The Ghosts of Altona (37 page)

‘I brought coffee,’ he said as he entered her office, placing two takeaway lattes on the desk in front of her. ‘Have you had a chance to do that profile I asked for?’

‘I thought I’d save that for pillow talk,’ she said, sipping at her coffee. ‘Nothing gets a girl going in bed more than talking about the mindset of the dead. Like I told you this morning, you didn’t need to come up, I would have emailed it to you.’

‘I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ he said. ‘I need to find this Dane before he gets the Gothic treatment. And the truth is I’m desperately trying to understand what the hell is going on. Whatever it is, it all revolves around Monika Krone. I’m more convinced of that now than ever. I’m not asking you for something that’ll stand up in court, I’m just trying to get my head around who and what she was.’

‘I’ve told you that it’s nigh on impossible to do a psychological post-mortem on someone. All you’ve given me is second-hand accounts and vague observations from her sister – who’s unlikely to be objective one way or the other – and others she encountered at university.’

‘Nigh on . . . but
not
impossible. Even I’ve been able to build some kind of picture of her from what others have said. Anyway, I can tell by the preamble that you’ve got something for me.’

‘I could be totally wrong, Jan. I can only offer at best a half-informed opinion.’

‘But?’

‘But it strikes me, as I’m sure it does you, that Monika Krone was a highly manipulative individual. Supremely egocentric and with little or no empathy for others. She used men
for
sex and she used sex
against
men – as a means to control them. She also seemed to have had difficulty balancing her highly organized scheming with her tendency to be unpredictable and impulsive. I think you know where I’m going with this . . .’

‘A sociopath?’

‘It’s the picture that’s emerging. Don’t tell me that you hadn’t already put it together yourself. Bear in mind that one per cent of the population can be classed as clinically sociopathic. And of that one per cent, the majority manage to lead normal lives without any criminal behaviour. Some say it’s even an advantage in the business world, which says a lot: the less you care about people the better capitalist you’re likely to be. And, it has to be said, it’s mainly a male thing.’

‘But you think Monika Krone was a sociopath. Do you think she could have been violent?’

‘I think there was maybe the potential for violence, considerable potential, but she wouldn’t have found it necessary. Criminal sociopaths use violence as a means of exerting their will over others. Monika Krone had other, more powerful weapons in her arsenal: she used her beauty and sex to get what she wanted. The other thing is that I’ve been through her academic records – both school and university. She had problems at the start of her school career but an educational psychologist was called in and sorted her out. Got her back on the rails, so to speak.’

‘What was her problem?’

‘Her problem?’ Susanne laughed. ‘Monika Krone’s problem was that she had an IQ that was off the scale. Her records also note that she had an incredibly encyclopaedic knowledge. Intelligence plus knowledge plus beauty is a highly potent mix. Add sociopathic ruthlessness and it becomes explosive. But her academic performance fluctuated, as that of the highly gifted usually does. She would be able to out-think, out-manoeuvre just about anybody she came in contact with.’

‘Except the last person she came into contact with,’ said Fabel.

‘Brute strength and violence, Jan. Not the same thing. She could control everyone around her, except herself. And whoever killed her was either a complete stranger, immune to her powers, or someone whom she had pushed to breaking point. Sometimes violent passions distil down to simple violence.’

Fabel sipped his coffee, deep in thought. ‘Would someone with the type of personality you’re describing manipulate others exclusively to get what they want – to achieve definite goals – or would they do it for its own sake? Just to see how far she could make others go?’

‘I’d say either . . . or both. Sociopaths like to see how powerful their wills are, compared to others’; to see just how far they can push.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Fabel.

‘There’s one thing that came to mind: you told me what her sister Kerstin said to you – about how she suspected that Monika had maybe trapped herself. That she’d maybe built so many webs around her that she couldn’t escape and she perhaps welcomed her killer.’

‘I think that was just emotional talk . . .’

