleep and a shower that would, hopefully, refresh his senses and his ability to think.