‘Yes?’
‘A limp. I’m pretty sure the guy had a limp. Or at least there was something stiff about the way he walked.’
‘Thanks,’ said Fabel.
The skinny waiter shrugged and went back to cleaning tables.
Fabel’s next visit was in Harvestehude. An impressive Wilhelmine building faced with white stucco tried to hide behind a screen of manicured shrubs and trees. Fabel found the name he was looking for and rang the bell.
‘Polizei Hamburg…’ he said into the entry system in answer to the crackling voice. ‘I’d like to speak to you, Frau Kempfert.’
‘Let me see your ID,’ the voice said. ‘There’s a camera above the entryphone.’
Fabel held his card up to the bulbous electronic eye and there was a harsh buzzing and a click. He pushed open the heavy door and made his way up an ornately tiled stairwell to the apartment building’s third floor. An attractive, dark-haired young woman eyed him suspiciously from her doorway as he approached.
‘I told the other officers all I know.’
‘You know, Frau Kempfert, everybody always says exactly that same thing. But I like to hear it all for myself. And, you never know, something might always come back to you. Do you mind?’ Fabel nodded towards the apartment behind her.
‘No…’ Unsmiling, she moved to one side to admit him. ‘Come in.’
The young woman led him along the long hall into a corner lounge. It was huge and bright with French windows that opened out onto a small balustraded balcony. Fabel guessed from what he had seen on the way in that the flat probably consisted of this room, one, maybe two bedrooms, a kitchen-diner and a bathroom. The architecture was typical Harvestehude: echoing a more formal and elegant age with high ceilings, huge windows and the odd bit of ostentation in the plasterwork. The flat was not big, thought Fabel, but it would still be pricey. The furnishings and artwork were brightly coloured to contrast with the white walls. It all suggested a sophisticated sense of taste.
Victoria Kempfert dropped into a huge red armchair and made a perfunctory gesture towards the sofa, indicating that Fabel should sit. I get it, he thought, I’m taking up your time. Fabel had learned to be suspicious of people who overstated how much of an inconvenience it was to have to talk to the police. Generally speaking, if someone had lost their life, witnesses were only too willing to give you their time. They were helping you make sense of an often senseless death; doing that, for most people, was a way of restoring the universe’s natural balance.
‘You usually came back here after your lunchtime meetings?’ asked Fabel. ‘You and Herr Fottinger, I mean.’
‘Yes. We came back here and fucked.’ She held Fabel in a defiant gaze, her eyebrows arched.
‘I see,’ said Fabel matter-of-factly, noting it down in his notebook. ‘And where did you and Herr Fottinger fuck? In the bedroom or here, where I’m sitting?’
Victoria Kempfert’s expression darkened even more. She was clearly bursting to say something but, for the moment, she could not find the words.
‘Listen, Frau Kempfert,’ said Fabel. ‘I know that you have had a terrible experience, and you’ve made your distaste for police officers clear. But I’ve been a murder detective for a long, long time. There is very little that this world has left to throw at me that could shock me, so petulance and adolescent language isn’t going to set me back on my heels. But if you want, we can keep the conversation at that level. How often did you and Herr Fottinger fuck here?’
She dropped her eyes. She was a beautiful woman. Strong features and a mane of thick, dark hair. Not unlike Susanne. And very much, he realised against his will, his type.
‘Daniel and I would come here every week — every Wednesday — after lunch. We’d see each other maybe one other time during the week, depending on our schedules. He was away a lot.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry if I was being… it’s just that after seeing that, seeing what happened to him…’ She bit her lip and something in her eyes hardened again. It was clear that she was determined not to cry.
‘I do understand,’ said Fabel, more gently. ‘Did the police officers you spoke to give you details of victim support?’
‘I don’t need counselling, Herr Fabel. I’ll get over it. Eventually.’
‘Did you see the attackers?’
‘No… yes… I mean I didn’t know they were the attackers then. The bastards just stood and watched Daniel burn. To start with I thought they were just passers-by like everyone else, then I saw they had ski masks or something on. Over their faces. I didn’t even know it had been an arson attack to start with. I didn’t know what had happened.’
‘Was there anything you particularly noticed about them?’
‘Other than the ski masks? Nothing. I was too busy watching Daniel. And then… Why would someone do that?’
‘What I need to establish is if they had intended to do what they did. A lot of expensive cars get torched in the Schanzenviertel. It could be that that was their sole intention.’
‘I don’t know…’ Kempfert said slowly, her eyes unfocused as if replaying the scene in her head. ‘It was the way they waited. Watched. One in particular.’
‘That could be a sign that they were shocked by the consequences of their actions.’
Kempfert shook her head vigorously. ‘That’s the thing… You asked if there was anything I particularly noticed. Well, just before he jumped on the back of the motorbike and they made off, I could have sworn the guy in the ski mask… I could have sworn he was laughing. You don’t do that if you are shocked by the consequences of your action.’
‘No… probably not. But, believe it or not, it can be the result of shock. Or psychological conditions. Paradoxical laughter.’
‘There was nothing paradoxical about it. That bastard was laughing at what he had done.’
Fabel regarded her for a moment.
‘How long had you been seeing Herr Fottinger?’
‘A couple of months. Maybe three. It was all coming to an end, though.’
‘You knew he was married?’
‘He made no secret of it. I made no secret of the fact that I didn’t care. We met through business. I design websites and I’d done some work for his company. But that had stopped months before our relationship started. He hired someone else. Then, about ten, twelve weeks ago, I met him at a business event. You know, the usual rubber-chicken dinner with flow charts and Powerpoints for dessert.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ said Fabel. ‘Not my natural environment, as it were. So that’s when you started to see him?’
‘About a week or so later he phoned me and asked me to lunch. We started to see each other each week, but it was becoming… tiresome.’
‘In what way tiresome?’
‘On the face of it, Daniel was charming and interesting. But there was something missing. It was like he was all veneer and nothing beneath. I know this sounds weird, but even when we were intimate it was like he was on his own. In fact, there were times it became unpleasant. It was like I didn’t exist for him in any real way. That’s mad, I know. But that’s why there was no future for us.’
Fabel thought about what she had said; it was almost exactly how the waiter had described Fottinger. ‘What do you know about Herr Fottinger’s business?’
‘Just what I found out through working on its website. Environmental technologies. Daniel was involved in all types of carbon-capture technology. He was supposed to be involved with this GlobalConcern Hamburg summit — you knew that, didn’t you?’
‘I’d heard.’ Fabel paused for a moment. ‘What about Frau Fottinger? Was there ever any suggestion that she knew about her husband’s relationship with you?’
‘What? Hell hath no fury? No, I don’t think Kirstin Fottinger paid for someone to torch Daniel’s car because
