A Slow Death (Max Drescher Book 1) (25 page)

45

Clara Ozil picked the dog-eared copy of
Adam
off the sofa with her thumb and forefinger, glancing briefly at the beefcake on the cover before dropping the magazine onto the coffee table without comment. Max waited patiently for her to take a seat before handing her a chipped PD mug, one of a modest collection that he had borrowed from the Stresemannstraße canteen over the years. ‘Make yourself at home.’

‘Thanks.’ Perched on the edge of the sofa, Clara grasped the mug with both hands. Blowing on the steaming coffee, she tried to break up the oily slick that had collected on the surface.  

Retreating to the kitchen doorway, Max watched her take the most tentative of sips. ‘Want some milk? Or sugar?’

‘No, no. It’s fine.’ Placing the mug carefully on top of the magazine, Clara stretched out her skirt. Dressed head to foot in black, she looked more like a teenage Goth than a thirty-something union lawyer.

Leaning against the frame of the door, Max shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. ‘Thanks for sorting out my deal. It was good to get it agreed.’

Clara gave him an
It’s nothing
shrug. ‘My pleasure.’

‘I know I said I didn’t want to go too soon, but, to be honest, when I got the letter it felt like a relief. You did a great job.’

‘I didn’t do anything. It was a very easy negotiation.’

‘It’s a good deal.’

‘It’s a
great
deal. I’ve never had Personnel so keen to throw money at me before. These things can take months to sort out. In this case, the whole thing was wrapped up in less than an hour.’

‘They want rid of me.’

‘For sure,’ Clara nodded. ‘But it’s more than that. They were scared shitless of you going public. That’s why there’s such an extensive gagging clause in the agreement.’

‘I didn’t read it,’ Max admitted.

‘I did. It’s quite something. Basically, you’re not even supposed to admit you were ever in the police.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Max frowned. ‘What do they think I would talk about? Eichel?’

‘Huh?’

‘This case I’m working on.’ Max gave her the briefest of explanations of his encounters with the Kriminalkommissar from Gesundbrunnen.

Clara gestured towards his face. ‘That’s how you got the bruises, huh?’

Max nodded. ‘If Eichel is on the wrong side of this case, it’s going to be very embarrassing to the department.’

‘I’m sure. But it’s not that they were worried about that when I spoke to them. It’s your illness that scares them.’ Seeing his face darken, Clara quickly corrected herself. ‘I mean, your condition.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Max demanded. ‘Apart from anything else, I can’t be the only cop who’s been infected.’

‘Maybe not, but you’re the only one that the union has heard about, so far.’

Max raised an eyebrow. ‘In Berlin?’

‘In the whole of Germany,’ Clara pointed out.

Max slumped against the frame of the door. ‘Really?’

Clara nodded. ‘West Germany. We don’t know about the East. It’s a bit of a black hole, information-wise. Plus, the union hasn’t really got up and running there yet.’

‘I’m sure that the Ossis don’t have any of that bourgeois deviancy,’ Max chortled. ‘It was a socialist paradise for forty years, remember?’

‘Of course,’ Clara grinned.

‘So, I’m unique – in the whole of the police force?’

‘For the moment,’ Clara nodded, ‘you are unique. You’re single-handedly causing them to re-write the Employee Handbook.’

‘A trailblazer,’ said Max grimly, trying to squeeze a gram of amusement out of the situation. ‘I kind of like that.’

‘Well, the brass don’t. They don’t like it at all. Scared shitless is the only way to describe it. The word is that your case has been discussed all the way up to the Mayor’s office.’

‘Jesus,’ Max groaned. ‘You mean even Momper knows about this? Don’t I have a right to privacy?’

