Forty Hours: A breath-taking thriller Page 17

  Ira nodded. “That’s right.”

  Victim of a violent crime.

  She felt a touch of unease, as if evil had suddenly moved closer to her. With a shiver, she wrapped her cardigan more tightly around her.

  “We have to contact the police,” Veronika declared with excitement. She reached for the phone and dialed one of the indicated numbers, while Ira turned her gaze back to the photo. The picture had obviously been edited. The skin of the man’s cheeks and neck looked too uniform to be real, and the hair also seemed to have been altered.

  As Veronika’s phone started ringing, Ira reached out for it. The secretary handed her the receiver, and Ira held it to her ear.

  “Landeskriminalamt,” a woman’s voice announced. Ira gave her name, all the time wondering what kind of wounds the police computer specialists had erased from the photo.

  Chapter 19

  On their way back to the BMW from the internet café, Faris came to a jolting stop as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

  Paul misinterpreted his behavior. “What is it? Did you think of something?”

  Faris shook his head. He had not a single good idea. His dizziness grew so strong that he had to grab hold of a lamp post.

  “Are you alright?” Paul now sounded concerned. “The paramedic said that you could have a concussion.”

  Faris waited for a moment, until the world stopped turning. “I’m okay now,” he murmured through clenched teeth.

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.” Paul tried to take his arm, but Faris deflected the movement.

  “There’s no time for that now.” He took a deep breath.

  The ringing of his phone prevented Paul from replying. Paul answered it for him. “Gitta, what’s going on?” He listened to what Gitta was saying and shrugged when Faris shot him a questioning glance. “No. Faris isn’t doing so well. I should take him to … What? Where are we?” He looked around, and his eyes fell on a street sign. “Yes, we are still on Knesebeckstraße. We were just at the internet café.” He nodded, several times. “Right, we didn’t make any progress there. The attacker’s obviously jerking us around. The café wasn’t even open yesterday evening. Could you please arrange for an officer to be sent over to take the manager’s statement for the files?” Paul gave her the man’s name and address. “Could you check on that right away?” he asked, then listened for a moment. “Thanks.” He looked at Faris. “I don’t know. He looks pretty pale.”

  Without releasing the lamp post, Faris grabbed Paul’s phone and held it up to his own ear. “He’s exaggerating,” he explained. “I’m doing fine, just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

  “You might have a concussion.” Even Gitta sounded worried. Good grief, why did they all have to keep pressing the same button? “Anyway, you’ve survived a bombing, Faris. It would be best if you …”

  “Stop it, Gitta! I’ll get myself checked out once we catch the bastard and disarm the bombs.”

  “Yes, but …”

  “But nothing!”

  She sighed deeply. “You’re pig-headed, you know!” she grumbled. In the background, Faris could hear Tromsdorff talking about the man on the cross. “The boss has just been telling us that we finally know who the man on the cross is,” Gitta explained.

  Progress at last! Faris felt the adrenaline start to pump through his veins. “Who is he?”

  “A man by the name of Werner Ellwanger. We received the clue from a woman … wait … her name is Ira Jenssen. She’s the pastor over at the Church of the Passion, a Lutheran congregation on Marheinekeplatz. Tromsdorff is wondering if the two of you want to drive over there and take her statement.”

  Werner Ellwanger.

  Faris turned the name over in his mind, but it didn’t ring any bells. If he had heard it somewhere, he at least couldn’t recall it.

  “We’ve tracked down Mr. Ellwanger’s address,” Gitta continued. “Marc is on his way to the apartment. We can send other officers to the pastor, Faris, if you …”

  “I’m fine,” Faris interrupted her. “Like I told you, everything’s okay. Did you check to see if the name Ellwanger shows up on the victim list from the Klersch Museum?”

  Gitta blew him a kiss across the phone. “Of course, my lord and master. Unfortunately no hits!”

