Anna Wolff knocked on Fabel’s office door and entered without being asked. Fabel always made a conscious effort not to notice how attractive Anna was, but her skin shone in the morning light from his office window and the red lipstick emphasised the fullness of her mouth. She looked young and fresh and energetic and Fabel found himself resenting her youth and her insolent sexuality.
‘What have you got?’
‘I reinterviewed Sebastian Lang, Hauser’s
friend
… the one who found Kristina Dreyer cleaning up the murder scene. It would appear that he and Hauser were far from setting up house together. According to Lang the relationship faltered because of Hauser’s predatory promiscuousness. Apparently he was fond of casual encounters, whether he was in a relationship or not. And he liked them young. Lang really didn’t want to talk about it. I think he was afraid that his jealousy would be seen as a potential motive, but his alibi for the time of Hauser’s death seems tight.’
Fabel processed the information for a moment. ‘So it could be that it
does
have something to do with Hauser being gay. In which case, we should be looking more closely at Griebel’s sexuality. Where did Hauser pick up his casual encounters?’
‘Where he met Lang, apparently. A gay club in St Pauli … it has an English name …’ Anna frowned and flicked through her notebook. ‘Yes … a place called The Firehouse.’
Fabel nodded. ‘Get onto it. You and Paul get down there and ask around.’
Anna stared at Fabel in blank confusion for a moment. ‘You mean me and Henk?’
For a few seconds Fabel had no idea what to say. Paul Lindemann had been Anna’s partner. Lindemann’s death had hit Anna harder than anyone else in the team: and it had hit the team hard. Why had he said that? Had Fabel picked Henk Hermann to replace Paul simply because he reminded him of his dead junior officer? Confusing two names was an easy thing to do; particularly the names of two people who occupied the same space, as it were. But Fabel never confused names.
‘God, Anna, I’m sorry …’
‘It’s okay,
Chef
…’ Anna said. ‘I keep forgetting Paul’s not here any more too. Henk and I will get on to checking out this gay club and anything else we can find on Hauser’s background.’
Fabel followed Anna out of his office and made his way over to Maria’s desk, which was directly opposite Werner’s. Fabel noticed that both desks were perfectly ordered and tidy. He had teamed Maria and Werner together because he had felt they combined very different skills and approaches: a teaming of complementary opposites. The irony was that they were identical in their meticulousness. Again Fabel thought of how he had confused Paul and Henk when he had been talking to Anna. He had always allowed himself the conceit of thinking that he was innovative and creative in his choice of team members. Maybe he was not so innovative after all; maybe, without thinking, he merely picked variations on a theme.
‘It’s time we headed up to Criminal Director van Heiden’s office,’ he said to Maria. ‘You any idea what this is all about?’ Fabel was frequently summoned to his boss’s office, particularly during the course of a high-profile investigation, but it was rare for van Heiden to specify a junior officer to accompany Fabel.
Maria shrugged. ‘No idea,
Chef
.’
For Fabel, his boss represented the perpetual policeman: there had always been a policeman like Horst van Heiden, in every police force, in every land, for as long as the concept of a policeman had existed. Before then, even – Fabel could imagine
someone like van Heiden as a medieval town watchman or village constable.
Criminal Director van Heiden was in his mid-fifties and not a particularly tall man, but his ramrod-back posture and broad shoulders gave him a presence disproportionate to his size. He always dressed well but unimaginatively and today he wore a well-cut blue suit and a crisp white shirt with a plum-red tie. The suit, the shirt and the tie all looked expensive, but van Heiden somehow always managed to make even the most expensive tailoring look like a police uniform.
As well as van Heiden, there were two other men waiting for Fabel and Maria. Fabel recognised a squat, powerfully built man in a business suit as Markus Ullrich, of the BKA. The BKA was the Federal Crime Bureau, which operated across the whole of Germany. Fabel and Ullrich had crossed paths before on a couple of major investigations and the BKA man had struck Fabel as someone who was easy to deal with, if a little protective of his own investigative territory. The other man was the same height as Ullrich but lacked his muscular build. He wore frameless spectacles behind which the small marbles of his pale blue eyes shone with a keen intelligence. His thick blond hair was meticulously brushed back from his wide forehead.
