car, Lina plugged her phone into the hands-free equip-
ment, started the car, and called the number of the biologist. It rang five times before someone answered. A woman’s voice responded hesitantly, “Yes?”
“Frau Leyhausen? This is Lina Svenson, from Major Crimes,
Hamburg. I’m investigating the murder in the Niendorfer Gehege—
I’m sure you heard of it—and would like to ask you a few questions.”
Silence. Then falteringly again, “What would you like to know?”
Lina turned into the Grindelallee, which leads directly to Niendorf, even though the name changes a few times. “If I understood correctly, you’re mapping the terrain there right now. This might be a strange
question, but have you noticed any plants that have been replanted by someone?”
Silence again. Through the speakers, Lina could hear the noise of
an airplane that must be flying over the forest right now. “Are you still there, Frau Leyhausen?”
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Dead Woods
The woman on the other end of the line cleared her throat. “I’m
here. And, yes,” she added, “I’ve seen plants like that.”
Lina’s heart was pounding. Something in the woman’s voice irri-
tated her. She pressed down harder on the gas pedal. “Frau Leyhausen, I’m on my way to the Niendorfer Gehege. Could we possibly meet
there and could you show me the spots?”
“What do you mean?” Franka Leyhausen asked.
“Well, I mean that we meet and then go together—”
“I don’t mean you,” Frau Leyhausen interrupted. “I’m standing at
the place where it happened and I also know who . . . NO!” The last
word was just a cry. There was crunching and cracking and then the
line went dead.
Lina grabbed the blue light she kept handy and put it on the roof of her private car, turned on the siren, and stepped on the gas. Cars moved to the right lane, except for an idiot in a black Audi who didn’t get it.
She had to swerve to the opposite lane, where a silver Mercedes just barely avoided disaster. She hit a red on Siemersplatz, but instead of waiting for the cars in front to make room for her, she raced forward in the right-turn lane, scrambled over a small traffic isle, and turned, tires squealing, back onto Kollaustrasse. When she could drive more
or less unhampered after the crossing, she radioed for backup. Luckily, she had the exact location where she wanted her colleagues to go. Then she called Hanno and gave him a brief report. The GPS directed her
toward a relief road on the left and then through roads that became
increasingly narrow, until she finally ended up directly at the Kollau, next to a railway underpass and couldn’t drive any farther. Cursing, she jumped out of the car and started to run—following the footpath between Kollau and the railroad embankment, across a narrow
bridge, and then to the right for a while on top of an old fortification.
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Maria C. Poets
A woman out for a walk watched her curiously, but Lina paid her no
mind. She was breathing regularly and despite her short legs, bushes and trees just flew by. The whole time, she was wondering what the hell was going on.
A few feet away from the spot where Philip Birkner had lain dead
in the underbrush four days ago, she saw a man and a woman wrestling with each other. Closely entangled, they were rolling from the gravel path into a green area, until the woman was under him. It seemed that the man had his hands around her neck. When Lina was about forty
yards away, she saw the woman pick up a fist-sized stone and hit the man on the head with it. She heard a muffled scream and then was
close enough to see blood trickling out of a wound on his temple. The woman was screaming and about to hit again.
Lina seized the man by the collar and pulled him away. He was
tall but gaunt, and he offered no resistance but collapsed silently. The woman—Lina assumed that it was Franziska Leyhausen—was still
screaming, her eyes closed. Lina grabbed her hand and cautiously
removed the stone.
“What’s going on here?” Lina asked.
When Lina looked up, she saw a young man rush toward her. He
had some kind of municipal insignia on his jacket, so she assumed
he was the forest ranger. “I’m working in crime prevention,” she said.
When she saw his puzzled face, she added, “Lina Svenson, Major
Crimes, Hamburg.” She motioned with her head to the man lying
motionless on the ground. “Could you please take care of this man?”
The hair of the man on the ground was medium length, gray, and
grungy. He wore a green jacket and green trousers, so that