not upset with him. Max smiled and reached out to touch the man’s
arm, but Niels flinched, as if he feared he’d be beaten. Max dropped his hand. “Nowadays there aren’t many knights anymore; they’re rare.
And they mostly use sticks when they’re fighting,” Max explained and hoped this couldn’t be interpreted as witness tampering. “Did you see any men with sticks around here, Herr Hinrichsen?”
The man opened his eyes wide and slowly stepped back. “Dunno
nothing, not a thing!” He turned around and ran across the soft moss, 116
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jumped across a gully, ran across another path, and disappeared into dense underbrush. Max watched him, frowning.
Next to him, Herr Barsfeld sighed. “That’s how it always is with
him. He suddenly takes off as if the devil’s on his heels.”
Max turned to him. “You told him that he’s not supposed to scold
people when they don’t keep to the paths. Was there a problem with
that in the past?”
Barsfeld nodded. “Niels feels responsible for this forest, probably
because his grandfather used to be the ranger here and always took
him along. He thinks he has to watch, so nobody does any damage out
here.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately he used to hassle people every now and then, and they’d then complain to the ranger.”
Max was frowning again. Why had Tobias Behnke not told him
about this man? Before he could ask, Barsfeld continued, “But that was a while ago, when we still had the old ranger. Tobias has only been here three years or so. The previous one threatened Niels a few times that he would ban him from the forest if he continued to pester people. After that it was quiet for a while, but then he was at it again. These past few years, though, Niels has been quieter again. He’s not getting any younger, you know.”
Max looked to the undergrowth where the weird fellow had disap-
peared. “Has he ever been violent?” he asked, but Barsfeld shook his head.
“Not as far as I know. He doesn’t like to be touched, but all he did himself was pester people, and the way he’s behaving . . . Well, you’ve seen him, how unkempt and dirty he is . . . That scared people.”
Max was pensive. It was possible that, even if he hadn’t struck any
blows, Niels Hinrichsen might have witnessed Philip Birkner being
beaten to death. “How do you know that he’s in the woods at night,
as well?”
“From the old ranger. Herr Wiebert often saw him. He lived in the
forester’s lodge. Even the young one mentioned two or three times that 117
Maria C. Poets
he’d seen an odd bird sneaking through the woods.” Barsfeld shrugged.
“After a while, you know pretty much everyone who lurks in such a
small area.”
The two men made their way back to the forestry office. Max asked
Barsfeld whether he or his colleagues had noticed anything unusual
recently or in the days before the murder, but the gaunt man shook his head and only confirmed what the ranger had already said on Friday.
“We’re working at the other end at the moment.” He gestured vaguely
toward the west. “On the other side of the street.” He smiled. “Seems the forest isn’t that small, after all.”
It turned out that Tanja Fischer worked at a large ad agency in the
center of Hamburg. When Lina finally reached her at the number they
had found on Birkner’s phone, a woman with a pleasant, matter-of-
fact voice answered. She said she couldn’t get away from work at the moment, but was prepared to meet briefly in one of the company’s
conference rooms. Since Lina didn’t want to tell her on the phone what it was all about, she agreed and half an hour later was standing in front of a new, modern building with a glass facade and a fountain in the
lobby.
Tanja Fischer was tall and slim. She wore a miniskirt, blouse, and
pumps and greeted Lina with a strong handshake when she met her at
the reception desk. She had a short, asymmetrical haircut and bright blue eyes hidden behind small glasses with strikingly dark frames. Lina thought about the description of the woman in the Waldschänke. It
obviously hadn’t been Tanja Fischer.
The conference room was cool and functionally furnished: parquet
floor, a huge table of blond wood, simple but comfortable chairs. Tanja Fischer gestured for Lina to have a seat and then sat down across from 118
Dead Woods
her. She put her cell phone on the table and slid a business card toward her.
“Frau Fischer, you know Philip Birkner, don’t you?” Lina began.
The woman seemed to hesitate for a tiny moment, but then nodded.