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

  Hannes jotted this information down next to the name. He had focused solely on Kramer’s current coworkers—a stupid mistake on his part. Federsen would be delighted.

  Ms. Kramer said there were no other close family members. Her parents had no siblings, and her grandparents had died many years ago. The next names on the list were five childhood friends, all still living in Bayreuth. As far as Ms. Kramer knew, her brother had been in sporadic contact with them. Hannes would have to ask for assistance from his Bavarian colleagues to find them, because he had no desire to take a trip to the city of the Richard Wagner Festival. That would have been something for Old Fritz, who preferred to work on his most difficult cases while listening to classical music.

  “Did your brother have any friends here?”

  “Not really. Alex worked out a lot because he had to be in great shape. And before he started his career in porn, he modeled off and on. He also spent a lot of time with his horse, so he didn’t have much free time. His costly hobby wasn’t exactly good for his financial situation. He had two friends here in town. They’re on the list. He met Mirko at the gym, and Jonas at the stable.”

  Hannes was sure he’d be able to track them down.

  The last few names on the list were grouped together by a large bracket with “New Way” written beside it.

  “Who are these people?” Hannes’s head and body ached, and he was burning up.

  “They’re all from New Way. It’s a sort of nondenominational community. A place for people who want nothing to do with traditional church.”

  “So a cult?” What better place to find a killer?

  “We’re not a cult,” Ms. Kramer said. “New Way is a group for people who support core Christian values, but do not agree with the Church as an institution. Heavy-handed moralizing, male-only priests and their misogynistic views, medieval rituals—we reject all that. We’re the exact opposite of a cult because we condemn, patronize, or exclude no one.”

  “I can imagine, if a porn actor’s allowed to join. Still, I’m surprised. This is the first time I’ve heard that your brother had religious tendencies.”

  “He didn’t. I was trying to explain it to you. We’re a community that focuses on moral truths rather than traditional religion. We may discuss the Ten Commandments, but for us, they’re simply fundamental moral values. Religion doesn’t really play a role. Alexander didn’t believe in God or Jesus.”

  Instead of making a beeline for his bed, Hannes made a detour to the police station to share the new information with his boss. He opened the door to the office and stepped into the middle of a conversation between Federsen and Steffen Lauer.

  “You don’t look too good,” said Lauer.

  “Where have you been?” Federsen asked.

  Hannes handed him the list of names and explained how he had gotten it.

  “How dare you visit the murder victim’s sister again without talking to me first. There, you see, Steffen? The guy can’t be controlled. He’s just like Fritz.”

  “That’s enough, Henning.” Lauer turned to Hannes. “In the future, please check with your supervisor before you go out on your own. Are there names we didn’t know before?”

  Lauer relaxed when Hannes explained everyone’s backgrounds. “This is good news,” Lauer said and patted Hannes on the shoulder. “We’ve finally shed some more light on Alexander Kramer. But you should head home and get to bed. I’ll lend Henning a couple of your colleagues to help him go over the list.”

  Before heading home, Hannes called the prison to inquire about visiting hours. He was so fed up with Federsen that he was finally ready to visit his former boss. He was a little taken aback to learn that visits were possible on Fridays—tomorrow. He hadn’t planned on visiting Fritz so soon. On the other hand, he would have skipped his workout anyway since he was sick, so he might as well visit.

  On his way out Hannes stopped by Isabelle’s office. Cat photos hung everywhere—she was legendary at the station for her love of felines. He thought about Antje Kramer’s list of names. Her inclusion of Sylvia Böhm on the partial list of New Way members stood out.

  “Alex got along best with Sylvia,” she had explained. “She owns the horse farm where he rented a stall for his gelding. They spent a lot of time together. And now I have to figure out arrangements for the horse. Hopefully Sylvia’s interested in keeping him.”

  “You look exhausted,” Isabelle said, snapping Hannes back to the present.

  “Hey, what was the name of the dead woman found on the dock?”

  “Sylvia Böhm. Why?” Isabelle asked.

