‘Any suspicious involvements?’
‘Not in his business dealings. He seems to have been one of Hamburg’s most respected businessmen. And he had political ambitions too, apparently. Was thinking about running for the Hamburg Senate. That’s the other thing: suicides don’t tend to plan their futures.’
‘You said there was nothing suspicious in his business dealings. Was there something in his private life?’
‘From what I can gather, Claasens was a bit of a ladies’ man. Another reason why I would read a different interpretation into that note.’
‘Let me see it again…’ Fabel read through it once more. ‘Okay, I think you may have something. I’ll put a team on the case to work with you.’
Fabel left the Klingberg Commissariat and Iris Schmale standing grinning as if she’d won the lottery. She was a smart kid, that was for sure, but, on the face of it, there was nothing to suggest that there was any more to Claasens’s death than what it seemed to be: a burnt-out exec taking a dive from his office building. But, walking back to his car as the winter sky glowered down on the Kontorhaus Quarter, Fabel knew the feeling in his gut was the same nagging that Iris Schmale had felt. A policeman’s instinct. It was getting dark already. He checked his watch and, knowing she would be home from school, he decided to phone Gabi.
‘What’s up, Dad?’ Fabel’s daughter habitually used the English term. It wouldn’t have sounded right for her to call him anything else.
‘You free for a coffee?’
‘What, now?’
‘I could meet you at about six. We could get something to eat. That’s if your mother doesn’t mind.’
‘She’s working late. I’ll leave a note. Usual place in the Arkaden?’
‘Usual place. See you then.’
5
Fabel sat in the cafe, looking out towards the Alster. It was too dark now to see the swans gliding across its winter shield of dark water; instead his own reflection stared back at him. He thought he looked tired. And older. The grey had started to insinuate itself into the blond of his hair and the wrinkles were deepening around his eyes.
He sat and sipped the tea he had ordered and waited for Gabi to arrive.
A huddle of young women, barely more than girls, sat two tables away. Students, from the look of them. There were five of them and they laughed and joked in the careless way that only the young seem able to. Fabel found himself envious of an as yet unjaded, unmuted enthusiasm for life that he had felt himself. Once.
His phone rang. It was Anna Wolff.
‘The teddy bear that Jespersen bought,’ she said. ‘It was bought from a shop in the Hanseviertel. I’ve spoken to them, but the name Jespersen doesn’t ring any bells. But that doesn’t really mean anything — they have so many customers passing through, a lot of them tourists and foreigners. One thing we do know, though, is that he paid cash. There’s no record of him using his credit card.’
‘Maybe he got it somewhere else,’ said Fabel.
‘Nope — the store had them on special order. Picked the jumper design themselves. This is the only place that sells them.’
‘The Hanseviertel…’ Fabel muttered.
‘What?’
‘Jespersen probably had lunch in the Hanseviertel. Check which restaurants and cafes have CCTV and get the tapes for lunchtime that day.’
‘Yes, Chef,’ sighed Anna. Fabel let it go.
‘Anything on the tapes from the Reeperbahn? Have we got a picture of the fake taxi yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, chase them up, for God’s sake. It’s the only lead we’ve got.’
After he hung up, Fabel turned back to the window to watch for Gabi arriving and only looked in the girls’ direction when they started to leave. It was the last girl he noticed. Their eyes met and recognition registered in hers. She was wearing a grungy black jacket and was hatless, her fair hair gathered roughly into a ponytail. Fabel smiled faintly at her, knowing he should know her but unable to place her. She looked away in that swift but casual manner, as if she hadn’t seen him, that every policeman recognises as an effort not to be noticed.
It was only after the girls had disappeared around the corner into Poststrasse that Fabel realised the girl was Christa Eisel, the young prostitute who had found Jake Westland dying behind Herbertstrasse. There was something about the realisation that depressed Fabel. It was as if he had been unable to recognise her because he had seen her in an appropriate context. She had been where she should be: with friends of her own age, talking and laughing about life. He wondered how many of her friends knew about her other life. Maybe that was it. Maybe everybody has a double life: another face for another context.
‘ What’s up, Pops? ’
Fabel was taken aback as Gabi, who had spoken in English, dropped into the seat opposite him. He leaned over and kissed his daughter and then, smiling, let his hand rest for a moment on her cheek.
‘You okay, Dad?’ There was concern in Gabi’s voice.
‘I’m fine, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘It’s just that it’s good to see you. It’s always good to see you… Have I ever told you how proud I am of the way you’re turning out?’
‘All the time, Dad. Is this you softening me up for the big lecture?’
The waitress came over and they placed their order.
‘Your mother told you what I wanted to talk to you about?’ he asked after the waitress had gone.
‘Kind of. Or what she wants you to talk to me about.’ Gabi pushed at a small deposit of spilt salt, pushing it into a pile. ‘She wants you to talk me out of a police career.’
‘Well, I thought you knew me better than that,’ Fabel said indignantly. ‘And your mother should, too. And one thing I know for sure is that I could never talk you into or out of anything.’
‘Sorry, Dad.’
‘But I do want to discuss it with you. If it’s what you really want, then I’m with you all the way. But I do want you to know what you’re getting into.’
‘The truth is — but don’t tell Mum this — that I’ve not made up my mind. I’m just thinking about it, that’s all. What I want to do is study law and jurisprudence first. Maybe criminology. Then see.’
‘That’s a good plan, Gabi. Keep your options open.’
‘How would you feel if I joined the police?’ Gabi looked at Fabel earnestly and for a moment he remembered the serious little face she had always put on when she had been little if concentrating.
‘Like I said, Gabi, it’s your decision.’
‘That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking what you would think.’
For a moment Fabel sat and stared past Gabi and in the direction that Christa Eisel had taken. A girl just a few years older than his daughter.
‘I think there are worse paths to take. Much worse. But I won’t pretend I wouldn’t worry about you.’
‘The danger?’
‘There is physical danger, that’s true. But there’s psychological danger too. Some of the things you see. Some of the people you deal with. It’s a whole new dimension of life that you wouldn’t come across normally.’
‘ You deal with it.’
‘Not as well as I should, if I’m totally honest. That’s why I nearly chucked it all in last year.’
‘But you see, Dad, I didn’t know that. You have never spoken to me about your work.’
‘I’m sorry. Maybe I should have. But the truth is most of police work is boring or depressing. Take my job. It’s one of the top jobs you can have in the police and because of all of the stuff you read and see on the TV, you’d think it was exciting and glamorous. Believe me, it’s not. Ninety-nine per cent… more than ninety-nine per cent of the murders I deal with are committed by people of low IQ, fuelled by drink or drugs, in seedy or squalid surroundings. The truth is that murder is vulgar. The vast majority of crime is. There are very few criminal masterminds or genius serial killers out there. Most of the time you end up with someone sitting across the table from you who is, in many ways, just another victim of their own crime. They sit there, probably only just sobered up, confused and wondering how the hell they ended up in the position they’re in.’