‘I see.’
‘It was something the press never managed to get hold of. Not that there was as much press interest as there used to be.’
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Martina Schilmann opened the door from outside and admitted a uniformed waitress who placed a tray with a coffee pot and cups on the low table.
‘What about your husband’s investments?’ asked Fabel when the waitress had left. He poured a cup of coffee for Sarah Westland and one for himself. ‘He seemed to do well out of them and he had some here, I believe.’
‘Yes, he had quite a few. Particularly here in Hamburg. Jake was funny that way, he could see things in people or places that others couldn’t. I guess that’s why his investments were all so successful.’
‘So why particularly Hamburg?’
Sarah Westland gave a half-laugh. ‘Being in the music business, Hamburg was kind of like Mecca to Jake. The Beatles and all that. But I remember he’d been over here on business. A sort of reconnaissance trip, I suppose. He said that Hamburg was the place to put your money. He said that Hamburgers — do you call them “Hamburgers”? — he said that you were all natural entrepreneurs and business people. He kept going on about the something league…’
‘The Hanseatic League?’
‘Yeah — he said that you still had all that trading nous in you. It was all about the Far East, he said. China and India. He said that Hamburg was going to be the big European trading partner with the East. Is it true what he said about Hamburg people?’
‘Pretty much.’ Fabel smiled. ‘There’s a joke that the average German businessman would sell his mother, but a Hamburg politician would throw in free delivery.’
‘Mmm…’ Sarah Westland did not seem to get the joke. There again, it wasn’t really a time for humour.
‘Would it be possible for you to get details of your husband’s business dealings?’ asked Fabel. ‘Could you send them over to me at the Police Presidium? Or I can arrange to have them picked up.’
‘I can get someone to do that. But a lot of the information will have to be sent from England. It will probably take a day or two.’
‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Westland.’ Fabel stood up. She walked him to the door and shook his hand.
‘Is there something else?’ she asked, reading his expression.
‘It’s just something about the night Mr Westland died. When I asked you if there was anything unusual about the phone conversation you had with him, you said there wasn’t. But you didn’t look too sure.’
‘There wasn’t anything unusual,’ she replied. ‘Or at least not in what he said… what we talked about. It’s just that he seemed… distracted. Distant. I asked him what was wrong and he said he was tired.’
‘That would fit with him turning down the after-concert party.’
‘Jake may not have understood me, but I understood him. He was never too tired for a bash. I knew Jake’s moods, but this one I couldn’t place. It bothered me.
‘There’s one more thing,’ said Sarah Westland as Fabel made for the door. ‘I know what people think, what the newspapers are saying about why Jake was in the Reeperbahn and how he met his death. Jake was no angel and, like I told you, I had no illusions about his fidelity. But there’s one thing I’m certain about: Jake did not go to that place for sex. He went there for a reason. To meet someone. I’m convinced of it.’
2
‘Am I being deported?’ asked Vestergaard with a cold smile when Fabel pulled up at the taxi rank outside the main terminal building of Hamburg-Fuhlsbuttel Airport. A uniformed Federal Police officer walked purposefully over to the car but Fabel stopped him in his tracks by holding his bronze oval Criminal Police disc up to the glass of his window.
‘No… this is all about arrival, Karin, not departure,’ said Fabel. ‘I want us to retrace Jespersen’s steps, as much as we can with the information we’ve got. You’re a Dane, like Jespersen, and you’re new to Hamburg. I’ve brought you along to point out the things I might miss. Okay, Jespersen arrives. As he’s walking through the arrivals hall he makes two calls, one to his deputy…’ Fabel snapped his fingers, impatient at his own forgetfulness.
‘Harald Tolstrup.’ Vestergaard helped him out.
‘Harald Tolstrup… who tells him that his hotel is booked.’
‘Harald also told Jens that I wanted to speak to him as soon as possible.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Simple. I wanted to know what the hell he was up to and to make sure he kept me up to date on his movements. I knew he wouldn’t, but I had to try to keep him on some kind of leash.’
‘Okay, so then he phones me at the Presidium, but I’m in a meeting so he leaves his number. He comes out of the terminal and takes a taxi into the city. We’ve not been able to trace the driver who took him, but given the flight arrival time and the time he checked into the hotel it’s pretty safe to say he travelled directly to the hotel without stops.’ Fabel started the engine again and pulled out. He drove back down towards the city.
‘Imagine you’re in a taxi. You’re Jespersen. You have the scrap of a rumour about a hit woman based in Hamburg that Vuja i c let slip six years ago. You have the name of a German detective in your notebook: me. You also have other bits of information at hand, like the name “Olaf”, but at the moment we can only guess about their relevance. There’s bits and pieces about the East German Stasi and in particular one officer… What was his name?’
‘Drescher. And Jens had been looking into Gennady Frolov, the Russian.’
‘Okay. So you’ve arrived in Hamburg. What do you do now?’
‘Well, I know where I’m going. I’m checked into the hotel and I’ve given the address to the taxi driver.’
‘Yes,’ said Fabel emphatically. ‘You do know where you’re going. But you’ve only just confirmed it with Tolstrup on the phone.’
‘So whoever kills me later that night doesn’t know yet where I am staying.’
‘Exactly. He was followed. Someone followed him from the airport.’ Fabel hit the button on his hands-free phone. It was Werner Meyer who answered. ‘Werner, I want you to get someone to contact the chief of security at Fuhlsbuttel. See if you can get the CCTV footage of the taxi rank outside arrivals from about half an hour before until half an hour after Jens Jespersen arrived. Use the phone log to check when he tried to get me at the Murder Commission. That’ll pinpoint when he left the airport building.’
‘Okay, Chef,’ said Werner. ‘What are we looking for?’
‘Jespersen getting into the taxi and leaving. I want the number of the taxi so we can trace the driver, but more specifically I want any trace of someone taking off after him.’
‘I’m on it, Chef. What do I tell the Nordic ice maiden if she turns up looking for you?’
‘She’s sitting right next to me, idiot,’ said Fabel. ‘And you’re on speakerphone. Just count yourself lucky that she can’t speak German.’
At the other end of the connection, Werner laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter what language I talk, women never understand me. I’ll get the footage organised. When will you be back?’
‘Give me a couple of hours or so. Sometime after lunch.’ Fabel turned to Vestergaard to see if there was any hint that she had picked up on Werner’s jibe. There wasn’t.
‘Okay, back to Jespersen. Where are you going now?’
Vestergaard frowned. ‘Somewhere I could get information on the Stasi.’
‘Wrong city. Berlin would have been his best bet for that — the Federal Commission that deals with Stasi files and information is based there. It has offices elsewhere, but all of them are in East Germany. Did he have any plans to travel further?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘That doesn’t mean he didn’t intend to take time to go to Berlin. There’s a high-speed rail link from Hamburg. He could have got there and back in a day.’
Fabel drove on into the city and pulled up outside Vestergaard’s hotel on Alter Wall.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Jespersen stayed here too. He checks into the hotel and goes out. Why?’