Grave Intent (29 page)

Jan kicked at the door to their team’s room. “Motherfucker.”

Max looked up from his computer. “No luck?”

“Depends,” Jan said. “Linus Keller had something to do with it, but the minute I mentioned Chandu’s name, it was over.”

“They knew each other?”

“Apparently Chandu roughed him up good outside a club a while back. Now Linus would rather go to jail than help him.”

“He have anything we can hold over him?”

“Not really. Unregistered weapon. I can’t put much pressure on him with that.”

The door opened, and Zoe came in. She looked tired out, tense.

“Hi, Zoe. I thought you were over in Forensics?”

She shook her head. “Corpses are more my game. I’ve been watching over the crime-scene techs’ shoulders while they work, but there’s nothing new, apart from that grenade. I can’t just go home on a workday, so I thought I’d see if you’d made any headway.”

“Not really, but we still have enough time for me to go question Chandu’s employers.”

“Employers?”

“I know a few clubs where he used to be a bouncer. Maybe he came into contact with Elias Dietrich.”

“As a bouncer?”

“I don’t have any better ideas,” Jan growled. “Chandu’s neighbors are being questioned, the manhunt for Elias Dietrich and his vehicle is going full bore, and the few clues we have are being analyzed. Chandu had to have come into contact with Dietrich while on a job. Maybe one of his bosses can tell me something.”

“I’ll go through video footage from the traffic and surveillance cameras,” Max said. “Maybe I’ll find the van. Then we can narrow the search area.”

“Can I help somehow?” Zoe asked.

“I got the records from Dietrich’s psychiatrist, Beringer, and I don’t understand a single word. But all that jargon might not be a problem for you.” Jan pointed to a stack of paper. “I printed them all out. Maybe you can find something in there.”

“And if it starts to get late, I got this here.” Max set down an energy drink for Zoe.

She picked up the weird-looking can and studied it like it was some alien technology. On the tin was a cartoon character with a wide mustache and a blue hat. Jan expected her to make some snide remark, but Zoe looked like she was out of words. She blinked, sat down at the table, grabbed Dr. Beringer’s notes, and started to read.

“I’m heading out,” Jan told them. “If anybody out there from Chandu’s world knows Elias Dietrich, I’m going to track them down.”

Chandu opened his eyes. He could hardly remember a thing. The phone call with Jan. The noise at the door. That ear-splitting explosion. A trip in a minivan. But these were just flashes of memory that he couldn’t piece together too well.

The dim room was spinning. Chandu shook his head, but his dizziness ebbed only gradually. Not even the nastiest bout of drinking had ever given him such a headache.

He tried to stand but found he was bound to the chair. Several wide belts were strapped around his arms, legs, and torso. He tried to flex his muscles, but he lacked the strength.

As his vision cleared, he saw a table before him with a small lamp that illuminated a photo of a child. Next to that lay a hammer.

Then Chandu noticed a digital alarm clock resting against a table leg. It was counting backward. And in twenty-four hours, it would reach zero.

Chapter Thirteen

Jan was on his way to his old hood. Before becoming a detective, he had been a patrol cop in Kreuzberg. Back then, he’d gotten called out to this disco every weekend to deal with angry drunks and customers who’d started fights with the bouncers.

The place hadn’t changed. The walls were plastered with posters and graffiti; cigarette butts, beer cans, and empty bottles littered the sidewalk outside. Not exactly a place you’d like to loiter during the day, and yet few clubs in Berlin were more popular at night.

This was where he’d first met Chandu, back when he worked there as a bouncer. A coked-up nut job had pulled a pistol and shot Chandu in the shoulder. The shooter hadn’t seen enough blood, so he pointed the gun at Chandu’s head. But Jan had been quicker and shot the crazy man dead. Chandu never forgot Jan’s good deed, and they eventually became friends. A cop and a prominent underworld type. It wasn’t exactly something that would help his career as a detective, but Jan had never regretted their friendship. Not too long ago, the big guy had returned the favor by saving Jan’s ass. Now it was Jan’s turn again.

Jan hadn’t been back to the club for years and didn’t know the new bouncer. So he flashed his badge and the bouncer showed him inside. The music was louder than a blasting operation, and Jan could feel the bass in his stomach. He fought an urge to plug his ears as he was led down a narrow hallway to the owner’s office. Once the door shut behind him, the worst of the noise was blocked out.

The bouncer left Jan with a man who was watching the dance-floor action through a small window. Jan put the man in his late forties. His hair was clipped short, and he wore a black jacket over a white shirt. He had on faded dark jeans and leather biker boots that creaked as he approached Jan.

