Time Heals No Wounds (4 page)

“Anyway, the last hours of my twenties have been pretty exciting,” Ines said.

“What do you mean? Is your thirtieth birthday coming up?” asked Hannes.

She nodded. “After tomorrow, I can no longer use my youth as an excuse. Damn, how time flies! It used to drive me insane when my grandma and parents said such things. But now I realize just how short a year actually is.”

“Same for me,” Hannes said. “At twenty, I thought I’d have children by the time I was thirty, and it felt like that was still way off in the future. I always wanted to be a young father, but today I feel exactly as I did then. As if I had all the time in the world.”

“How old are you?” asked Kalle.

“Thirty-two. What about the rest of you? Are you still in your roaring twenties or are you old like me?” he asked, and it turned out the others were also over thirty.

Hannes could already feel the effects of the alcohol; but this was not surprising, since as an athlete he almost never drank. Ralf, his rival, had been correct in calling Hannes a dork. At Hannes’s former club, he was nicknamed “the Workaholic,” because he placed everything second to his athletic success and frequently had to be sent home from the gym late at night.

“Are you going to celebrate your thirtieth?” he asked Ines.

“No, I just got back and have no desire to organize a big party right now. But you know what: if you’d like, you can come over tomorrow night. We’re having a few people over. Nothing much, just a few beers. No big to-do. No gifts. What do you say? It can’t be just a coincidence that we met each other this way.”

“Great idea!” said Ben, and since everyone else agreed, they arranged to meet at eight.

Nearly two hours had passed, interrupted only briefly by a worker who tried to reassure them over a megaphone that the Ferris wheel’s manual override was unfortunately defective.

“Why is it taking so long for the power to come back on?” Ben said and shifted in his seat. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a bathroom break soon!” He pointed at the empty beer bottles by their feet. “As soon as this thing starts moving again, let’s find a toilet and then drink another round in the main tent. What do you say?”

Everyone except for Ben looked at their watches.

“You can see the difference between those with jobs and you,” said Kalle with a laugh. “We’ve all got to get up early.”

“Oh come on,” he begged. “You can’t let a special evening peter out like that!”

After a while, they all gave in.

“Okay, but only if we get our feet back on the ground in the next few minutes,” Elke said.

And at that very moment—accompanied by “Oohs!” and “Ahs!”—the power came back on, and a sea of lights flashed below. The gondola jerked forward and floated slowly down toward the ground. As soon as they got off, they stormed the nearest restroom and gathered out front.

“Where to now?” asked Kalle as Ben’s cell phone rang. He looked at the display and walked a few feet away. After a few minutes of heated conversation, he hung up and returned.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Now?” asked Ines. “You were pretty insistent that we go out for another drink. Did your girlfriend just rip into you?”

“No, that was someone else. Something’s come up. Anyway, we’re still on for your birthday. Sorry, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ben disappeared into the crowd.

“There’s something fishy about him,” said Elke as they all watched him leave.

“You got that right,” said Hannes.

M
ONDAY
N
IGHT INTO
T
UESDAY
M
ORNING

These dreams are a scourge. Like the ghosts of long-dead souls, they come and go as they please. They follow only their own rules. Rarely do they vary: their actions seem predetermined and immutable.

Throughout the night, the rattling of the cattle-car wheels can be heard, and in the total darkness, this noise is the only warning of the impending descent into hell.

Suddenly, the door of the car is quickly rolled open. The glaring light blinds the eyes, angry shouts ring out.

“Come on, faster, faster, line up!” Unbearable cold pierces the body. The orders are obeyed by running. “Faster! Faster!”

Cursing, insults, beatings, a mountain of clothes, an ocean of shorn hair. Nakedness, ice-cold water from pipes in the ceiling, more running, and more beatings and humiliations.

Clothes striped blue and gray—at least no longer naked.

Wooden shoes that make every step torture.

A stab in the arm, cold—inside and out.

Helpless, defenseless, joyless—hell on earth.

T
UESDAY
M
ORNING

When Fritz entered the office the next morning, Hannes had already been sitting at his desk for an hour. It didn’t look as though Fritz had had a particularly good night. He was pale and clearly still suffering from severe back pain.

Fritz leaned against the door frame with a cup of coffee. “This really sucks! You know, I’ve put in so much overtime through all these years, and never once did I make a big deal about it. I worked weekends and holidays. So when I take some time off, I want to enjoy that time off! Steffen just lectured me about how I should always be on call and how we should have actually started the investigation the day before yesterday. As if it matters to the body whether we start sooner or later. If it’s really so urgent, he could have transferred the case to someone else!”

“Lauer told me you’re the right person for the case since we have no clues,” Hannes said in an attempt to calm him down.

“I’m honored,” Fritz said, then his mood suddenly brightened. “Come into my office, and we’ll try to figure something out.”

Fritz plopped down in his leather swivel chair and stretched his legs. He was wearing his usual black jeans and blue polo shirt.

“Any news from forensics? Is there actually a reason to suspect foul play, or are we getting worked up over nothing?”

