Blood Relative (29 page)

I hardly dared ask my next question for fear of what the answer would be: ‘Had she been abused … sexually, I mean?’

‘I don’t think she was,’ said Wahrmann, with an emphasis on the word ‘she’ that suggested others might have been. ‘Bettina took Mariana to a doctor to be examined and was told that she was still, ah … intact. But something happened to her, that is for sure. Something very bad.’

‘Did she ever talk about it?’

‘No, never, not a word …’

‘What had happened to you, while all this was going on?’

‘All the political prisoners were released from jail in January 1990. I made my way back to Berlin. It was not much of a homecoming. Bettina was filled with rage towards me for what I had done to her and Mariana …’

Wahrmann’s voice drifted away.

‘Were you able to earn a living at least?’

‘Well, my knowledge of the East German economy was of considerable use to the unification process. I was also able to assist the authorities in some of their investigations of former Stasi personnel.’

‘So you put some of the bastards away?’

‘Some, maybe … though many fewer than I would have liked. There has never been a great hunger to pursue the wrongs that were done in the East. Many crimes have gone unpunished. Many victims are unavenged.’

‘Meanwhile you and Bettina split, and she took Mariana off to the West …’

Wahrmann needed another drink of water before he answered: ‘Yes, it became … necessary.’

‘Why?’

‘Some of my former colleagues in the East were not happy with what I was doing for a government they still perceived as the enemy. Like you, they accused me of treachery, of betraying my countrymen. Attempts were made …’

I’d picked up the barbed aside but tried to ignore it: ‘Was that when you were poisoned with thallium?’

‘Yes. Also, the brakes on my car were cut … They failed while I was driving along a normal stretch of road, on a clear, sunny day.’

Like Haller, I thought: was that what had happened to him?

Wahrmann continued: ‘After that there were threats against Bettina and Mariana. So they were given a new family name, new birth certificates, new passports … It was best for my little Mariana. I had to let her go to make sure that she would be safe.’

As hard as Wahrmann’s two imprisonments must have been, let alone the periods of interrogation that had preceded them, it seemed to me that none of it had come close to hurting him as much as the destruction of his family. His voice was hesitant, his shoulders had slumped and the lines on his face seemed to be grooved even deeper than before.

‘And the attacks on you stopped?’ I asked.

‘Yes. You know how it is. Time passes. I think I ceased to be seen as a threat. My enemies had better things to do, bigger games to play. I went back to Humboldt University, as a lecturer and eventually a professor. I have also acted as a consultant for various banks. That is how I could afford,’ Wahrmann waved a hand at the room around him, ‘all this. In recent years I have been looking in particular at the way in which the global capital markets have spun out of control.’ His eyes glinted with ironic amusement: ‘As you know, I specialize in failing economic systems.’

‘And did you ever try to find out what had happened to Mariana in the orphanage?’

‘All the time. But it was very difficult to track down the children who were at the orphanage at the same time as Mariana. Many records had been lost or destroyed, and when I did find names of children many had just vanished. Others would not talk. Others became vagrants, junkies. Half-a-dozen at least died very young: overdoses, traffic accidents, even exposure to the cold.’

‘And no one thought this was suspicious, all these young people dying?’

‘Absolutely it was suspicious. But there was very little evidence. And they were just street kids. No one cared about them. Sometimes I even had the feeling that some people – powerful people – wanted to make sure that there were no proper police investigations. Many former Stasi officials still wield a lot of influence, you know.’

‘What do you know about Hans-Peter Tretow?’

‘Ah!’ Wahrmann gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I know he worked at the orphanage while Mariana was there. I am certain he had something to do with the way she is now. I suspect he had a hand in the disappearance of some of the other former inmates. So does Weiss. But we have never been able to link him definitively to any particular crime. And now it is too late. We have a statute of limitations. Beyond a certain point it is no longer possible to prosecute someone for a crime they committed in the past.’

‘Well, there’s something he’s still frightened of, something he doesn’t want anyone to know. Think about it: Haller’s brakes failed. Does that sound familiar?’

Wahrmann’s eyes widened as he too made the connection with his past.

