Chapter 15
Berlin, January
One of the key principles behind post-war German reconstruction was that the central government should never grow too strong and allow the concentration of power seen under the Nazis. To this end, a Federal constitution was implemented which devolved most authority to the states or Lander, currently numbering 16. These bodies have a considerable degree of autonomy in setting policy in their own territory and in providing essential services.
One of their key responsibilities is the provision of policing, and to this end, each state has its own police force, usually divided into two sections. The Shutzpolizei or Shupo which provides uniformed officers on the beat is, in most instances the first response force. The Kriminalpolizei or Kripo functions more as an investigative unit and is akin to the detective units of other forces.
However, for serious crime, or offences with an international aspect, the Bundeskriminalamt or BKA gets involved. Its main focuses are terrorism, drug offences and the like, but certain politically sensitive crimes will also be steered its way. Acting as Germany’s FBI, the 5,500 strong force head-quartered in Wiesbaden represents the acme of German policing, and plays host to some of the most sophisticated law enforcement technology on the planet.
The murder of Walter Straub certainly fell under the auspices of the BKA. His death was initially reported by the housekeeper, a Frau Tusslig, who, on recovering from seeing his dead body in the study, immediately phoned the Shupo. They secured the area and arranged for the Kripo to take over the investigation. However, it soon became clear that political sensitivities would be involved in the case, given the profile of the victim, and, choosing self-preservation over the chance of glory, the officer in charge had rung the BKA’s large Berlin office and handed the case over to them.
The battalion of forensic investigators and pathologists had little difficulty in ascertaining the cause of death, the livid hole in the forehead, and the missing chunk of skull and brain made that quite obvious, but finding much more proved difficult. Despite their careful examination of every surface in the house, no unidentified fingerprints were found, and they had little hope of any DNA evidence. The security system had been disarmed, and Herr Staub had failed to head the security company’s advice and install cameras on his property.
One of the BKA’s other responsibilities is to maintain liaison with other police forces worldwide. Indeed, it acts as Interpol’s presence in Germany. As an act of procedure turned last throw of the dice, a junior officer uploaded the details of the crime into the massive computer system in the Wiesbaden basement. Not expecting much, the crime seemed too random, the killer too professional, he was surprised to hear not one, but three beeps eminate from the machine a matter of seconds later.
There had been three incidents, with a total of five murders in Austria recently, all of which bore the killer’s signature. All had been killed by highly accurate shots to the forehead, all described as nearly impossible to replicate. Using fuzzy-logic software designed to mimic human thought patterns, the machine flashed up a potential connection. A German ex-soldier shot through the head in the South of Austria, just outside the house where the daughter of one of the victims and a witness had been staying.
The Austrians had referred the matter to the Federal Ministry of Defence in Bonn, but so far, little had been achieved, save confirmation that the deceased was a former military officer.
It was thus fortunate, when a short Austrian police-officer, dressed from head to toe in black presented herself, and a companion at the main reception in the BKA’s Berlin office. Located in Treptow, Berlin’s most south-easterly borough, the BKA building had resisted the modernisation enforced on the surrounding area after the fall of the Wall. The four storey oblong brick building could only have been built in the thirties, looking like a cottage which had taken growth hormones. The lack of modernity extended to the heating system which rumbled as it struggled to pump water through the antique radiators, leading the visitors to cast longing glances at the shiny glass and steel buildings, with proper heating, which lined the river Spree nearby.
Showing her warrent card to the desk sergeant, she asked to speak to the officer in charge of the Straub murder case. She had come from Vienna and thought there might be a connection with a case she was pursuing. Shown to a waiting area, months old magazines piled on an cheap rickety table, the uncomfortable chairs showing their stuffing through the covers, they waited for half an hour. Eventually, an officer Gruber came to meet them and led them to the incident room.
