I Am Your Judge: A Novel (18 page)

Ostermann pulled over his laptop and entered the donor’s name first in POLAS, the police search engine, then in Google.

“There are a zillion Kirsten Stadlers on the Internet, but not the one we’re looking for,” he grumbled. “On Facebook alone, there are fourteen women registered with that name.”

“Do you think that his father didn’t know the donor’s name?” Pia asked.

“Possibly,” Kim said with a nod. “In Germany, the recipients of an organ are not told the identity of the donor, unlike in the USA. There, it’s even common for the recipient to get in touch with the donor’s family.”

“And I don’t think that Maximilian told his father,” said Kai. “He found out using illegal methods, but he didn’t want to know more. He didn’t intend to contact the relatives.”

Pia put the diary she’d read back in the box and grabbed her phone to call Bodenstein. The name Kirsten Stadler was a new clue, and every new clue was a promising lead, even if in the course of the investigation, it turned out to be a dead end.

*   *   *

He pulled down the garage door and locked it. Then he got into his car, whose motor was already running, and drove past the endless rows of garages to the street. Christmas and sniper panic had swept the streets clean. He passed only one oncoming car on the way to the autobahn. Originally, he’d planned to leave more time between each execution, but what seemed good in theory didn’t always work in practice. In the meantime, the police had formed a special commission with the imaginative name “Sniper,” and he had no doubt that they would catch him sooner or later. The perfect murder did not exist, nor was he making any particular efforts to commit one. With each new dead body, there were new clues, new risks, and eventually the police would realize what it was all about. That’s why he couldn’t take too much time, because he still had more things to do. Unfortunately, the weather in the next two days would thwart his plans, because the forecast was for wind and rain, extremely unfavorable conditions for a shot from more than eight hundred meters. On Friday, though, the wind was predicted to calm down, which was absolutely ideal. Until then, he would go on with his life calmly and unobtrusively. Despite the hints that he had given in the obituaries, the police still seemed to be fumbling in the dark. And with any luck, they would continue to do so for a while.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

All the members of K-11 were once again gathered at the morning meeting of the “Sniper” special commission on the day after the Christmas holiday. Cem Altunay had cut short his vacation in Turkey, and Kathrin Fachinger had more or less recovered from her cold.

“Why wasn’t I informed about the third murder on Christmas Day?” Andreas Neff complained to Bodenstein. “How am I supposed to help out constructively when I’m being bullied here?”

“Nobody is bullying you,” said Bodenstein. “You should have left us a number where you could be reached off-hours.”

“I did!”

“Well, I tried several times to call you,” said Ostermann. “But your cell was off and you don’t have voice mail. I didn’t want to contact you via Facebook.”

A couple of people grinned. Neff checked the call list on his cell and fell silent, looking abashed.

Dr. Nicola Engel came into the conference room, and all conversation stopped. The chief stood next to the whiteboard and looked around the table.

“I hope you all had lovely holidays and are now ready to get to work,” she began. “First I’d like to introduce a new member of our team: Dr. Kim Freitag, acting director of the Ochsenzoll Forensic Psychiatric Clinic in Hamburg and an experienced expert witness. She will be assisting us in an advisory capacity.”

“How many advisers are going to be needed here?” Neff grumbled.

“You’re a case analyst. Dr. Freitag is a forensic psychologist,” Engel coolly reprimanded him. “The two of you will take entirely different approaches to a case like this.”

Astounded, Bodenstein’s eyebrows shot up. He had never seen his boss take such a vehement stand in behalf of an external adviser. He noticed that Nicola and Kim briefly exchanged a conspiratorial look. What was going on? Wasn’t Pia’s sister here purely by chance?

“We can use all the help we can get. The Ministry of the Interior and the state attorney’s office are not particularly pleased that we’ve had a third homicide and not a single hot lead.” Nicola Engel nodded at Kim. “Dr. Freitag has already worked on several cases like this one, and now I’d like to hear her thoughts.”

Kim stood up and cleared her throat.

