Grave Intent (35 page)

“I wish every murderer would be so cooperative when it came time to confess,” Bergman said once Jan had finished his questioning.

“He didn’t have anything more to lose,” Jan said. “When his daughter died, his life was over, as far as he was concerned. Only vengeance kept him going.”

“What do we do next?” Patrick asked.

“Prepare for a massive media circus,” Bergman told them. “The trial won’t take long now that he’s confessed. His story will make it hard for the state prosecutor to present him as a brutal serial killer. In this day and age, Dietrich might even get a lucrative book deal before the trial’s even over.”

“I had enough of that with the last case.” Jan sighed. “A little less press would be nice.”

“As long as the public doesn’t hear anything about his motives, things will settle back down after a few days. But when the trial begins, the media storm enters a new phase. You should take some time off,” Bergman said to Jan, glancing at his tired eyes.

“Will do, but first I’m going to go visit Chandu.”

“How’s he doing?” Patrick asked.

“Now that the drugs are out of his system, he’s almost his old self again. Apart from a busted eardrum, he’s good as new.”

“Physically, at least,” Patrick said. “Who knows how captivity affected his spirits.”

“He’s got me to help him through that,” Jan said.

After the cell door closed behind him, Elias Dietrich sat down on his narrow cot. He eyed the lunch tray that the guard had left on the stool. It held a meager portion of bread and sausage, but that seemed fitting for a day like this.

Four years ago, he had held his little girl in his arms one last time, feeling her last breaths as her fragile body finally gave up the struggle.

That was so long ago,
he thought sadly as he pulled Charlotte’s photo from his pocket. At least she had left him this. A final memory of a lovely time—her tenth birthday. She looked so happy just then, so full of joy, anticipating the hours to come.

He kissed the picture and studied it as though wanting to imprint its every detail on his mind. Then he put it away and stood up.

He looked out the barred windows, noticed how green a tree was, how the leaves shone in the bright yellow sunlight. A strange smile appeared on his face. He’d had no reason to smile for so long.

He picked up the thin metal tray and bent it until it buckled and a piece broke off. Then he drew its sharp edge across his neck.

“Your daddy is almost there,” he whispered as the pool of blood grew.

Jan found Chandu at Charlotte’s grave. Chandu had his head lowered and was holding a bunch of roses. Jan stood next to him, his hands clasped respectfully. On the gravestone was a photo of the little girl.

“She had a wonderful smile,” Chandu said without raising his head. “She would’ve made a lot of people happy if she’d lived.”

“Her death was not your fault,” Jan said, trying to console his friend.

“I know,” Chandu said, “but I did beat up her father and humiliate and demean him, right before she died.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I work as a debt collector for one sick bastard, a man without scruples, with no conscience. I always told myself that his customers weren’t any better. Gamblers, junkies, pimps. No one who didn’t deserve a beating. So I always went home with a clean conscience and slept well.”

Chandu wrung his hands on the bunch of roses. “When I woke up in his hideout, he took off his ski mask and looked me right in the eye. His eyes were full of a merciless hatred that ran so deep. It took a moment, but then I remembered when I’d met him before.

“I’d been waiting for him at home. He smelled like sweat, his hair was ruffled, his shirt all wrinkled. He had come bounding down the stairs like he was on the run. He hadn’t looked any different from any other criminal borrowing money from my employer. And, like every one of them, he’d told me some sappy story about his wife dying, and how his daughter was about to die.”

“But in this case it was the truth.”

“I should have realized it.” Chandu shook his head. “I’ve always considered myself a good judge of people. But that night, I was so wrong.”

Chandu set the roses on the grave. Bending down was clearly difficult for him.

“You should’ve stayed in the hospital.”

“My legs are a little shaky, but I’ll be okay. I’ll see about the eardrum another day.” Chandu took a step back. “Wouldn’t we have done the same thing?” he said. “If either of us had a daughter like Charlotte?”

“I don’t think so,” Jan said after a moment’s hesitation. “Revenge didn’t make Elias Dietrich any happier. And he’ll have to answer for quadruple homicide. He’ll never get released. Wherever Charlotte is, she never would have wished this for her father. Let’s just hope neither of us is ever faced with such a choice.”

Chandu folded his hands as though in prayer. “I’m going to quit. No more debt collecting. I never want to make a mistake like this again.”

“How will you make a living? For you and your mother? That nursing home of hers isn’t cheap.”

“I’ll find something. Something less crooked. Where I don’t have to harm anyone who’s just trying to help their dying child.”

“Sounds good. You need help, you give me a call.”

Chandu placed a hand on Jan’s shoulder and nodded in thanks. “How did you find me?”

“The nurse told me you’d taken off. You weren’t at home, so—”

Chandu cut in. “No. How did you find Dietrich’s hideout?”

“Zoe.”

“Zoe? How did she pull that off?”

“I don’t know. She just called that night and told me how to get there.”

“How could she possibly have known?”

“Ask me something I do know. I’ve been trying to reach her all day. Cell phone and voice mail are turned off. Max checked the connection. Her last call was to me, when she told me about the hideout. She’s not at the office. I even sent a patrol car to her house and had the concierge open her door. She’s not home.”

“She called you, told you about the hideout, then hung up? And now she’s disappeared?”

“In hindsight, it was a weird conversation. First she thanked us for all being so nice to her and for making her part of the team. She was oddly melancholy, like she wanted to get something off her chest. Then she told me about the hideout and said I should give you a kiss on your nice big nose once I got you out.”

“And that was it?”

Jan shrugged. “She just hung up, without another word.”

“Has she gotten herself into some kind of trouble?”

“I sure hope not. Maybe the stress was too much for her, and she took off for a bit. Maybe she’ll show up again when all the hysteria dies down.”

Chandu made the sign of the cross. “I’m not waiting that long. Let’s go find her.” He turned away from the grave.

“Oh, and Jan,” he added. “You can forget about that kiss.”

Epilogue

Zoe stared at the latest headlines on her new phone.
Serial Killer Caught
.
Latest Victim Rescued
.

She let herself smile. Jan was no high-flying genius, but he was a good detective. She hadn’t doubted him for a second. The murderer was caught, and Chandu had been freed. Not a bad swap for her own life, which hadn’t been all that great for a while now.

She would miss Jan, just like she’d miss Chandu’s cooking. Even that annoying keyboard clatter coming from Max’s laptop. There hadn’t been a single day when one of the three hadn’t irritated her, and yet they had become something like friends. She put her phone in her pocket and raised a hand to wave good-bye. One moment of wistfulness.

Then she got on the airplane, and the door shut.

Acknowledgments

To Franz Edlmayr for his amazing collaboration, Simon Jaspersen for the constructive comments, Andreas Hartel for the feedback, and Steve Anderson for the English translation of
Bis alle Schuld beglichen
(
Until the Debt is Paid
).

Thank you all for your invaluable help.

About the Author

Photo © 2014 Oliver Bendig

Alexander Hartung lives in his hometown of Mannheim, Germany, with his wife and young son. He discovered his love of thrillers and historical fiction while studying economics at the University of Heidelberg. His bestselling book
Until the Debt Is Paid
is the first in the Jan Tommen Investigation series, and
Grave Intent
is the second. Both are set in Berlin

About the Translator

Photo © René Chambers

Steve Anderson is a translator, a novelist, and the author of the nonfiction Kindle Singles
Double-Edged Sword
and
Sitting Ducks
. Anderson was a Fulbright Fellow in Munich, Germany. He lives in Portland, Oregon.