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

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ole said as he watched Hannes run off. “There’s time for everything, yet no one ever has any.”

  CHAPTER 4

  That was easier than I expected. Not too easy. It was, after all, only my first time. I had often thought about it in the past. What would it be like? Would I be able to do it? But he made it easy for me. I couldn’t let him get away with it. I had to make an example of him. I had to show the entire world. They have to understand. But was it the right thing to do? I feel ashamed and . . . maybe afraid? Yes, afraid of myself. Wasn’t there another way? I ended his life. I was the one. Me. I killed a man. Even though I really didn’t want to. Or did I? At least I accept it. Did he repent in the end? What if he wanted to set things right? I shouldn’t second-guess myself. He deserved it. It was the right thing to do. Let him be a warning to others. They all saw it. It takes something extreme to make them notice. I tried to be kinder in the beginning, but that didn’t work. Maybe I should have kept trying? Why do bad things have to happen before people finally start to take notice? Hopefully no one saw me. No, I planned it very carefully. I have it all under control and know what I’m doing. It was so easy, ridiculously easy. I couldn’t have done it without a reason. And there are plenty of reasons. I can do it again. I have to do it again. I need to be strong. I am strong. One more time, just one more time.

  CHAPTER 5

  Hannes didn’t arrive at the station on Friday until lunchtime. The higher-ups had agreed that he could use weekday mornings for canoe practice. Hannes could still feel the pleasant burn in his muscles after his strength training that day. He inhaled the rest of his sandwich as Federsen opened the door and ordered him into his office.

  “Anything new?” asked Hannes.

  Federsen handed him a marker. “You got it. Take notes on the whiteboard.” He leaned back in his padded swivel chair. Then he paused, clicked his lighter, and lit a cigarette. After three deep drags, he finally got down to business.

  “Fact one: the dead man on the cross was Alexander Kramer, early thirties, lived here for five years. He rented a one-bedroom apartment.”

  “How did we learn his identity?” Hannes asked as he scribbled the information on the whiteboard. “Did his family contact us?”

  “No. We haven’t contacted his family yet. A woman has come forward. Evidently, they knew each other well enough for her to identify him from the blurry images on the news.”

  Hannes stared blankly at Federsen, who smiled somewhat lewdly.

  “An Inga Bertram identified him. One of his sex partners. Alexander Kramer was a porn star. Well, at least the guy gave one heck of a last performance.”

  The detective waved his hand dismissively, signaling Hannes to jot down the new information on the board.

  “Fact two: Kramer had been hanging on that cross for two or three days. He died, however, only a day before he was discovered.” Federsen seemed to take satisfaction from the look of shock on Hannes’s face.

  “But that means . . .”

  “That he was alive for at least a day on that cross. He could have screamed and shouted as much as he wanted out there, but there would have been no one around to hear him. But that’s not all. No foreign substances were found in his blood. So we have to assume he was fully conscious while he enjoyed that ocean view, until a heart attack finally did him in.”

  Hannes gulped. Federsen seemed to relish sharing these gruesome details.

  “Fact three: forensics hasn’t found anything even remotely helpful, which doesn’t surprise me. They still assume that the cross was erected two to three days prior to its discovery. The man was probably nailed to it there.”

  Hannes stood motionless in front of the whiteboard.

  “What are you waiting for?” asked Federsen.

  “Uh . . . fact four?”

  “Fact four: you’ll head now to this . . . what do you call it? Film studio? Porn studio? Interview everyone who works there. Then you’ll type everything up in a report and leave it on my desk. Two of your colleagues are already trying to contact Kramer’s family and find out more information on him.”

  “And what are you going to do in the meantime?” Hannes blurted out, feeling uncomfortable about having to go by himself to a porn studio.

  “What am I going to do?” Federsen repeated indignantly, his eyes bulging. “You have some nerve. So now you think everything’s up for discussion? Get out of here, and don’t come back until you have something useful.”

