Dead Woods (19 page)

“Did you notice anything unusual?
Was Herr Hinrichsen maybe
. . .
nervous?
Or did he tell you anything?”

“What do you mean?” The woman’s eyes got big. “You don’t mean about the dead man they found . . .” She put a hand over her mouth. “No way. No. You think Niels has something to do with the dead man? No, I’d never believe that, as long as I live.”

The poor woman was quite beside herself.

“Was Herr Hinrichsen in any way different on Sunday?” Max asked patiently. “Or did he behave differently the days before, if you saw him then?”

Frau Meyer was continuously shaking her head, less in a gesture of denial than one of disbelief. “No, he acted as always.” She looked at the door that Max had just closed. “Maybe he was a little excited, but I thought that was because of the horses.”

Max gave her an astonished look. “Horses?”

“Yes, the horses they have in the forest now, to help with the logging, I guess. The new forest ranger introduced that, the young know-it-all,” she added as explanation when Max still looked at her questioningly. “That was something new for Niels, and so he was quite excited when he saw the animals for the first time.”

Max remembered the two horses he had seen in the forest the day before. Niels Hinrichsen hadn’t seemed all that excited, but then again, he didn’t know the man. “So did he talk about the horses on Sunday?”

Frau Meyer reflected. “No, he didn’t, really. I noticed that he was very antsy, though. He could hardly sit still and wanted to go out into the woods again right away. And so I thought he wanted to look for the horses; even though they most likely wouldn’t work on a Sunday.”

Max nodded pensively, thanked her, and said good-bye. He had already turned away when the woman called after him, asking which hospital Niels Hinrichsen was in.

“In Eppendorf.”

“Eppendorf!” She said it as if only hopeless cases ended up at the university hospital and as if, by being sent there, a death sentence had been levied on Niels Hinrichsen.

Chapter 13

On Wednesday morning, at ten after eight, Lina Svenson sat at her desk and yawned. She held on to her second cup of coffee and watched the computer come alive. Sometimes she wished she could also be switched on by the touch of a button. But then she’d need someone to press the button and she absolutely hated the idea of somebody else deciding when she should wake up.

She shook her head. She only had such idiotic ideas early in the morning when she was just seemingly awake. She checked her watch. Eight fifteen. Franziska Leyhausen was supposed to have been here at eight, but the doorman hadn’t called yet to announce her. Lina and Alex were going to interrogate her once more today, this time in one of the rooms with video and audio equipment. Alex had already put his head through the door and asked whether Lina had heard from the witness. She hadn’t.

He popped in again, and when Lina told him she had neither heard from nor seen Frau Leyhausen, he tried to reach her by phone. “Good morning. This is Franziska Leyhausen’s phone. Please leave a message or call my mobile phone at . . .”

It just so happened that the cell phone, destroyed almost beyond repair, lay in the forensics lab and thus could tell them nothing about the current whereabouts of the woman.

“I can’t believe it! She was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.” With a stern expression, he added, “That’s unacceptable.”

Lina looked at her colleague with tiny, tired eyes. “Leave me alone. I was on time!” He was acting as if it was her fault when other people sleep in, when she herself had to struggle to get out of bed on time.

Alex calmed down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you at all. I’ll send a patrol car for her.” He disappeared into his office and left Lina alone.

She put down the coffee cup, yawned, pulled the keyboard closer, and signed in. She entered Franziska Leyhausen’s name, but didn’t get more information than last night. Thirty-four years old, single, one arrest three years ago in the Lüchow-Dannenberg district in connection with an incident involving a train carrying nuclear waste. No charges and no sentence. Last year she got a ticket for doing thirty-seven kilometers an hour in a thirty-kilometer zone—on her bike.

Lina leaned back and wiped her face. She didn’t care what her colleagues thought. She did not believe the biologist had anything to do with Philip Birkner’s death. Well, that wasn’t completely true. If she had not suggested the walk in the forest, if she hadn’t kicked him in the balls and then left him alone on the damp forest floor, Birkner most likely would still be alive today. But Lina could not imagine that Franziska Leyhausen was the one who beat Birkner to death.

She checked the time on the small clock on the computer. It was 8:27. The patrol car should report in soon.

Lina’s thoughts wandered to Katja Ansmann, who was still on her list of suspects, especially because the chief of police himself was blocking the investigation. The life insurance was at least one reason why Katja Ansmann might have wanted to see her domestic partner dead. And who knows, maybe she was even involved with the data theft. She puts Jensen or Vogler up to creating a gateway to the software, and she establishes contact with the rival company—what was it, Markman Solutions—if it hadn’t existed before. When Philip Birkner figures it out two years later, she has him eliminated.

