‘Ukrainian men but mostly German officers.’
‘Exactly. And Eitel was one of them. After its defeat at the battle of …’ Maria paused and consulted her notes – ‘Brody, the division made its way back to Austria. It was there that Eitel surrendered to the Allies, desperate to stay out of Soviet hands. After the war he was imprisoned for four years. He began Eitel Importing in Munich in 1956 and was a multi-millionaire by the mid-sixties. His late wife was from Hamburg and he moved his headquarters here in seventy-two. He helped his son set up the Eitel Media Group and sold Eitel Importing to the Group ten years ago. That allowed him to concentrate on his “political” career. He established the BDD – the
Bund Deutschland-für-Deutsche
– in 1979. It didn’t make much of a mark until the fall of the Wall and the
Wende
. Even then its support was weak and sporadic. In short, a nasty piece of work.’
Fabel stared at Maria as if studying her would help him to process the information she had supplied. Then he said: ‘It’s odd the number of times a Ukrainian connection comes up in this case.’
‘This time, as I said, it’s more than likely just coincidental,’ said Maria.
Fabel shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ He paused. ‘What about the son – Norbert?’
‘A tabloid publisher with political ambitions. He studied at Hamburg and Heidelberg and set up
SCHAU MAL!
with his father’s support, including financial help. Through acquisition and growth the Eitel Group is involved in all forms of communication media, including the Internet …’
‘That’s why they’ll use someone like MacSwain,’ Werner interrupted.
Maria continued. ‘The Group also has interests in tabloid publishing in the Netherlands, Poland and the Czech Republic. As well as media, there is a property-management business and a small-scale development company. Added to all of that is the import-export business Norbert bought from his father. Politically, his stance is right of centre. Way right of centre. But he stands as an independent. He obviously realises affiliation with the BDD would be a liability. He insists he is no neo-Nazi or extreme-rightist. But his platform is primarily anti-immigration and pro law and order. He is married to some aristo. Martha Von Berg.’
‘Any relation to Jürgen Von Berg, the city senator?’ asked Fabel.
‘Don’t know,
Chef
. I do know she’s kept her name and he went around for a time calling himself Norbert Von Berg Eitel. But he dropped that. The price of including his wife’s aristocratic name meant he was seen as adopting the trendy new custom of more liberal German men of combining their names with their wives’. It didn’t fit with the traditionalist image. He also had a reputation for womanising, which he has done much to play down.’
Fabel rubbed his chin. ‘Nice people.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I think it’s time we paid them a visit.’
Friday 20 June, 2.30 p.m. Neustadt, Hamburg
.
The Eitel Media Group had its offices in a burnished steel and glass commercial monolith in the heart of the Neustadt’s business district. Fabel had an interest in good architecture; which meant he had no interest in this building. It was a soulless, corporate box that was finished with expensive fittings but had all the character of a hotel lobby. The uniformed commissionaire, who manned the reception desk on the ground floor, guided Fabel and his entourage to the elevators.
The first two floors of the building were occupied by the editorial offices of
SCHAU MAL!
, the third by
TVEspresso
, a weekly television guide published by the Eitel Group. The fourth floor was designated Communications Department. The floor above was devoted to the Group’s corporate and administrative offices. This was where Norbert Eitel had his suite.
A middle-aged woman with a severe expression was waiting as the lift doors opened onto a large open-plan office. Fabel guessed this was the person with whom he had crossed swords on the phone. Her face suggested that she was not used to having her authority outflanked.
‘You are here to see Herr Eitel?’
Fabel flashed his oval KriPo disk. ‘I’m Hauptkommissar Fabel.’
She examined the others with a studied and pompous disdain, which was instantly punctured by Werner’s laughter.
‘Follow me,’ she said grudgingly.
Fabel, Werner and Maria were shown to a cheerless reception bay at the far side of the office, a shore on which broke the babble of voices from the sea of desks. After ten minutes they were summoned into a glass-fronted meeting room by the stone-faced secretary.
