Time Heals No Wounds (21 page)

Again, she burst into tears, and Fritz waited until she calmed down. “I have one last question. We heard another rumor that Ms. Ternheim had been digging into Lagussa’s past and had come across something.”

“You mean the scandal in the nineties? That’s not new. At least Helene wasn’t solely to blame for that. She and her brother were responsible for the drug, but the ultimate blame lay with her father. Enough people had warned him not to release the drug. In the test phase, there had been isolated abnormalities and signs of long-term side effects. He swept all that aside. He always pointed to the drug’s potential and insisted on a quick launch. After all, he had invested heavily into the research. Initially, it actually helped a number of people, but then came the first side effects, and eventually there were rumors in the press. And then it all went downhill. But I don’t think Helene had found anything else about that.”

“Actually, I don’t mean the drug scandal. It was a story further back in the past.”

Ms. Wagner looked clueless. “I know nothing about it.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t either,” Fritz said. “I’ll leave you alone now. You’ve really helped me better understand some connections. Can you think of anyone else she might have met who could provide us with more information?”

“As I said, Helene was probably one of the loneliest people in the city.”

“Acquaintances from the past? Maybe from college or school? A boyfriend or . . .”

“No. I mean . . .” Ms. Wagner looked at her hands in discomfort. “I’m just doing this for Helene. I had to swear to her that I’d never tell anyone.”

“I’m sure Ms. Ternheim would have understood,” Fritz said.

“I can think of only one name. In college, she had met a young student from Denmark. His name was Lennart. I don’t remember his last name. He was a year ahead of her, and they got to know each other while working on a group project. Gradually a romance developed between them. Then one evening, they, um . . . well, you know.” Ms. Wagner smoothed her skirt in embarrassment. “Anyway, Helene felt safe because her brother had class all day. She knew he was jealous of her and had always met with Lennart in secret. But the professor was ill, so class was canceled and . . . suddenly her brother was standing in the doorway while Helene and Lennart were having sex! Her brother was completely beside himself. He grabbed Lennart and threw him out. Then he took care of his sister. He called her a bitch and threatened to tell her father she was sleeping around. Then he threw himself on top of her and brutalized her. Do you understand? Christian Ternheim raped his own sister that evening. Several times!”

Fritz headed for Christian Ternheim’s office door, his head spinning. Ms. Wagner had been able to provide him with a theory that explained the scars on the forearm: “After Helene was raped, there was always a little piece of her that was broken. She stopped doing well in school and spiraled into a severe depression. As you can imagine, in a family in which power was all that mattered, this was met with little understanding. Although the Ternheims had made a fortune selling psychotropic drugs, it was unthinkable that someone in their family would have psychological problems. During her worst stage, Helene cut herself, finally forcing her father to take notice. She was placed in a psychiatric ward. These past few weeks I was afraid that she had fallen into her old patterns. Despite the summery temperatures, she wore long-sleeved clothes and made sure her sleeves were rolled down. A few weeks ago she was reaching up to straighten a picture on the wall, and I noticed that her left wrist was bandaged. I immediately asked her if she had hurt herself, but she quickly pulled her sleeve down and muttered something about an accident.”

Fritz tried to hide his disgust when he sat opposite Christian Ternheim. Was he upset by the loss of his sister? Was he secretly relieved that Lagussa’s dark past was safe?

Ternheim drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for the conversation to start. As always, he was clean shaven and dressed in an expensive suit. His gray hair was combed into a tidy part.

“Did you find any leads on my sister’s murderer?”

“Why are you so sure your sister was murdered?”

“Isn’t that obvious? She disappeared without a trace before turning up dead with dyed hair and a tattoo. Her car’s gone, and she had no personal belongings on her.”

“Oh, well, I prefer to reach my own conclusions,” said Fritz. “By the way, you forgot some things, like the sedative and the scars on the forearm.”

“See! All these anomalies should be enough to believe it was murder,” Ternheim said. “Instead of wasting your time here with me, you should be searching for the culprit.”

“You know, a few things struck me as odd.”

“What isn’t odd about Helene’s death?”

“I find it odd, for example,” Fritz calmly continued, “that you failed to inform me that your sister had recently begun taking a sedative. Didn’t you say she seemed in control lately?”