  He made a point of turning to his desk and picking up the phone. Hannes left the room, the veins in his neck throbbing with anger, and went to check out a car from the motor pool. He had once again been saddled with the more unpleasant task, but he had to admit that he was a little curious about the porn studio. It wasn’t like you got to see one of those every day. But he was still annoyed at Federsen. He needed to think of a way to get back at him.

  Fall was in full force. Mothers sat enjoying the warm sunshine outside cafés, strollers by their side. Hannes was surprised when the GPS directed him to a ritzy part of town. He would have expected the studio to be in a rundown industrial area. “You have reached your destination,” announced the soft female voice as Hannes pulled up in front of a multistory edifice resembling an office building.

  There were three businesses listed on the door’s buzzer, including Paradise Images & Productions. He was at the right place. Hannes felt the blood rush to his ears. Would he ever learn to control this response?

  The buzzer sounded, and Hannes entered a brightly lit stairwell. The directory listed Paradise on the second and third floors. He climbed the stairs and looked at the innocuous landscape paintings lining the walls. He pressed another doorbell when he reached the top, and an older woman opened a steel door. “Finally,” she said in a hoarse voice and ushered him through.

  Hannes stared at her in confusion, only to be met with an equally puzzled look. Her pupils danced back and forth between his eyes. The woman was modestly dressed and had teased gray hair. She was short and wore a beige cardigan over a tasteful blouse. Reading glasses hung from a gold chain around her neck. Her red leather skirt and white laced boots were a sharp departure from the rest of her outfit.

  “Don’t worry, hon,” she said and patted him on the arm. “They’re already waiting for you back there. I’m Gertrude, but everyone calls me Gertie. Come on back.”

  As she pushed him past a reception desk and a perfectly ordinary sitting area, Hannes felt a wave of panic. Had Federsen even called to say he was coming? There were sketches of nudes on the yellow walls of the hallway that he found more offensive than artistic. The air carried a vague citrus smell, and Hannes felt like he was in a spa.

  Gertrude opened a door and pointed to a small room. “You can take your clothes off in here. Everything you need’s already on the chair. When you’re ready, head down the hall. Studio One, behind the last door.”

  Hannes was a little taken aback. “Um . . .” he said as Gertrude was just about to walk away.

  “What? Come on, quit dawdling. I’ve only been here for two months, but I know Annette can’t stand it when people are late.”

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Hannes looked with embarrassment at the black latex suit draped over the chair. “I’m Detective Johannes Niehaus . . . I’ve come regarding the murder of Alexander Kramer.”

  “My goodness.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. What must you be thinking? I thought you were—”

  “Is he there yet?” came a voice from the hallway. A woman with short brown hair, who looked to be about forty, appeared in the doorway.

  Gertrude introduced him as the detective in the Alexander Kramer case. “I’m so embarrassed,” she repeated, turning to Hannes. “I thought you were Alexander’s replacement. He was supposed to have been here thirty minutes ago. You should take it as a compliment that you could star in one of our films.”

  “Um, okay.” Hannes grinned awkwardly. “I’ll keep th
at in mind if I’m ever in need of some cash.”

  “You could earn a fair amount here—we pay our actors very well,” said the other woman with a slight smile as she held out her hand. “Annette Melcher. I own the studio.”

  Hannes failed to mask his surprise.

  “You were probably expecting someone more in line with the image people have of our industry? Some sleazeball guy and slutty women, right?”

  “Uh, yeah, I, uh . . . have to admit I’m a little surprised.”

  “Why don’t we chat in my office. Gertie, when the new guy shows up, send him into the studio.”

  Hannes followed Ms. Melcher into a brightly lit office filled with Ikea furniture. She pointed to a pair of sofas and invited him to sit down. She sat opposite him, crossing her legs, which were sheathed in a pair of skinny jeans.

  “We’re very different from other producers. We specialize in making films that appeal to women.”

  “Oh, like soft porn?” asked Hannes, too aware of his colorful ears.