Invigorated, Lina typed Markman Solutions into the police search interface. Bingo! The company was already under investigation for industrial espionage, which actually wasn’t that surprising. Lina scanned the sparse information that simply revealed that the victimized company, Wesseling & Kröger, had reported its competitor to the police two years ago and that the investigation was still ongoing. A Chief Inspector Marita Schön was listed as the contact person, and her extension was given. Lina picked up the phone and dialed.

“Schön,” said a high, clear voice. Lina had to smile about the meaning of the name: “beautiful.” How nice to be able to greet everyone that way. She introduced herself, explained what she was looking for, and gave her colleague the file number for the case.

“Just a moment,” she heard and then the clatter of a keyboard. “Here we are. Markman Solutions, alleged patent theft. What exactly do you want to know?”

“Did anyone check whether Markman Solutions made payments to the consulting firm Ansmann?”

“Whew!” Marita Schön exhaled audibly. “I’ve gone through piles of material, but I’m nowhere near the end.” Lina heard some more typing. “I’m basically the only one working on it, and it’s not my only case. It might take years. Oh, wait: Ansmann. What do you know? They do show up as business partners. Hold on.” The receiver was put down and Lina could hear soft music in the background. It took quite a long time, and Lina impatiently tapped her pencil against her notepad. Finally Marita Schön was back. “I have copies of the bills in front of me. The consulting firm Ansmann billed Markman Solutions a year and a half ago, twice, both times for the amount of ten thousand euro.”

“Do your records show what those payments were for?” Twenty thousand euro wasn’t an enormous sum, but maybe that wasn’t all.

There was a muffled rustling of paper. “General consulting activities, creation of a profile, employee training at head-of-department level . . . It all sounds legit. It wouldn’t have set off any warning bells. How’s your unit involved in the story?”

“The managing director of the consulting firm lived with the owner of the company that was responsible for the data leak, Philip Birkner. He’s the dead man from the Niendorfer Gehege.”

“Oh yes, Birkner. I’ve come across his name here, too,” said Marita Schön. “And he’s dead? Poor guy.” There was genuine regret in her voice. Lina tried to imagine the policewoman who could still muster that much empathy for a single victim. She was probably a quiet, unassuming woman, a little chubby, with glasses and a tendency to make herself invisible—someone who likes to hide behind her desk and loves to dig through dusty piles of documents.

Lina looked at the circled
20,000
on her notepad. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something. “Okay, that was it,” she said. “If you come across the Ansmann name again, let me know.”

“Sure. Good luck.”

After hanging up, Lina pursed her lips. Did the connection between the Ansmann firm and Markman Solutions mean anything? Of course, firms nowadays use consultants for all kind of crap, for furnishing the office following the rules of
feng shui
—for the optimal placement of indoor plants—or determining the best time for weekly employee meetings. They book communication training sessions, creativity boosts, fitness training, and courses for healthy nutrition for their employees. But why did Markman Solutions engage Katja Ansmann, of all people? Consulting firms were hardly a rarity in Hamburg. On the other hand, twenty thousand euro seemed like chicken feed for a successful act of industrial espionage. Katja Ansmann wouldn’t have taken the risk for such a sum.

The connecting door to Hanno’s office opened and Alex looked in. “Leyhausen didn’t call you either, did she?” When she shook her head, he continued, “Our colleagues are there, but nobody is answering the doorbell. They’re going to go in, and Sebastian and I are driving there.” Before she could say anything, he added, “Hanno wants you to check out whether anyone has seen her . . . in her office, with this Daniel, with whoever you can think of.”

Before he was gone, she quickly asked, “Is a manhunt on?” He nodded and disappeared. Lina was staring at the gray door and felt queasy. She shook herself to clear her head and went for some more coffee.

Franziska Leyhausen had disappeared, so Katja Ansmann simply had to wait until later.

A call to the office cooperative in the Grindelviertel brought nothing. She spoke with Klaus Beck, the geologist she had talked with the day before. He had no idea where Franziska Leyhausen might be.

“Yesterday I put a note on her desk that she should contact you,” he said eagerly. “Didn’t you reach her last night?”

“I did, but I still have one or two questions.”

She could almost hear how the man gasped for air excitedly. “But she doesn’t have anything to do with this murder, does she? It can’t be, not Franka. I can’t imagine that at all.”

Lina ignored the comment. Most people can’t imagine that someone they know could have murdered somebody. This was even true for the tough guys around the Reeperbahn. (“Sure, the guy’s no shrinking violet, if you know what I mean, but to off someone? No, you must be wrong.”) Lina also asked Beck whether he knew any of her friends, male or female, but other than a Barbara, whose last name he didn’t know, he couldn’t think of anybody. Lina stifled a sigh, thanked him, and hung up.