“Have you spoken with her doctor? Ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“The fact is we now have a harmless explanation for the trace of sedative in her blood. Harmless at least to the extent that it was probably not administered by a third party. Less harmless, however, in the sense that she was obviously under tremendous personal stress. Can you tell me anything about that?”

“Stress? We’re always stressed, or do you think it’s a breeze running a global pharmaceutical company? Maybe it was a bit too much for her lately. After all, we are planning a product launch, plus there were the preparations for today’s gala—not to mention the never-ending regular work.”

Fritz shook his head. “I wonder if you aren’t making it a little too easy for yourself. We’ve looked at the scars on her wrist more closely. They clearly predate the time of death, so she must have gotten them before she disappeared.”

“Yeah, and? Who knows, maybe she got caught on something?”

“I don’t think so. This scarring is characteristic of small self-inflicted cuts.”

“How dare you! Just because my sister was taking a harmless sedative from time to time, you try to push her into the psycho corner. It’s ridiculous to think that my sister would have cut herself like . . . like a teenage girl!”

“So, is that it? Wasn’t your sister already hospitalized for depression because of prior cutting?”

The color in Ternheim’s face went pale. “Who told you that? Where the hell did you hear that?”

“You said it yourself,” Fritz said, smiling. “We’re supposed to step up our investigation, and that’s exactly what we’re doing. I’m a cop; I know how to dig up information.”

Ternheim swiveled around and looked out over the city, struggling to keep his composure. “All right then.” He turned his chair around. “In recent months, my sister was in contact with a man. She changed over that time, became irritated, distant, pensive. I was the one who finally suggested she try a sedative. But I highly doubt she sliced her arm on purpose. Something must have happened with this guy. She was afraid of him. I think he threatened her.”

“Do you think that or do you know it?”

“I’m only speculating because my sister didn’t talk about it.”

“Do you know what the man’s name was?”

“She mentioned a von Wittenberg.”

“Ah. So she did speak to you about him?”

“No . . . yes . . . I mean, she told me she was in contact with him, but nothing more.”

“And do you have any guess as to what he wanted from your sister?”

“Like I said, she said nothing about it.”

“But there was another issue your sister wasn’t quiet about, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“As I already said, as a cop, I have amazing sources. Is it true that your relationship with your sister was a little tense the past few weeks?”

“I just explained why!”

“But isn’t it also true that your sister had recently been revisiting Lagussa’s past? And I don’t mean the drug scandal in the nineties. I mean the thirties and forties. You surely must have known your sister was gathering information on this . . . dark chapter in your company’s history.”

Ternheim glared at Fritz.

“Mr. Ternheim, isn’t it true your sister uncovered evidence of collusion between your ancestors and the Nazis and wanted to come clean? But you didn’t want to jeopardize the company. Wasn’t this the real reason for your estrangement?”

“I don’t know where you got this story from,” Ternheim said. “That is utter nonsense. People would have found out a long time ago if there had been any unseemly practices! Lagussa was and is an exemplary company known for its community involvement. Ms. Stahl will give you a ticket to our charity gala this evening; you can see for yourself.”

“Maybe it was clean back then, but not by today’s standards.”

“Even if it were true, which it’s not, what does that have to do with your investigation?”

“Insofar as the relationship between you and your sister deteriorated due to her research. Perhaps you even threatened her? You told me yourself she was afraid. Maybe of you?”

“So this is what it comes down to! You don’t have the slightest idea who’s behind Helene’s death and are now trying to pin the murder on me? How obvious!” He laughed.

“I’m not pinning anything on anyone. You took your time before reporting your sister’s disappearance and were extremely reluctant to publish information about it. Of course, I wonder why that is. So far we haven’t gotten much help from you.”

“So, you’re treading water, and I’m the scapegoat? Of course, then you can close the file, and Detective Janssen has solved another case. But fine, if you want clues, I’ll give you clues! Of all the people Helene knew, you should only be looking into one man, because—”

“Oh no,” said Fritz. “Please not again with this Mr. von Wittenberg! I can assure you we’re already looking into him.”

“I’m not talking about him. However, another thought did pop into my head because of him.”