White boards lined the room, filled with 12 desks. Each board had a different subject, victim, location, forensics etc. The boards were covered in photographs and notes in red marker pen, serving as a constant reminder of the current state of the investigation. Officers manned each desk, many on the phones, the others sifting through files of evidence relating to Herr Straub.
In the corner, willing himself to see a connection that was not there, Senior Agent Bruno Waldheim, stood, lost in thought. 6 feet tall, balding, with a bushy mustache, Waldheim looked the very image of a Prussian Army officer, all that was missing was a helmet with a spike on top and a mononcle. He projected a stern image, doubtless driving his team hard, but his reputation was excellent, both for leadership, and for solving crimes.
Gruber introduced Elena and Simon to his chief and returned to his desk. Waldheim grunted a greeting and, reluctantly, turned away from his white boards and led them to a meeting room in the middle of the building. Sheltered slightly from the cold seeping through the single glazed windows, and with the nearest radiator actually seeming to function, Simon began to warm up for the first time since they arrived.
They had agreed beforehand to let Elena lead the conversation, given her profession, so she leapt straight in.
“I understand that you must be very busy Agent Waldheim. I too am a police officer and know how demanding a murder enquiry is. I am also conducting such an investigation, and think there may be some connection between our murders. One of which involved my father.” Although she had shown little grief over the past few days, Simon detected a slight tremor in her voice. He assumed she had thrown herself into the investigation to prevent herself from dwelling too long on her loss.
Waldheim might have been gruff, but he was human. “You have my condolences, Inspector. The loss of a parent is always a terrible thing. I took the liberty while you were waiting of checking with the Vienna force, and they tell me that you are on compassionate leave. I believe Inspector Haber is investigating your father’s death.”
“That is true, but I myself have been following some leads of which Inspector Haber is not yet aware, and since I happened to find myself in Berlin, it seemed more efficient to to liaise with you myself. Purely in the interests of tidying up this matter more quickly you understand.”
“It is indeed fortunate” the way he accented the word showed his scepticism of her story. “that you find yourself in our city, Inspector. As we both know, sometimes official channels need, how should I put this, circumventing.”
“I quite agree. My father was a diplomat and often did more business over an informal coffee than during a three day summit.” She smiled.
“I’m intrigued that you are here. You see, one of our new-fangled toys, a computer that sifts our data-base and looks for connections, pointed to the recent murders in Vienna, including that of your father as possibly being connected to Herr Straub. Something about the way the victims were shot. I believe you think your man is a top-notch marksman. Our boys have come to the same conclusion about Herr Straub’s killer.”
“Did you find any old books in the house?” Simon asked, earning a warning glance from Elena. Obviously there was an etiqutte to be followed which he had just broken.
“There was lots of old books, first editions and that sort of thing. Even a signed copy of Mein Kampf. That is legal, if not very tasteful. It seems Herr Straub had a thing for the Nazis, although that should not be a surprise.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, his name was not Sraub, for a start. He was really Walter Stroop. His father was in the SS and was responsible for the razing of the Warsaw ghetto during the war. A nasty piece of work, he was hanged by the Poles in 1952.”
“So you think the son took after the father?” Elena continued, beginning to see some light.
“It’s quite possible. The Nazis never really went away, although they have never been able to come back as they were before. Every so often, we hear of some plot to regain power. It never comes to anything, more like background noise on the radio. Given his ancestry, who knows what Straub was up to.”
“Do you think there is a Nazi link to his death?”
“It’s an angle we are pursuing, but we have nothing to suggest that at the moment. Maybe it was a business deal gone wrong. He was a wealthy man, and doubtless had wealthy enemies.”
“Did you find any really old books?” Simon once more interjected.
The others both glared at him. Obviously police-to-police discussions were sacred and not to be disturbed. “I mean, mediaeval manuscripts and the like.”
“No, Dr Pelham, we did not. Why do you keep asking that.”
“We have just come from Greece, where Herr Straub, or Stroop, recently purchased a very rare manuscript from a monastery. I was wondering if you found it.”
