‘Do you really think there’s a connection?’ asked Wiegand. ‘They died under different circumstances, didn’t they? Poor Daniel’s death may not even have been intended and, from what I’ve read, Berthold was murdered by someone he had let into his home.’
Fabel turned to Wiegand and held him in his stare for a moment. The agenda behind the last remark was clear: Wiegand knew, somehow, that Fabel had been in Muller-Voigt’s house shortly before he died.
‘I don’t know if there is a connection or not,’ said Fabel. ‘Yet. I take it you knew Berthold too.’
‘As a matter of fact, I did. Obviously our paths crossed because of our mutual involvement in environmental affairs.’
‘I see,’ said Fabel. ‘Did you ever meet his partner? Meliha Yazar?’
‘I can’t say I did,’ said Wiegand, with nothing to read on his face.
‘Frau Fottinger?’
‘The name is not familiar,’ she said. ‘I thought that Berthold was not exclusive with anyone. He had a reputation as a ladies’ man, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
Fabel thanked Kirstin Fottinger, expressed his sympathy for her loss once more, and took his leave of her. He knew he was a character leaving a stage: nothing about the interview had been natural or spontaneous. There was nothing more to find out here. As he had on the way in, Peter Wiegand made sure to act as Fabel’s escort as the detective left.
‘Your society intrigues me, Herr Wiegand,’ said Fabel as they reached his car. ‘Tell me, do you really believe in the Consolidation? That you can all be uploaded onto a mainframe?’
‘Herr Fabel, every religion, every belief system, has a central tenet that is open to a multitude of interpretations. Whatever the belief system, some adherents will hold that tenet to be literal, some to be figurative. In any case, for all I know all of this…’ He made a sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate the house’s parklike gardens, the trees and everything beyond. ‘Maybe all of this is the Consolidation. Maybe this isn’t true reality and we’re all just self-aware programs in a post-human generated environmental model. But if this is reality, and I firmly believe that it is, then it is coming to a close if we do not do something radical, and do it quickly.’ He paused and looked at Fabel as if assessing him. ‘You are welcome to visit us, Herr Fabel. Have you seen the Pharos, our headquarters here, out on the coast at Horne? In fact, it’s not very far away from Berthold Muller-Voigt’s house. And I believe you have been there.’
‘No, I can’t say I have seen the Pharos,’ said Fabel, refusing to take the bait.
‘Then you should come! It really is an exceptional piece of architecture. The Pharos is built as an extension to an existing nineteenth-century lighthouse. The entire building projects out over the water. We even have sections of glass flooring where you can look down at the sea, twenty metres below.’ He handed Fabel a card. ‘Please visit us, Herr Fabel. We are open to all, even to policemen. But I would ask that you ring first so we know when to expect you. The only other thing I would ask you to bring is an open mind.’
‘So you can close it?’
‘Despite what your colleagues from the BfV may have told you, we are not a cult. We are an environmental- action group.’
‘I have to say,’ said Fabel, ‘I don’t fancy the idea of being suspended above the sea.’
‘You have a fear of water, Herr Fabel?’
‘No… not a fear. I was brought up in Norddeich. I have a healthy respect for it.’
‘The only water I fear,’ said Wiegand, suddenly less affable and more serious, ‘is dark water. Do you know what the albedo effect is? Albedo is the reflectivity of a surface to the sun’s rays. Polar ice reflects the sun’s rays and prevents sea warming. The more ice, the cooler the sea, the more stable the climate. The higher the ratio of dark water to white ice, the faster the planet heats up. Every year there is less and less ice at the poles and more and more dark water. I want you to understand, Herr Fabel, that whatever you think of me or the Pharos Project I am genuinely afraid of the cataclysm that awaits us and genuinely committed to doing all I can, using every weapon at my disposal, to prevent it happening. We are not playing a game here. This is a battle to survive.’
Fabel nodded thoughtfully. He was actually thinking about how far Wiegand would go, and what weapons he was prepared to use. But Fabel had also read that Wiegand’s personal wealth could be counted in billions, rather than millions; there was a profit to be made out of any apocalypse.
‘Maybe I will pay you a visit, Herr Wiegand,’ he said. He looked at the card Wiegand had handed him. It had the same stylised eye motif as the poster he had passed on the way to the airport. ‘Sometime soon.’
Once he was in his car, Fabel switched his cellphone back on. It rang almost immediately. It was Anna Wolff.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘This is interesting. I ran a check on those names and I’ve got the details on that plate you ran… if that car really is following you, then it’s not one of ours and it’s nothing to do with the BfV. It’s registered to Seamark International, which, I am told, is a private maritime security company.’
‘What? Why the hell is a private security company following me?’
‘Do you want me to send someone to their offices to get some answers?’
‘No, not yet. I don’t want them alerted to the fact that I’m onto them. If I see the same car on my tail again I’m going to have them pulled over. One thing you could do for me is to check out this Seamark International. I’d put a month’s wages on it turning out to be some kind of subsidiary of the Korn-Pharos Corporation. What about the names I gave you to check?’
‘Victoria Kempfert is as clean as a whistle. No convictions or arrests, no contact of any significance with the police. But it’s Daniel Fottinger who makes things much more interesting. He would appear to have been someone who didn’t take “no” for an answer. An accusation of sexual harassment last year lodged by a female employee, and two accusations of rape. One when he was still a student and the second in 1999. All three accusations were dropped as soon as the police investigated. It would appear that Fottinger’s daddy had the kind of wealth to make unpleasantness disappear… and, of course, so did Fottinger junior, later.’
‘Now that is interesting.’
‘There’s more. Fottinger’s parents put him in a fancy hospital in Bavaria after the student-days incident. A psychiatric hospital. I’ve asked for a court order to get his records. I thought you’d want them. I don’t know how relevant any of this is, but I thought there might be a chance that someone was exacting revenge.’
‘Well done, Anna.’ Fabel thought about what she had told him. ‘Get me the names and addresses of the victims, would you? I’d like to talk to them. Or at least one of them.’
‘Sure, Chef, but you’ll have to give me some time. I’m in the Commission but I’ll be mobile in ten. I’m going out to see the disabled guy you talked to, Johann Reisch. Two officers are going to check out his computer, one from Tech Section, the other from Cybercrime. By the way, they’re none too pleased with you. They say that the delay in examining his computer means he could have erased a lot of evidence.’
‘Reisch isn’t our man, Anna. And that’s good old-fashioned police instinct, not technology.’
‘Well, the problem is that they’re out at Reisch’s right now and can’t get an answer. And Reisch was expecting them. They arranged a time with him on the phone.’
‘That doesn’t sound good, Anna. Reisch is pretty much housebound. Get a uniformed unit to go out with you. If you get no answer, force the door. I’m on my way now. In fact, hold fire until I get there. And see if you can get a number for his carer. Shit, I’ve forgotten her name…’
‘Rossing… I’m already on it. See you there.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
As it turned out, they did not need to force entry into Reisch’s house. Frau Rossing, the disabled man’s carer, turned up with a key just as Fabel arrived. Fabel noticed that Reisch’s carer wore an expression of genuine concern.
‘He was fine this morning when I left,’ she said as she fumbled through her bunch of keys.
‘Wait here,’ Anna told her after she had unlocked the door. ‘We need to go in first.’
Fabel and Anna found Reisch exactly where he had been the last time Fabel had spoken to him; sitting at the table, staring at the computer screen of his laptop. Except that today Reisch was staring at the screen through the clear polythene of the plastic bag that was pulled over his head and sealed at the neck by a drawstring. The bag
