The Northern Cross (A Baltic Sea Crime Novel Book 2) Page 2

  Annoyed, she stepped to the side and gestured in front of her. “What I also find interesting is the small footrest attached to the cross.”

  “To make him comfortable?” Federsen asked, causing her to lose her train of thought.

  “Comfortable? Only a layman would think that. If this man was still alive after he was nailed to the cross, then the footrest would have prolonged his suffering. Without it, he would have died much quicker. Outstretched arms like that make it difficult to breathe and puts stress on the circulatory system. The footrest was definitely not attached out of consideration.”

  “How much time would this piece of wood have bought him?”

  “I’m not an expert on crucifixions. They’re not exactly an everyday affair, and I—”

  “Well, since our clearly competent medical examiner can only state the obvious . . .” Federsen turned and waved over a gaunt man in white coveralls. “How’s the forensic investigation going?”

  The man approached and pushed back his hood, revealing a head of gray hair. Hannes stepped closer so he wouldn’t miss out on any information.

  “So far we haven’t found anything helpful, like tire tracks, for instance,” said the forensic investigator. “No objects. There are lots of footprints since the press walked all over the place. But take a look over there.” He pointed to the bottom of the cross. “We managed to clear away the loose dirt, and you can see that a shovel was used to dig the square hole. It’s slightly larger than the beam, so the gap was filled with loose dirt. It probably came from this pile here, the remains from the hole. We’ll take the dirt back to the lab for closer examination.”

  “There’s no way this cross could have been put up by a single person without any tools,” said Federsen.

  “It’s doubtful,” said another officer. “But it’s not out of the question. With the right technique and necessary strength, it’s possible. Then again, the beam alone, which is made of oak, is very heavy. Add to that the victim’s body. None of us probably could have lifted it.”

  Maria opened her mouth as though to protest but seemed to change her mind. Hannes noticed her eyeing him in his soggy sweater.

  “We’ll take everything down carefully and transport it back to the lab, if that’s all right with you,” said the forensic investigator.

  Federsen continued to survey the scene. Hannes wondered if his boss was really thinking about what he saw or simply wanted to make himself look important.

  “Yes,” Federsen finally answered, and shivered as a violent gust of wind caused the group to sway. “You’ll be able to find out more back at the lab, and I don’t want to catch pneumonia out here. Everything points to a ritual murder. Some Satanists or other religious nuts are probably behind this. Hopefully we can learn the name of the victim soon, because I doubt we’ll find his wallet in his loincloth.”

  Federsen laughed as Hannes posed a question to the forensic investigator.

  “How long do you think the cross has been standing here?”

  “The loose dirt at the foot of the cross is the only evidence we have. We won’t be able to know for certain, but the dirt was probably crammed in there pretty recently.”

  “What do you mean by ‘pretty recently’?” snapped Federsen. “Could you be a little more specific? The body still looks fresh, so the guy hasn’t been hanging around here for weeks.”

  “Definitely not weeks. But Maria will be able to tell you more after she’s finished with her examination. I think the hole is several days old. If you want me to be more precise, I’d guess two or three days.”

  “Thanks,” Federsen said, then turned around. “I’m not surprised the guy wasn’t discovered until now. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Let’s head back now, Niehaus. And Dr. Stern, I expect you’ll inform me as soon as you’ve finished examining the victim.”

  Without looking at Maria, Federsen started to walk away, and Hannes followed with an apologetic shrug. Shortly after, the drizzle turned into a downpour and drenched the detectives. As they ducked under the police tape, they begrudged the curious crowd of onlookers and press and failed to notice that they were being closely monitored by two narrowed eyes.

  CHAPTER 3

  Hannes shut the door to his one-bedroom apartment and peeled his soaked clothes off. He sneezed several times, and his skin was covered in goose bumps. Federsen hadn’t bothered to drop him off at home. He had instead left him at a bus stop and told him to be back at the station in an hour.