“No, nothing like that has turned up. Was it valuable?”
“Very. We think it was the only copy in existence. He paid the monastery over a million euros for it, so he obviously thought it was quite valuable.”
Waldheim sat back and thought. “Over a million euros?”
“Yes, the abbot told us. He was quite happy with the deal. Bought a shiny new television with it.”
“Hmm. Give me a minute.”
He left the room and talked to a couple of the agents in the incident room. Returning shortly, he asked.
“You’re sure it was Straub?”
“Absolutely. The abbot himself identified him.”
“That is odd. We have his financial records, of course, and there is no sign of a million dollars moving out of his accounts. There is no old manuscript in the house, and we’ve checked his safe deposit box. There’s nothing there either. Maybe you can give me a description of this book?”
Simon did so, pleased that his contribution seemed to be worth something. Waldheim took careful notes and promised to look into it further.
“While we’re here” Elena started, trying to regain control of matters. “Can you find out who this man is?”
She handed over a picture of the soldier who had died in her bell tower. “I think official channels are following it up, but it might help things if you could expedite matters?”
“I agree. One good turn deserves another. Give me thirty minutes.”
Waldheim arranged for coffee while they waited. Marginally better than the Viennese Police brew, it at least kept them warm.
Returning to the room, his face was serious. “This is a difficult area, Inspector. There are things which should not be pushed too far, even in today’s Germany, and this is one of them. However, because you have helped me, and I understand your loss, let me tell you this. The man used to be a member of GSG9, our elite special forces team. He left last year, and we think he became a mercenary. It is embarrassing, we usually keep close tabs on these people, but he disappeared. As did his commanding officer, and much of his unit for that matter.”
“What was his commander called?”
‘Major Heinrich Frey. He was a rising star, could have gone all the way to the top they say. Anyway, the Defence Ministry has lost him, and they don’t want anyone to know. He’s got a wife though, or ex-wife actually. She lives in Berlin.”
Berlin, January
One of the key principles behind post-war German reconstruction was that the central government should never grow too strong and allow the concentration of power seen under the Nazis. To this end, a Federal constitution was implemented which devolved most authority to the states or Lander, currently numbering 16. These bodies have a considerable degree of autonomy in setting policy in their own territory and in providing essential services.
One of their key responsibilities is the provision of policing, and to this end, each state has its own police force, usually divided into two sections. The Shutzpolizei or Shupo which provides uniformed officers on the beat is, in most instances the first response force. The Kriminalpolizei or Kripo functions more as an investigative unit and is akin to the detective units of other forces.
However, for serious crime, or offences with an international aspect, the Bundeskriminalamt or BKA gets involved. Its main focuses are terrorism, drug offences and the like, but certain politically sensitive crimes will also be steered its way. Acting as Germany’s FBI, the 5,500 strong force head-quartered in Wiesbaden represents the acme of German policing, and plays host to some of the most sophisticated law enforcement technology on the planet.
The murder of Walter Straub certainly fell under the auspices of the BKA. His death was initially reported by the housekeeper, a Frau Tusslig, who, on recovering from seeing his dead body in the study, immediately phoned the Shupo. They secured the area and arranged for the Kripo to take over the investigation. However, it soon became clear that political sensitivities would be involved in the case, given the profile of the victim, and, choosing self-preservation over the chance of glory, the officer in charge had rung the BKA’s large Berlin office and handed the case over to them.
The battalion of forensic investigators and pathologists had little difficulty in ascertaining the cause of death, the livid hole in the forehead, and the missing chunk of skull and brain made that quite obvious, but finding much more proved difficult. Despite their careful examination of every surface in the house, no unidentified fingerprints were found, and they had little hope of any DNA evidence. The security system had been disarmed, and Herr Staub had failed to head the security company’s advice and install cameras on his property.
