Forty Hours: A breath-taking thriller Page 12

  “You obviously know your way around Berlin,” she said, in a bid to jump start their conversation.

  He laughed. “No wonder. I live here!”

  Jenny glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You live in Berlin? Then why are you staying at the hostel?”

  They had reached the outside door, and Dennis opened it for Jenny. After the two of them stepped through it and the clamor of the city surrounded them, he answered her question. “I ran into a little trouble with my big brother, who I’m living with these days.” He expressed this oddly, as if he didn’t get along well with his brother.

  “Your big brother?” she probed a little deeper.

  “Hmm.” Dennis guided them toward the right. “Rainer. He’s a major asshole!” He didn’t give the impression that he wanted to discuss what had happened, so Jenny decided to change the topic.

  “I don’t even know your full name,” she said.

  “Golzer,” he replied.

  They now reached the small ice cream shop, which had a nostalgic fifties decor. Here, too, Dennis held the door for her, letting her step inside first. “Dennis Golzer.”

  *

  About thirty minutes later, Faris climbed off Hesse’s motorcycle in front of an old, roughly plastered building. He stared at the black-white-and-red flags hanging in all the windows with a mixture of outrage and uneasiness. In the past, this had been a popular restaurant, but now it served as a clubhouse for a group of neo-Nazis. As Faris knew, a shady beer garden was located in the back courtyard, and it would have looked idyllic if its enclosing walls didn’t have various Nazi symbols scrawled all over them. A black banner was mounted above the entrance door with its elaborate grill. Printed in Gothic script, the words Nationalist Resistance Berlin announced which group resided here.

  With an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, Faris leaned the bike on its kickstand. It was obvious that he had driven right into a dicey situation, but he had no other options. He knew that Rainer Golzer, the neo-Nazi he had beaten to a pulp only four weeks ago, was a member of this club. Faris told himself that this was one way that he could assist in his Keithstraße colleagues’ investigation, but if he were honest with himself, he liked the kick he got from being here. A little scuffle with the skinhead would provide a welcome outlet for the chaos that the explosion had set off in his mind.

  Wouldn’t it?

  He took a deep breath and shoved any misgivings he felt into the farthest corner of his mind – where they belonged.

  He slowly walked up to the club house. His arrival had apparently not gone unnoticed. The door swung open before he even reached the front steps, and two young men stepped out. Neither was particularly tall, but they were muscular. They wore combat trousers and jump boots, and their arms were crossed over their chests so that Faris couldn’t read the words on their black t-shirts. Only one of the two had a shaved head, while the other man had his hair clipped in an old-fashioned crew cut.

  Faris recognized the skinhead. Four weeks ago, he had been at the bar when Faris had shattered Golzer’s nose and cheekbone. Golzer had called him Michi.

  Michi. Faris couldn’t help chuckling at the name’s innocuousness.

  Michi was the first to speak. “What’s so funny?” he grumbled. His high-pitched voice suited his name more than his martial appearance did. And something seemed to be off with his eyes. He squinted as if he were nearsighted and only then realized who was standing in front of him. “You’re the kaffer who beat up Rainer …”

  “Exactly,” Faris interrupted him. “I’d like to talk to him.” His shoulder muscles tensed involuntarily the moment Michi recognized him. He tried to inconspicuously relax them again.

  Michi’s expressions transitioned rapidly from confusion to disbelief to sheer scorn. “For real?” He looked at the other guy and gave his head a backward jerk before his comrade spun around and disappeared into the building.

  Faris steeled himself for what was coming next and took another step forward. In the beer garden, voices grew louder, and he realized that various club members had gathered back there. He tried to stifle the doomsday feeling that was threatening to overwhelm him here, far from the airport complex.

  “Yes,” he shot back, raising his hands. “I just want to talk to him for a minute.”

