Until the Debt Is Paid (19 page)

“Why would a person do such a thing?”

“Certainly not because he’s possessed by the devil,” Zoe said, clearly annoyed by the conversation.

“Can I offer you anything to drink?” Jan said, hoping to sidestep the remark.

Father Anberger shook his head. “Thanks. I just wanted to bring you your mail.” He rose from the armchair. “I will pray that you find the murderer.” He nodded at Max and Zoe and left the apartment.

Jan closed the door and leaned on it, feeling relieved. He did not want to drag the priest into this.

“Somehow I get the feeling the old man wasn’t just looking to bring over the mail,” Zoe said.

“Father Anberger is a good-hearted soul,” Jan said in his defense. “He cares about all of his flock. Even if the mail was a blatant excuse to drop by, his motives are selfless.”

Zoe raised her eyebrows and dedicated herself to another cigarette. She wasn’t looking too convinced. But Jan didn’t have time for head games. All that counted was getting ready to break into Patrick’s house.

Chandu returned from his expedition that evening.

“First, we have to find out where Patrick lives,” the big man said.

“In an apartment building, in Kreuzberg,” Max said. “Not a bad neighborhood, but not exactly kick-ass.”

“Good. I’ll need a photo of the lock at the front entrance. Then I’ll know how we’re getting in, because the unit locks will have a similar setup.”

“What options are we looking at?” Jan asked.

“We can first try to electropick it,” Chandu explained. He held up a little device that looked like a handheld milk frother but a little bigger. “This thing generates vibrations from a mechanism rapidly moving up and down. Using this tensioner on the front here, the cylinder core can be manipulated to turn and the door opens right up.”

“Sounds like child’s play,” Zoe said.

“It kind of is. But most cylinders have a safeguard against this. This only works if the lock on Patrick’s door is old enough.”

“And what if it isn’t?” Max said.

“Then we go with the lock-bumping method. For that we use a key blank with special notches, a so-called bump key.” Chandu held up a key with teeth that were beveled down.

“Basically, every lock has five pins that need to be pushed upward. If any one of them is higher or lower than the key, the lock will not budge. The notches on this key are designed so that when I give it a bump and jolt it hard, the pins inside jump up because of the thrust. Then I can turn the lock real quick.”

“Is that it?” Zoe asked.

“Basically, yes. I need a photo of the front lock because I’ll choose a blank based on its looks. It should work. Then, a minute later? We’re in.”

“Awesome. Can I come too?”

“Zoe,” Jan reminded her. “We already talked about that.”

“And I told you that I don’t rely on my job.”

“It’s not just about money,” Chandu told her. “They catch you on a break-in with Jan, they’ll run you in.”

“Don’t you worry yourself about me, Mr. T,” Zoe said, teasing.

“Don’t go flattering yourself, Carcinogen Queen.”

Zoe fluttered her eyelashes, all flirty.

“Besides,” Jan weighed in, “I need you over at CID. You have to keep an eye on Patrick, give us a warning in case he decides to go home early.”

Zoe, sulking, breathed out cigarette smoke. “So how will you guys sneak inside?”

“I may have a plan for that,” Jan said.

Max almost dropped the package from nerves. He hadn’t been this worked up since he’d faced off with his final opponent in
Diablo
. Of course, that was a role-playing video game and this was real life. His hands wet with sweat, he walked over to the building and read the doorbell nameplates. He tried to remember the plan, but his mind was a blank. Then he heard Jan’s voice behind him.

“Nice and easy, Max. You can do this.”

Jan wore the reflective outfit of a city street cleaner. He stood at the curb with a leaf blower. Once Max got the door open, the sound would bluster in through the entryway and cover up any noise Chandu made breaking in to the apartment.

Max took a deep breath. He had to work his way down the names from top to bottom until someone let him in the door. On the way up, he’d write on the package the name of whoever had buzzed him in and then deliver it to them. The cardboard box was all bound up, with practically an entire roll of packing tape. This would give Max enough time to disappear before the recipient had unpacked the scraps of useless computer parts inside.