  Hannes stared at her, his feverish eyes now wide.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hannes had slept for twelve hours, thanks to a healthy dose of cough syrup. His reflection in the bathroom mirror, however, showed that his health had only marginally improved. The whites of his eyes had turned reddish. His nose was rubbed raw after his all-day tissue marathon, and his lips were chapped. At least his fever seemed to have broken.

  Fritz Janssen didn’t look much better as he limped toward Hannes an hour later. Hannes had been led to a bright room with several tables. Partitions between the tables at least gave the sense of some privacy. A prison guard sat behind a desk at the front of the room, carefully observing the interactions between prisoners and visitors.

  The only other visitor was an elderly woman who sat at the far end of the room opposite a dangerous-looking man. Hannes chose the farthest table from them. He looked self-consciously at Fritz. A mix of feelings came over him: anger, insecurity, sympathy, pity.

  Fritz’s face had two new scars. Evidently, the wounds from his fall had not yet healed. His slightly wrinkled face looked pale, and his hair had lost its last remaining patches of brown. Even his bushy eyebrows had changed color, making him look like an old, slightly injured owl. However, the most serious consequence of Fritz’s fall was his stiff right knee. It took great effort and difficulty to hobble over.

  A broken Fritz groaned as he fell into the chair and stretched his right leg to the side. His light-blue eyes had lost their luster. Hannes sat there with his arms crossed defensively.

  “I’m very happy you came,” Fritz said. His chronically hoarse voice sounded even more like a rusty saw. “But you don’t look too good.”

  “Thanks. I caught some stubborn cold. You’ve looked better yourself. How are you doing here?”

  “I was more comfortable in the infirmary than I am in my cell. I was there for the first month. In any case, I managed to score a coffeemaker for my little apartment.” Old Fritz briefly returned in a flash of his foxlike grin, but he was still only a shadow of his former self. He’d considered coffee a basic necessity ever since his sixteenth birthday. “I can listen to music too, and they gave me a small TV. Congratulations, by the way.”

  “What for?”

  “I watched the Canoe World Championships. You know, I’m not really a fan of sports, but . . . well, you don’t really have anything better to do here,” he said, trying to hide his interest in Hannes’s life. “I’m no expert, but ninth place at the world championships is pretty good, right?”

  “I’m happy with it. I may have come in last in the final heat, but it was enough to qualify for the Olympics.” Hannes uncrossed his arms. He was glad to talk about something more innocuous.

  “So I can catch you on TV next summer in the Olympics?”

  “Only if I make it to the finals. I doubt they’ll broadcast all the heats. I only qualified for the thousand meters. Unfortunately, I didn’t make the two hundred—I lost in the prelims. I was too slow out of the gate, and there’s not enough time to catch up in that race. But whatever. I’m just proud I made it to the Olympics.”

  “I hope my successor’s giving you enough time to train. Who is it?”

  When Hannes told him the bad news, Fritz frowned. “That bum? How are you two getting along?”

  He wasn’t surprised when Hannes told him they were constantly at each other’s throats.
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br />   “The best thing to do is avoid him as much as possible. You need to make sure his bad reputation doesn’t rub off on you. Try to do your own thing and go to Marcel for good advice. He’s one hell of a cop and can’t stand that dope either. Henning should be happy having you. He can’t handle anything by himself, and you’ve already proven you’re a talented investigator.”

  The memory of the past summer caused them to grow silent.

  “One request, Hannes. Let’s not talk about what happened. I’m sorry for what you had to go through, but beyond that, I’d do it again. I’m guilty of justice and paying the price for it. But I don’t want to dredge it all up. Nor, incidentally, would I like to talk about my cancer. Let’s not waste the short time we have discussing medical reports. Tell me something positive. How’s my Lena? Have you already been out on her?”

  Hannes didn’t want to let Fritz off the hook so easily. They still needed to talk about the dramatic events of last summer. He could understand why Fritz wanted to avoid the issue, but sooner or later they would have to broach it. However, after looking at the former detective’s scarred face, he decided to let it go for now.