One of the BKA’s other responsibilities is to maintain liaison with other police forces worldwide. Indeed, it acts as Interpol’s presence in Germany. As an act of procedure turned last throw of the dice, a junior officer uploaded the details of the crime into the massive computer system in the Wiesbaden basement. Not expecting much, the crime seemed too random, the killer too professional, he was surprised to hear not one, but three beeps eminate from the machine a matter of seconds later.
There had been three incidents, with a total of five murders in Austria recently, all of which bore the killer’s signature. All had been killed by highly accurate shots to the forehead, all described as nearly impossible to replicate. Using fuzzy-logic software designed to mimic human thought patterns, the machine flashed up a potential connection. A German ex-soldier shot through the head in the South of Austria, just outside the house where the daughter of one of the victims and a witness had been staying.
The Austrians had referred the matter to the Federal Ministry of Defence in Bonn, but so far, little had been achieved, save confirmation that the deceased was a former military officer.
It was thus fortunate, when a short Austrian police-officer, dressed from head to toe in black presented herself, and a companion at the main reception in the BKA’s Berlin office. Located in Treptow, Berlin’s most south-easterly borough, the BKA building had resisted the modernisation enforced on the surrounding area after the fall of the Wall. The four storey oblong brick building could only have been built in the thirties, looking like a cottage which had taken growth hormones. The lack of modernity extended to the heating system which rumbled as it struggled to pump water through the antique radiators, leading the visitors to cast longing glances at the shiny glass and steel buildings, with proper heating, which lined the river Spree nearby.
Showing her warrent card to the desk sergeant, she asked to speak to the officer in charge of the Straub murder case. She had come from Vienna and thought there might be a connection with a case she was pursuing. Shown to a waiting area, months old magazines piled on an cheap rickety table, the uncomfortable chairs showing their stuffing through the covers, they waited for half an hour. Eventually, an officer Gruber came to meet them and led them to the incident room.
White boards lined the room, filled with 12 desks. Each board had a different subject, victim, location, forensics etc. The boards were covered in photographs and notes in red marker pen, serving as a constant reminder of the current state of the investigation. Officers manned each desk, many on the phones, the others sifting through files of evidence relating to Herr Straub.
In the corner, willing himself to see a connection that was not there, Senior Agent Bruno Waldheim, stood, lost in thought. 6 feet tall, balding, with a bushy mustache, Waldheim looked the very image of a Prussian Army officer, all that was missing was a helmet with a spike on top and a mononcle. He projected a stern image, doubtless driving his team hard, but his reputation was excellent, both for leadership, and for solving crimes.
Gruber introduced Elena and Simon to his chief and returned to his desk. Waldheim grunted a greeting and, reluctantly, turned away from his white boards and led them to a meeting room in the middle of the building. Sheltered slightly from the cold seeping through the single glazed windows, and with the nearest radiator actually seeming to function, Simon began to warm up for the first time since they arrived.
They had agreed beforehand to let Elena lead the conversation, given her profession, so she leapt straight in.
“I understand that you must be very busy Agent Waldheim. I too am a police officer and know how demanding a murder enquiry is. I am also conducting such an investigation, and think there may be some connection between our murders. One of which involved my father.” Although she had shown little grief over the past few days, Simon detected a slight tremor in her voice. He assumed she had thrown herself into the investigation to prevent herself from dwelling too long on her loss.
Waldheim might have been gruff, but he was human. “You have my condolences, Inspector. The loss of a parent is always a terrible thing. I took the liberty while you were waiting of checking with the Vienna force, and they tell me that you are on compassionate leave. I believe Inspector Haber is investigating your father’s death.”
“That is true, but I myself have been following some leads of which Inspector Haber is not yet aware, and since I happened to find myself in Berlin, it seemed more efficient to to liaise with you myself. Purely in the interests of tidying up this matter more quickly you understand.”
“It is indeed fortunate” the way he accented the word showed his scepticism of her story. “that you find yourself in our city, Inspector. As we both know, sometimes official channels need, how should I put this, circumventing.”