‘Theoretically, yes. He probably doesn’t know your name but he was always going to be told about your case. This has a significant political angle to it. Imagine if the press got hold of the story. The idea that there’s even one policeman running round Berlin with HIV would be enough to send the whole criminal justice system into turmoil.’ Clara spat out the names of a couple of particularly reptilian defence lawyers. ‘It would be gold dust for those ambulance-chasing bastards. They would jump right in front of a judge, asking for their clients’ cases to be reviewed on the grounds that the PD had not properly discharge its duty of care. By putting them at risk of infection and causing them untold grief and anguish.’

‘What complete bollocks.’

‘Of course its bollocks,’ Clara agreed, ‘but it’s all just more hours on the clock to people like that. I can see it now, they will argue that the PD has no monitoring in place, so has no idea how many of its staff may be carrying the infection. It’s just exploiting the irrational fear and panic that’s out there. There’s already been a case in the United States; a convicted murderer is suing the state of Kentucky for five million dollars. Apparently one of the guards who drove him to prison was found to have contracted the virus. The murderer is now worried he’s got it too.’ She smiled. ‘And you want to know the best bit? The guy is already on death row. He killed a family of six, decapitated each one of them and then lined the heads up for a family photograph. His lawyer is hoping that the suit will delay his client’s trip to the electric chair.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously,’ Clara eyed him with her best poker face. ‘I never lie to my clients, Kriminalinspektor. Anyway, you couldn’t make this stuff up.’

‘I suppose not.’ Max shook his head, genuinely amazed. ‘How cynical can you get? Only in America.’

‘What happens in America will happen here, soon enough. With the authorities panicking, there are lots of different ways that the criminals can try and take advantage. Aside from the absence of any testing, the PD has absolutely no idea whether it has any insurance cover if a load of claims come its way. So, like I said, they want to shut you up and sweep the whole thing under the carpet; keep the matter buried for as long as possible.’

‘’Til I’m dead.’

Clara grimaced. ‘For as long as possible. Who knows? In a few years’ time, they might have found a cure and all this panic will be over.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it.

‘Maybe not.’

‘In the meantime, the more people who know about me,’ Max pointed out, ‘the more likely it is to leak to the newspapers.’

‘To be fair,’ Clara pointed out, ‘they have tried to keep it as tightly controlled as possible. Only a handful of people are supposed to know: Marin; Foldhammer, the woman in charge of HR; Momper himself; and maybe one or two of his advisers. And, like I said, not all of them will have your name.’

‘That’s still more than enough for it to leak.’

‘They all want it hushed up. If it comes out, heads could roll …
their
heads.’

A question popped into Max’s head. ‘Who else at the union knows?’

‘No one.’ Clara patted the large black leather shoulder bag sitting next to her on the sofa. ‘I’ve handled it all myself and kept all the papers with me. You can be sure that there will be no gossip from my end.’

‘Okay, good. But why does everyone think
I
would leak it?’

‘Because,’ Clara explained, ‘it’s what they would do if they were in your position.’

‘Surely not.’

‘Rather, it’s a
threat
they would use if it was their payoff negotiation and they were on the other side of the table. These people are political to their fingertips. For them, everything is a potential bargaining chip, even their privacy. And they assume everyone thinks the same way as they do.’

‘That’s one of the most interesting things about all of this,’ Max chuckled, ‘the reactions of other people.’

‘It seems to me,’ Clara observed, ‘the responses basically fall into two camps: fear and hatred.’

‘That’s right,’ Max agreed. ‘Those who think I’m going to drop down dead in front of their eyes – after I’ve infected them, of course – and those who think I want to use it as a way of embarrassing the city and fucking over the PD. Everyone basically sees it as some kind of scam.’

‘Not quite
everyone
,’ Clara pointed out. ‘I don’t think like that, and neither does Michael.’

‘No, no, of course not. But you guys are the exceptions. Most people filter the news through their own fears and prejudices.’

‘It’s always the same,’ Clara sighed. She reached for her coffee before thinking better of it. ‘And you have to admit, this is a very scary situation. In Berlin alone –’

‘Ah.’ Max held up a hand. ‘Don’t start quoting facts and figures at me. I don’t want to know. I’m not a statistic. And I’m definitely not going to be a victim. I’m just a normal guy who wants to live long and die slow.’