‘You already know Herr Ullrich, of course,’ said van Heiden. ‘But allow me to introduce Herr Viktor Turchenko. Herr Turchenko is a senior investigator with the Ukrainian police.’
Fabel felt a chill somewhere deep inside, as if someone had left a door open to a forgotten winter. He turned to look at Maria: her face revealed nothing.
‘It is my pleasure to meet you both,’ said Turchenko as he extended a hand to each officer in turn. His face broke into a wide and engaging smile, but his heavily accented, stilted German brought back too many memories for Fabel and he felt the chill inside intensify.
‘Herr Turchenko is here as part of an investigation he’s been pursuing in the Ukraine,’ continued van Heiden once everyone was seated. ‘He asked if we could arrange this meeting. Herr Turchenko specifically wanted to speak to you, Frau Klee.’
‘Oh?’ Maria’s tone was laced through with suspicion.
‘Indeed, Frau Klee. I believe that you have been working on a case – two cases, in fact – that are directly related to my investigation.’ Turchenko removed a photograph from his briefcase and handed it to Maria. As he did so, the warm smile was replaced by a sombre expression. ‘I have a name for you – a name you have been looking for, I believe.’
Maria looked at the picture. A teenage girl, somewhere around seventeen years old. The image was slightly grainy and Maria guessed it was a blown-up detail from a larger image. The girl in the photograph smiled as if at someone or something far off-camera. In the distance. Perhaps, thought Maria, she was looking towards the West.
‘What was her name?’ Maria asked in a flat voice. ‘Her real name, I mean.’
Turchenko sighed. ‘Magda Savitska. Eighteen years old. From outside Lviv, in western Ukraine.’
‘Magda Savitska …’ Maria said the name out loud as she passed the photograph to Fabel. ‘Olga X.’
‘She is from the same part of the Ukraine as I
am,’ Turchenko went on. ‘Her family are good people. We believe Magda fell victim to a scam that was a front for sex trafficking. She brought home a letter that was given to her promising training at a hairdressing college in Poland, after which she was guaranteed employment in a salon here in Germany. We checked out the address of the hairdressing college in Warsaw. Of course, it doesn’t exist. No college in Poland, no job in Germany.’
‘You’ve come a long way to find this one girl,’ said Fabel, handing the picture back to the Ukrainian. Turchenko took the photograph and looked at it for a while before answering.
‘This one girl is one of many. Thousands of girls are lured or abducted and forced into slavery – every year. Magda Savitska is not special. But she is representative. And she is someone’s daughter, someone’s sister.’ He looked up from the photograph. ‘I believe you have her killer in custody.’
‘That’s correct. The case is closed,’ said Maria and exchanged a look with Fabel. ‘She was working as a prostitute here in Hamburg and one of her clients murdered her. We already have his confession. But thank you for providing us with her true identity.’
‘Herr Turchenko is not here to find her murderer,’ said Ullrich, the BKA man. ‘As he said, his visit is also connected to another case.’
‘I am after the organised criminals who trafficked Magda and coerced her into prostitution,’ said Turchenko. ‘Specifically, I want to cut off the head of the organisation. Which brings me to the other case you were involved with …’ Turchenko took another photograph from his briefcase and handed it to Maria.
‘Damn it,’ said Maria with a sudden vehemence. She merely glanced at the photograph and handed it to Fabel. She did not need to examine the face. After all, it haunted her dreams and her waking hours. It was the same face, a copy of the same photograph, that she carried in her handbag. ‘I knew it! I knew that bastard was involved in the “Farmers’ Market”. Bloody Ukrainians.’
Turchenko gave a small laugh and shrugged. ‘I assure you, Frau Klee, we are not all the same.’
Fabel gazed at the photograph of Vasyl Vitrenko …
‘I know this opens up old wounds—’ said Ullrich.
Fabel cut across him. ‘That is a rather tasteless choice of expression, Herr Ullrich.’
‘I’m sorry … I didn’t mean …’
Maria brushed aside Ullrich’s apology. ‘I knew there were Ukrainians involved in the trafficking of women to Hamburg. I suspected that Vitrenko was somewhere behind it all.’
‘Way behind it,’ continued Ullrich. ‘We did a pretty good job … by “we” I mean the Polizei Hamburg organised-crime division and the BKA … we succeeded in dismantling the Vitrenko operation in Hamburg. And, of course, you and your team were central in flushing Vitrenko out. However, there were a couple of elements that we didn’t get. We believe that Vitrenko is rebuilding his power base in Germany.’