‘I don’t think it was. I know that Kerstin and Monika seem like polar opposites, but they weren’t. No twins really are. What Kerstin said about there being something missing with Monika . . . that was true too. Sociopaths don’t have something the rest of us are missing. Quite the opposite – it’s they who are missing a part. Most of the qualities you see in Kerstin as a person would have been there in Monika too, and vice versa. In Monika’s case, however, she would have greatly diminished empathy for others, or perhaps no empathy. Plus her sociopathy would deny her control of her impulses or her ego, which would have become supreme. But, contrary to what many people believe, sociopaths are capable of introspection. In Monika’s case, there would always be the possibility of self-loathing. Part of her, deep down inside, would have always wanted out, wanted to escape the vortex of chaos she had created. The only problem with that is that you can never run away from yourself.’

‘You seriously think that she could have been suicidal?’ asked Fabel.

‘It’s a trope that sociopaths don’t commit suicide because they’re too self-centred to be self-destructive. They do get depressed, and they do commit suicide – just for different reasons than normal people, mainly because they’ve lost the one thing they crave: control. More often than not a sociopath takes his or her own life because their actions, their manipulations of others have left them isolated or their situation untenable. I’m telling you, Jan, if Monika Krone’s body hadn’t been so clearly deliberately hidden, I would not have ruled out suicide.’

‘So you think she maybe did welcome her killer after all?’

‘No. Not her killer or however she met her death. But extinction – freedom from the mess she’d made of her life – perhaps.’

Fabel was about to say something when his cell phone rang. It was Karin Vestergaard.

‘I got your message. You said it was urgent,’ she said. ‘By the way, I’ve got the details you wanted on Paul Mortensen.’

‘That’s why I was phoning. And why it was urgent. We’ve had another killing – another fellow student of Mortensen’s. I’m beginning to suspect we have a shopping list and your countryman is next to be ticked off.’

‘He’s in Hamburg now,’ she said. ‘His flight got in late last night. I have his cell phone number but he may have it switched off – he’s attending this haematology conference at the congress centre, and he’ll be in and out of seminars all day. I have his hotel details, I’ll text them to you, but I think your best bet is definitely to try to get him at the congress centre between events. Is there anything else I can do, Jan?’

‘Thanks, Karin . . . not at the moment but I’ll get back to you if there is.’

‘Jan?’

‘Yes?’

‘He’s one of ours. Don’t lose him.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ After Fabel hung up he leaned over the desk and kissed Susanne. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Everything okay?’

‘I hope so. Thanks for the evaluation. See you later.’

On the way out to the car Fabel phoned Anna Wolff and asked her to meet him at the congress centre. ‘And bring a few bodies, Anna. We need to find Mortensen quickly.’

*

It was a huge expanse to cover, unless you knew exactly where to find who you were looking for. The congress centre was a vast building, not in height – it was mostly over three floors with a five storey central complex – but in area. It sprawled over its city centre site, the only high rise element the soaring tower of the adjoining hotel.

Fabel arrived on site first, but Anna arrived a minute or two later. A Mercedes Sprinter minibus and a patrol car, both in the silver and blue livery of the Polizei Hamburg, pulled up behind Anna’s car and ten uniformed officers decanted from them. It was followed by a red Opel Astra saloon and Dirk Hechtner and Thom Glasmacher joined the knot of police officers. All were armed with the photograph of Mortensen Karin Vestergaard had emailed Fabel, along with the details of the seminars he was due to attend.

‘Okay,’ said Fabel. ‘We know who we’re looking for and where he should be. There’s no way we can check every square centimetre of the building, so we just have to hope that Professor Mortensen is exactly where he’s supposed to be which is . . .’ Fabel checked his notebook. ‘The haematology conference in Hall Six, which is one floor up from the entrance level. His seminar is supposed to start in fifteen minutes. If by chance you see him anywhere in the crowds, secure him and notify me. Tell him it’s for his own protection. I want two uniforms at the main entrance. Anna – we’ll take four uniforms and go in through the west entrance. Thom, Dirk – you take the other four and go round to the east.’

Fabel called Mortensen’s cell phone for the third time, and for the third time got his voicemail service.

‘Shit,’ he said, putting the phone back in his pocket. He nodded and Glasmacher, Hechtner and four uniforms headed around to the east entrance. He led Anna and the rest in through the main entrance foyer. It was a vast hall of marble floors and polished stone pillars, and it was filled with hundreds of people milling about, moving from one hall to another, or gathered in knots, talking about whatever business they were in, whatever product they were going to hear a presentation on. There were two more levels above them. ‘This place is huge. Hall Six . . . let’s go.’