Max started with the first bell.
A. Regner
. He pressed the white button and waited. Nothing happened. He wiped his moist hands on his pants. Then he tried the next bell.

“Let’s see if you’re home, P. Walter,” Max muttered. Two seconds later a woman’s voice blared out from the speaker. Startled, Max almost dropped the package.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hello there. Max here. I mean the mail, of course. I have a package for you, Fra
u . . .
Walter.”

The door was activated to open. Max nearly whooped with joy. Now he had to fix the door so that Chandu got in and the racket from the leaf blower would echo down the corridor. Max pressed on the door and it clicked open.

“Ha,” he blurted in triumph. He quickly wrote Frau Walter’s name on the package and got ready to complete his job.

Jan took out his cell and tapped on a Favorites icon. Zoe answered.

“We’re inside,” he said. “What’s up with Patrick?”

“He’s still in the building, though I don’t see him,” the medical examiner replied. “His car is still here and I’m keeping an eye on the entrance.”

“Good. We’re going in.”

“I’ll wait thirty minutes. Then I’ll go to work. Tell me how it went later tonight.” Zoe hung up.

Jan turned on the leaf blower. The machine howled and blustered, drowning out all sound. He was blowing gum wrappers around in front of him as Chandu approached the stairway.

The roar of leaf blower turning on was the signal they’d worked out. Without looking over at his friend, Chandu entered the building. He wore a borrowed blue work jacket with various tools sticking out of it, passing himself off as building maintenance. He climbed the stairs swiftly, but without running. If all went according to plan, Max would be delivering his package and Chandu would be inside the apartment before the hacker was back downstairs. Jan would toss the blower in the car and come up to the apartment.

When he got to Patrick’s apartment, Chandu pulled out the bump key. He stuck it into the lock, a screwdriver ready in his other hand. Holding the key in place, he pounded against the door lightly, turning the key. The little metal thing wouldn’t budge. He tried again, but again he couldn’t get the key to turn.

Chandu cursed under his breath. He had the right blank. He’d practiced it yesterday and had no problems.

Something was stirring at the door next to Patrick’s.

“Honey,” he heard a man’s voice say over the noisy blower. “I’m going shopping real quick.” The door opened a crack. Chandu’s thoughts raced. Should he break it off and split?

He pounded on the blank harder.

“Don’t forget bread,” a woman’s voice answered.

He had one, maybe two more tries. He drew out the key a little. He jerked his wrist, but the metal wouldn’t budge. The blank bent under his strong grip.

“Dude, relax,” he reminded himself. If he broke off the key, it was all over. They wouldn’t get into the apartment and Patrick would be tipped off.

“See ya soon,” the man said, opening the door.

Chandu pounded at the key. The blank turned. He shoved the door open, rushed into the apartment, and pulled the door shut in one quick motion. He heard footsteps passing in the hall. Then everything was still. He breathed out, trying to calm his thumping heart. Break-ins really were not his deal.

He took his cell from his pants pocket. He dialed Jan’s number, let it ring once, hung up.

The leaf blower went silent. So far so good.

“Good morning to you, Frau Walter,” Max said, smiling wide.

The elderly lady inspected him with suspicion. “Morning,” she replied grumpily.

“Your package.” He pressed the box into her open arms.

“Thanks.” The woman, curious, turned the box in her hands. “Where do I sign?”

Max’s smile faded. “What’s that you want?”

“To sign,” the woman explained. “Normally a person acknowledges receipt.”

He’d never considered that part. “No, no,” he gushed, “we got this new technology. All you do is receive the package and it’s all good.”

“Which carrier you working for again?”

“The post office.”

“You mean DHL?”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t they wear those yellow uniforms?”

“Me, I’
m . . .
freelance. Only permanent employees get those outfits.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman said. She studied Max as if he wasn’t quite right in the head. Then she shut the door.

Max wiped sweat from his forehead. He had to clear out before the old woman opened the package. He hurried down the stairs and almost collided with a man carrying a shopping basket. He apologized and kept moving. Outside, he rushed around the corner and leaned on an ad column. His knees were shaking. The real world out there could get pretty damn exciting. It was time he got back to his computer.