  Hannes left a trail of water in the hallway as he made his way to the bathroom. He stood in the hot shower for several minutes, then sighed as he turned the water off. He had not expected the day to be so eventful.

  He grabbed the thickest sweater he owned and left his place dressed appropriately for the weather. He waited for the bus outside, but it was running late, so he hailed a cab.

  “Have you heard?” asked the driver.

  “Heard what?”

  “About the crucifixion on the coast. Someone was nailed to a cross, just like Jesus. It’s all they’re talking about on the radio.”

  “Yeah,” said Hannes. “I know. I’ve seen it.”

  “What a crazy world, huh?”

  No denying that, Hannes thought. The driver continued to philosophize while Hannes got lost in his own thoughts. This could only be the work of a deranged man or a group of lunatics. Who would come up with such an idea?

  When the cab pulled up in front of the station, he handed the driver twenty euros, leaving a three-euro tip. The man smiled.

  Hannes headed up to the fourth floor. An hour and a half had passed since Federsen had tossed him out of the car. He braced himself for another reprimand. He walked across his office to Federsen’s door. After a brief knock, Hannes opened the door, but the office was empty.

  All Hannes could think of was Old Fritz, his former supervisor. Fritz had kept the office spartanlike, but after Federsen had moved in, the place was a mess. The desk was covered in piles of paper, and there were plants everywhere.

  Hannes closed the door and turned on his computer. As it booted up, his mind wandered again to Fritz. He had mixed feelings. Though it had been difficult at first to get along with him, things quickly got better. Hannes had learned a lot from him, but he couldn’t say the same about Federsen. Fritz had been extremely successful, even if he’d had his idiosyncrasies. A few people at the station had predicted that his peculiar methods would be the cause of his downfall. His critics were ultimately right. But even Federsen, his old nemesis, couldn’t have imagined that Fritz would end up in jail shortly before his retirement. It had been a very traumatic experience for Hannes, especially because Fritz had been a real mentor to him. And Steffen Lauer had since become extremely cautious and kept his team on a much shorter leash. Federsen couldn’t stand the micromanagement and repeatedly blamed the fallen ace detective.

  “Always some kind of excuse,” Federsen muttered as he passed through Hannes’s office to get to his own. When he noticed Hannes sitting there, his face darkened. “There you are. I just had to explain to Steffen why the press was already blabbering on about the crucifixion before we knew anything about it. Now he’s worried about his job, that—” He stopped himself and stood in front of Hannes. “We need to get a leg up on this case, and fast. Steffen expects a daily briefing.”

  “Where do we start? Until we get the results back from the lab, we’ve got nothing to go on.”

  “I’ll give you something to go on. Find out who the half-naked man on the cross was. His face has been flashed across every screen in the country by now. Maybe someone who knew him has contacted us. And get in touch with those two idiots who discovered the cross. Tell them to get their asses here immediately so we can question them.”

  And what are you going to do? Hannes wondered. Federsen walked into his office. The last thing Hannes saw of him was the flicker of his lighter as he lit another cigarette.

  Apparently no one had recognized the crucified man, or at least no one
had contacted the police about him. A quick computer search brought up nothing. But Maria called with something for Hannes. She probably had little desire to see Federsen a second time that day.

  “My first impression was correct,” she said in a low voice. “The wounds from the nails were the only ones. There’s no evidence that the victim fought back.”

  “You mean he let himself be crucified?”

  “He may have been drugged; we’re waiting for the results of the blood test. What do you mean ‘let himself be crucified’? Is that your current theory?”

  “No idea,” said Hannes. “But I have to agree with Federsen. The first thing that comes to mind is some sort of religious ritual. How long was he hanging out there?”

  “I can’t say for sure. The wounds aren’t fresh. Two or three days probably passed before he was found. And he was in his early thirties. I don’t have anything else right now. Still want to get a drink after work?” she added, seamlessly changing the topic.

