Grave Intent (30 page)

“What in the hell was that for?” Tim said. He held his nose, picked up his glasses. “I don’t have anything new on Robin Cordes.”

“Robin’s history. I’m more interested in Chandu,” Jan said.

“Ask crazy boxer chick here. She’s the one who hangs out with him.”

Jan ignored the remark. “If I was looking to find out where Chandu lives, who would I ask?”

“I’ve got no idea.”

Jan turned to Zoe. “Want another go?”

Zoe cracked her knuckles. “All righty . . .”

Tim raised his hands and took a step back. “I’m telling you all I know.”

Zoe sighed, disappointed. Tim glanced back and forth at them as if he wasn’t sure who was crazier. “What happened?” he added.

“Let’s just say that Chandu got a visit from someone who wasn’t too nice to him.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Not good.”

“Chandu worked for some tough guys. He was mixed up with dudes who can hold grudges. Some of them might have wanted to get their revenge. It’s a long list.”

“How did they know where to go?”

“Well . . . seeing how it’s such a long list, a person could make some money off knowing Chandu’s hideout.”

“So you sold Chandu’s address to them?” Zoe said.

“No, no one ever even asked me for it. A few years back I trailed him until I found out where he lived. But I never told anyone. It was a waste of time.”

“Anyone else know?”

“Sure. The guys he collected dough for. Those are some real control freaks. They eventually put their own people on it.”

“How much is that worth?”

“Hundred euros. Maybe two hundred.”

“Can you tell us a couple names?”

“Not exactly.” Tim shrugged. “Top of my head, I can think of twenty-odd people who’d sell info like that.”

“What about his former employers?”

“You couldn’t get within ten yards of them before they’d bump you off.”

Zoe reached in her pocket again. She pressed three hundred-euro bills into Tim’s hand. “You’re working for me now.” She showed him a photo of Elias Dietrich. “I want to know who sold this guy here Chandu’s address and where I can find him. And I want to know as fast as possible.”

“How fast?”

“In twenty-four hours. Otherwise, Chandu’s a dead man.”

Tim rubbed at his aching nose. “Listen, I’m not going to lie to you two. I’ll go without my beauty sleep tonight and really get on the case, but one day isn’t much time. I’d have to land a lucky strike, and fast.” He looked Zoe in the eye. “I’ll give it my best shot, but you two really should have a plan B.”

“What do we do now?” Zoe asked Jan as they left the bar. “I have no desire to put Chandu’s life in the Rat’s hands.”

“I don’t intend to,” Jan said. “They’re releasing Linus from custody first thing tomorrow morning. I’m going to pay the bastard a visit tonight and question him a little more persuasively this time.”

“
We
are, you mean.”

“Just me,” Jan insisted. “After I question him I’ll be suspended, maybe even arrested. My career is over, and I’ll go down in history as a prime example of the violent cop. Court trial. Media circus. All the beautiful things in life.” He pulled his car keys out. “But it’ll be worth it.”

“I’m coming along anyway.”

“There’s no reason for you to sacrifice yourself.”

“And there’s no point talking about it. We’re losing time. I’m going with you, and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.”

Jan turned to Zoe and looked her in the eye. Her usual spite had been replaced with a firm resolve. She had no idea what kind of avalanches they might trigger tonight. But it did feel good to have a partner.

“Well, then, you’re driving. Let’s hit it.”

As Zoe raced through Berlin traffic, oblivious to whatever damage she might cause, Jan pulled his badge from his pocket. He’d dreamed so long of reaching detective—sat through countless night shifts, spent hours studying for the tests in his free time, and improved his shooting skills. Getting called up to Homicide had been one of the proudest moments of his life.

The Detectives Division had demanded a lot of him. Sleepless nights, nightmares, long weekends, and canceled vacations, but he had accepted all of it. He loved what he did.

He was going to pay a high price tonight, but his friend’s life was at stake. The friend who had saved him as he lay dying on the sidewalk. The friend who had risked it all for him.

I had a great run,
Jan thought wistfully, running his fingers over his badge. Tomorrow morning it would be over for good, and he’d never get it back.

“I had no idea they had cells here,” Zoe whispered as they made their way down the stairs to the basement of police headquarters.

“These aren’t meant for a long stay; sometimes we just have to keep a suspect locked up here before transferring to Moabit prison.”

“So where’s Linus Keller being held?”

“In the third cell.”

“Keys?”

“The officer watching the cells has them. I’ll tell him Bergman needs to speak to him and that I’ll keep watch meanwhile. Two minutes or so ought to be enough.”

Jan put on a smile and strode down the corridor toward the cells. He had no idea who was on duty down here, but he needed to lure him away from his post one way or another.

The officer sat at a table watching the video monitor of the cells. He turned when he heard Jan’s and Zoe’s footsteps.