“So, why don’t you share your thought process?”

Ternheim sighed. “At first I thought Mr. von Wittenberg was someone we knew. I noticed she had been talking on the phone with a man and was becoming more and more troubled. It was only after I learned his name and knew that she had met him that I cast this suspicion aside.”

“What was your suspicion?”

Ternheim hesitated, then pulled himself together. “As you know, our father paints some . . . well, let’s just say special images. An art dealer named Laval became aware of him by accident and did everything he could to get my father as a client. My father was flattered because the dealer praised his paintings and called him an undiscovered genius. Helene and I were strongly opposed to the idea that these images be made public. What kind of picture would they paint of our family and company? People would think he’s nuts. Eventually this guy managed to persuade my father to sign. His contract runs out in six months, and now the situation has radically changed. There were a couple of incidents that led to our father being declared legally incompetent and Helene and myself his guardians. That means the contract cannot be renewed or extended without our consent. Mr. Laval, whose real name is Lachmann, contacted us three months ago to discuss an extension. But I told him he could shove it and that he was to leave us alone. He then called my sister a few times—he probably thought she was weaker. I know Laval threatened my sister at least once, stating he could make life very difficult for her if she continued to hinder our father’s success.”

L
ATE
F
RIDAY
M
ORNING

The alarm woke Hannes. He had lain awake the night before, thinking of the events of the day.

Socks was barking, and Hannes sat up. A pounding headache brought tears to his eyes. He gathered his clothes, remembering he needed to ask Ben for some fresh underwear.

Socks came darting out of the living room when Hannes walked into the hall. Ben’s bedroom door was open, offering a view of his rumpled, empty bed. He went into the bathroom and discovered a note on the mirror:
Had to leave early today, but will be back around noon. Can you take care of Socks? Thanks and see you later! P.S. There are some rolls in the kitchen.

Hannes sighed. Ben had a lot of nerve! He had a ton of work to do, still no clean underpants, and now a dog. He looked down at Socks, who wagged his tail.

“Well, Socks, wanna go do some policing?”

A tired face stared back at him in the mirror. His hair was disheveled. Fortunately for him, there was a bottle of aspirin sitting on the shelf. He took two and hopped in the shower.

Upon exiting the bathroom, he called his landlord to inquire about the status of the snake situation. As expected, the landlord had no update. Hannes decided to spend one more night at Ben’s.

He ate breakfast and wondered what he should do first. He needed to return the police car. Then he would do a background check on the art dealer before investigating the pharmaceutical company’s past. He had to catch up with Anna and bring Socks back at some point, and he needed some underwear.

Hannes drove to the station. Socks sniffed around the room as Hannes returned the keys to the patrol car to Mrs. Meier.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t return the car until now, but I had to take care of this dog yesterday. He’s a stray, and I didn’t have much luck finding his owner.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Meier had a soft spot for dogs.

In the corridor Hannes ran into Marcel, who had asked Fritz on Wednesday for advice on a missing-person case.

“Did that young woman turn up?” Hannes asked.

“You mean Merle von Hohenstein? No, still no trace.”

“Good luck,” Hannes said and opened the door to his office. Socks was easy: after quickly exploring the office, he curled up under the desk and dozed off.

Hannes spent the next hour doing a background check on Lachmann. He found no record of his real name or his pseudonym. So he continued searching the Internet, but the only hit on Ludwig Lachmann was an already deceased economist of the same name. The search for Louis Laval, meanwhile, yielded some information.

An article in an art magazine celebrated him as the discoverer of the genius Merlin, and in an interview he spoke about the success of a recent art opening in Amsterdam. However, most results were related only indirectly to Laval and primarily focused on Merlin. He had a veritable fan base around the world with lots of international bloggers touting his work.

On one fan page, a few buyers had uploaded pictures of them posing in front of their purchases. One group photo made Hannes think he was looking at members of a sadomasochism club, and in another photo, a bald, bare-chested man covered in tattoos stood in front of a painting with his right arm raised. Curiously, he came across very little criticism of Merlin’s painting style, even if one Swedish art historian stated his work was “truly eccentric but also an intolerable perversion of the soul.”