Fabel led the way up the escalator, a dozen business-types staring at the blue uniformed SchuPos following him.

When he reached the top, he saw Hechtner, Glasmacher and their escort emerge from the other escalator. There were throngs of people in the foyer, obviously waiting to get in for the next seminar.

‘Shit, that’s him . . .’ Anna said at Fabel’s side. He turned to her.

‘Who, Mortensen?’

‘No . . .’ Anna laughed disbelievingly. ‘It’s Tempel. The guy we’re looking for. The one whose sister tried to kill Albrecht before topping herself. Christ – do you think he’s here to do Mortensen?’

Fabel looked across to where a group of men dressed in suits and wearing name badges stood talking. One of them was medium height and athletic-looking. His hair was buzz-cut and his face angular, his nose showing signs of an earlier break. Fabel could see why, in a different context, Anna had suspected him to be some kind of thug.

Marco Tempel looked across and saw them. He seemed puzzled for a moment, eyebrows raised, then he waved to Anna who was already moving purposefully towards him, her hand resting on the grip of her service automatic. Fabel trotted to catch up with Anna and placed a restraining hand on her arm.

‘Take it easy, Anna . . .’ he said in a low voice. ‘This isn’t the place for a takedown. Anyway, he’s making no move to flee.’

‘It’s
him
.’

‘I know, but let’s get him out of here quietly and with no fuss.’ He turned to the uniformed officers and indicated with a jerk of their head that they should follow.

‘Hello.’ Tempel smiled at Anna when she and Fabel reached him. ‘Are you here for the seminar on blunt force trauma?’ He turned to the others. ‘Trust me, that’s her speciality.’

Fabel took Tempel by the elbow and eased him away from the group. The doctor’s colleagues suddenly seemed to become aware of the presence of uniformed police. Fabel leaned in and spoke quietly.

‘I’m sure you don’t want to make a scene, Herr Doctor Tempel. You are under arrest. I need you to come with us now.’

‘Arrest? What for?’

‘On suspicion of murder. If you resist, things could get very unpleasant and very public. Please come with us and keep your hands at all times where I can see them.’

‘What?’ Tempel pulled his arm free from Fabel’s grip. ‘Are you crazy?’ He laughed uneasily and looked across to Anna, who had unholstered her pistol and held it against her thigh, out of sight of the small group of watching doctors. Two of the uniforms took a step forward.

‘What’s this all about, Marco?’ asked one of the other doctors.

‘We need to talk to Herr Doctor Tempel,’ said Anna, without looking away from her charge. ‘That’s all.’

Shaking his head, Tempel allowed himself to be led through the foyer and out to a waiting blue and silver patrol car. Before guiding him into the back seat, Anna held out a pair of handcuffs.

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

‘Just play nice,’ said Anna.

‘Which way do you like it, Anna?’ said Tempel, his face hard. ‘Front or back?’

‘In front is fine.’

Tempel held his wrists out in front of him and Anna snapped the handcuffs in place. ‘Where’s Mortensen?’ she asked. ‘I take it we’re not too late?’

‘Mortensen? Professor Mortensen? He’s about to give his lecture. The one you’ve just stopped me attending. What the hell is this all about?’

‘Take him in,’ she said to the driver, shutting the door on Tempel’s confusion.

‘We better get back in there and find Mortensen,’ said Fabel. ‘What is it?’

Anna watched the patrol car disappear. ‘It’s just his wounded innocent act – it seemed more genuinely wounded innocent than act.’

‘Well, we have him now and can get to the bottom of things one way or the other.’

‘It’s not just that,’ Anna said mournfully. ‘He was kind of cute.’

*

When they went back into the conference centre, Fabel led Anna up the escalator once again to the foyer for Hall Six. It was nearly time for Mortensen’s lecture and Fabel had to shoulder his way through a crowd of name-tagged suits to get to the entrance door. A congress centre member of staff, a woman with an Eastern European accent, stood at the entrance to the hall, holding a walkie-talkie in her hand and clearly waiting for the go-ahead to admit the audience of physicians. She looked startled to see Fabel and his entourage.