It was Fabian Gisker.

“What are you doing down here?” Jan said in surprise. “I thought you were still on leave.”

“I got myself transferred down here for the night. No pay.”

“How come?”

“To save your ass, young ’un.”

Jan’s hands curled into fists. “You’re not going to stop me.”

“Am so.”

Jan pounded on the table. “Linus Keller is a weapons smuggler. Arrested four times for assault. This bastard sold a flash grenade to a sick serial killer. Give me one good reason why he hasn’t earned a good roughing up.”

“Because we’re on the other side,” Bergman said from behind him.

Jan spun around at the sound of his boss’s voice. He hadn’t heard him coming. “Not tonight.”

“We’ll find him,” Fabian said, trying to reassure him. “There’s still time.”

“We’ve been on the case all day, and we’ve got nothing,” Zoe said. “We have no idea what he’s done with Chandu—who knows whether he’s murdered him already? And the only thing standing between us and saving him is one goddamn gunrunner who just laughed in all your faces when you questioned him.”

“Beating a confession out of him won’t get us anywhere,” Fabian said.

“Will so,” Zoe said. “It gets us closer to our friend.”

“You have any idea what the consequences would be?”

“Sure. Saving a life.”

“No. It throws us back to the stone age.”

“What’s so bad about forcing a convicted offender, who abetted a serial killer, to tell us what he knows?” Zoe asked.

“It’s not about Chandu, Elias Dietrich, or even Linus,” Bergman said. “It’s about crossing a line. When is it ever legit to beat up a prisoner? When it’s Linus, maybe. What’s next, though? A drug dealer? And then someone who was caught speeding?”

“Someone who was speeding isn’t holding back intel that could save a life.”

“What if we got it wrong? Say we wrongly accuse an innocent medical examiner and beat a confession out of her?” Bergman stepped closer to Zoe. “How would you like it if a cop came into your cell and broke your fingers for a crime you didn’t commit?”

Zoe coolly returned Bergman’s glare. “The fucker is guilty. No doubt about it.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“But we’ve got nothing else,” Jan said, desperate now. “We’ve been at it day and night and don’t have a clue where Elias Dietrich is holed up. We don’t even have any idea why he kidnapped Chandu—and in a few hours he’ll be dead. We need a lead.”

“Not at this price.”

“What price, then?” Zoe shouted. “What’s worth more than a friend’s life?”

“You have no idea how things work in Detectives. You dissect your corpses, analyze your clues, and write up a report that might help solve a crime. Or not. I have to play God. I have to weigh what’s moral, what’s a legitimate course of action. I have to make decisions that no one should ever have to make.”

He looked Zoe in the eye. “I’ve let child molesters walk, been spat on by murderers and cursed as a dirty racist. I’ve watched friends die and had to let colleagues go who were doing nothing more than their duty. And while you get to go home and dream of sharpening your scalpels, my memories of these cases stalk me, always. Say Chandu dies. His face will be with me for the rest of my life, always reminding me that I failed. You think I’m a heartless bastard. I have to live with that. My soul might’ve gone to Hell a long time ago, but I will not sacrifice the system.”

“If the welfare of a motherfucker like Linus Keller is more important than Chandu’s life, then the system has been broken for a long time,” Zoe hissed.

“Perhaps. But I still believe in it.”

Zoe turned away from Bergman and spat on the floor. “Take that as my notice,” she said and ran off for the stairs.

Jan pulled out his badge and slammed it on the table. “I’ve been playing this game for twenty-four hours now. And I’ve been playing by your rules,” he added. “If anything happens to my friend, I won’t ever step into this fucking joint again, and I’ll tell every tabloid reporter who’ll listen just why Chandu had to die.”

He followed Zoe out.

“They’re right, you know,” Fabian said to Bergman once Jan was gone.

Bergman stuffed Jan’s badge in his pocket. “I know.”

It was three o’clock in the morning, but the restaurant was still open. The “Trattoria” sign illuminated two open parking spots in a dim yellow light. The green curtains had been pulled shut. Two boxwoods in ochre tubs framed the entrance.

Zoe hesitated. If she entered this restaurant, her life as she knew it would be over. She had built a good life for herself in Berlin, with an interesting job and even a little of what people called a social life. All that would be over as soon as the door closed behind her. She looked at the sign as though expecting to read something other than “Trattoria.” Maybe “Abandon Hope, All Who Enter Here.”

She wasn’t religious, but she did believe in Hell. For her it was no fiery dungeon beneath the earth, populated by tormenting demons. Hell was a life that you despised and could not escape. A life that you hated waking up to in the morning, one plagued by joyless days, one in which sleep was the only respite. That would soon be her future. She could still flee, just get in her car and drive back to her apartment. But the price for doing that was Chandu’s life.