“But his sister actually died from an allergy to hazelnuts,” Martin said.
“That doesn’t matter now,” Olli said dismissively. “Anyway, I put it into Sjubek’s head that Pascha felt guilty about offing his sister. That’s how I kept Sjubek busy: he got to act on his thoughts of vengeance, and Pascha couldn’t get in my way anymore. I assumed Pascha knew there was a body in the trunk; he would have come up with the idea of blackmailing the guy as well.”
“How convenient,” Martin said. “Killing two pesky birds with one stone…”
“Shit,” I said. “I would never have come up with the blackmailing idea, not even in my wildest dreams.”
None of us said anything for a moment.
“And why did Sjubek have to die?” Martin asked.
“That idiot was making a big fuss because we let his sister’s body go missing,” Olli said. “He absolutely wanted to give her a proper funeral.”
Martin nodded; even I could understand that. But not Olli, apparently.
“When the body turned up again, because that brain-dead Kevin just wrapped it and dumped it somewhere instead of burying it, Sjubek went to the cops so he could transport Semira back home, even though he didn’t have proper immigration papers. He was even risking a visit to the pen and deportation just for Semira’s funeral.”
“And then at the Institute he found out his sister hadn’t been killed after all?” Martin guessed.
Olli nodded. “He came to me and wanted an explanation.”
“And then you killed him.”
“Of course.”
This was all very interesting, but in the meantime even our naïve little Martin had to have realized that he was standing opposite a man who had committed multiple murders, who was confessing all of his foul deeds down to the last detail—and that it was high time to end this amicable conversation and bail!
Happily, the same thought finally occurred to Martin. He took an awkward step backward.
“Just a moment,” Olli said. “The attaché case.”
Martin handed it to Olli, who took it with his left hand.
In a lightning-fast motion I wouldn’t have thought him capable of, Olli suddenly shot his right arm forward. For a fraction of a second I could see the glint of the cold steel, then it sunk into Martin’s duffle coat fairly accurately, right where his heart should have been.
Olli slowly shook his thick head. “I’m really sorry, man, but you know way too much.”
Martin stared at fat Olli, surprised.
“I’m sorry about your girlfriend, too,” Olli said. “But, you know. At least she got her BMW back.” He sounded like he meant it.
Martin staggered, then he grabbed the left side of his chest and collapsed. I was speechless, aghast, horrified. Even I hadn’t expected this. I’d never seen Olli with a weapon. Car smugglers are in principle friendlier sorts of criminals.
As though through a thick fog I could see Olli pick up the case with the money and turn to go. Then he stopped, slipped a thick signet ring with a striking black stone off his pinkie and stuck it into Martin’s pants pocket, then disappeared through the derelict building he had just emerged from.
Martin stayed behind—in the middle of the night, in a shady location, with a flashy ring that didn’t belong to him, and a life-threatening injury.
I hovered close over Martin, trying to get hold of his thoughts, and I found myself suddenly confronted with an incorporeal soul floating over Martin at the same altitude as I was. Martin!
“Hey, get out of here!” I yelled. “Get back into your body!”
“Oh, but it’s so calm and peaceful here,” Martin’s ghost slowly said. “Down there is nothing but pain and suffering.”
“Enough of this horseshit—go back!” I bellowed at him. “You can take that tiny bit of pain!”
As Olli disappeared with his cash and the sound of a fat engine revving up pealed through the abandoned site, Martin’s soul and I furtively watched each other like two gamecocks, although I was the only one actually acting aggressively. Martin’s soul was acting solemn and placid. I didn’t know how this trial of strength would have turned out if at that very moment a voice hadn’t bellowed out from a megaphone.
“You are surrounded, resistance is futile!”
Had those dopes been struck completely blind? I thought. There’s a guy lying here in the mud slowly but surely bleeding to death, and these idiots are talking about resistance!
“He’s dead,” one of the policemen said as he approached, shooter drawn.
“He is not dead!” I roared as loud as I could. “Get the paramedics over here!”
They were already on the way, but those two minutes until they arrived felt like an eternity to me. They got a bag of blood set up and flowing into Martin right away, and I was able to talk his little soul into at least staying close by his body and not taking the direct route to heaven. The cops waited until Martin had been carried off, half-dead. Then the forensic squad arrived, and the whole shebang that would last for hours began.
From the various conversations among the police I learned that the cops had been sent to the site by a traumatized dog owner who, while out for a walk, had unwittingly been witness to a stabbing. Martin was taken under police escort with his life-threatening injury to the hospital where emergency surgery would hopefully avoid his delivery as a corpse to the morgue. A mysterious ring was in his pocket, which Olli had certainly not deposited there as a memento of a pleasant evening.
I came down on myself hard. I was the only reason that Martin had gotten stuck in this situation, and I was the only reason he had lost his girlfriend and his reputation—and maybe even his life. This couldn’t be happening!
I couldn’t do anything to save his life. And maybe I couldn’t do anything about his girlfriend, either, but I could at least try to save his reputation. After all, apart from Martin I was the only good guy left who knew the whole story. And I had to tell the story somehow, because Martin couldn’t talk, and even if he could no one would have believed him. The only question was to whom and how should I recount the events of the past two weeks. Except for Martin I still hadn’t found anyone who could hear me. But I’d have to come up with something—that much was clear. I owed him that.
I zoomed faster than a jet back over to the Institute, because I was hoping people there had heard about the events and I could get some news. But it still took a few hours before Katrin came running distraught into the break room, yelling, “Martin was stabbed and is in surgery in critical condition! The police had him under surveillance.”
Awesome, he wasn’t dead yet—that was my first piece of good news all day. Katrin continued by saying they were currently looking for the man who had tried to kill him. Everyone was shocked. No one could imagine Martin being involved in any kind of crime. On the other hand, everyone at the Institute had noticed how weirdly he’d been acting the past few days. People had been doubting Martin’s innocence more and more, but now suddenly people’s suspicions also started sticking to him like dog shit to treaded soles. Martin couldn’t defend himself. It made me sick.
I felt like being close to Martin again, so I slunk over to his desk, where I stared into space in gloom.
“Assholes,” I mumbled.
The screen flickered on, and the word “assholes” appeared.
I couldn’t believe it. One look confirmed my hope: before Martin left the office on forced leave, he had left his computer just as it was. With his dictation software ready to go and his cordless headset activated. Apparently no one had checked whether his power guzzler here had been turned off or was just on standby. Hallelujah!