at her boss, who at least had the decency to look away. He was busy!
Sure! Counting the pages of a report? Something equally important?
Furiously, she slammed the door behind her.
The interrogation rooms where Sebastian had the boys brought were
in the basement. Each was sparsely furnished, without windows, with
three chairs and a table safely screwed into the floor, video cameras in 130
Dead Woods
the corners, and spy-holes on the doors. In front of one of the rooms, Sebastian was loudly quarreling with two colleagues in uniform.
“Man, Sebastian, get a hold of yourself,” Lina heard one of them
say. She didn’t know him very well: Stefan Melzer, a calm man with a mustache, approaching sixty, who could easily have played the part of the kind neighborhood policeman in a TV spot. Lina didn’t know the
second officer, a younger man, at all.
“The little shit kicked me again, damn it! I can’t just let that slide!”
Sebastian cried out.
“My god, the boy’s fourteen! You can’t slap him around like he’s a
thug from the Reeperbahn.”
Sebastian shook off his colleague’s hand and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. He looked up and saw Lina watching the scene,
arms crossed.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped.
“Hanno sent me. I’m supposed to help you.” She added sarcasti-
cally, “In case you can’t handle the kids.”
“Thanks, I can manage on my own.”
“Sure, by beating them up.”
“I didn’t beat anyone up.”
The two men in uniform looked away. The younger one looked at
the floor and Stefan Melzer studied the ceiling.
“Now fuck off.” Sebastian spat at her. He had a look on his face
that made her think he wouldn’t mind slapping her around a bit, as
well.
“Sebastian, cut the crap! I was sent here to question the boys and
that’s what I’m going to do,” Lina said and took a deep breath. “Now, chill out. Grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, take a short break, and then—”
“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” he said. His face
was red and the arteries in his neck were bulging. “Since you’re dying to do it, why don’t you go in and have the asshole shellac you? Have 131
Maria C. Poets
fun!” With that he took off, flung open the door to the next room, and slammed it noisily behind him.
Lina stared after him, frowning, and then looked at Melzer, who
shrugged. He wasn’t going to tell her what had happened here. Lina
swallowed her anger and asked. “And who is that dangerous thug?”
Stefan Melzer scratched his head. “Marcel Niemann, fourteen. He
was picked up once before, a few months ago, when he was hanging
out with some other youngsters. They were running wild at the Tibarg Center, stole stuff and harassed customers.” He pointed with his head at the heavy steel door. “Last Thursday he was at it again. Well, you saw the video from the station. It looks as if he’s the ringleader now, even though he’s the youngest.”
“Any specific offenses?”
Melzer shook his head. “So far we can’t prove anything.” He
shrugged. “It’s probably a matter of time.”
“How about drugs?”
“We found some dope on his buddies. He had only cigarettes.”
Lina didn’t believe that the kid would politely decline when a joint went around. It was either a lucky break or he had set up the others.
“Has Sebastian questioned him already?”
Melzer shook his head. “No. The kid made such a fuss when
we arrested him that we let him stew for a while.” He stopped for a
moment. “When Sebastian went in, the whole ruckus started again.”
Lina nodded. “What was the name again?” she asked, her hand
already on the door handle.
“Marcel Niemann.”
The name sounded familiar to her and she mentally scrolled
through the list of witnesses in the Birkner case. She remembered
Evelyn Riemann, the state councilor. Maybe she was misled by the
similarity of the names.
She entered and shook her head when the young policeman
wanted to follow her. “Just let it be. Wait outside, okay?” Her colleague 132
Dead Woods
shrugged and retreated. He hadn’t once opened his mouth this whole
time.
Marcel Niemann slouched in his chair, held his hand to his left
cheek, and scowled at Lina. Lina could see a vivid red area under his hand. Sebastian had really hit him hard, even though the youngster
was of slight build and only a few inches taller than Lina. Quite frail, actually, which meant that the kid must have street smarts if Melzer’s assumption was right that he had become the boss of the Niendorfer
gang. The term Niendorf set off a lightbulb. Antje Niemann—she was that witness from the Waldschänke whom Lina had visited and questioned at home.