Trussed up like a Christmas bird ready for the oven! Who do they think they are?
Wires and cables monitoring his body’s every function hung from his arms and chest, spiralling together on their way to the monitors suspended above his head.
His mind was spinning alternatives, deciding how he would deal with the hospital staff, but more importantly, how he would deal with his unruly host and its wife.
I need time. As long as I am fighting for control of his body, I have to get some distance from Jarvis’s wife. I will tell her I have to go away on business to get acquainted with the Company’s holdings, worldwide. She won’t like it, but that is not my problem. I will stay at the club. Six weeks should do it, give Ecker and his drugs a chance to finish the job, while protecting me from another scene like we had today. Then I need to get rid of her. I just have to decide how.
Danger had always been part and parcel of Hofmann’s life. There was never gain without risk, or change without pain. Hofmann was used to dealing out pain, but not quite so used to being on the receiving end.
I have to get back to work.
When the ambulance finally came to a halt, he had decided to find whoever was in charge and discharge himself immediately. Fortunately, it was not necessary, as waiting at the doors of Accident and Emergency were Herr Von Klitzing and Dr Ecker.
24
The International Crime Police Organisation, better known as Interpol, was set up in 1923 to help cross-border intelligence between police departments of member countries. With one hundred and ninety member countries, it is the second largest intergovernmental organisation after the United Nations. Functioning as an administrative liaison between forces, Interpol allows communication between law enforcement agencies across language boundaries. Collating an immense criminal database, it then places it at the disposal of all member countries. Untethered by national boundaries, this multilateral knowledge database and its seven hundred personnel, is in a far better position to construct a larger picture of international crime than national agencies.
Joe Wilson’s request for information on Britt Petersen was entered into the database and passed on to the Bundeskriminalamt, Germany’s version of the FBI. They, in turn, contacted Munich’s Criminal Police. For this reason, Detective Inspector Günther Müller and Detective Constable Monika Keller had left their office on Ett Street and were heading in the direction of Starnberg. They had been unable to reach Mrs Petersen by phone, her mobile phone jumping to voicemail after the first ring. On account of the allegations and his position in the Company, they had decided not to talk to her husband, at least not yet. Both officers had discussed the matter at length. Mrs Petersen’s husband was on the board of a very big company. It had connections to German Industry and politics at the highest level. Any allegations must be substantiated, before anything became public. It was an opportunity for them both. Günther was in his twenty-fifth year at the Kripo (criminal police) but, at forty-eight years of age, he was still ambitious.
This could be a dream job. Industrial espionage and murder—it is like something out of the movies.
Slowly stroking his short-cropped, light brown beard, he pondered the opportunity as he accelerated the unmarked police car down the motorway.
Monika was still in her first year at the Kripo. She had flown through the police college, and after a short spell as a Munich Police Officer, she had been moved to the criminal police. She originally joined the police as a way of supporting her sporting ambitions. She had been an Olympic speed skater at the age of eighteen, and the police were one of only a few employers who would tolerate the constant demands of sporting ambition. It was quite a surprise to her that, in the last four years, she had grown away from her sport and become more and more interested in the job. So much so that when the opportunity to become a detective came up, she had grabbed it with both hands, despite it costing her a second chance of success at the Olympics in Russia. Getting to work with Müller had been a major feather, as he was one of the best detectives in Munich and was tipped to become the chief inspector someday. Looking across at her boss in the car, Monika could feel the nerves flutter in her stomach, much as they had done during competition. The difference was that, here, she felt she was making a difference. She signalled that Günther should take the next exit and sat back deep in her seat, theorising what puzzle might be waiting for them. Despite the German tendency to use only surnames in the work place, Günther had offered her the more personal first name term (du) shortly after they started working together.
“We will be there in about ten minutes, Günther. Unless you drive any slower!”
“Don’t be cheeky, Monika. There is no rush,” Günther said, putting on a serious expression.
Tucking her long blonde ponytail through the back of her baseball cap, Monika prepared for their first meeting with Britt Petersen. She had read Petersen’s accusations a hundred times, but there was little way of knowing if they were true. Preliminary investigations had not turned up any evidence of wrongdoing by the company in the German Republic, but the charge of murdering its employees would mean a thorough investigation before the case was closed.
They arrived at the house, just as an attractive woman was carrying a large cardboard box through the white front door. Her blonde hair was longer than in the photos they had seen, but it could well have been Mrs Petersen. Both officers moved swiftly from the car to the house, keen to close the distance between themselves and their witness.
“Excuse me, please, Mrs Petersen?”
Lisa Jarvis had heard the car pull up as she was emptying her car boot of the last of ten heavy boxes. Since Michael’s enforced departure on Company business, she had tried to occupy herself with the move to the Petersens’ house, before starting her work at PricewaterhouseCoopers in the coming week. Michael’s decision had led to another argument and a lot of tears on her part, but he was not to be swayed. She hoped that once he had settled into the job, his strange behaviour and health issues would relent, and they could get back to the relationship they had known before the move to Germany. Taut Skype calls had done little to ease her fears for their future, as, despite his words of never-ending love, his tone had left her cold. On the plus side, the house was amazing. Britt Petersen had done such a lovely job of decorating. Lisa was sure just a few boxes of personal stuff scattered liberally throughout the house would suffice, until they made a decision on whether to buy it or not.
“Mrs Petersen is not here,” Lisa said, turning to greet the visitors. “My name is Jarvis; we are renting the house from the Petersens.”
“My name is Müller, Günther Müller, from the criminal police in Munich.” Günther showed her his ID, which she took from his hand and examined closely.
Müller was nothing like the photo on the card. In fact, the couple didn’t look a bit like the police she had seen in her short time in Germany. No green-and-brown uniforms, rather designer blue jeans and baseball caps. It was certainly the same man, but his hair had been shaven for the photo, and now it was long and unruly. The photograph’s stern stare had disguised a friendly and likeable face, the kind you could trust. Monika also handed Lisa her ID; she too looked better in real life. Lisa was not a nosy person, but she liked a scandal as much as the next woman.
I wonder what she has been up to? she thought to herself with a smile.
“Would you know where I could find Mrs Petersen?”