  Faris made a face. He cautiously loosened his grip on the lamp post, and to his relief, his dizziness had passed. They didn’t have time to spare for dizzy spells. Ellwanger didn’t appear in the old files, but perhaps a chat with the pastor would jog some memory. “Marheinekeplatz, you said?”

  “Yes. The parsonage is located on a side street next to the church. Ms. Jenssen promised to wait for you there.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  The phone crackled as Gitta covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “I’m coming!” she called in a muffled voice, but then it was back to sounding clear. “Faris?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful!”

  “I will, Gitta.” With a faint smile, Faris ended the call.

  Two minutes later, he had informed Paul of their new task. Since he still felt a little dizzy, Faris handed the car keys over to his partner. He didn’t want to run the risk of crashing. Paul shook his head, concerned and disgruntled, but he sat down in the driver’s seat without saying a word.

  As they drove, Faris suddenly remembered that he needed to warn his family and Laura. He pulled his temporary phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed Laura’s number.

  She didn’t answer.

  He let it ring until her voicemail picked up.

  “Laura, it’s me. Listen, this isn’t a stalker call. It’s really important. I’d like …” he stopped to consider how he could neatly put it. He couldn’t make any demands without providing her with an explanation, but he also didn’t want to make her worried. He cleared his throat. As he searched for the right words, the mailbox recorded him breathing. He finally opted for honesty. “I have reason to believe that the bomber here in Berlin might be out to get you and Lilly. You need to leave the city. Go to the Baltic for a few days or something. Alright? I’ll call back when I know more.”

  I love you.

  He hung up before the last sentence could slip out.

  From behind the steering wheel, Paul sent him a sideways glance. Faris dialed the next number, listened for it to start ringing, and hoped that his sister would answer.

  But he was out of luck. Anisah didn’t pick up; her husband did. “Chalid,” his deep voice roared.

  “Samir, it’s me.”

  “Faris. Tell me, what’s going on with all of you?”

  Faris had to move the phone away from his ear because Samir’s voice was so loud. “What are you talking about?”

  “Some of your colleagues were just here, and they asked us a bunch of questions. Are you in some kind of trouble?” His words held annoyance and frustration. Although Samir wasn’t a devout Muslim, he still had problems with Faris’s adoption of Western ways. He had made it quite clear, on more than one occasion, that he didn’t approve of Anisah’s regular meetings with Faris. Not that this really bothered Anisah much.

  “Trouble?” Faris asked in confusion.

  “They interrogated us about …”

  “Wait a second!” Faris interrupted him. The wheels in his head began to turn. “Say that one more time! They interrogated you? You must be wrong about that. They asked you …”

  “They seem to think we might’ve had something to do with the bombings. Faris, that’s ridiculous!”

  Faris ground his teeth as he realized what had happened. Dr. Geiger had sent her people over to run a background check on him. She still didn’t trust him. She really thought he might be somehow involved with the attacks. This was unbelievable!

  “Samir, listen to me. That’s just routine. They were there because it’s possible that the bomber will try to contact you.”

  Samir sniffed. “Are you or aren’t you in trouble?” It sounded as if he already knew the answer.
<
br />   You have no idea!

  Faris nodded but said something else out loud: “Of course not! But could you do me a favor? Take Anisah and the kids out of the city. There’s a chance that the bastard might target them. And take Umi and Abu with you.”

  “Your parents? Faris, you know how to scare a guy!”

  Faris didn’t take the bait. “Can you also pass the word along to Reza and Hasim?” Reza and Hasim were his brothers. “They need to be careful, or better yet, they should leave town with the rest of you.”

  “Really, Faris, this is …”

  “I have to go, Samir. Please, please do what I’ve asked. I’ll explain everything to you later.”

  “Okay. You sound tired, so this time I’ll refrain from pointing out that this job of yours …”

  “It’s been a really crappy day,” Faris interrupted him before the usual litany could begin. Why did you become a cop in the first place? Why would you put yourself and your family in danger? Why didn’t you go to college like your brothers? He could feel Paul’s eyes on him. “At the moment, my old phone is out of commission. If you want to reach me, use the number I just called you from. I’ll be in touch as soon as everything’s all clear.”

