me this morning. He asked whether a Lina Svenson who, as far as
he knew, was assigned to my division was investigating the Birkner
murder case. When I confirmed that, the chief of police instructed me 103
Maria C. Poets
to prohibit Inspector Svenson from contacting Frau Katja Ansmann,
domestic partner of the deceased Philip Birkner, and to assign other detectives to future interrogations in the Birkner case because Frau Svenson had approached the witness in ‘an insulting and threatening
manner.’”
“That’s not true,” Lina said, defending herself indignantly. “And
by the way, since when does the chief of police interfere in an ongoing murder investigation?”
“When he thinks he has reason to do so,” Hanno said brusquely.
“Someone complained to him that his officers—in this case a female
officer—behaved improperly. It’s then actually his duty to step in
immediately.”
So far, Lina had never seen the chief of police intervene when
“his officers” behaved improperly, for example during a raid near the Reeperbahn, on the Kiez.
“I doubt that came down through regular channels,” Lina said as
she imagined Katja Ansmann reaching for the phone the minute she
had left.
“No comment,” Hanno said. “I have here a complaint and instruc-
tions from the very top. That’s enough for me.”
“But I didn’t insult or threaten anyone!” Lina could feel her stom-
ach contract in anger, but she managed to control herself. “But I did confront her with the fact that she had lied.”
Hanno looked serious. “The question is, of course: Did you
unearth a crucial point or is she just touchy? She lied about where she spent the evening. Okay, that was wrong, but she gave a good reason.
And then there’s the life insurance. I admit, that sounds suspicious.”
He frowned. “But Katja Ansmann’s family has money, lots of it. The
three million from the life insurance is probably no more than chicken feed to her. She really doesn’t need to get herself into trouble for that.”
Lina evaded his gaze. If she told him about the impending insol-
vency of the Ansmann & Son Bank, he would want to know how she
104
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found out. And that was something he wasn’t supposed to know. Ever.
But she couldn’t just hold on to the story, either. “I believe that her father’s bank is about to go under. I mean, I’m pretty sure of that.”
Hanno frowned. “What gives you that idea?”
Lina shrugged. “It was a long shot,” she said very casually. “You
know, banking crisis and so on . . . I simply threw it out there. She almost fainted. I swear—there’s something going on. The Ansmann & Son Bank is in dire straits at least.”
Hanno gave her a suspicious look. “A shot in the dark? Well, well.”
When Lina said nothing, he frowned. “You’re not keeping anything
from me, are you?”
“No.” She met his gaze.
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A soft mur-
mur of voices could be heard from the adjoining room. Tensely, Lina
waited for her verdict. Hanno wanted no trouble; that much was clear.
He wanted to serve the last few years before his retirement quietly, and nothing was further from his mind than upsetting the chief of police.
“Well, all right. Try to get your hands on some numbers about
the bank. I don’t know. Balance sheets, annual reports. There must be something. Maybe you were on the right track with your long shot.
But until we have proof of insolvency, we sit tight. That goes for you, especially. Stay away from Frau Ansmann.”
“But . . .”
“There’s no but. This is an order.”
Team meeting. Hanno begins, “Let’s recapitulate. Frank Jensen has
a motive, the right shoe size, and a shaky alibi. It looks similar for Katja Ansmann: motive, right shoe size, uncertain alibi. The unknown woman from the Waldschänke hasn’t come forward so far, and Tanja
Fischer, possibly Philip Birkner’s lover, couldn’t be reached, either.”
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Maria C. Poets
Hanno Peters looked around. Lina Svenson sat near the door with
crossed arms. She was still mad at him. Max Berg sat with legs crossed.
He looked awake and relaxed in his open jacket, as if he and not Alex Osterfeld had just come back from vacation. It was the first day back in the office for the latter, but he looked as if he had worked all weekend, with dark circles under his eyes. Sebastian Muhl lolled in his chair with a slight grin. He sensed that Hanno and Lina were on the outs, and he liked that.
“Sebastian, did the security videos from the subway stations show
anything?” Hanno asked.
With an air of importance, Sebastian straightened up. “Possibly. A