Grave Intent (22 page)

“We’re still investigating in that regard,” Bergman said, keeping it vague.

Which translates to “We got nothing,”
Jan thought.

“How can I help you, gentlemen?”

“By letting us protect you.”

“Not a problem. I’ve canceled all appointments outside of the embassy. I will not be going out the door the next two days.”

“We’re posting police officers in front of the building,” Jan said.

“The ambassador is also allowing us to check every visitor before they go through your door,” Bergman added. “We have all the necessary information, including a list of all embassy staff and the plate numbers of your vehicles.”

“Is there something else I can do for you?”

“Apart from being careful and reporting anything unusual, no.” Bergman stood and shook Petrov’s hand. “If you think of anything else, please get in touch with me or Detective Tommen.”

Jan pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Yuri.

The Ukrainian looked at the card. “Thank you very much for your efforts. If you have any other questions, you can call me anytime. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Will do,” Jan said. “And please remember to let us know if there’s someone else you can think of who could have a motive, who might bear a grudge against you. We’re dealing with a serial killer here—and he is extremely dangerous.”

Petrov nodded gravely, and they made their way out. The Ukrainian walked them to the door and nodded at them again.

“What are you thinking?” Bergman asked Jan once the door had closed behind them.

“Something’s fishy.”

“He’s lying?”

“He’s not telling us everything. Our three victims all had a skeleton in the closet. Moritz and Robin more so, Valburg less. And they’re all linked. The murderer didn’t just go surf the Internet, end up at the Ukrainian embassy, and pick out his next victim. There is a reason why he selected Yuri Petrov.”

“You don’t believe in coincidence?” Bergman asked Jan.

“Never. We’re inching closer to the murderer. We know his face, have his voice, and are getting at a motive. He’s not knocking people off for fun.”

“Some psychopaths want to be caught.”

“That doesn’t fit the grave murderer. He is cunning, well prepared. He’s on a revenge mission. No idea for who or what, but when he’s done doing it, he will either vanish or put a bullet in his head. He won’t let himself be caught.”

“What’s next?” Bergman asked.

“I can’t think of any lead involving the first three victims that might point to Ukraine or its embassy. Still, I’ll go through it all again. When it gets dark, I’ll get started on the stakeout. I want to be on hand when Petrov’s day of death begins.”

“At least we know where he is. If Robin would’ve let us watch over him? He’d still be alive.”

“Maybe,” Jan said, unsure. “The murderer knows that Petrov lives in a well-secured embassy and that we would find the grave. He’ll have taken all that into account.”

“The security personnel are all former Spetznaz, one of the best special forces on earth. You don’t just brush them aside.”

“Under normal circumstances, this would be pretty straightforward. But the murderer hasn’t left us any clue as to what he’s got up his sleeve. No idea what trick he’ll pull, but we should be on our guard like hell. He’s been better than us three times now.”

Three more hours till Petrov’s day of death. Jan sat in his car, keeping an eye on the front entrance of the Ukrainian embassy. He rapped nervously on the steering wheel. He had done all he could to secure the area and safeguard Petrov’s survival. He’d gone through all scenarios imaginable and asked specialists for their opinions—but his gut feeling was telling him that it was not going to be enough.

A police vehicle was parked right before the embassy entrance, clearly visible; same for the rear entrance. Considering the plainclothes teams on the side streets, the cameras they’d installed, and all the embassy’s security measures, the grave murderer would have to be a master thief with superhero powers to get into this building unnoticed.

Jan couldn’t count all the nights he’d sat waiting in a car outside a house, just hoping that an offender would go in or come out. The time spent was all about boredom and weariness and would always lead to him doubting whether he had picked the right career. Few stakeouts were a success in the end, which made a long night with lukewarm coffee, fast food, and chewing gum even more frustrating.

He had wanted to meet up with Zoe, Max, and Chandu again this evening, but he had to stay near the embassy, so they’d canceled their nightly get-together. Max had suggested setting up a conference call, though. Jan had just taken a sip of coffee from his thermos when his phone rang.

“Good evening,” Max said once Jan picked up. “Here on the line are, next to yours truly, Zoe and Chandu.”

“Hi,” Jan said, setting his cup in the holder. “How’s Yuri Petrov’s background looking?”

“Not much to see,” Max said. “Petrov wasn’t born in Germany, has a Ukrainian passport, and is embassy staff, so I’ve only been able to get information from diplomatic channels. As you can guess, it’s all been smoothed out. Most of what I got is only thanks to Bergman’s contacts. Yuri was born in Portugal—the child of a diplomat, went to international schools, and was transferred to Germany four years ago. Because of his immunity, I haven’t stumbled on so much as a parking ticket. Long story short: a waste of time.”

“What about the rest of the embassy team?”

“Same. All model students.”

“Could any of their résumés have been falsified?” Jan asked.

“Probably. I can tell you one thing: all embassy personnel have been working there for at least a year.”

“Why does that matter?” Chandu asked.

“My worry was that the murderer had maybe snuck his way into working at the embassy,” Max replied. “Some cook who’d only been working there for three weeks? I would’ve looked at that pretty closely. The people in there are all Ukrainians or at least have Ukrainian heritage.”

“Which leads me to believe the killer isn’t on staff,” Jan said.

“He could be delivering pizzas or repairing a broken fridge,” Chandu said.

“The embassy has imposed a two-day lockdown,” Jan said. “No one from the outside comes in.”