Norbert Eitel entered the room a minute later. Jacketless, he had his shirt sleeves folded clear of his wrists and his tie had been loosened. He smiled a polite smile but his body language was one of a man with more important things to do. He held open the door for a tall, lean, aristocratic-looking older man with a crest of thick, ivory hair that had refused to retreat from its hairline of sixty years before. Fabel recognised the older man as the SS officer in the photograph, except now he had fully achieved the authoritative maturity that he had sought so hard to project as an arrogant youth. Eitel senior was followed by a man of middle height in his late thirties.
‘Good day, Herr Hauptkommissar Fabel,’ said Norbert Eitel. ‘This is my father, Wolfgang Eitel.’ Eitel senior extended his hand and gave a sharp nod of his head. Fabel almost expected to hear heels clicking. ‘And this is Wilfried Waalkes, our head of legal affairs.’
Fabel and Maria exchanged smiles. The lawyer. Fabel introduced Werner and Maria. Fabel studied the lawyer for a moment. Waalkes was a Frisian name, but the lawyer’s ‘
Guten Tag
’ was in a geographically indistinct Hochdeutsch.
‘What can I do to help you?’ said Norbert Eitel, a wave of his hand indicating that they should all take a seat around the oval conference table. Before Fabel could answer he added: ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee … tea?’
‘We’re fine, thanks.’ Fabel answered for everyone. The lawyer and Eitel senior took their places. ‘We would like to ask you about Angelika Blüm. Could you tell me what kind of relationship you had with her, personally and professionally?’
‘Personally, not much … professionally none. To be frank, Angelika would look down her nose at our publications. She considered herself to be in a different league.’
‘And you don’t agree with her assessment?’
Norbert Eitel laughed. ‘I had a very high regard for Angelika’s abilities. But I also happen to consider our titles as a quality market offering. My main contact with Angelika was through trade events and mutual friends. We were acquainted.’
‘And you, Herr Eitel?’ Maria addressed Eitel senior. ‘What contact did you have with Frau Blüm?’
Wolfgang Eitel tilted his head back and regarded Maria down his aquiline nose. ‘None. Well, we met just the once, at the Altona Krone … that would be a couple of weeks ago.’
‘But I dare say she was not particularly popular with either of you …’ Maria left the thought hanging.
‘I don’t understand …’ Norbert Eitel employed the geniality of his features in a confused smile while his father remained expressionless.
‘Frau Blüm was about to publish a story alleging you were engaged in property speculation that involved foreign interests.’ Maria kept an even, authoritative tone as she spoke. Fabel stared hard at Norbert Eitel, determined not to show any surprise at Maria’s bluff. Eitel’s smile showed no sign of shifting and its endurance, in itself, made it seem fake. Maria had hit the mark. But it was Norbert’s father who spoke.
‘Herr Hauptkommissar Fabel, we were not aware that Frau Blüm intended running any kind of story on either my son or myself. It is true that we have property interests. It is true that we do business with other nations. My own career was based on importing and exporting. If Frau Blüm was about to run a story about us then not only were we totally unaware of it, I can assure you we have no idea what the grounds for such a story would be.’
Fabel changed tack. ‘I believe you served in the
Ostfront
during the war. You commanded Ukrainians, didn’t you?’
A spark became a flame that became a raging dark fire in Wolfgang Eitel’s eyes. But nothing of it leaked out into his voice, his expression, his movements.
‘I really don’t see what that has to do with anything, Herr Hauptkommissar …’ Fabel felt as if he were looking in through a metre of lead glass into the heart of a nuclear reactor: witnessing something uniquely powerful and deadly, but contained.
‘It’s just that the Ukraine has featured so prominently in our investigation.’ It was true; but how would Eitel interpret it? Fabel paused, inviting him to comment.
Wolfgang Eitel smoothed the ivory hair at his temples with the heels of both hands. But it was his son who spoke: ‘We have business interests across Europe and beyond. We own publications in the Netherlands, in Poland, in Hungary. Our property business involves partners in the United States as well as those in the Ukraine. I don’t see that that is, in itself, particularly newsworthy.’
