to the Association for the Protection of German Forests and Woodlands, which is subleasing it to a CDU member of
parliament. You might have heard about it.”
Max nodded. He had read about it in the paper. “Strange story.”
44
Dead Woods
Tobias Behnke snorted. “You can say that again. The Niendorfer
Gehege is probably the only forest in Germany where the ranger doesn’t live in the forester’s lodge.” He added, “And this despite the fact that the likes of us actually are required to live in our assigned territory.” He cast a final look at the redbrick building that was basking in the afternoon sun. “Don’t ask me why the guy is allowed to live here.”
A few steps later, they came upon a partially decayed villa. Max
inhaled deeply and smiled when he heard twittering birds. Rays of sun fell on the path ahead of them.
“What a beautiful place of work you have,” he said.
Tobias Behnke nodded. “Almost three hundred fifty acres of
mixed woodland and beech forest with all the typical herbs. But
since part of the area was developed as a park by Hamburg merchants
in the nineteenth century, we also have some rather atypical trees:
horse chestnut, sweet chestnut, ginkgo. And directly at the Kollau we have a sprawling plant that is indigenous to India and the Himalayas, Impatiens glandulifera—also called Himalayan balsam. It can grow to six and a half feet and has pink flowers. It doesn’t look bad, but it’s pushing out the local, much less spectacular, variety.”
Tobias Behnke led Max along a few well-constructed paths, and
ten minutes later they stood next to the fluttering ribbons of police tape.
“Not a very large forest, is it?”
Behnke shrugged. “It’s larger than any office in the city.”
Max stood on the spot where the dead man had been and looked
at the undergrowth. Little was left of the original tracks since the CSI team had done its work thoroughly. Nevertheless, he carefully searched the area until he found what he was looking for. The plant looked
strangely out of place. He pointed to it and asked, “Do you know what kind of plant this is?”
“It’s an Aaron’s rod,” Behnke answered immediately. “Wow, I’ve
never seen one around here. You know, it’s quite a strange plant,” the 45
Maria C. Poets
ranger explained and stepped closer. “It catches flies in its chalice, but not to devour them, like a Venus flytrap would, but to be fertilized by them. It transfers its pollen to the insects when it releases them again.”
He fell silent and looked at the plant carefully. “That’s odd. This plant likes the shade and doesn’t do well in full sun.” He did a double take, bent down, and got up again. Shaking his head, he said, “This plant
has been . . .”
“. . . replanted. I know,” Max said.
Tobias Behnke looked confused, and that made him look even
younger.
“Have you seen that before? I mean, plants replanted in the for-
est?” Max asked.
The ranger shook his head. “No, never. I have to say, though, that
I don’t usually pay that much attention to details. I’m more involved with the big picture.”
“Do you have any idea who might do a thing like that?”
Behnke took another look at the Aaron’s rod and then at Max. “No
idea. Certainly none of my guys.”
“Your guys?”
“Five forestry workers are employed here, but the men don’t deal
with such small stuff. They only concern themselves with things that are thick enough to be tackled with a chain saw.”
“Anything else? Have you noticed any adolescents around here
lately?”
“Adolescents?” Behnke scratched his head. “There’s a high school
over there, next to the church, and sometimes students come here—
biology lessons, out in nature. Sometimes kids in a PE class.”
“Actually, I was wondering about . . . well, teenagers up to no
good.”
Behnke laughed. “Here? Voluntarily? No, there’s way too much
nature here. There are bugs and worms and mud.” He shook his head.
“If you knew what I have to listen to when I have to supervise a group 46
Dead Woods
of kids every now and then. Most of them would much rather go into
the city center or hang out in the pedestrian zone over there.” He made a vague gesture toward the north, where there was a train station and a small shopping street. “None of them want to get dirty.”
Berg scrutinized the forest ranger. He appeared very open and lik-
able, but Max’s police training made sure he didn’t take him at face value. “Do you live around here?”
“Yes. In Bondewald, right at the edge of the forest.”
“And where were you last night between eleven and three?”
“At home. My girlfriend was there,