“These three cases we are currently investigating,” she said, “differ radically from the majority of homicides you usually have to deal with. Because the perpetrator never gets close to his victims, he leaves no traces on the corpse, which would otherwise contribute to the identification of the perp. So this time, we largely have to do without concrete evidence. The motive of the perp is also unusual with regard to the three victims. His revenge is not directed at the persons he kills, but at their relatives. We have to assume that the victims did not know the perp and possibly had never had anything to do with him. The fact that the perp gives us hints about his motive reveals something about him. He is no psychopath acting out of the sheer desire to kill. Quite the opposite: He considers his actions to be justifiable and appropriate, but he does have a conscience regarding injustice. The assessment of the perp’s behavior…”

Her gaze fell on Andreas Neff, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, closing his eyes and shaking his head at each word she spoke. She stopped.

“Are you of another opinion, Inspector Neff?” she asked.

“Please go on,” Neff replied with a supercilious smile. “I view things somewhat differently than you do.”

“Mr. Neff is an internationally known expert in the field of case analysis, especially with regard to serial killings by snipers,” Ostermann volunteered. “He was once with the FBI.”

“Ah, indeed?” Kim looked at Neff with new interest. “When were you there and in what department?”

“That is not germane at the moment,” Neff hurried to say.

“He solved the case of the Washington sniper. Almost single-handedly,” Ostermann went on, drawing a nasty look from Neff, to which he responded with an innocent smile.

“In 2002, I worked at the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico. What about you?” Kim asked. “I actually have a very good memory for names and faces, but I don’t remember you.”

Ostermann smirked, and Pia had a hard time suppressing a grin.

“I was on the staff of the regional state attorney.” Backed into a corner, Neff turned red and then went pale.

Bodenstein looked at Nicola Engel, who was following the exchange between her two external advisers with curiosity. She made no move to intervene to save Neff from public embarrassment.

“We’re getting off topic,” was all Bodenstein said. He wanted his team to have a calm setting so they could concentrate, with no arguments and definitely no rivalries. “Thank you for your remarks, Dr. Freitag. Now I’d like to report on all the facts and findings to date.”

“This afternoon, Ingeborg Rohleder will be buried,” said Neff when Bodenstein was done. He had recovered from his shock and seemed to be feeling confident again. “I assume that the perpetrator will show up at the funeral.”

“I don’t believe he will,” Kim countered.

“Oh, he definitely will.” Neff had apparently lost his ability to smile over the Christmas holiday. He seemed downright grim. “The perpetrator possesses a strong need for recognition, and he’s looking for thrills and adventure. He is relatively young, agile, athletic, and has pronounced narcissistic character traits. He finds satisfaction in killing.”

“I view the situation quite differently,” Kim said. “We are dealing with a professional.”

“You mean an assassin?” Neff grinned contemptuously.

“You’re not hearing me correctly,” Kim said patiently. “I think he’s a pro. A trained sharpshooter or sniper. Maybe he was with the police or the army.”

Neff waved his hand in dismissal. “He will definitely appear at his victim’s funeral. Possibly in disguise, but he wants to enjoy his handiwork.”

“Not happening.” Kim shook her head. “He checked off one victim as soon as she died, and now he’s focusing on the next one.”

“Thank you for your assessments,” Bodenstein once more cut off the burgeoning contest between experts. “We have to learn more about Kirsten Stadler, the donor of the heart that was transplanted into Maximilian Gehrke in September 2002. The operation was performed by Professor Rudolf, the husband of our second victim. This connection between victims Gehrke and Rudolf is at the moment our most significant lead. Pia, go and talk to Ms. Rohleder again. We have to find out whether there was some link between Ingeborg Rohleder and the other two victims. Kathrin and Cem, you two drive over to the trauma clinic in Frankfurt and ask to inspect their records. They will almost certainly refuse to let you see them, so Kai will try to get a court order from the state attorney’s office, just to be on the safe side. The rest of you drive to Kelkheim and canvass the residents of the neighborhood where Gehrke lives. Oh, and one more thing. The external advisers are here to support the investigation. We’re a team and need all our power and highest concentration to solve these cases as soon as possible. I want—no, I
demand
—that everyone pull together, as we normally do in this unit. I hope all of you understand.”

Bodenstein said these last sentences with a sharpness that was unusual for him, and everyone nodded.

