heavy iron door next to her was moving. Then it creaked and the moment, that precious moment,
was gone. Irate, she spun around, prepared to see Sebastian storming in, but it was just a colleague in uniform who flung open the door,
looked from Lina to Marcel and back to her, tersely mumbled, “Sorry,”
and slammed the door again.
135
Maria C. Poets
Lina was boiling inside but tried not to let on. But the teenager’s
defense systems were up once again. Again, he didn’t care about any-
thing; let them lock him up for murder. How cool was that, yo. He
even looked at her again, his head slightly tilted, his mouth down-
turned, as if he couldn’t take this short specimen of a cop sitting in front of him seriously anyhow.
Lina studied the slender boy. She remembered his mother, who
obviously couldn’t handle him. What about the father, she asked her-
self, not saying it out loud since she was quite sure that the answer would be another shrug of his shoulders. She couldn’t detain the
youngster, didn’t even want to, so she had no choice. She got up with a sigh, nodded, and said, “Okay, that’s it.”
She went to the door. When she turned around, the teenager was
still sitting in his chair, arms crossed and lips pressed together. “Are you coming? I’m bringing you home.” That way she could check his alibi
with his mother, maybe have a chance to talk to Antje Niemann briefly, possibly prevent something, or maybe change or improve . . . Marcel
stared at her with a wrinkled brow and tried to digest what she had
said. Bring him home? To his mom? He wasn’t going to the slammer?
Shrugging, he got up. Cops—go figure. One clobbers you, the next
sucks up to you until you almost soften—and then she even drives you home. Let’s hope with flashing blue lights, yo. Otherwise the whole
thing isn’t worth it.
Not a single peep came out of the boy on the entire way out of the
station. Not in the elevator when Lina called Hanno on her cell phone and also not when she checked herself and the teen out at the front
desk. He stood next to her with knit brows while she was signing the release papers and when the clerk buzzed them out. As they crossed the parking lot toward her car, one could have mistaken them for siblings: Lina, the little sister, trotting half a step behind her brother. Only the hand on his elbow when she discreetly steered him in the right direction marred that picture. Marcel still hadn’t said a word. He looked 136
Dead Woods
to the ground, but Lina knew he was checking the surroundings for
possible escape routes. Well, that’s par for the course. She pretended not to notice but was prepared if he bolted. She had already clicked the remote to unlock her car when Marcel tore away and tried to run for
it. Lina caught up with him immediately and grabbed hold of him.
“Better stay here! We’ll drive now . . . Shoot!”
A hard kick against her shin did only a little damage since she
moved away at the last moment. A half turn, a sidekick. He wanted to land a punch, but she grabbed his arm and then the kid was sprawling across the hood of her car.
“Poor aim! And can’t you think of anything else but a kick in the
shin?” She let go of him with a sigh. “Come on.” The boy straightened himself, a sullen expression on his face. “You really think we’re that stupid? Don’t you know most cops practice martial arts?”
“Lina Svenson, working tirelessly to fight crime!” The voice behind
her made her spin around. Max, having witnessed this little scene, was leaning on a nearby car. She stuck out her tongue and turned back
to Marcel. He was wiping off his hands and trotting to the passenger door, which Lina held open for him.
“So what have you been doing?” she asked Max, who had come
over. He gave a brief recap of his conversation with Niels Hinrichsen in the Niendorfer Gehege.
“What about the kid?” he said in a low voice, pointing to the teen
who was curiously surveying the inside of the car. “Is he one of the dangerous subway thugs?”
Lina nodded. “He’s just a little twerp at the moment, but that can
change fast. I don’t believe he has anything to do with Birkner, but if we don’t watch out, he’ll be back upstairs at the precinct in a few years.” By upstairs she meant the homicide division. She looked at Max pensively as if she had to