  Hannes reluctantly explained that he intended to get his boating license in the coming weeks. His newfound enthusiasm for boating got the better of him, and they engaged in an animated discussion about buoys, nautical charts, and meteorology.

  Fritz looked at the large clock on the wall. “We’ve only got ten more minutes. I’m allowed an hour visit each week. Besides you, Ole’s the only other person who’s visited, and he came once. So I’m far from being booked up. If you have nothing better to do next week, you could visit your old boss. I’d be very happy.”

  He stared in embarrassment at the edge of the table, and Hannes felt sorry for him. He realized that despite everything he had actually grown fond of the old man. The last few minutes had flown by. When Hannes promised to return next week, Fritz beamed.

  “Tell me, what are you working on at the moment? I don’t mean to interrogate you, but maybe I could give you a few tips here and there . . .”

  “Geez, Fritz.” Hannes had to smile. “I was wondering how long you’d be able to hold out.”

  “My body might be a wreck, but I’d at least like to keep my mind sharp. I’ve started doing crossword puzzles. I never would’ve thought to do them before, not even at my most bored. I have a lot of time to think. If you give me something to gnaw on, I might be able to come up with a few theories.”

  “Absolutely not. Federsen would have my head. Then Lauer would feed the rest of me to the lions in the zoo. I’m sorry, but that’s not an option.”

  “I understand.” Instead of pressing Hannes, Fritz gave him some more tips on how to handle Lena. “And don’t forget,” he said as he shook Hannes’s hand good-bye. “You’re never happy on land until the ship is sinking.”

  Perhaps Steffen Lauer doubted Federsen’s competence as much as Old Fritz, because after lunch he rounded up the detectives investigating the two murder cases and personally chaired the meeting. He shared what Hannes had learned and commended him for discovering that the two victims had known each other. After all, it was a well-known fact that Federsen liked to bask in the glory of others. Lauer looked around and stroked his bald head with one hand, while the fingers of the other fiddled with his mustache. It was a nervous tic of his. He nodded at Hannes.

  “Let’s start with Alexander Kramer. Please give us a brief overview.”

  Surprised that he’d been chosen and not Federsen, Hannes quickly collected his thoughts. He first went over the victim’s personal details before turning to the current status of the investigation. “In the meantime, Bavaria’s gotten back to us about Kramer’s childhood friends. At the time in question, all five of them can prove they were in Bayreuth. No one could have driven up here, crucified Kramer, and driven back. His cell phone gave us no new names, at least none of any help. He had the numbers to modeling agencies, his landlord, gym, and so on. We’ve also read all his text messages and found nothing unusual.”

  “When was he last seen alive?” asked Isabelle.

  “At a New Way function. A member teaches a fitness class from time to time, and Kramer participated in the class on the Monday night before his death. He walked alone to the bus stop, and there’s no trace of him after that.”

  “I paid a visit to that other porn star, Kramer’s predecessor, yesterday,” Federsen chimed in, seeking attention. “His name’s Manuel Birkholz, and he’s thirty-two. He made it clear that he didn’t like Kramer but denied threatening him. There are enough holes in his alibi for him to be the perp.”

  “What about the dealer?” Hannes asked.

  “Dennis or whatever his name is? The two colleagues who stepped in for you yesterday afternoon asked around. The name didn’t ring a bell for anyone in narcotics. Unfortunately, Ms. Kramer didn’t give us much to go on. We also questioned Kramer’s sex partner from the studio again. She didn’t recognize the name either.”

  “Well, let’s hope we find him anyway,” Lauer said. “There were two other friends on the list. What’d they have to say?”

  “I questioned them myself.” Federsen seemed to have had an unusually productive day yesterday. “The guy from the gym, Mirko, was on a business trip. His alibi checks out, and he couldn’t give us anything to go on. The other guy’s name is Jonas Talmann. He works at the stable owned by the late Sylvia Böhm. He grooms the horses and handles minor repairs.”

  “He’s still fairly new there,” added Isabelle, since this was the point where the two murders overlapped. “Mrs. Böhm’s husband told us that he has been there only a year. Apparently, they haven’t been particularly pleased with him, because Mr. Böhm’s considering firing him. Mr. Talmann can prove he was at the stable when Mrs. Böhm was murdered, so he’s been ruled out.”