  Hannes’s ears turned red. He liked Maria a lot. She was around his age and had an excellent figure, a great voice, and a unique effect on him—despite what he saw as her less than ideal job.

  “That would be great,” he said, then remembered that he already had something planned for that evening. But he was free on Friday.

  “Great,” Maria said. “I doubt tomorrow will be particularly fun, so a drink would do us some good. I’ll call you as soon as I know more about the victim.”

  Hannes had to gather himself a little before he informed Federsen of Maria’s findings. Then he tried to do a little background research on the two fishermen who had discovered the cross. It wasn’t difficult. Hannes turned on the TV in the conference room. The crucified man was the top story, though no close-ups were shown. Hannes winced when he saw himself on-screen, ducking under the crime scene tape.

  Shortly after, an interview with the two fishermen aired. They excitedly described the discovery without actually sharing anything enlightening. The station didn’t report their names, so it took some effort to find them.

  They were brothers in their early twenties. The younger one had posted multiple photos of their bizarre find on his Facebook page. The images were slightly blurry, taken from a distance. Nevertheless, they succeeded in getting numerous comments about the photos.

  Hannes managed to get ahold of their mother. She told him her sons were back out on their boat and would be home later. Since the family’s house was on the way to Hannes’s appointment that evening, he said that he would stop by. Federsen disapproved. In his opinion, “Those two idiots would do well to haul their asses down to the station” after having the nerve to speak to the press first. “Tear those two fools a new one for being so irresponsible” was the only order he gave Hannes.

  Hannes went home to get his old Ford truck out of the garage. Around seven o’clock, he arrived in the small suburb where the fishermen lived with their mother. He parked in front of the garden gate, and as he approached the front door of the brick house, a dog began to bark. Pressing the doorbell only made the barking grow louder. A middle-aged woman opened the door, and a white terrier darted toward Hannes, jumping at his legs while barking and growling.

  “Johnny, no. Bad dog,” the stout woman snapped and pointed toward the hallway. To Hannes’s surprise, the dog obeyed. “Please excuse his bad manners,” she said, astonished at Hannes’s different-colored eyes. “Are you the police officer who called? My boys just got back.”

  She steered him into a somewhat dated kitchen that reeked of rancid grease. The brothers sat at a rough wooden table, wearing navy sweaters. They took a few last bites of steak before they rose to greet Hannes.

  “If they hadn’t been out there posing for every TV camera, I wouldn’t have had to send them on the water again,” their mother said.

  Hannes took the opportunity to talk some sense into the young men, but his words fell on deaf ears, and the rest of their conversation bore little fruit. The brothers rarely visited that stretch of coast, but were curious about the cross because they had never seen it before. As they sailed closer, they noticed something hanging from the wooden beams and brought out their binoculars.

  “When was the last time you visited this stretch of coast?” asked Hannes.

  “Two weeks ago,” said the older brother. “Have you found anything out about the dead guy?”

  “And more importantly, why was he crucified?” added his brother.

  “I’m not going to share that information with you so you can post the current status of our investigation on your Facebook page.”

  Hannes smiled and stood up. He could understand their excitement. Something this thrilling had probably never happened to them, so they wanted to make the most of it.

  He headed toward the sea in his rickety Ford. His class in boating safety began at eight, and when the course was over, he would have his recreational boating license. He had long weighed whether or not he should actually follow through with it. His indecision wasn’t due to fear, because he had always wanted a boat. The reason was the boat itself, which had come to him as a complete surprise.

  Its name was Lena, and until a few months ago, it had belonged to Fritz Janssen, who had bought the old shrimp boat several years back and painstakingly and lovingly restored it. Expelled from the force and now serving his prison sentence, Fritz had no more use for the cutter. One day Hannes received an envelope with keys and papers. The handwritten note was brief, in Old Fritz’s style.