“The meeting is adjourned. Get to work,” Bodenstein concluded, and the team broke up with much murmuring and scraping of chairs.

“And what should I do?” Andreas Neff asked, sounding disgruntled.

“I thought you wanted to attend the funeral,” Bodenstein reminded him. Then he pointed to the box containing Maximilian Gehrke’s diaries on a table. “And after that, you can get busy with the personal documents that we found in the victim’s apartment. We’re interested in anything that happened starting in 2002. Maybe you’ll find a link between Maximilian Gehrke and our perp.”

*   *   *

“My mother was never in the University Clinic Frankfurt.” Renate Rohleder, already dressed in black for the funeral, stood behind the sales counter of her flower shop. She was alone with Pia and Kim. “And I’m sure that she never donated an organ or received one. I would have known if she did.”

“Is the name Kirsten Stadler familiar to you?” Pia wanted to know.

“Yes.” Rohleder nodded, rather surprised. “We used to be almost neighbors; the Stadlers lived three houses down the street. Until that tragic incident. Then they moved away.”

“What sort of incident?” Pia asked.

“One morning, Kirsten went out jogging in the field and she collapsed,” Rohleder said. “She had a cerebral hemorrhage. Just like that, out of the clear blue sky. I can still remember that day; I’d left the house to walk the dog and was running late, because my dog took off, chasing a rabbit. Suddenly Helen appeared right in front of me, Kirsten’s daughter. She was very upset and yelling that something had happened to her mother, and could I help her.”

Her body language disclosed much more to Pia. Renate Rohleder was nervous. She kept touching her nose, stroking her hair, and pulling at one earlobe—she obviously was not feeling well.

“And then?” Pia prodded. “What did you do? Did you help your neighbor?”

“I … I didn’t have my cell phone with me that day,” said Rohleder. “My dog had dashed in front of a car and was hit. I promised Helen to call an ambulance from the house, but then I … somehow forgot. The dog was bleeding and the driver of the car was shouting at me. I would have been too late anyway, but I probably thought that other people were on their way to the field. I … I couldn’t have known how serious Kirsten’s condition was.”

“So you failed to render assistance,” Pia said.

“Yes, yes, I suppose so.” The florist was extremely uncomfortable talking about the incident. “I felt terrible afterwards. Kirsten was such a nice girl, I liked her a lot. Believe me, this has haunted me ever since, even in my dreams. Six months after the incident, the Stadlers moved away from Niederhöchstadt. Life simply goes on.”

“I have something to show you.” Pia took a copy of the obituary out of her backpack and handed it to Ms. Rohleder.

“What’s this?” The woman hesitated.

“The perpetrator sent it to us, the one who shot your mother,” Pia said.

Ms. Rohleder read the notice. All color drained from her face. She dropped the piece of paper as if it were on fire.

“No!” she whispered in horror. “No! That … that can’t be true! Ms. Kirchhoff, you … you don’t think that I…”

She didn’t dare say the words that would make her responsible for her own mother’s death.

“We think it’s authentic,” replied Pia somberly. “We’ve received a similar obituary for each victim.”

The bell over the door jingled as a customer came into the shop.

“Please come back later,” Ms. Rohleder said. Then she took a key out of the pocket of the green apron that she wore over her black dress, went to the glass door, and locked it. Then she leaned against the door, pressed a hand to her chest, and shut her eyes for a moment.

“That’s a hideous accusation. I won’t stand for it. I’ll sue for slander and defamation of character.” In her indignation, she was confusing two offenses. “The very thought that I would be guilty of my mother’s death … No!”

“The only person guilty of your mother’s death is the one who shot her,” Pia said. “He has already murdered three innocent individuals, and we’re afraid that he will keep going. The perpetrator could be someone who knew Kirsten Stadler. Ms. Rohleder, you knew the Stadlers and may be able to help us. Who would do such a thing?”

Renate Rohleder swallowed hard. She rubbed her face.

“She was … so … so cold,” she said softly. “She gave me the creeps, the way she stood there and said to my face that she would make sure that I’d never be happy again in my life.”

“Who was that, Ms. Rohleder?” Pia prodded.

Renate Rohleder sighed.