  From behind Michi, another man stepped outside. Rainer Golzer. In contrast to the other two neo-Nazis, he was wearing simple jeans and a white t-shirt adorned with the letters NRB printed in the same script as the banner. The bruises on his face were almost gone, but the fractures in his nose and jaw areas were still quite recognizable. The entire left side of Golzer’s face looked slightly dented, but he wore the symbol of his struggle with a certain degree of pride. Faris’s cramped shoulders began to ache.

  While Michi remained at the top of the stairs, Golzer descended to ground level. “Got tired of living, huh?” His chin was thrust forward belligerently.

  Faris shook his head, the adrenaline already pumping. “I just need to ask you a question.”

  “Have they let you go back to work?” Golzer came to a stop about one stride away from Faris. “That was pretty much a given!” He squinted disdainfully. He had long, dark eyelashes and pale lips. Without his shaved head and the letters NWB tattooed over his right ear, he would have been a guy women flocked to.

  “I’m not here on official business,” Faris explained. “I was just wondering if you had anything to do with the bomb that went off on the subway this morning.” The feeling of impending doom in his chest expanded, until it felt like he was staring into a bottomless black chasm. A small group of young men stepped out of the gate to the right of the building and formed an irregular semicircle behind Golzer.

  “The bomb?” Golzer chuckled incredulously before turning to his men. “Did all of you hear that? Some camel fucker blew up our subway, and this joker thinks that one of us had something to do with it.”

  His men obviously found nothing funny in this theory, since instead of laughing, they just stared at Faris more menacingly. He sensed movement behind his back and glanced over his shoulder. Two men were now standing behind him.

  Someone grabbed him as hands tightened sharply around his upper arms. He didn’t even try to free himself. All of a sudden, Hesse’s painkillers stopped working, and a dull pressure started to build inside his skull.

  Michi pushed past Golzer. “You want me to punch him?” Without waiting for a nod from Golzer, Michi rammed his fist into Faris’s abdomen.

  Faris saw the blow coming and had tightened his stomach. However, he would have crumpled to the ground if the two other skinheads hadn’t been holding him. The pain rushed from his ribs, still bruised from the explosion, up to his shoulders. He gasped for air.

  He blearily watched as Michi pulled his arm back a second time.

  “Stop!” Golzer said coolly.

  The next blow never came. Still gripped by his two guards, Faris straightened back up. “Was that it?” he asked dully.

  Michi raised his fist again, but now Golzer stepped forward and reached for his hand. Then, he brought his face very close to Faris’s. “Should I tell you something?” he hissed at him. “I’m in a really bad mood right now because, this morning, my little brother cussed me out. He called me a dirty Nazi. Can you believe that?” He stared antagonistically into Faris’s face.

  He then snorted crossly. “Let him go!” he commanded the two watchdogs.

  His pals hesitated.

  “Do what I say!” Golzer’s voice sliced through the air. They finally obeyed him, and Faris was relieved to discover that he could stand without swaying.

  “Now what?” he asked. “What about the bombing?”

  Golzer’s eyes reflected authentic indignation. Indignation at being accused of planning a bombing attack that he believed had to have been committed by a foreigner. At that moment, Faris knew with certainty that the neo-Nazi had had nothing to do with the crime.

  Golzer jerked his chin toward the motorcycle
. “Beat it!”

  Faris’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. This was the last thing he had expected.

  “Beat it!” Golzer repeated. “And don’t ever forget that my boys have nothing to do with the cowardly attacks your camel-fucker friends are committing in our homeland.”

  Camel fucker. A sardonic laugh started to build inside Faris’s chest. Once you’ve found a useful phrase, stick with it!

  He held back the laugh and stared at the neo-Nazi. Golzer’s eyes bore into his, and for several seconds, they struggled silently with each other. Eventually, Faris nodded. “Alright,” he declared quietly. “You didn’t have anything to do with it.” He swallowed the rest of the sentence.

  Because you’re way too stupid.

  That wouldn’t have been true anyway. Golzer was anything but stupid.