Bull’s-eye. Fabel and Maria exchanged a quick, surreptitious look. Fabel fought to keep the exhilaration of discovery from his expression. He again addressed Wolfgang Eitel.
‘I think we all know that Frau Blüm’s article was based on more than a simple deal with eastern-European business partners, don’t we?’
‘Then you know more than I, Herr Fabel.’
Waalkes, the lawyer, interrupted. ‘I think this has gone quite far enough, Herr Hauptkommissar. We have agreed to this interview because everyone here is horrified by Frau Blüm’s murder and we are committed to doing all we can to help catch this monster. But I have to say that your line of questioning seems both impertinent and irrelevant. You seem to be seeking to implicate my clients in some totally unrelated issue.’
‘I wasn’t aware we had accused anyone of anything,’ said Maria. ‘We’re simply trying to find the connection between the Eitel Group and Frau Blüm.’
‘And I think we’ve dealt with that.’ Norbert Eitel stood up to signal the discussion was at an end. None of the police officers followed his lead. Fabel addressed Waalkes.
‘I think it would be in everyone’s interest if both your clients supplied us with accounts of their movements on the dates of the murders we’re investigating, along with the names of anyone who can corroborate those accounts. And I’d be obliged if this could be done as soon as possible …’
‘This is outrageous!’ Eitel senior’s voice thundered as he rose to his feet with a swiftness that belied his age. ‘Are you accusing me or my son of involvement in these acts?’
Fabel, remaining in his chair, said, calmly: ‘It is a routine enough request, Herr Eitel.’ Maria handed Fabel a piece of paper on which she had written the times and dates of each murder. Fabel stood up and turned again to Eitel senior. ‘Anyway, Herr Eitel, I should have thought that you have had some experience of answering difficult questions …’
This time it was Waalkes who exploded. ‘That is quite enough, Herr Fabel! This is intolerable. I intend to notify your superiors about this …’
Fabel stood up and handed Waalkes the slip of paper. ‘Times, places, witnesses … I need a full account for both your clients.’ He turned to Norbert and Wolfgang Eitel. Eitel senior’s eyes were incandescent beneath the thick white brows. ‘Good day, gentlemen,’ said Fabel and led Maria and Werner from the room.
They didn’t speak until they were back in the elevator. As soon as the doors closed Fabel, Maria and Werner exchanged broad smiles.
‘I think we have a lot of digging to do, don’t you?’ said Fabel.
‘I’ll get on it right away,’ said Maria. ‘It was very good of them to point us in the right direction. I’ll start by getting a breakdown of all Ukrainian contacts Eitel Importing and the Eitel Group have had.’
‘That was an excellent piece of work, Maria,’ said Fabel.
‘Thanks,
Chef
.’
Werner said nothing.
‘By the way,’ said Maria as the doors opened onto the foyer, ‘I meant to tell you earlier … I’ve got the details of any contact between currently serving Hamburg police officers and the Ukrainian security services. You’re never going to believe the one name that came up.’
‘Whose?’
‘Yours.’
‘What? I’ve never been to the Ukraine in my life.’
‘Remember you wrote a paper for the Europol convention on psychotic serial offending? The one about the Helmut Schmied killings?’
‘Yes …’
‘Apparently it is used as a text at the Forensics and Criminology Centre in Odessa, where the Ukrainian police train to track down serial killers.’
Werner and Maria made their way towards the huge glass and chrome double doors of the street exit. Fabel stood for a moment looking after his colleagues, before following on behind.
Friday 20 June, 7.00 p.m. Polizeipräsidium, Hamburg
.
Anna Wolff’s colleagues were so accustomed to her customary neo-punk look of the overdone make-up, oversized leather jacket and the skin-tight jeans that they all looked somewhat startled when she walked into the main Mordkommission office. Werner and a couple of the back-up guys gave low whistles of appreciation, Maria complimented Anna on her look and Fabel made a small gesture of applause. Paul Lindemann simply looked worried.