‘I’ve checked all the taxi drivers working St Pauli the night Lensch was killed — three of whom were women. None of them picked him up or remember him at a rank or trying to flag a taxi. So it looks like it was our woman.’
‘Almost like she was targeting Lensch or someone like him,’ said Fabel.
‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ said Anna. ‘Her choice of victims so far has been pretty diverse. Westland was a celebrity, a foreigner and in his fifties. Lensch was a nobody, a German national and in his early thirties. The only thing that I can see they shared was that they were both male and they both happened to be in the Kiez.’
‘Maybe that’s all she needed. But the whole thing with the taxi is odd. No one has a car that colour, especially an E-class Merc, unless they’re in the taxi business. This is a highly organised killer. Why go to all of that trouble and then pick a victim at random?’ Fabel sighed. ‘What about CCTV — anything?’
‘Not so far. I’ve got that rather hunky uniform from Davidwache going through it.’
‘Why?’ asked Fabel. ‘Shouldn’t you do that yourself?’
‘Listen, I’m not dodging out of anything. It’s just that Wangler has been on that beat for four years. He knows every inch of it, including where each camera is. That Mercedes must have been picked up somewhere on the way in or out. If anyone can find it and find it quickly, then it’s Wangler.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Fabel held up his hands defensively. ‘Did you check out Jurgen Mann?’ he asked, referring to the witness who had approached Carstens Kaminski.
‘Yep,’ said Anna. ‘He checks out. One conviction for cannabis possession; nothing else. He’s a dying breed, apparently.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘According to Wangler-’
‘Your new best chum,’ interrupted Werner.
‘I wish…’ Anna sighed. ‘Anyway, according to Wangler, there are fewer and fewer creeps like Mann in the Kiez these days. With all the CCTV in the Reeperbahn, even if it is supposed to be strategically sited, no one wants to be seen going into or coming out of a brothel these days. It’s all call girls, online escort agencies, that kind of stuff. Wangler says that, compared to the past, street girls are struggling for custom these days. Added to which there is a steady supply of trafficked women being brought into the unregulated prostitution business elsewhere in the city.’
‘Against their will, for the most part,’ said Fabel.
‘Maybe so, but when you’re a sleazeball paying for sex,’ said Anna, ‘you’re not the kind of person who cares if your chicken is free-range or battery, if you know what I mean. Anyway, there are fewer punters on the street. Nowadays the Kiez is full of the Armin Lensches of this world, getting pissed and getting into trouble. For what it’s worth, I think Mann was on the level. I think he genuinely believes he came face to face with the Angel. But again we’ve got no CCTV to back up his claim.’
‘Okay…’ Fabel paused and leaned back in his chair. ‘Listen, we have a guest. A colleague from Denmark. I’ve asked her to come into the Presidium this afternoon. I’d like you to talk to her, Anna. You too, Werner.’
‘A PR job?’ asked Anna. ‘Of course I will. After all, we all know that I’m a natural diplomat.’
‘That’s not why I’m asking you to talk to her, Anna. Her name is Karin Vestergaard and she’s a senior officer in the Danish National Police. More senior in rank than me.’
‘Is this to do with the Dane who died from a heart attack?’ asked Werner.
Anna exchanged a knowing glance with Fabel. ‘ Supposed to have died from a heart attack,’ she said.
‘ Politidirektor Vestergaard has exactly the same kind of suspicions that you did, Anna. And she has some evidence to base them on. I’d like you to talk to her because you picked up on the Jespersen death.’
‘So it was murder?’ asked Werner.
‘We’ll know by lunchtime, hopefully. If Moller does his job.’
‘Moller may be a wanker,’ said Werner. ‘But he’s one of the best pathologists I’ve ever worked with.’
‘Well, Frau Vestergaard was able to point us in a couple of specific directions. Listen, I don’t want to get into it all now but there’s all kinds of serious stuff going on in Jespersen’s background. And if the autopsy comes back with anything suspicious, then Jespersen’s death becomes an active case. If he was murdered, then it’s a major investigation with all kinds of implications. The main thing is, Anna, it was your catch — a good catch.’
‘So what’s she like?’ asked Werner. ‘This Danish cop, I mean?’
‘Wear your gloves when you shake hands with her,’ said Fabel. ‘Otherwise you’ll get frostbite…’
5
‘You’re from the telly?’ The old woman smiled as she asked the question and Sylvie Achtenhagen wished that she hadn’t. Her ruined teeth looked as if they needed the attention of an archaeologist, rather than a dentist. ‘Is that what you said? You’re from the telly?’
‘That’s right… HanSat.’ Sylvie smiled sweetly, the way she’d learned to smile when she wanted information from someone. She cast her gaze beyond the broken-fence-edged square of waste ground. They were down by the harbour, on the southern edge of St Pauli. Across the Elbe, vast machines were hoisting containers from an armada of freight ships. The cold air rang with the rhythmic beeping of reversing cranes.
‘Never heard of it. Don’t have a telly.’ The old woman made a sweeping gesture with her arm — as sweeping a gesture as her countless layers of clothing would allow — taking in the broken paving, the smear of scrubby grass, the discarded bottles, a used condom. ‘I find it would ruin the ambience I’ve built up here.’ She chuckled at her own joke. ‘So you doin’ sommat about the Kiez? About them murders? This is where they found the last fella, y’know.’
‘Something like that. And yes, I know the latest victim was found here. That’s why I came to talk to you. Is this your usual spot?’
‘Coppers’ve asked me ’bout it already. They got a bee up their arses ’bout this ’un.’
‘Is this your usual spot?’ Sylvie repeated the question. Be patient. Smile. Offer money. ‘Listen, I can pay for information. Only if it’s good information, though. Is this your usual spot?’
‘This is my abode,’ the old woman announced grandly. ‘How much?’
‘That all depends. Do you sleep in a hostel?’
‘Sometimes. When it’s too cold. Sometimes I sleep here.’
‘There are better places than this, surely. I mean the State Social Office would help find you a place.’
‘Oh, I know…’ Another broken-toothed chuckle. ‘They offered me a villa in Blankenese, but I said it was too down-market for someone of my breeding.’
Sylvie shrugged. ‘Okay, you said the police talked to you. What did they want to know?’
‘They asked me if I saw anything the other night, when that fella was killed. I said I didn’t. It was too cold so I dossed down in the Red Cross hostel. But I was here drinking until about eleven. But didn’t see nothing. Then they asked me if I seen a taxi in the area. Driven by a woman.’
‘A taxi?’
‘Yeah. They said it might not’ve had a sign on it, though.’
‘Did they say why they were looking for a taxi?’
‘Yeah — the police always tell me them kind of things. Discuss cases. I’m like a special consultant.’
‘Listen, you can get smart or you can get money. Not both.’
The down-and-out shrugged her padded shoulders. ‘Just jokin’. No… they didn’t say why.’
‘Anything else?’
‘They showed me this picture. I suppose it was the guy what got killed. I never seen him before and I told them so.’
‘Did they give you a name for the dead man?’
‘No — they did say he was about thirty and not too tall.’
‘Anyone else doss down around here?’
‘No, it’s too far out for them. I sleep here ’cause I’m a woman. It ain’t safe elsewhere.’
Sylvie looked at the woman. She looked eighty but might only have been forty. A couple of years older than her. She wondered how a woman could end up in a situation like that; she imagined that the tramp had seen all