  Faris decided to ask Paul to check up on Golzer. He bobbed his head slightly. “Have a nice day!” he said. And with that, he turned around. As he walked over to the motorcycle, he figured that someone was going to jump him from behind. But nothing happened. Golzer seemed to have his crew well under control.

  The young men motionlessly watched Faris climb onto the motorcycle and start the machine.

  Chapter 14

  Once on the other side of the Friedrichshain district border, Faris stopped at the edge of the road and waited for the pain in his ribs to subside. His body felt as if someone had run it through the wringer. As he took several deep breaths, he fished out his phone and dialed Paul’s number.

  His partner’s first words revealed that Paul and the others were following a train of thought similar to his. “We’re in the process of looking into people who might have a score to settle with you,” Paul informed him.

  Faris’s ribs throbbed. He tried to find a more comfortable position. A stabbing pain was shooting through his chest, and he inhaled sharply.

  Paul didn’t miss the sound. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” He knew that Paul suspected he was lying, but he also knew that his partner wouldn’t press the point. For a few seconds, Faris found it hard to breathe.

  He could hear the concern in Paul’s voice when he continued. “We’ll check on a few possible candidates. Rainer Golzer, for example.”

  Faris shook his head. “He’s off the list.”

  For a moment, it was silent on the other end of the line. Faris imagined the thoughts inside his partner’s brain tumbling like puzzle pieces into the right spots, gradually building a picture that wouldn’t please him at all. “Off the list?” Paul repeated slowly.

  Faris didn’t say anything.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I was just there,” Faris said calmly.

  “Are you crazy?” his colleague bellowed. “You didn’t …”

  Faris didn’t hear more than that, since he lowered his phone before Paul’s furious voice could shatter his ear drum. “Done now?” he asked, once the blue streak firing out of his phone grew quieter.

  “I simply don’t understand, Faris!” Paul groaned, before taking a deep sigh. “How badly beat up are you?”

  “Not at all. Just a small rib bruise that dates from the explosion.”

  “You’re a real asshole, you know, right?”

  “Maybe. Just to be sure, have someone check into Golzer, but I’m convinced he isn’t our man. Do you have anything else?”

  “We still have to figure out if we’re dealing with an Islamist attack or not.”

  “I can’t imagine that’s what this is,” Faris declared.

  “We’ll keep working on it. At the moment, Ben is pulling together a more detailed analysis of the video.”

  Faris leaned slightly forward in order to alleviate his pain. Apparently, he made some sound while doing that because Paul responded with alarm again.

  “You’re feeling shitty, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t deny it. “I think I need a little break. I’ll call back as soon as something occurs to me.”

  Paul didn’t reply, and Faris felt a flash of guilt. His colleague was obviously worried about him.

  He tried to make his voice sound cheerful. “Stay cool, old man,” he said jovially. “Everything’s fine!”

  When he hung up, he cut off the last part of the curse Paul was in the process of uttering.

  *

  Driven by nervous restlessness, Faris drove around aimlessly for a while. Time was inexorably running out, and there was nothing he could do to help his colleagues with their investigation. The words from the museum bomber echoed through his mind.

  Wrong answer!

  Then, the shrill cry from the woman at the subway station.

  What did you do?

  And finally, the distorted, mocking voice of the caller.

  Somewhere out there, Faris, a man is hanging on a cross … if it stops before you find him …

  Faris clenched his fingers around the handlebars and wished he were sitting in his own car. His copy of Metallica’s Kill ’em All was stuck in his CD player. Seek and Destroy would have fit his mood nicely right about now.

  He eventually turned off, down a narrow avenue. The motorcycle bumped across the cobblestones, and oak trees lined both sides of the street. A church tower clock, somewhere nearby, struck four-thirty. He rolled to a stop before laying his arms across the handlebars and resting his head against them.