She was about to dial Daniel Vogler’s number when Max came in with a wet umbrella in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

“Good morning,” he said, sounding friendly and serene as always.

Lina put down the phone and measured him, frowning.

“How do you manage it?” she asked.

Max stopped. He seemed irritated for a moment, something unusual. “How do I manage what?”

“Day or night, no matter where you are, you always look as if you’re fresh from a vacation and nothing can rattle you.”

Max was smiling. “Oh, that.” He put down his cup, opened the umbrella and placed it in a corner to dry. Then he sat down, clicked on his computer, and turned to Lina. “I meditate every day.”

“Come on, stop joking around. Spill it. What drugs are you on?”

“Home-grown endorphins.” Max grinned.

“How dare you so blatantly circumvent the law against narcotics?” Lina took a sip of coffee. With a sigh, she sat up straight and became serious.

“Franziska Leyhausen has disappeared,” she said and gave him a brief recap, including her fruitless phone conversation with Klaus Beck. “I was just going to call Daniel Vogler,” she said and picked up the phone again. But then she had an idea. “Are you free right now?” Max nodded warily. Such questions always needed to be faced guardedly, no matter who’s asking them. “How about coming with me to see this Vogler? He constantly pops up in our investigations. It’s about time we meet him in person.”

“Do you think Frau Leyhausen went underground?” Max asked. Lina was driving and Max wondered whether she could see anything at all, since the tip of her nose almost touched the steering wheel.

“Well, there are some indications.” Lina said, frowning. “Hanno, Alex, and Sebastian are quite sure, but I still can’t imagine she’s our culprit.”

“She could have gone into hiding even though she didn’t do it.”

“You’re right.” She signaled and turned left. The windshield wipers squeaked softly. “I just hope she doesn’t try to hurt herself. She was a nervous wreck yesterday.” When the road was straight for a while, she asked, “What’s new with you? Did you get anywhere with Niels Hinrichsen?”

Max shook his head. “He was transferred to the psychiatric ward. When he woke up this morning, he really freaked out. They had to sedate him.” Max grimaced. “Supposedly they had no choice.” Lina could see he didn’t share that opinion. “I visited him because I wanted to bring him fresh clothes, but he wasn’t responsive at the time.”

Lina kept following the GPS suggestions. The neighborhood became more upscale, which reminded her of Birkner’s domestic partner.

“Katja Ansmann received payments from Markman Solutions,” she said.

For the second time this morning, Max gave her an irritated look. Then it seemed to click: Katja Ansmann, Lina’s favorite suspect.

“Yes, so?” Max asked.

“The white-collar crime division has been investigating Markman Solutions for two years. The good woman’s consulting firm was paid twenty thousand euro a year and a half ago.”

“What does that tell us?”

“That she might have something to do with the data theft at Wesseling & Kröger and thus also with Philip Birkner’s murder.” Max sighed, but before he could say anything, Lina added, “This woman has just as good a motive to kill Birkner as Franziska Leyhausen or Frank Jensen. Three million euro—and there’s the matter of the data theft.” She took a deep breath. “Fine, I don’t particularly like her, whatever the reason may be, but we can’t simply leave her out when we investigate the case. We have to talk with her one more time.”

“And how do you plan to sell that to Hanno?”

Lina leaned forward and said, “Why do I have to? We would like to ask the witness whether Philip ever told her anything about the murder of Julia Munz; or whether she knows how Vogler and Birkner got along; or if she knew of Tanja Fischer, her domestic partner’s lover.” She grinned. “My own two or three questions won’t even be noticed. Besides, her apartment is almost on our way.”

Max looked out the window into the rain and said nothing. Finally he turned to Lina again. “All right. But first, we go to Daniel Vogler.”

Philip Birkner’s former employee lived in Großflottbek, an attractive bourgeois neighborhood in western Hamburg. Max whistled quietly when they stopped in front of the new building surrounded by a manicured, parklike garden. The door was opened by a pale and lanky man in his early thirties. Vogler’s apartment was on the second floor, and it really looked as if he had just moved in and hadn’t bought all the furniture yet—exactly as Franziska Leyhausen had said. A large moving box stood in the hallway. There was no coatrack. Instead, two jackets were draped over a chair in a corner. A brief glance into one of the rooms showed Lina what he was mostly occupied with: three computer monitors, all running, and two calculators next to them on the table. There were CDs on the shelves, piles of magazines, and a laptop.