“Herr Tommen. Nice to see you again.” The man shook Jan’s hand.

“Sorry,” Jan said, “but do we know each other?”

The man laughed. “I was still assistant manager when we had that shooting outside the club. I had long hair back then and a beard.”

“Jo Mafeld,” Jan blurted in surprise. “I didn’t recognize you. Back then you were . . . more in-your-face.”

“That would be one way of putting it.” He gestured to the couch. “My days of rhinestone jackets are over, though. The wife broke me of that.”

He poured them each a glass of water. “I hear you’ve made detective.” He raised a glass. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Unfortunately, this visit is of a professional nature.” Jan took a sip of water. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the serial killings in Berlin?”

“That grave murderer?”

“Exactly.”

“Have you caught him?”

“Not yet. He’s kidnapped another victim.”

“Who?”

“Chandu.”

“You mean, our Chandu? Who watched the door here for years and whose ass you saved?”

“The very one.”

“Goddamn,” Jo said. “How did Chandu get mixed up in this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Jan pulled the photo of Elias from his pocket and laid it on the table. “Know this man?”

Jo set his glass aside and studied the photo. “No. I’m afraid I don’t. Who is it?”

“Elias Dietrich.”

“The grave murderer?”

“Probably.”

“What’s the connection to Chandu?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I don’t know the face, but I’ll go show the photo around to the staff. Maybe one of the bouncers or a bartender knows him.”

“The name’s not ringing a bell?”

“Elias Dietrich.” Jo shook his head. “He’s not a regular. I’ll go through our contacts list right after this. See if I can find something.” He shifted his gaze from the photo to Jan. “Why come to me?”

“It’s more about the club than you. Chandu crossed paths with the man at some point, and the encounter did not go well. My guess is, Elias wants to get his revenge.”

“It happened here?”

“Could have.”

“Like I said, I don’t know the man, but we’re still the hip club these days. We end up having to throw out troublemakers every night. We see a brawl now and then, but an incident that would justify murder? No way. The only time a fight really escalated was with that shooting a few years back, and you shot the attacker dead.”

Jan shut his eyes and sighed. He’d been hoping to get more out of this conversation.

“How bad is it?” Jo asked.

“Real bad. Twenty-four hours left. Then Chandu’s a dead man.”

“And this guy in the photo abducted him? How did he do it? With a bazooka?”

“With a flash grenade and a stun gun. Maybe an injection too. This Elias busted a hole in Chandu’s door with a hammer and threw in a flash grenade. That was enough to take him down.”

“How did the murderer get Chandu’s address?”

“What do you mean?”

“He was always peculiar about that. I only ever had his phone number. Even his girlfriend didn’t know where he lived.”

“That had more to do with his debt-collector gig. He was worried someone might come around who wasn’t too happy with his methods. But it’s a good question—how could the murderer have gotten his hands on Chandu’s address?”

“Definitely not out of the phone book.”

“I know of three people who know Chandu’s address. I’d trust each of them with my life. I’ve never seen anyone else at his place, ever.”

“It must have been someone from the red-light scene.”

“Those are the ones he was hiding his whereabouts from.”

“I’ve had my share of dealings with characters like that,” Jo said. “They’d know just how to play it, find out exactly where they could seize him should it become necessary.”

“So one of them gave Elias a tip.”

Jo nodded. “Find this traitor, and he’ll lead you to the grave murderer.”

Jan called Zoe from his cell phone.

“Got anything?” she asked without preamble.

“Not yet. But remember that guy you paid a visit to with Chandu?”

“The Rat.”

“That’s the one. You know his real name?”

“Tim Ratinger.”

“Thanks.”

“What have you got in mind?”

“I’m going to pay our Rat a visit. Someone leaked Chandu’s secret address to Elias, and I want to know who. You know where we can find this Tim?”

“No idea. We met in a public place.”

“No worries. I’ll go rattle the bushes, see what my informants can tell me. If I find anything, I’ll be in touch.”

Jan hung up and ran to his car. It was time for a little detour to
Kotti
—Kottbusser Tor in Kreuzberg, which was less than three minutes away by car.

Jan couldn’t help checking his watch. Midnight. Twenty-four more hours and Dietrich would bash in Chandu’s skull. Jan clamped his fists around the steering wheel. He couldn’t let thoughts like that distract him. He would track down the grave murderer. Chandu might even escape on his own. His friend was stronger than anyone he knew. A measly pair of plastic cuffs would never hold him back, and once he was free, he would rip this Elias Dietrich to shreds.

Jan slowed down as he approached the entrance to the Kottbusser Tor subway station, then cruised around the surrounding square, which looked busy for a Tuesday night.