‘Vitrenko is still in Germany?’ Maria’s complexion bleached paler.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Turchenko. ‘As you know, Vitrenko is a master at building complex command structures that separate him from the activity yet which maintain this powerful personal loyalty to
him. It is possible that he is running things remotely. He certainly is not in Hamburg and may even be orchestrating things from abroad. Perhaps even from back home in Ukraine. But yes – my money is on him being somewhere in Germany. And I am here to find him.’
‘We’ve also ascertained that his operations are no longer focused on Hamburg or any other single German city,’ said Ullrich. ‘Instead, Vitrenko is using a network of “niche” organised-crime activities to build a power base. Last time he sought to take over all organised crime in Hamburg. Now his aim seems to be to control key lucrative activities across the Federal Republic. Among these is people trafficking, specifically for the sex trade.’
Maria looked perplexed. ‘But we took out most of his key men – the so-called “Top Team”. Who is he using now to build his power base?’
‘Just as before, he is using ex-Spetsnaz troops. The best he can source. And, as before, they are bound to him personally. But he has reinvented himself – and his operation. This latest incarnation of Vasyl Vitrenko is, if anything, even more shadowy than the last.’ Ullrich pointed to the picture in Fabel’s hands. ‘For all we know, he may not even look like that now. It’s perfectly possible that he has a new face. A new face and a new life somewhere completely different.’
‘So how can we help?’ Fabel asked with little enthusiasm. He felt surrounded by ghosts unwillingly summoned up with the mention of Paul Lindemann’s name immediately before the meeting. For someone who had studied history, Fabel was beginning to hate the past and the way it kept returning to haunt him. It was van Heiden, who had so far contributed
nothing to the conversation, who answered Fabel’s question.
‘Actually, it is Senior Commissar Klee who can help. Frau Klee, I believe you have been carrying out a … well, I suppose the best way to describe it is as a
background
investigation into this girl’s death. We need to know everything you have found out so far.’
‘I told you to leave that alone, Maria,’ Fabel said sharply. ‘Why did you go against my orders?’
‘All I did was a little asking around …’ She turned to van Heiden and told him about her meeting with Nadja and what she had been told about the ‘Farmers’ Market’. ‘That’s as much as I’ve been able to find out. It just seemed that no one was doing anything about these people traffickers.’
Markus Ullrich walked over to Maria and laid out a series of large photographs on the desk before her as if he were dealing cards. They showed Maria in the street talking to prostitutes, in clubs talking to barmen and hostesses. Ullrich laid the last photograph on top of all the others as if it were his trump card.
‘You know this girl? Is this “Nadja”?’
Maria stood up. ‘Have you been keeping me under surveillance?’
Ullrich laughed cynically. ‘Trust me, Frau Klee, you’re not important enough to warrant surveillance. But we
do
have a long-established, very complex and very expensive surveillance operation focused on the activities of this Ukrainian gang. And lately it’s been difficult to carry it out without you barging your way into the picture. Literally. Now, Frau Klee, do you know this girl?’
Maria sat down again. She nodded without
looking at Ullrich. ‘Nadja … I don’t know her surname. She is helping me. As much as she can, anyway. She was close to Olga …’ Maria corrected herself. ‘I mean Magda.’
‘As you can see, Frau Klee’ – van Heiden picked up the thread – ‘someone
was
doing something about these people traffickers. We had the entire operation, with the help of BKA surveillance experts and with the cooperation of our Ukrainian colleagues, under the closest scrutiny. It is a major operation aimed at locating and capturing the very man who injured you so severely. And you have compromised the whole operation.’
‘What is more’ – Ullrich stabbed a finger at the picture of Maria talking to Nadja – ‘you have probably cost her her life. We have no way of knowing what has happened to her. She has disappeared from our radar – immediately after she spoke to you.’
‘I have to point out,’ said Maria, ‘that I handed over all my notes on the so-called Olga X case to the organised-crime division. I also told them of my concerns that there was a major people-trafficking ring involved with the case, if not directly with Olga’s – or should I say Magda’s – death. I would have thought it prudent for you to have advised me at the time that you were actively investigating them. Then—’