“I quite agree. My father was a diplomat and often did more business over an informal coffee than during a three day summit.” She smiled.
“I’m intrigued that you are here. You see, one of our new-fangled toys, a computer that sifts our data-base and looks for connections, pointed to the recent murders in Vienna, including that of your father as possibly being connected to Herr Straub. Something about the way the victims were shot. I believe you think your man is a top-notch marksman. Our boys have come to the same conclusion about Herr Straub’s killer.”
“Did you find any old books in the house?” Simon asked, earning a warning glance from Elena. Obviously there was an etiqutte to be followed which he had just broken.
“There was lots of old books, first editions and that sort of thing. Even a signed copy of Mein Kampf. That is legal, if not very tasteful. It seems Herr Straub had a thing for the Nazis, although that should not be a surprise.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, his name was not Sraub, for a start. He was really Walter Stroop. His father was in the SS and was responsible for the razing of the Warsaw ghetto during the war. A nasty piece of work, he was hanged by the Poles in 1952.”
“So you think the son took after the father?” Elena continued, beginning to see some light.
“It’s quite possible. The Nazis never really went away, although they have never been able to come back as they were before. Every so often, we hear of some plot to regain power. It never comes to anything, more like background noise on the radio. Given his ancestry, who knows what Straub was up to.”
“Do you think there is a Nazi link to his death?”
“It’s an angle we are pursuing, but we have nothing to suggest that at the moment. Maybe it was a business deal gone wrong. He was a wealthy man, and doubtless had wealthy enemies.”
“Did you find any really old books?” Simon once more interjected.
The others both glared at him. Obviously police-to-police discussions were sacred and not to be disturbed. “I mean, mediaeval manuscripts and the like.”
“No, Dr Pelham, we did not. Why do you keep asking that.”
“We have just come from Greece, where Herr Straub, or Stroop, recently purchased a very rare manuscript from a monastery. I was wondering if you found it.”
“No, nothing like that has turned up. Was it valuable?”
“Very. We think it was the only copy in existence. He paid the monastery over a million euros for it, so he obviously thought it was quite valuable.”
Waldheim sat back and thought. “Over a million euros?”
“Yes, the abbot told us. He was quite happy with the deal. Bought a shiny new television with it.”
“Hmm. Give me a minute.”
He left the room and talked to a couple of the agents in the incident room. Returning shortly, he asked.
“You’re sure it was Straub?”
“Absolutely. The abbot himself identified him.”
“That is odd. We have his financial records, of course, and there is no sign of a million dollars moving out of his accounts. There is no old manuscript in the house, and we’ve checked his safe deposit box. There’s nothing there either. Maybe you can give me a description of this book?”
Simon did so, pleased that his contribution seemed to be worth something. Waldheim took careful notes and promised to look into it further.
“While we’re here” Elena started, trying to regain control of matters. “Can you find out who this man is?”
She handed over a picture of the soldier who had died in her bell tower. “I think official channels are following it up, but it might help things if you could expedite matters?”
“I agree. One good turn deserves another. Give me thirty minutes.”
Waldheim arranged for coffee while they waited. Marginally better than the Viennese Police brew, it at least kept them warm.
Returning to the room, his face was serious. “This is a difficult area, Inspector. There are things which should not be pushed too far, even in today’s Germany, and this is one of them. However, because you have helped me, and I understand your loss, let me tell you this. The man used to be a member of GSG9, our elite special forces team. He left last year, and we think he became a mercenary. It is embarrassing, we usually keep close tabs on these people, but he disappeared. As did his commanding officer, and much of his unit for that matter.”
“What was his commander called?”
‘Major Heinrich Frey. He was a rising star, could have gone all the way to the top they say. Anyway, the Defence Ministry has lost him, and they don’t want anyone to know. He’s got a wife though, or ex-wife actually. She lives in Berlin.”
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