  “Okay.” Samir hesitated. “Faris?” he started cautiously.

  “Yes?”

  “I never again want to have to tell Anisah that you were almost blown to pieces.”

  As Faris hung up, a sardonic laugh caught in his throat. He leaned his head against his headrest and closed his eyes. His skull pounded, and he thought he could hear people crying out in pain from far away.

  What will happen to all those people out there if you fail one more time? the caller’s distorted voice whispered, and he heard himself answer.

  They will die.

  The last word echoed through his head.

  Die. Die. Die …

  Like the people in the museum.

  And goodbye ...

  He swallowed hard before opening his eyes once more and dialing Laura’s number. His call went to voicemail again. With a curse, Faris hung up, and then pulled his regular phone out of his pocket and stared at it.

  Call, you bastard, he thought. Tell me what your next move is. The tension inside him grew with each passing minute.

  “Is everything okay?” Paul asked.

  “Geiger ran a check on my family,” Faris murmured. He was so exhausted that he couldn’t even feel upset about this.

  “That stupid bitch!” Paul bellowed. “How are you feeling?”

  Faris looked over at him before he said, “Focus on the road!”

  “Bite me!” Paul shot back, but he remained silent for the rest of the drive.

  *

  The Church of the Passion’s building dated from the early twentieth century. With its powerful brick facade and bulky tower, it looked almost intimidating to Faris. The parsonage on the side street looked similar – dismal, dusty. And cool.

  Ira Jenssen was expecting them. She was a tall, somewhat austere-looking woman. She was wrapped in a cardigan that she was holding closed over her stomach as if she were chilly. When Gitta had told Faris on the phone that their witness was a pastor, he had imagined a chubby, middle-aged woman wearing a dark skirt and staring piercingly at him through her glasses. Ira Jenssen didn’t correspond with this image in the slightest. She was young, around thirty. She was wearing jeans, not a skirt. And she wasn’t pudgy, in fact she was a little too skinny. Her collarbone stuck out underneath her cardigan, and her wrists looked slender. She had medium-length blonde hair and blue eyes, which weren’t as eye-catching as Ben Schneider’s but which Faris nonetheless found unusually compelling.

  After Faris and Paul identified themselves, Ms. Janssen led them into an office filled with old-fashioned furniture and a table covered with children’s craft projects. A woman who was a better fit with Faris’s mental image of a pastor was sitting at an aging computer and typing away on its keyboard. Ira Jenssen introduced her as Veronika Herzog, the church secretary, and then asked Faris and Paul to follow her into her office. This contained an expansive desk and a small seating area with a single armchair and a comfy-looking couch. Behind the desk hung a bed sheet covered with children’s colorful hand- and footprints. At the sight of that, Faris had to think about Laura and her daughter, and he felt suddenly angry. What if the culprit found them? He stifled an urge to call Laura again.

  Ira Jenssen invited them to sit down in the seating area, and she rolled her desk chair over.

  Paul opted for the couch, sinking deep into the soft cushions. “You called us because you think you recognize the man in the photo?” he asked, coming straight to the point.

  Ira Jenssen leaned to the side and pulled a piece of paper from her desk. She carefully set it down in the middle of the coffee table. It was a printout of the still that Dr. Geiger had given to the press. “It’s not just that I recognize him. I know him. His name is Werner Ellwanger, and he’s a member of our church. On the website where we found this picture, it says that he’s the victim of a violent crime. What happened?”

  She paused but then forged on. “Is he dead?” She brushed her fingertips across the spots on Werner Ellwanger’s face where Ben had erased the blood.

  Faris cleared his throat. “No, he isn’t dead, but we’re afraid he might soon be. He was abducted, and apparently his abductor plans to …” he checked his watch and estimated the remaining time, “kill him in about twenty-eight hours.”

  A deep wrinkle appeared between Ira’s eyebrows. “And the information you have is really that accurate?”