  He immediately lifted his head back up as he realized where he was. A car drove past, its tires generating a bright, buzzing sound on the paved road. Faris’s gaze fell on a street sign hidden behind a tree branch. He could just barely make it out from where he was sitting.

  Ahornstraße.

  “Shit!” he cursed. He had been so wrapped up in his gloomy thoughts that his subconscious had led him here unawares.

  He reluctantly looked around.

  He had parked the motorcycle right in front of a building marked with the number 10, an ultramodern, snowy white box of condos. The precisely clipped front lawn contrasted sharply with the overgrown hedge on the other side of the street, behind which a preschool sat. And if it wasn’t bad enough that Faris’s emotions had driven him here, this was the very moment that the front door of Number 10 opened, and a woman stepped out.

  Laura.

  Faris’s eyes darted to the faded leather bracelet on his wrist, and his heart constricted.

  She was wearing chinos, sneakers and a light blue t-shirt that probably matched her eyes perfectly. On her hip, she was carrying her young daughter, blonde like her mother and a little plump, as toddlers tend to be.

  “Lilly,” Faris murmured.

  He felt like a voyeur. And there was nothing he could do to stop his memories from catapulting him into the past. To that evening, over two and a half years ago …

  *

  “Faris?” Laura had shouted that day from her home office.

  With a sigh, he had lowered the book he had just picked up. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  “I’d like to show you something in here.” Tense excitement vibrated in Laura’s voice. It was clear to Faris that he wouldn’t get his peace and quiet back until he took a look at what she wanted to show him. He set his book back down. There was no need for a bookmark, since he hadn’t even made it past the first page. He stood up and walked into the adjacent room in their small apartment, where Laura had set up a white desk and her white laptop. Some video that she had found on the internet was running on the screen. Faris caught sight of a prominent video platform’s logo.

  In the video, a small girl with blonde curls and a flowery dress was running behind a large, long-haired dog. She was crowing happily at the top of her lungs, and the dog spun around in a circle, barking joyfully. With this, the clip ended.

  “Isn’t she sweet?” Laura asked. With a beaming smile, she glanced over her shoulder at Faris.

  Faris opted to make a joke. “The girl or the dog?” he asked.

  Laura took a swipe at him. “Idiot! The child, of course! You know I meant the girl.”
>
  He just smiled, but it felt tedious to be manipulated like this. Laura had a specific goal in mind in sharing this video with him, and he knew this all too well.

  She pointed to the title of the video. Lilly and Tommy playing.

  To Faris’s relief, she was no longer paying attention to him, and so she didn’t see the smile fade from his face. For the past few months, Laura had been talking about having a baby. She was a vibrant woman, one who pursued all of her goals with great single-mindedness. In her mind, she was convinced that she would have a girl, and her name would be Lilly. The fact that Faris was quite opposed to starting a family at this point was, for her, just a small stumbling block on the path to her goal.

  “I was just googling the name,” she explained brightly. “And there were a lot of hits. This video was the best one.” She restarted it. The child crowed again, the dog barked again.

  Faris’s head suddenly started hurting. “How do you know that Lilly is the child’s name?” he asked, still trying to make a joke, though his tension was more obvious this time. “It could belong to the dog.”

  Laura shot him an annoyed look. “Tommy as a girl’s name?”

  She could be very stubborn when it came to ignoring his jokes.

  Faris gave up. “Fine. It’s a cute film.”

  Three months later, Laura was pregnant with another man’s child.

  *

  This was the scene running through Faris’s head as he sat on Hesse’s motorcycle and watched Laura strap her child into a jogging stroller. He noticed that he was playing with his leather bracelet and stopped instantly. Laura pushed the stroller through the low garden gate out onto the street. When she caught sight of Faris, a shadow fell across her heart-shaped face.

  Faris felt like he had been caught red-handed. He kicked down the motorcycle’s stand and took a few steps toward his ex-girlfriend. He managed to utter, “Hi, Laura.”