‘You have a hell of a nerve, do you know that? I have extended you every professional courtesy. Damn it, I’ve extended personal courtesy and hospitality too. I introduced you to Susanne and you sat through the entire meal allowing us to believe we needed to speak English. I must say, you’re one hell of a fast learner. You seem to have progressed from not understanding a word to being totally bloody fluent in a matter of two weeks.’
‘ Ubung macht den Meister — isn’t that what you say in German? Practice makes perfect?’
Vestergaard was smiling mischievously. It totally disconcerted Fabel: it was the first time, other than brief glimpses during their meal together with Susanne, that he had seen anything like a genuine unguarded expression on her face.
‘I’m sorry, Jan,’ she continued. ‘You’re right, it was deceptive of me. But it really is better for me to speak in English.’
‘You didn’t seem to be struggling back there. Where the hell did you learn to speak German like that?’
‘I was brought up in South Jutland, just north of the border. My father was the opposite of Gina Bronsted: where she’s a Danish German, he was a German Dane. He spoke Sonderjysk dialect and German at home. German was my third language after English at school.’
‘Well, I can see you’ve retained a lot of it.’
‘There’s something else I ought to tell you…’ she said tentatively.
‘Okay, let’s have it.’
‘It wasn’t strictly true, what I told you about never having been to Hamburg before. I worked here during my breaks at university.’
‘Let me guess — to improve your German?’
‘Sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter in itself, Karin, but we had a deal — how the hell am I to know what else you’ve kept to yourself?’
‘I’ve been totally straight with you, Jan. I just wasn’t sure that you’d be straight with me. I suppose I thought that if you thought I didn’t speak the language…’
‘And I take it by now your mind’s been put at ease?’ Fabel pulled into the semicircle of cobbles in front of the hotel.
‘Yes, it has. We’re on the same side, Jan. I promise you.’
Chapter Six
1
There was no good reason to travel over to the other side of town for a drink, but Fabel felt the need to visit the bar that had been his local for all the time he had lived in Poseldorf. He wasn’t entirely sure why he missed it so much: he had never really spent a great deal of time there, but it had been somewhere he had been known; where staff and other customers acknowledged his presence with a nod or a wave. It had been an anchor in his life: a point of reference that had helped him keep a bearing on who Jan Fabel was.
Fabel sat at the corner of the bar, sipped at his Jever beer and thought about women. Whether he liked to admit the fact or not, it had been the women in his life who had determined its direction. Right down to the tiniest degree.
It was a woman who had steered him into a career as a policeman.
Fabel had attended the Carl von Ossietzky University in Oldenburg before studying European history at Hamburg University. While he had been there he had never quite managed to get involved in all of the expected student indiscretions. But he had been a good-looking kid and had had his pick of the girls. One of them had been Hanna Dorn, a fellow student and the daughter of one of Fabel’s tutors. Hanna had been a pretty, carefree sort of girl and they had both known, Fabel guessed, that they were not in it for the long term. They were having fun with the arrogant carelessness of youth. Now, every time Fabel thought about Hanna’s face, he concentrated hard to remember every detail. It was a face that, if what happened hadn’t happened, would have faded, along with her name, into the dusty, indistinct archives of his memory.
One night, after they had been going out for about two weeks, Hanna had been making her way back alone to her flat after being with Fabel on a date. He had had an assignment to finish. Hanna never made it home.
Lutger Voss had been a thirty-year-old hospital orderly at the St George Hospital. The only thing about Voss that had been exceptional was his psychosis. Voss had intercepted Hanna on her way home and abducted her.
The autopsy and forensic evidence had later revealed that Voss had tortured and repeatedly raped Hanna. When her body had been found, Fabel, as her boyfriend and the last person to see her alive, had been questioned for hours by the Polizei Hamburg until they had become convinced of his innocence. But Fabel had never become as convinced of the absence of his responsibility: having an assignment to complete had not seemed reason enough not to have walked her home. Even now, more than twenty years later, he often woke up in the middle of the night racked with guilt because he hadn’t been there to save her.
Lutger Voss had been committed to a secure hospital three days before Fabel had graduated. The day after, Fabel had applied to join the Polizei Hamburg.
The young barman placed a fresh Jever on the bar in front of Fabel without him having ordered it. When Fabel raised his eyebrows quizzically, the barman nodded in the direction of a tall, lanky, balding man who was approaching him.
‘You’re late,’ Fabel said.
‘You’re obsessive.’ Otto Jensen grinned, in exactly the same gormless way Fabel remembered from their student days together. ‘Or maybe just depressive. I saw you when I came in. I’d offer a penny for your thoughts but I don’t think I’d get my money’s worth.’
‘I was thinking about women,’ said Fabel.
‘Don’t worry,’ Otto kept grinning. ‘It’s your age. It’s not so bad — a midlife crisis is like puberty but without the acne.’
‘I was thinking about Hanna Dorn.’
Otto’s grin faded. ‘Hanna? What made you think of her after all of these years?’
‘Otto, my friend, there’s hardly a week goes by that I don’t think of her. Or at least what happened to her.’
They were interrupted by the barman bringing a wheat beer for Otto.
‘Every time I interview a sex killer, I think of Voss,’ continued Fabel once the barman was gone and he felt the cloak of loud music and other voices close around them. ‘Every time I read the forensic report on a rape and murder victim, I think of Hanna. If it hadn’t been for what happened to her I would never have become a policeman. I wouldn’t have singled out Murder Commission work as a career.’
‘And if I hadn’t read Heinrich Boll I wouldn’t have devoted my life to books,’ said Otto. ‘That’s life, Jan.’
‘How is business?’ asked Fabel. Otto ran Jensens’ Buchhandlung bookstore in Hamburg’s elegant Arkaden.
‘We’re clinging on. I did a book launch for a science-fiction author last week who very graciously announced that his next book would not be appearing on our shelves. He is releasing it exclusively as a downloadable e-book and audio book. We are, he assured me, finally attaining the “post-literate society” that many science-fiction authors, including himself, had long predicted. So move over — I may become a copper myself.’ Otto took a large sip of his wheat beer. ‘Anyway, why did you suggest meeting up here? It’s not your local any more.’
‘That’s why I was thinking about women,’ said Fabel gloomily. ‘Do you remember when I first moved here, to Poseldorf?’
‘When you and Renate split up.’
‘Exactly. You know, Otto, I like to think of myself as some kind of freethinker, liberated from dogma or prejudice or preconception; someone who sees the world afresh from my own perspective. It’s a pile of crap. The truth is that I’m just as much a product of my background as anyone else — just a simple, parochial, predictable bloody Northern German Lutheran. When I married Renate and then Gabi came along, I thought, this is it. This is my life. For the rest of my life. Then, when Renate pissed off with Behrens, my world came apart at the seams. And