A group stood outside a closed-up food stand. Kids were racing around the pedestrian zone on their mopeds, and a man in a fur coat was walking his bull terrier. Jan wasn’t interested in any of these people, however. What did get his attention was a figure leaning inconspicuously against a streetlight, playing a game on his phone and keeping an eye on the road. Jan was hoping that no one recognized his car—otherwise the drug dealers would vanish within seconds.

Jan reached another subway entrance not far from a pharmacy. A young man with Rasta dreads was leaning against a “No Parking” sign, puffing away on a self-rolled cigarette. He wore a multicolored knit cap and jeans three sizes too big for him.

Jan rolled down the passenger’s-side window and stopped the car. The young man glanced around to check his surroundings, then approached the window.

“What’ll it be, boss?” The dealer’s gaze indicated he was high as a kite.

Jan pulled his pistol and held the barrel to his face. “Get in or I’ll give you a third nostril.”

The young man’s head cleared in an instant. He raised his left hand and carefully opened the door with his right.

“Dude, hey. What is up with you?”

“It’s Detective Tommen to you, Adrian.”

“This any way to treat an informant?”

“Ever since you fucked me over, I consider you my ex-informant.”

“Still no reason to go spraying lead all over.”

“I’ve got no time for this; I need intel. Give it to me and you’ll never have to see me again. Lie to me, and today is the last day you’ll be in business.”

“What is this, some new cop technique?”

“Go submit your complaint at the station tomorrow. Where is Tim Ratinger?”

“Who?”

Jan cocked and pointed the gun at Adrian’s forehead. “I’m going to repeat the name one more time. Tim Ratinger. Also known as ‘the Rat.’”

“Okay, okay,” Adrian said. “Go try Café Meier on Kurfürstenstrasse, not far from the subway station. Tim chills there a lot.”

Jan lowered the pistol and waved him out of the car. “To your continued success.”

Adrian hadn’t even shut the passenger’s-side door completely when Jan took off. It was almost four miles to Kurfürstenstrasse. A ten-minute drive if he obeyed the traffic rules. He figured he’d only need five.

Zoe came racing up in her Z4 as if trying to win the German Grand Prix. Two kids holding beer cans saved themselves only by leaping aside when she drove up onto the sidewalk.

She climbed out, slammed the door, and rushed over to Jan. “Glad you texted me. Is the Rat still inside?”

“I think so. It’s supposedly his favorite bar,” Jan said. “Since I’ve never seen him, I need you to ID him.”

It was a seedy joint. The plaster was flaking off the walls of the building, the windows were grimy, and the customers loafing around on the sidewalk out front looked as though they’d gotten to know each other in the slammer.

“Classy,” Zoe remarked. “You got a plan?”

“The mad pig.”

“How’s that go?”

“Storm in, grab him, drag him out. Someone has a problem, shout them down, show the badge, and wave the gun around if need be.”

“Sounds reasonable. And what if he’s not in there?”

“Then we bribe the bartender.”

“And if he’s not bribable?”

“I doubt that’ll be a problem. If it is, grab him and drag him out. You know the rest.”

“You ever heard of the word
subtle
?”

“No. Should I have?”

“I’ll explain it some other time.” Zoe gave him a sly grin. “So let’s head on in.” She pushed a young guy out of the way, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Jan had to admire Zoe. At least a hundred years’ worth of jail time was sitting in this bar. Most had likely been in for assault or manslaughter, but here she was waltzing into the place looking calmer than any cop he knew. She positioned herself at the door, folded her arms, scanned the room.

“So? Do you see him?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s try the bar.”

The bartender was several inches taller than Jan, his bald head covered in tattoos. The big ring in his nose didn’t make him look any more simpatico. He was serenely polishing a beer mug.

Jan placed a twenty-euro bill on the bar. “I’m looking for Tim Ratinger; he goes by ‘the Rat.’”

The bartender looked at the bill and raised his eyebrows in disapproval.

Zoe reached into her pocket and laid a hundred-euro bill next to it. “Now talk!”

The bartender set the mug down on the bar and took the money. He gestured toward the restroom with a slight nod.

“We need a minute,” Zoe said. The bartender nodded and went back to polishing the mug.

When they reached the restroom, the door swung open. Tim came out and stopped in front of Jan and Zoe. All three stared at each other for a second, unsure what to do next. Zoe was the first to react.

Her punch sent him and his glasses flying back into the restroom.

Jan turned to Zoe. “Not your usual hello.”

“We’re old friends.”

Jan stood by the door and waited for the man to pull himself back up.