As for Laval, he found nothing revealing about his origin or his career. One interview indicated his age. Since that article was already several years old, Hannes estimated Laval was about forty-eight.

Hannes was about to give up when he stumbled across a post in an art forum entitled “Art or Junk?” Someone with the username “ashiro” had written:

Of course Merlin’s images are art. He works the canvas with an extreme, if not diabolical, intensity that is unparalleled. Unfortunately, it’s damn hard to get ahold of an original image, and I was once even shortchanged by Mr. Laval, his ridiculous agent. He promised me a masterpiece and went on and on about a one-off opportunity to buy one of the artist’s coveted originals. He claimed to have several interested parties, so I had to decide on the spot and pay a 5,000 euro deposit. Since I had often tried unsuccessfully to acquire one of Merlin’s images, I agreed. What I received was a 4” x 6” sketch, not the painting I had expected. Has anyone had a similar experience?

Several people confirmed that they had also fallen victim to the same trick and strongly advised against purchasing from Laval without having previously seen the real painting. One user, however, did not seem to have fallen prey to Laval’s scheme:

Ha-ha, how stupid can you be? Laval’s known for controlling the market by selling sketches and thumbnails, sight unseen, at inflated prices. Pretty stupid if you fall for it . . .

Hannes considered this new information. So Laval conducted business in a way that could possibly be described as shrewd. But it seemed more likely he was just scamming people.

He called the airline Laval had flown and asked for some information about flight times. Since the employee refused to comment, citing official procedures, he asked a colleague from the federal police for assistance, who promised to look into the matter as soon as possible.

Hannes needed some coffee. He stood and Socks jumped up to follow him. “If only I could wake up that fast,” Hannes said and patted his head. He stepped into the hallway and almost collided with Maria.

“Do you have it out for me or something?” she joked. “This is the second time this week you’ve run me down. I have a nice memento from yesterday’s incident, by the way.” She showed him her scratched elbow and then lifted her white skirt to let him see her bruised knee.

“I’m really sorry. What are you doing up here? Bored with the autopsy table?”

“Not at all. I just got a very interesting case. An extremely overweight young man was mauled by his two attack dogs. Let me tell you . . . Wait, and who are you?”

Socks had attracted her attention, and Maria knelt down to pet him. “Last weekend, there was a knife fight at a soccer match. Unfortunately, a sixteen-year-old, the son of a prominent politician, got caught up in the fight. Now the chief of police wants to hear my test results in person.”

“I see. A case of a politically explosive nature . . .”

“That’s the way it is.” Maria got up and smoothed her skirt. “Was your chase yesterday successful, or did I get all scraped up for nothing?”

He told her what had played out by the pond.

She laughed. “That’s a good story! Didn’t go so well for the lovers, though. I have to get going now, your chief is waiting for my report in a couple of minutes. Nice running into you! And I haven’t forgotten that you still owe me dinner.” She winked and hurried down the hall.

Back at his office, Hannes entered the words “Lagussa,” “history,” and “Nazi era” into the search engine. He changed the search words several times, but even the most diverse combinations did not turn up any information pointing to a connection between Lagussa and the Nazi regime. Then he remembered that the drug company had changed its name several times and was previously known as North-South Pharmaceuticals. His new search resulted in a flood of additional links, and after scanning through several articles, he got an overview of the drug scandal.

In 1992, North-South Pharmaceuticals released the drug Xonux, a prescription psychotropic drug meant to treat anxiety disorders. Unexpected side effects were first reported in 1995, but the company attributed them to prescription errors made by doctors. Supposedly other drugs had been prescribed at the same time even though the combination resulted in harmful interactions. The first deaths associated with Xonux occurred a year later, and a media storm broke loose. Several scientists suspected that North-South Pharmaceuticals had doctored market-entry studies and had not taken early signs of dangerous side effects seriously.

A few months later, the company voluntarily removed the drug from the market and got away with just an official warning. Xonux was linked to several heart attacks and strokes throughout the world, some of which were fatal. According to information from the media, it was never quite proven that Xonux had actually been responsible for these side effects. Nevertheless, a health minister stepped in, and North-South Pharmaceuticals agreed out of court to pay compensation totaling in the millions.