Clara shot him one of her special smiles, infused with spirit and sadness in equal measure. ‘Good for you.’ Reaching down, she lifted a Spar plastic bag from the carpet and offered it up for him to take. ‘That’s why I’ve brought you a few things.’

Max eyed the bulging bag with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

‘Some fruit. A selection of seasonal vegetables. One or two other bits and pieces. Now that I’ve sorted out your very comfortable retirement, you’ve got to start making some lifestyle adjustments, starting with your diet.’

Max reluctantly took the bag. It was heavy and the handles immediately began cutting into his fingers. ‘Eh?’

‘You have to start looking after yourself properly.’ Reaching into her handbag, Clara pulled out a dog-eared paperback. ‘I’ve been reading your book.’ Holding it up, she waved it in front of her face. ‘
Dealing with HIV – A guide for the newly diagnosed
, the one that you nicked from that bookshop. I picked up a copy from Dialogue Books.’

‘I didn’t nick it,’ Max said defensively. Carefully placing the plastic bag at his feet, he rubbed his hands together, trying to restart the blood flow to his rigid digits. ‘It happened to be part of the investigation.’

‘If you say so,’ Clara grinned. ‘Anyway, have you managed to read your copy?’

‘I skimmed it,’ Max lied, feeling his enthusiasm for this conversation waning rapidly.

‘Well, the chapters on diet are very good. You should read those if nothing else. You’ve got to start looking after yourself. It says you should get rid of processed foods that are full of chemicals and preservatives and focus on fresh, healthy stuff – fruit and vegetables. Coffee’s no good and the booze needs to go,’ Clara added, slipping effortlessly into schoolmistress mode. ‘It goes without saying that smoking is completely out. If you are going to face this thing properly, you’ve got to get rid of anything that could negatively impact your immune system.’

‘Hold on,’ he spluttered, ‘you’re my lawyer, not my doctor.’ Patting his jacket pocket, he felt the reassuring outline of an almost full packet of HB. He could do with a smoke but knew better than to light up in the middle of Clara’s little lecture.

‘I’m concerned about you Max.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘That’s great. But we have to keep you that way.
You
have to keep you that way. What’s the use of me getting you this great pension if you don’t live long enough to enjoy it?’

‘That’s why I got such a good pension,’ Max joked grimly, ‘because they know I’m not going to be around very long to collect it.’

‘Don’t be so ungrateful,’ she said sharply. ‘I had to fight hard for your deal.’

              ‘Yes,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’

‘So you need to get informed. It’s time to make some changes in how you treat your body.’

‘It’s my body.’

‘You have to understand what’s happening to it.’

‘I
am
informed,’ he grinned, trying to re-establish a lighter tone to their sparring. ‘At least, I know what I want.  When I say I want to live long, I don’t mean I want to spend the next ten years sucking pureed turnips through a straw.’

‘Pureed turnips?’ Clara giggled.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Leaving the force,’ she said gently, ‘is the perfect opportunity for you to make some sensible lifestyle changes.’

‘I don’t particularly want to make any lifestyle changes,’ he huffed, ‘sensible or otherwise. And, anyway, I haven’t left the police yet.’

Sitting back, Clara gave him an amused smile as she draped an arm across the back of the sofa. ‘No, you haven’t, have you? And, from what I hear, you’re going out with quite a bang.’

‘And what precisely do you hear?’ Max enquired, happy to move the conversation away from the matter of his hopeless diet.

‘The gossip is that you finally got the guy who murdered the Beerfeldt family.’

‘The Dutchman,’ Max nodded, ‘Floris Kooy. Michael shot him. Saving me in the process.’ It suddenly struck him that he had never actually thanked Michael for saving his life. He made a mental note to do just that. ‘Kooy was a professional killer who left a long trail of bodies behind him. We had to take him out.’