  “Does he know he’s on the chopping block?” Hannes asked.

  “Mr. Böhm hasn’t mentioned anything to him about it. Whether his wife made any sort of hints to that effect, we don’t know.”

  “So far, Mr. Böhm and Jonas Talmann are the only two with connections to both victims,” a pensive Lauer said. “We have only a rough estimate when the crucifixion took place, but in the case of Mrs. Böhm, they both have alibis. Let’s take a closer look at this religious community the victims belonged to. It can hardly be a coincidence, and a crucifixion strongly suggests that the crime was religiously motivated. Marcel, please fill in Henning and Detective Niehaus about Mrs. Böhm’s murder, so you’re all on the same page.”

  Like Lauer, Marcel was totally bald, even though at forty-one, he was nearly fifteen years younger and an outspoken ladies’ man. He had strikingly attractive features and a carefully trimmed beard. He was a passionate runner and father of two. He was very popular, but he wasn’t particularly great at managing stress. Although he rarely lost his cool, in times of great tension, he would get nosebleeds. He pulled a large color photo of an attractive blonde woman from a file and placed it on the table.

  “Sylvia Böhm was thirty-nine, and strangely enough, we share the same birthday, April 1.”

  Federsen mumbled a bad April Fool’s joke, but Marcel continued, “She bought the horse farm with her husband three years ago and grew the business significantly in a very short amount of time. She used to be a competitive rider and even made it to the German national championships. She had grown up with horses and knew how to run a horse farm.”

  “Unlike her husband,” Isabelle added. “Matthias Böhm is forty-two and was originally an insurance broker. He doesn’t ride and has stated that he isn’t much of a horse lover. He manages the farm.”

  “Rumor has it that the two had been going through some sort of rough patch,” Marcel said. “Mrs. Böhm wanted to start growing organic produce and open up a bed-and-breakfast. Her husband thought it was a bad idea.”

  “He also didn’t think much of her involvement in New Way,” Isabelle explained. “He’s a practicing Catholic, and in his opinion,
the group is nothing short of blasphemy.”

  “What can you tell us about Mrs. Böhm’s death?” Hannes asked and attempted to stifle a cough. He sneezed twice instead, and Isabelle moved away from him.

  “She was found last Friday night, so a week ago today, by a young couple—Japanese tourists who continued on their European tour. Neither is under suspicion. She was last seen alive by her husband that morning. She left the farm in her car, but he didn’t know where she was headed. We found the car near the crime scene. So it’s possible she had planned to meet with the perp. Her cell phone’s missing. It wasn’t on her, and her husband can’t find it in the house. Nothing else is missing, though. Her purse was beside her at the scene. Her wallet and jewelry were untouched.”

  “There were no signs of a struggle,” Marcel said, “and no other DNA. No clues at the scene either. Maria did find something, though. A strong poison had been injected into her abdomen, causing an extremely painful death. That’s probably the reason why she was found curled up.” He placed another photo on the table, and Hannes’s stomach turned at the sight of her distorted face. He quickly looked at Isabelle.

  “Was Maria able to determine the time of death?”

  “Mrs. Böhm died last Friday at approximately three o’clock. She was found five hours later.”

  “So she died two days after Kramer,” Hannes said. “But Kramer was crucified before he died, maybe right after the fitness class, so sometime Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Mrs. Böhm was killed three or four days after that.”

  “What interests me the most is the connection between the two victims,” Federsen said. “We have to assume it was the same perp or at least the same person who ordered the murders.”

  Lauer shook his head. “We should be careful not to jump to conclusions.”

  “What do you mean?” Federsen said, annoyed. “Mrs. Böhm was attractive, Mr. Kramer had a knack for women, and things weren’t great between the married couple. We already know that Mr. Kramer and Mrs. Böhm got along. What’s more, both were involved in this strange sect that Mr. Böhm is so dismissive of. The motive is obvious.”