“Plus the embassy has their own people for that,” Max added. “Cooks, maintenance, janitors. All in there.”

“I hit up a few old acquaintances from the Eastern Bloc,” Chandu said. “None of them had heard of a Yuri Petrov when it came to girl trafficking, prostitution, drug smuggling, or gambling. The guy is either real discreet or he’s got nothing to do with the Berlin underworld.”

“I went back through all the files for the first three murders,” Jan said. “I found no trace of a Yuri Petrov or the Ukrainian embassy. Nothing in the victims’ personal notes or in their records, e-mails, address books.”

“So this Yuri has nothing in common with the other victims,” Zoe said.

“That I don’t believe,” Jan replied. “All my experience as a detective tells me that Petrov’s got a finger in it somehow. Just because we’re not finding anything on the fly doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

“But we don’t have the slightest clue,” Chandu said, “except for the fact that he’s the grave murderer’s target.”

“Is that confirmed?” Max asked. “Is this new grave from the same perp? Could it be a copycat?”

“Yup. Nope,” Zoe said. “Wood and paint on the cross match the other three completely. It has to be the same guy. And before you ask: no, there were no fingerprints or DNA on the cross.”

“Would’ve been too easy,” Chandu muttered.

“Let’s spin this around,” Jan said. “How does a Ukrainian embassy staffer fit into this case?”

“That’s easy,” Chandu said. “First of all, the embassy premises are Ukrainian territory. Police, detectives, border patrol—no one is allowed in. There’s no more secure place for stolen goods or illegal meds from abroad. They could even be producing in there.”

“On top of that, he’s got this crazy freedom to do whatever he wants,” Zoe added. “He can’t be prosecuted for any offenses, and a car with diplomatic plates can’t be stopped, let alone searched. Yuri would make the perfect delivery man.”

“That also applies to air travel between Ukraine and Germany, by the way,” Max said. “A diplomatic bag is sacred. Makes it easy to smuggle anything from point A to point B.”

“A man like Yuri is worth his weight in gold to any criminal,” Chandu said. “He could easily be the brains behind this smuggling racket, or at least a big player.”

“Everything you’re saying makes sense,” Jan said. “But I have no idea how we could prove any of it.”

“With his diplomatic status? You can forget it,” Zoe said.

“She’s right about that, unfortunately,” Max said. “Diplomats can be prosecuted, but the punishment always takes place in their own country. Even if Yuri blew someone away, German authorities would only be allowed to apprehend and extradite him. A Ukrainian court would rule on it after that.”

“To sum this up,” Chandu said, “we have no idea how Yuri’s involved or why the grave murderer wants to see him dead.”

Jan shook his head. “I just don’t get it. We’ve been working this case with everything we have, but we’re hardly any closer to nabbing the murderer. After three dead, we’ve got a police sketch and the murderer’s voice. No names, no suspects, not even a motive.”

“Better make sure nothing happens to Yuri,” Chandu said. “He might cough up something with further questioning. In the words of Boba Fett: ‘He’s no good to me dead.’”

Chandu was right. Yuri had to survive his day of death first. All else would have to wait. “Thanks to all of you for everything you’ve done so far,” Jan said to wrap up. “I’ll check in again tomorrow morning.”

He set his phone on the dash and mulled things over. It would be tough to get Yuri to work with them if he was involved in something illegal. The diplomat wouldn’t admit to years of drug smuggling just to help the police in an investigation. The portable radio crackled, cutting short his speculation.

“Vehicle heading to the embassy,” a police officer reported.

“What kind of vehicle?” Jan asked.

“Car. One of the embassy staff coming from the airport.”

“Who’s in the car?”

“According to the embassy, driver by the name of Petr Kusmin and a staffer named Galina Yefimova.”

Jan pulled out his files and looked for the woman’s name. On page two he found her entry, complete with photo. Galina was assistant to the ambassador. She looked young for her thirty-one years. Her smile seemed fake, and she would have looked better with longer hair, but she was quite attractive if you were into the tomboy type.

The car came around the corner. A gray Mercedes with tinted windows that allowed no view inside.

“Definitely check it out. The trunk too.” Jan had to stop himself from jumping out of his car. He had good people on the case. As team leader, he had to remain in the background.

“Planning on it.” It was clear that the officer was annoyed with Jan’s coaching.

“Sorry,” Jan muttered. When he’d been on patrol, he’d never much liked it when some smart-ass from detectives gave him advice either. He set down the portable and watched his fellow cops do their work. The men proceeded by the book. They opened the car doors and checked both driver and passenger without rushing any of it.

As they opened the trunk, Jan’s hands clenched, as if expecting the murderer to pop out with pistol drawn. But nothing was in there, apart from a few small suitcases. The officers shut the trunk lid and gestured to the driver. The big metal gate opened, and he drove in to the embassy grounds.

“All okay here,” Jan heard over the radio. “Driver checks out, and the passenger is Galina Yefimova.”

A thousand questions raced through Jan’s head. Why was the assistant flying alone? Had the woman been tense or nervous? Was any of the baggage unusually heavy? But Bergman had warned him against causing a stir. The embassy personnel weren’t required to cooperate and weren’t allowed to be questioned without the ambassador’s consent.

Jan hated policy, politics. They weren’t allowed to intervene, yet if anything went wrong they were held responsible.

He turned to his coffee, feeling testy. This was going to be a long night.