  “A threat has been made, so yes.” Paul leaned forward, which looked difficult to do in the soft couch. “What can you tell us about Werner Ellwanger? Anything tied to him and the church conference would be helpful.”

  “The church conference?” Ira picked up the printout and examined it thoughtfully. Her knuckles looked rough, and her fingernails were trimmed very short. “Does your investigation have anything to do with the two bombings?”

  “What would make you think that?” Paul asked. He looked completely relaxed, but Faris had known him long enough to be aware that he was closely monitoring the pastor’s every move.

  Ira shrugged. “On TV, they’re saying that the bombings have something to do with the conference.”

  Paul hesitated. He shot Faris a questioning look, but when the latter nodded, he decided for honesty. “Yes,” he admitted. “We assume that the disappearance of Mr. Ellwanger has something to do with the bombings.”

  “An abduction,” Ira murmured. “And bombings. About twenty-eight hours you said, right?” She ran a mental calculation. “That’s when the papal Mass will be happening. You think there’s going to be an attack on the Pope?”

  She’s smart, Faris thought. With the limited information they had just given her, she had come to the same conclusion he and his colleagues had. He struggled against the fascination he felt for her. “That’s irrelevant at this point,” he replied more harshly than he had intended to.

  Turning toward him, she studied him for a long moment. It felt like she could read his thoughts, so intense was her gaze. He nervously rubbed his mouth.

  Paul didn’t say anything.

  She slowly exhaled. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I’m not accustomed to being confronted with things like this. So, what do I know about Werner Ellwanger?” She picked up the printout and placed it across her knees. As she spoke, she studied the picture. The denim on her left knee was almost threadbare, and now Faris noticed that she wasn’t wearing socks. Her feet were clad in plain brown moccasins. “He is a very religious person. He comes to church every Sunday, and there are rumors that he’s a little …” she smiled apologetically, “crazy.”

  “Crazy?” Paul leaned back. “In what way?”

  “Well, I think he’s a fairly fanatical Christian. I would personally describe him as a biblical literalist.”

  “That means he’s one of those people who takes everything in the Bi
ble very literally,” Paul said.

  Ira cocked one eyebrow. “There aren’t many people who can explain offhand what biblical literalists believe.”

  “Mr. Iskander and I belong to a special police unit,” he explained. “Our specialty is religiously motivated crimes.”

  Ira nodded slowly. “I understand.” Her fingernails dug into her jeans.

  Faris remembered that the caller had said my father when he had spoken of his victim. “Do you know if Werner Ellwanger has any family?”

  “As far as I know, he’s a widower.”

  Paul ran his hand over one of the pillows sitting on the couch beside him. It was embroidered with an image of a red-haired dachshund. From the clumsy execution of the stitching, it looked as though a child had done it. “Are there any relatives?”

  “Yes, a son.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He must be about eighteen or nineteen. He comes to every Sunday service.”

  Faris sent his partner a meaningful glance. They were both thinking the same thing. Was this son their culprit? “Could you give us the son’s name?” Faris inquired, struggling to keep his increasing excitement under control.

  Ira didn’t have to give this much thought. “Of course. His name is Alexander.”

  *

  Alexander

  The angel. He was still gone, but nevertheless, Alexander thought he knew what he wanted from him. He had to remember things, had to talk about the things that had happened in the past. He looked up at the bright light. “At some point, water wasn’t enough for Father,” he whispered.

  “Only Christ’s blood can cleanse us of our sins,” Father murmurs as he pours the water over Alexander’s and his own hands. He seems agitated and nervous. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Alexander can hear him walking up and down in his room in the middle of the night. He sees the fear in his father’s eyes when their gazes meet. The fear of his own sins. The fear of damnation.

  The water splashes softly over Alexander’s fingers, but Father doesn’t seem to be satisfied with it.

  “It isn’t working,” he whispers.

  With a jerk, he sets the carafe down and looks at his hands as if he might be able to see there the filth that is soiling his soul.