“Maria called me yesterday afternoon. It’s been confirmed that the cause of death was drowning. However, small abrasions were found on the woman’s wrists, maybe caused by a rope. When we pulled her out of the water, her hands weren’t tied. Maria also mentioned other abnormalities.”

“Why didn’t you let me know? That’s important!” said Fritz.

“Your cell phone was off, and your voice mail has not been activated.”

“Fine. Did Maria specify the abnormalities?”

“No, she suggested we come see her in person.”

“I really hate how medical examiners always have to be so secretive. Did she say when we might honor her with our presence?”

“She’s there all morning.”

“Then let’s get this over with. What’s your schedule look like?”

“I’m here all day. When I fell down at the harbor, I twisted my knee so badly that my doctor said I can’t even get into a canoe.”

Fritz got up from his chair and walked around his desk toward the door. “You row with your arms, not your legs.”

“True, but since I canoe, it’s still a problem,” Hannes said, following Fritz down the hallway. “You kneel on one leg while the other lunges forward. If I were paddling a kayak, it’d be a different story.”

“Then why don’t you use a kayak while you’re injured?”

“Because that’s a completely different type of motion. With a kayak, you use a double paddle.”

Fritz shook his head. “That’s a funny way of getting around. Makes me grateful for my
Lena
with her motor and wheelhouse.”

Later that morning, Maria met them at reception. Hannes’s ears began to glow at the sight of her short wool skirt, suede boots, and white top. Something about the expression in her hazel eyes unsettled him.

Maria extended her hand to Fritz, then Hannes. “Thanks for coming early. I’m lecturing later on at the university. Anyway, let’s head to the autopsy room. Right this way.”

“You’re Spanish?” asked Fritz as they walked down a poorly lit hallway.

“My father’s German and my mother’s Spanish. I grew up in Barcelona, but because I went to a German school, I learned the language at an early age. And then I went to college in Germany. Unfortunately, my parents didn’t raise me to be bilingual, so I had some difficulties at school, at least in the beginning. And as you can tell, it’s still possible to hear where I come from.”

“Think nothing of it,” Fritz said. “You speak perfect German. I’ve spent a lot of time with foreigners and have worked with youth to combat violence and right-wing extremism, so I can pinpoint accents pretty easily.”

“That’s comforting,” Maria said while she slipped into a white lab coat. She opened the door to the autopsy room, where a man was bent over a body.

“Hey, Andi. This is Fritz and Hannes, the investigators. I’ll give them a brief overview.”

The young man gave a nod. “The table’s yours.”

Hannes and Fritz paused at the sight of the battered naked woman on the steel table. The room had no windows and was very sterile, with steel cabinets on the walls and various instruments on a metal tray. This stood in stark contrast to the mutilated body. With a sinking feeling, Hannes registered a slightly sweet odor.

Maria noticed the officers’ discomfort. “The woman looks a little more decent now. When we first got her here, it was a bit grotesque.”

Fritz coughed and had difficulty breathing. His voice was huskier than usual. “Please, give us a brief overview,” he said as he rubbed the scar on his left cheek.

Maria smiled. “I’ll do my best. We don’t want another unfortunate accident.” She glanced at Hannes, whose ears glowed again. Obviously, word of his nausea at the beach had spread. Fortunately, not to Fritz.

“Nonsense, we’re not that squeamish,” Fritz said.

Maria walked behind the table, so the dead woman was between them. “As you can see, the body has been badly injured,” she said, “but the injuries are mostly superficial. Although we did discover a few minor fractures and chips in the bones, they could hardly have been inflicted by a person. They were more likely the effects of the storm. She was in the water for quite some time and had been tossed among the rocks. She drowned. That much is certain.”

“You had mentioned something to Hannes about marks on the wrist?”

“Exactly, look here.” She raised the dead woman’s right hand and pointed to the reddish abrasions. Hannes and Fritz reluctantly approached the table. “But we cannot say whether these impressions were caused by some form of restraint or from contact with the rocks.”

“Could she have fallen from the cliff?” asked Hannes.

“We just don’t know.”

“How long was she in the water and when was the time of death?” Fritz asked.

“When she was found, she had been in the water for twenty to thirty hours. And determining the time of death for drowning victims is extremely difficult, but it should be somewhere in that time frame,” Maria said.

“And the woman’s age?” asked Fritz.

“Between fifty and fifty-five. Unfortunately, no ID was found on her. Since she’s not wearing a ring and has no corresponding impression of one, it’s safe to assume she was unmarried. Her hair was dyed blonde but is actually gray.”

“Did anyone check her against the missing-person reports?”

Maria nodded. “No matches.”

“You mentioned several abnormalities,” Hannes said.

“Yes, but to see these you two must unfortunately come closer.”

Fritz and Hannes reluctantly approached.

“Here.” She turned the left forearm in order to give them a better view. Hannes flinched and heard Fritz swallow. “There is a tattoo right here. It’s nothing unusual, even for a woman of her age. But this tattoo is very new. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to make out. You can see for yourself it’s quite faded and blurry—and not done by a professional, because the spot’s also inflamed. We figure the tattoo was done only twenty to thirty hours before she was recovered—because of the inflammation, probably before her death. I think it’s unrealistic that she got it voluntarily.”