A thought popped into Hannes’s head, but before he could make sense of it, it slipped away. He was about to search for background information on the company’s first name, North German Chemical and Pharmaceutical Works, when Fritz called.

“I have a funny feeling that Mr. Ternheim’s hiding something and wants to shift my attention to this art dealer,” he said. “Have you checked Laval out?”

“Yes, but I found very little information about him.” Hannes briefly described the meager results. “I’m still waiting to hear back about the flights, but I can’t imagine he’s involved in Ms. Ternheim’s death. He’s definitely a crook, but he seems too clueless for murder.”

“Fine. Take a look into Christian Ternheim’s background. I’d like to get a clearer picture of him. By the way, I got two tickets to this charity gala for tonight. We should definitely show up and take a look around.”

“Um, yeah, well, actually . . . I thought I could go out on the water today. My knee seems to be better. And besides, I have nothing to wear.”

“True, you can’t show up in a tracksuit,” Fritz joked. “How about this: get there one hour before the official start, so at six. The venue’s at the old casino. Try to talk to the young assistant again. Ask her if Mr. Ternheim knew about the relationship between Ms. Wagner and his sister and if she remembered anything else. Then we briefly catch up, and I give you my blessing to go practice. I can handle a cold buffet on my own.”

Hannes was relieved when he hung up. Socks nudged his hand. He remembered he hadn’t packed any dog food. He let Socks slurp from his water glass so his stomach was at least filled with something. “Ten minutes, Socks, then I’ll drive you home.”

Hannes devoted himself once again to the Internet, though he failed to find anything on the North German Chemical and Pharmaceutical Works despite several attempts. He shut down the computer and headed for Mrs. Meier’s office with Socks on his heels.

“Mrs. Meier, I need a car again. Do you have something nice for me in the park—”

“Right now, all vehicles are on the road,” she said.

“I’ve found the owner of this poor dog and want to return him as soon as possible.”

“Dogs can walk. You kept him penned up all morning in your office. His bladder’s probably ready to burst.”

Hannes glanced down at Socks. Maybe she was onto something.

“Well, you’re probably right, we’ll walk. One more thing, is there a clothing store around here?”

She frowned. “You want to go shopping while on duty? Has the CEO’s killer been found?”

“Uh, no, but . . .” He was becoming more and more convinced that Mrs. Meier was a witch, and quickly turned around before she could read his thoughts. He walked down the stairs with Socks, and as soon as they had exited the station, Socks sprinted to the first hedge and lifted his leg for a full minute.

“Well, how’s my four-legged friend?” Ben asked. He was sitting on a chaise longue in front of his cottage and laughed as Socks nuzzled him. “Sorry for leaving Socks with you without asking, I couldn’t take him with me this morning.”

“Don’t mention it!” Hannes said. “Socks was well behaved and even conquered the heart of the greatest secretary-cum-witch of all time. Hey, um . . . can I borrow a pair of your underwear?”

Ben burst out laughing. “Well, no one’s asked me that one before.”

“Hero that you are, you forgot to pack any underwear in my bag,” Hannes said.

“Oh, okay, now I understand. Does that mean that you’ve been going commando all this time? Man! How does it feel?”

“Fine,” Hannes said. “But before I chafe any more, I’d love to have a pair . . .”

Ben disappeared into the house and waved to Hannes to follow him. He pulled out a pair of black boxer shorts from a drawer in the living room and threw them to him.

“If you need a new pair, help yourself. But put them back washed, please!” His laughter followed Hannes to the bathroom, where he quickly slipped on the garment before stepping back out.

“How’s the case going?”

“The Internet has turned up almost nothing.”

“What, you have no other means of getting information?”

“Of course, but it depends on what you’re looking for. If a person or company has always been clean, then they won’t be in our system. Police state, my ass! Right now, I wish it were one.”

Ben shrugged. “Maybe you should ask the Federal Intelligence Service or the credit card companies. I’m sure they have a ton of information.”

Hannes had an idea. “You told me about Lagussa’s Nazi past. How did you find that out?”

“So, your boss left you to do the hard work?”

“You guessed it,” Hannes said. “Please, share a few of your sources with me!”