‘I was also attacked when I went to Haller’s office,’ I went on. ‘Weiss is sure Tretow is connected to both incidents. So there’s something he wants to keep quiet.’

Wahrmann thought for a moment before he spoke again: ‘Well, there is of course one crime that is not subject to any limitation.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked, though I already knew what the answer had to be.

‘Murder,’ said Rainer Wahrmann. ‘Somewhere inside her, deep inside, Mariana knows about a murder.’

45

The silence that fell between us was broken by a rap on the door. A moment later the nurse came in. She took one look at Wahrmann then glared at me disapprovingly.

‘It’s all right, my dear,’ said Wahrmann, spotting the unspoken criticism. ‘Herr Crookham and I have been catching up on some family history.’

‘You need your rest,’ the nurse said.

‘I shall soon have more than enough of that.’

A brief flicker of pain disturbed the nurse’s authoritative, professional façade. ‘You really must get back into bed,’ she said.

‘Just give us two more minutes,’ said Wahrmann. ‘And then, I promise, I will be a good boy.’

The nurse sighed theatrically, shook her head as if to say, ‘What’s to be done with you?’ and then retreated back to the door. ‘Two minutes, and not a second more,’ she said as she left.

Wahrmann turned his attention back to me. ‘I am sorry I could not have helped you more. But at least you now have some information to help the doctors treating Mariana. That will make their job much easier, I am sure. In time they will find the truth from her.’

‘You sound like you think I should give up.’

‘What else can you do?’

‘Ask Tretow? He knows exactly what happened.’

Wahrmann gave a low, bitter laugh. ‘And what makes you think he would even talk to you, let alone tell you anything of value?’

‘I don’t know. But I’ll tell you one thing. I bet he’s as curious about me and what I know as I am about him.’

‘The difference is that he is prepared to kill. You said so yourself.’

‘He can hardly have another go at me, not after what’s already happened. That would just be asking for trouble. Anyway, Tretow’s a bit short-staffed right now. Weiss’s people are already after the men who shot at us. They’ll be keeping their heads well down.’

Wahrmann gave an irritable, ‘Puh!’ exactly the same way Mariana did. ‘Listen to yourself, talking like a tough guy. Have you not paid any attention to anything I have said? Have you not heard what happens when a man tries to play the hero? You are an architect. So stick to architecture … like I should have stuck to economics. Mariana has already lost a father. Do you really want her to lose her husband as well?’

‘I just told you, I don’t think she will lose me …’

His hand reached out between our chairs and caught my wrist in a surprisingly fierce grip. ‘I don’t care what you think, Crookham. I am not prepared to take any more risks. Go back to your hotel: I will ask Weiss to make sure you are protected. Get a good night’s sleep. Then go to the airport tomorrow morning and get the first flight back to England. Tell the doctors everything you know. Help my daughter. Help her to get well.’

‘But I don’t know enough yet. She’ll end up in jail.’

‘Yes, and in time she will be released, just as her mother and I were released. And that is when she will need you to help her rebuild her life. So promise me you won’t contact Tretow.’

‘Sure …’

‘Say it.’

‘I promise I won’t contact Tretow.’

So I went back to my hotel. Weiss went off to hospital to receive some long overdue treatment for his wound, while Gerber took up position in the front lobby. The agent who’d been our driver took the seat from my bedroom table and stationed himself outside my door.

Five minutes later, I was online, trying to find a way to contact Hans-Peter Tretow.

I couldn’t come so close and then just walk away. I wanted to see the man who’d ruined Mariana’s life. I wanted to be able to tell Andy that I’d found the man who’d put him in his grave. I wanted retribution for my brother and for Haller too. And if that meant I had to lie to Rainer Wahrmann, well tough. He’d lied often enough and found reasons to justify that, too.

I began by asking myself: how would Andy have done it? Well, he’d start by doing a basic directory trawl. The online Deutsche Telekom phone book listed four Tretows. Two were women, and neither of the others was called Hans-Peter. But any of them might have been his children: Magda Färber had said that Tretow had kids, and one of them had been a daughter who resembled Mariana.

I called all four numbers.