  Unfortunately I can’t spend the rest of my days with good old “Lena.” Hopefully you feel as much at home on board as I did. I’m sorry how it all happened. Fritz

  Hannes hadn’t had any contact with his former mentor and pondered whether or not he should accept the gift. He still struggled with conflicting emotions whenever he thought of Fritz. But in the end, the call of the sea had been irresistible.

  Ironically, the boat-licensing course was held in an old office building off the small harbor where the first and last case Fritz and Hannes worked on together had fatefully begun. Hannes parked at the edge of the small seawall and sat for a moment, reflecting on all that had happened. Then he shook his head as if to brush off his somber mood and opened the door.

  Since he still had fifteen minutes before class, he wandered over to the dock and spotted his cutter. A few tiny fishing boats languished at another dock, the sad remnants of a once-vibrant fishing industry.

  Hannes stopped in front of the bow of the fifty-foot wooden vessel. The top was painted brown and the rest white. “Lena” was spelled out in cursive white letters over a dark background. The wheelhouse was also brown and crowned with a white roof. Fritz had removed the boom and tackle so that Lena would look like a true old-fashioned recreational boat.

  Hannes carefully shooed a seagull from the edge of the deck, climbed aboard, and looked around. Because he had forgotten the key, he could only see the inside of the wheelhouse through the greasy prints on the glass. In the darkness, only the outlines of the pilot wheel and gearshift were visible. The hatches for the ship’s hold were also sealed. Down below, Fritz had created a small living area with bunks, a kitchenette, and a folding table.

  “What are you doing on that boat?” boomed a man’s voice accompanied by rapidly approaching footsteps. Hannes jumped and lost his footing on the wet wood. He fell forward and banged his head on the hatch. When his vision cleared, he saw a pair of sturdy boots. Then two huge hands grabbed him and lifted him up.

  “What are you doing here?” asked the old man. He didn’t let go of Hannes’s shoulders. He was wearing a yellow raincoat and had a gray beard and a large gap between his front teeth. Hannes remembered who he was.

  “You’re Ole, aren’t you? Fritz’s friend?” he asked and tried to break free of the man’s grip.

  “Correct,” Ole said, a little surprised. When he took a closer look at Hannes and noticed his eyes, he too remembered. “You’re that rookie Fritz worked with.”

  Hannes n
odded, and Ole finally let go.

  “Well, that was quite the turn of events,” Ole said, and the wrinkles in his face deepened. “Fritz is sitting in jail instead of here enjoying his early retirement. So, why are you snooping around on his boat?”

  Hannes explained about the note and the keys. Ole studied him, frowning when he learned that Hannes planned to get a boating license.

  “There’s already enough people sailing around here who think they’re true ocean-going captains after a simple safety course. But if Fritz wants you to have his Lena, then it’s all right by me. How is he?”

  Hannes felt guilty admitting that he had no idea. Fritz hadn’t been in the best shape even before his downfall. He had prostate cancer that had metastasized to the spine. Due to severe back pain, he was often hunched when he walked and regularly took painkillers. And prison wasn’t exactly conducive to his mental state either. After all, he preferred doing things his own way and took great pleasure in ignoring the rules.

  “You still resent Fritz for what happened this past summer,” Ole said, which wasn’t that far off the mark. “I don’t want to give you some big lecture on life, but I’ve known Fritz since we were little. He was always a great guy. His sense of fairness is what always got him into trouble. But no one would have guessed that he would finish his days in prison. I visited him two weeks ago. No one else had. He blames himself for dragging you into that mess. I’m sure he’d be happy if you went to see him.”

  Hannes frowned. He had thought about visiting Fritz but couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would make him relive those bizarre events, which wasn’t an appealing prospect.

  “Put yourself in his shoes. How would you behave in his position? It’ll make your visit easier if you think about it like that.”

  The subject was uncomfortable for Hannes. He glanced at his watch and climbed back onto the dock.

  “I have to hurry. My class is starting. But maybe I’ll visit Fritz as soon as I have some time.”