“Why?” asked Fritz.

“Even an amateur tattoo artist would be ashamed of such a botched job. Besides, I can hardly imagine a woman of her caliber would get a tattoo. She was wearing a business suit, and a tattooed forearm makes for a bad impression at a business meeting. Incidentally, we made another discovery on her arm. You can see a small elongated scar here, along with others on the arm. Due to the tattoo and the inflammation, it doesn’t immediately stand out. Unfortunately, it’s hard to tell how old this scar is. Compared to the tattoo and other wounds, it’s definitely older. As you can see here”—Maria pointed to a wound on the upper arm—“the difference is . . .”

“All right,” Fritz said. “We get it.”

Maria shrugged and placed the arm back on the table. “Except for the marks from the rocks, there are no signs of external violence. She was definitely not raped. And there was no blow to the head. We also found no foreign material in her clothes or under her fingernails, though such things would have been completely washed away by the water.”

“Hmm,” said Fritz, massaging his scar. “Can you take a photo of the tattooed arm for us?”

“Already done.” Maria pulled out a thick envelope from a desk drawer and handed it to him. “In here you’ll find photos of all the injuries and the tattoo. There’s also a detailed report, but I’ve already shared the essentials. There’s one more thing: we found traces of a sedative in her body. Ingestion was also most likely between twenty and thirty hours before her discovery. Of course, that’s dependent on the concentration of the drug.”

“If you had to make a guess about the cause of death, what would you say?” Fritz asked.

“Accident, suicide, murder—any of these would correspond to her condition.”

Back in his office, Fritz opened a drawer and slammed a stack of paper on the desk. “Let’s summarize what we know! First, the facts.”

He wrote “Victim (female)” in big letters and added a list of bullet points underneath:

Name: Unknown

Age: 50–55

Clothing: Business suit

Time of death: Probably Saturday

No jewelry, no ID

Dyed blonde hair

Recent tattoo and scar on left forearm

Tattoo unclear

Sedative in blood

Fritz pushed the sheet of paper to the edge of the desk and placed two photos of the tattooed forearm next to it. Then he pulled the next sheet from the pile and wrote “Discoverer of Body.”

“Hannes, what do we know so far?” He tapped his pencil on the paper.

“An old man who lives nearby was walking along the beach and stumbled over the body. That was Sunday evening, prior to the storm, so before six thirty. Or that’s what the farmer he flagged down stated. The old man has not said anything and appears to be a little crazy. The farmer said that the old man lives by himself in a small hut and calls himself Merlin. Supposedly he’s a famous painter.”

“Merlin?” Fritz looked at his notes. “He’s world famous for his insane work! I went to an exhibition of his a few years ago. If you stare at his paintings long enough, it takes a while before you can collect your thoughts.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Maybe you should treat yourself to a little culture once in a while and not just sports. I didn’t know the guy lived near here. And what do you mean he hasn’t said anything?”

“Nobody could get a word out of him. Maybe he was in shock. The farmer said he never makes a sound, not even during his rare visits to civilization.”

“We should pay the old boy a visit. No statement? That’s unacceptable.” Fritz placed the sheet of paper with Merlin’s info diagonally below the photographs. “Let’s go visit the farmer. Did he say anything else?”

“He did. He was quite knowledgeable, unfortunately more on issues unrelated to the victim. Our colleagues got a crash course in agriculture. His name’s Lutz Olsen, and he was riding his combine harvester when Merlin flagged him down. It must have been around six thirty because it had just started raining. He then climbed down to the beach, saw the body, and drove his combine back home to call us. Evidently, he doesn’t have a cell phone. The emergency call came at exactly 7:38 p.m., and our colleagues from the crime squad arrived shortly before eight. The storm had been raging for more than an hour.”

“Had the farmer seen anyone that day?”

“No, he’d been working in the fields since that morning and didn’t notice anything. No one asked him what he saw Saturday, because we only just found out that the body had been lying there for quite a while.”

“So we don’t really have much to go on,” said Fritz. But he was accustomed to tough starts. “Hopefully, it won’t take long to learn the victim’s identity.”

He pushed the piece of paper with Lutz Olsen’s details next to the information about Merlin and took a long sip of coffee. Then he stood and leaned on the desk.

“What about ship traffic?” Hannes asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the woman could have fallen overboard and washed up on the beach. Maybe she was pushed. That would explain the lack of a struggle.”

Fritz looked at Hannes and nodded. “You’re right! You should contact the Coast Guard. They can put together a list of which ships have been in the area since Friday and radio them. After that, we can go for a little ride in the country and see the two witnesses. Let’s start with the farmer, then we’ll look for the old artist.”

After the Coast Guard promised to get back to them, Hannes and Fritz headed for the coast. Earlier that morning, another storm had passed over the city, but it had been significantly weaker than the one on Sunday. The sky was still overcast, and Fritz’s Jeep snaked through a gray sea of houses. Around noon there was hardly any traffic, so they reached the outskirts of town very quickly. Fritz’s favorite classical music was playing through the speakers. More than a few cases had been solved while he was attending the symphony. Hannes, who was more a rock music guy, stoically endured it.