Two of the quartet – a man and a woman – were out. I left messages on their answering machines. The second man hung up on me before I’d even finished asking whether he knew Hans-Peter Tretow. The final woman, however, was very polite, apologizing for not being able to help me. That was nice enough, but it didn’t get me any closer to my quarry. I had to find another way to reach him.

Hans-Peter’s company, Tretow Immobilien, was listed in the directory’s business section, but when I called I just got a recorded message telling me that the office was closed until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I thought about calling Heike Schmidt. Andy wouldn’t have had any qualms about it, but I couldn’t face making her even more fearful by bringing Tretow back into her life. I was about to give up when I remembered Kamile, the receptionist at Haller’s detective agency. Her card was still in my pocket.

‘You said I could call if I needed any help,’ I said when she answered her mobile. I could hear the sound of people talking in the background, glasses chinking and music playing. I guessed she and her colleagues were drowning their sorrows.

‘Ah, yes … yes, of course.’

‘I’m sorry … I’m the last person you want to be thinking about right now. But this has to do with Haller’s death. I think I know who was responsible for killing him, or having him killed, anyway.’

Now I had her full attention: ‘Who is it?’

‘A man called Hans-Peter Tretow. And if it is him, he tried to have me and Weiss killed too, this afternoon.’

‘But why? What have you, or Herr Haller, done to him?’

‘Got too close to the truth. He has some kind of secret he wants to keep hidden. It all dates back to the communist days. And whatever the secret is, it has something to do with my wife Mariana … The thing is, I’m trying to track Tretow down. That’s why I need your help, to give me a hand finding him.’

‘Well, I may not be very useful. I am not a detective.’

‘No, but you know the people who are. Could you get them onto this? I mean, they have ways of getting hold of numbers, right?’

‘Sure, sure, of course,’ Kamile said. ‘I will speak to one or two of my colleagues. They are here with me now. Maybe one of them can do something for you.’

When I ended the call to Kamile, the clock on my phone read 20.42. I ordered room service for dinner and waited for someone from Xenon Detektivbüro to call me back. At 22.13 the phone rang. A voice said, ‘Is that Herr Crookham … Herr Peter Crookham?’ But the voice did not belong to a private detective.

It belonged to Hans-Peter Tretow.

46

‘You were looking for me,’ Tretow said.

‘How did you find out?’

‘Does it matter? You asked a number of people about me. One of them contacted me – more than one, in fact. So … how can I help you?’

He was a smooth bastard, I had to give him that. He didn’t sound remotely flustered. But neither did he sound like an innocent businessman who’d just been phone-stalked by a total stranger.

‘Well …’ I began, wondering what to say next. The hell with it: I might as well just get straight to the point. The man had sent his people to kill me. It was a bit late to worry about social niceties. ‘I want you to tell me why Haller was killed … why people were shooting at me earlier today … and what happened to my wife Mariana at a state orphanage where you worked as a caretaker in the late 1980s. Just tell me what the hell is going on.’

‘Murder? Shooting?’ Tretow replied. ‘You should be very careful making false accusations, Mr Crookham. They can have serious consequences.’

‘I don’t want to make accusations, Tretow. I want to make a deal. I just want to know what happened to Mariana. And all I want to do with that information is give it to her psychiatrist so that he can use it to make her better. Tell me what I need to know and I’ll be on the first plane home tomorrow morning.’

There was no denial, no more pretence of ignorance, just a straight question: ‘And what if I don’t tell you?’

‘My wife is in a secure psychiatric unit. My brother’s dead. My business is falling apart. Take away my hope of fixing Mariana and I’ve got nothing more to lose. I’ll say anything to anyone who’s willing to listen. I’ll start joining the dots between a killing in Yorkshire, a crash on the A9 autobahn, a demolished orphanage and the rich, respectable businessman who wants to build millions of euros’ worth of apartments on the site where he used to abuse little children. And if I can’t get anyone to listen, I swear to God I’ll just deal with you myself.’

The threat sounded feeble to me even as I made it. Tretow certainly wasn’t about to quake in his boots. He simply said, ‘There are two operatives from the BfV, the domestic intelligence agency, at your hotel. Can you leave the hotel without them knowing?’