  “What a modern image you’ve got of women. It’s not that women don’t like explicit films. We just give them the necessary touch. We make them less misogynistic. But that doesn’t mean we don’t make different types of films. And we must be onto something because the demand is huge.”

  “And Alexander Kramer was one of your actors?”

  “That’s correct. We have a pool of fifteen women and ten men. We choose the appropriate actors depending on the genre. There’s a lot of interest in being one of our actors. We pay well and provide excellent working conditions. Alexander had been with us for about six months and played the leading role in two of our recent films. Our customers immediately took to him—the sales figures were phenomenal. He was very talented and nice. He also looked amazing.”

  Ms. Melcher sighed and knotted her fingers together. Unfortunately, she didn’t know too much more about her favorite star but immediately agreed to provide Hannes with contact information for all the other actors. She called Gertrude to print out a list.

  “We don’t do your typical job interview like other companies. All I need to know is that an actor can do the work. I couldn’t care less about personal matters or background checks.”

  “Are any of Mr. Kramer’s former colleagues here? Would they know him better?”

  “At the moment, only Inga and three crew members are here. They were supposed to be filming a few scenes with Alexander’s substitute. But since he hasn’t shown up yet, we can head into the studio. Inga was the one who recognized Alexander from the paper.”

  Hannes followed her down the hallway. The studio had been transformed into a sumptuous room in a palace, and a spotlight cast its warm glow on the set. A woman and three men were sitting on the ground in front of a fake fireplace. They were chatting quietly and smoking. Inga Bertram had on a skimpy red cocktail dress. Her long dirty-blonde hair was undone, and she strutted past Hannes in her high heels to a couple of chairs off set.

  “Alex was a sweetheart,” Inga said in a pleasant voice. “We made two films together, and he was a professional, even though he’d never worked in our industry before.”

  “How’d he get the job? According to Ms. Melcher, it’s extremely difficult to get hired here.”

  “Well, that depends.” Ms. Bertram eyed him up and down. “There are always casting calls to discover new talent. Screen tests. Alex showed up one day and blew us away. His predecessor hadn’t been all that great to work with, so Alex was hired to replace him. Now his predecessor’s back, unfortunately.” She flicked the ash from her cigarette and sighed.

  “What did Mr. Kramer do before he started working here?”

  “Various odd jobs. He was a nice guy, but he also had his share of problems. He liked to wear expensive clothes, party, gambled, and . . .”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s not like it matters anymore. He did a lot of coke. Alex led a lavish lifestyle and needed money. One time we went to a party after a shoot, and he told me he owed his dealer.”

  “Did he ever tell you the name of his dealer?”

  “No. We weren’t really friends and only went out together that one time. I prefer to keep my work and private lives separate.”

  “It shows. You don’t seem like you’re in shock.”

  “Of course I am. But I would also be shocked if one of these stage lights fell on your head. I liked him, and I liked to work with him. When I saw the picture in the paper, I was suspicious. It wasn’t a clear photo, but the longer I looked, the more certain I was that it was Alex. Of course I’m sad. But I’ve worked for quite some time in this industry. I’ve learned that it’s better to keep your distance.”

  “Do you know anything about his friends or family?”

  “His parents died in an accident. I don’t know much about his background. He came from Bayreuth. Don’t know if he had friends here or not.”

  Hannes remembered his and Federsen’s initial impressions at the crime scene. “You know how Mr. Kramer was killed. This could point to some kind of ritual act. Do you know if he ran with such groups?”

  “I’d be surprised. He once said he had no use for religion. I think there’s another explanation for the cross. In our last film, Alex played a devout priest, and I bound him naked to a cross. Maybe that’s why I recognized him in the photo. The scene popped into my head immediately.”

  Hannes eagerly leaned forward. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “You can watch the movie for yourself,” she added.

  “The crew didn’t have anything more to add about Kramer?” Federsen had read Hannes’s report, and the two of them now sat at his desk. “Men talk about different things with each other than they would with a woman.”

  “Kramer was probably someone who kept his professional and personal lives separate. As soon as they were done shooting a scene, he’d shower and leave.”

  “Hmm, a junkie porn star who’s dominated by women on camera, owes money to his dealer, and says little about his personal life. Seems like a real saint.”

  “It’s a bit much to call him a junkie. He looked healthy and was in perfect shape. Here.” Grinning, Hannes handed Federsen two DVDs. “You can see him in action for yourself. He’s dominated only in the second movie.”

  “You’ve already watched them?” Federsen pushed the DVDs away. “What’s this world coming to? It’s a good thing I’ve got you. Since you apparently have no moral qualms, track down the rest of the studio’s cast.”

  Hannes had been relieved to get out of the studio. Gertrude had handed him the two DVDs along with the list of actors and staff. Alexander Kramer’s predecessor—and successor—had arrived, and Hannes had found him instantly unappealing.

  Gertrude had walked Hannes to the door and patted his chest. “Come see us again if you ever feel like trying something else. We haven’t had someone with different-colored eyes before. You’d certainly be a hit.”

  “I’m sure I would,” Hannes said. “Not just because of my eyes either.”

  She had looked at him in surprise, and her laughter had accompanied him on his way down the stairs.

  Ben laughed even longer. Hannes stared at his friend in consternation. Maria had had to cancel their after-work drink because a woman’s body had been found on a dock that evening.

  “Marcel’s a nice guy, unlike your boss,” she had told Hannes over the phone. “That’s why I want to have the results on his desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Fortunately, Ben was never averse to getting a beer, and as a student he rarely had any important commitments. So Hannes still spent a relaxing evening at the bar. After Ben’s assistance with his first case, Hannes had absolute confidence in his lanky sidekick. Since he couldn’t talk normally with Federsen, he was happy to share his experiences with Ben.

  “You at a porn studio?” Ben pushed one of his blond dreadlocks out of his face. “You turn red the moment you’re alone with a woman.”

  “You think I’m some total prude,�
�� Hannes said. “Besides, it wasn’t how you imagine it in that dirty mind of yours.”

  “Sorry, man.” Ben patted him on the shoulder. “But you’ve got to admit that’s some story. Did you ever think you’d see the inside of a porn studio? By the way, I saw you the other day on TV eyeing Jesus up and down.” He pulled a rolled-up newspaper from his pocket and placed it on the table. “New Leads in Jesus Murder” was emblazoned in large letters atop a panoramic shot of the crime scene. Hannes scanned the article and photos of the two-page spread.

  “New leads? What’s so new? It says absolutely nothing new.” Hannes had feared there was a leak in the police force.

  “Well, if the headline read ‘No New Leads in Jesus Murder,’ no one would buy the paper.”

  “Let’s talk about something else. I’ll be busy with Jesus tomorrow anyway. Yesterday was my first boating safety class.”

  “So you finally want to take your old boss’s boat out on the water? Awesome. Hurry up so we can make your maiden voyage before it turns cold. I’m sure the class is real easy for a canoeist.”

  “Doubtful. My head was spinning last night. We started with navigation and learned the different types of lights. Do you know how many types of lights there are? Flashing, blinking, I could go on.”

  “Green, go; red, stop; yellow, drive like hell?” Ben smirked.

  “Very funny. I’ll have to cram for the test. I wonder if Fritz ever bothered to get his license.”

  “Have you visited him?”

  “No.” Hannes had promised himself a more exciting evening with Ben. The topic of Fritz and the scratch in his throat didn’t bode well. “Don’t you start too. I know I should see him. I need to look up the visiting hours and see if they fit into my schedule.”

  Since Ben knew all about Hannes’s conflicting feelings, he decided to change the subject.

  “What’s Anna up to? Shouldn’t she be back by now?” Ben asked. Hannes had had his eye on the key witness from his first murder investigation.

  “She comes back in two weeks,” Hannes said. “She e-mailed me yesterday from Indonesia to say that she’d be hanging around there for a few more days.”