Broken Glass

  OTHER TITLES BY ALEXANDER HARTUNG

  Until the Debt is Paid (Jan Tommen Book 1)

  Grave Intent (Jan Tommen Book 2)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Alexander Hartung

  Translation copyright © 2019 by Fiona Beaton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Auf zerbrochenem Glas by Edition M, Amazon Media EU S.à r.l. in Luxembourg in 2018. Translated from German by Fiona Beaton. First published in English by Thomas & Mercer in collaboration with Amazon Crossing in 2019.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, in collaboration with Amazon Crossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, Thomas & Mercer and Amazon Crossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542093484

  ISBN-10: 1542093481

  Cover design by @blacksheep-uk.com

  First edition

  For Miriam,

  thank you for all your hard work.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Prologue

  The sight of the dead girl brought him nothing but sorrow. She had been beautiful once, with kind eyes and long brown hair that fell over slight shoulders. He remembered the way she used to laugh and the excitement in her voice when she would talk about future plans: dreams of a better life, of a family and of getting old. All gone now. Ended by the slash of a knife. Although looking at the many wounds on her body, he couldn’t tell which had been the fatal blow.

  He gently brushed her long hair out of her face, crossed her hands over her chest and closed her eyes before zipping up the black body bag.

  It was a peaceful place to be laid to rest. Away from the city, beside a magnificent spruce, on a hill with views of the Alps. But she deserved better than this. Better than a brutal death and a nameless grave without a cross, where flowers would never be laid. Somewhere, he knew, somebody would miss her. Parents, friends or people from university. But nobody would ever find out how she met her fate. The traces had been too thoroughly wiped and the people behind it were too powerful.

  This wasn’t the first woman he’d had to bury here, and while he could never get used to it, a long time had passed since he’d had a choice. He needed the job too much and was by now far too involved to be able to leave.

  It started to rain. A soft, whispering rain, as if heaven was weeping at the loss of an angel. A cold wind was stirring and it pushed and pulled at the leaves. Shivering, he did up his jacket, rolled the bag into the grave and shovelled the earth on top. He said a prayer, just as he had with the others, hoping that this would be the last. But he knew deep down his pleas would once again go unheard.

  Chapter 1

  It was the perfect place for an ambush. Down a small side street, hidden from the glow of the streetlight, and outside a derelict block of flats where a homeless man sometimes slept. The windows on the ground floor had all been boarded up, preventing anyone from looking into the building’s cold and forgotten rooms. Flurries of snowflakes were waltzing in the cold January wind, savouring their last moments before melting in the brown sludge on the pavements.

  Despite the lining in his boots, the cold crept up Nik’s legs, making him shiver. A cigarette was anchored in the corner of his mouth and he was rubbing his hands together. The pockets in his leather jacket could no longer keep his fingers warm. He closed his eyes and tried to filter out the noise of passing cars, concentrating on the few people out walking on a cold Monday evening.

  He heard heavy boots and the hectic scurrying of paws. The loud click-clack of high heels and the careful steps of a man in loafers, swearing at his smooth leather soles. Nik sucked hard on his cigarette and let the smoke flow through his body, relishing the moment of warmth.

  He then heard the tell-tale squeaking of trainers. Each step accompanied by the sound of a neck chain clinking off someone’s chest. The man started to laugh loudly, attempting to impress his friends, and Nik’s suspicions were confirmed: it was the guy he was waiting for. He opened his eyes, flicked away his cigarette and peered up the alleyway. The group was moving closer.

  As luck would have it, Nik’s man was walking on the side nearest to him. In one swift move, Nik rammed his elbow into the man’s chin, making him fall to the ground. The other three men jumped back in shock and one went to reach inside his jacket. But Nik was already raising his gun.

  ‘What was that for?’ screamed one of the men. He was pointing at the man rolling around on the ground.

  Nik was cold and had no desire to talk to drug-dealing scum. He pointed the gun at the guy who’d spoken. ‘Five seconds.’ Nik applied some pressure to the trigger. ‘After that, I’ll start shooting.’

  In less than five seconds the three men were out of Nik’s sight. Satisfied, he put away his gun and heaved up the groaning man by his hair. His mohawk was covered in hairspray and snow, making it stick to Nik’s hand. At the sides of his head was a tattoo of a spider’s web that spread all the way around to his forehead. He had countless piercings, from his eyebrows down to his bottom lip. He tried to get away, but Nik’s grip was unrelenting as he slammed him against the wall.

  ‘What the fuck, Pohl?’ blared the young man. ‘I don’t have any coke on me.’

  ‘Inspector Pohl to you, Paddy,’ replied Nik. ‘And I don’t give a fuck where your coke is. I want to know who’s selling it for you.’

  ‘Ah, man! Is this about that cripple, Justin, again?’

  Nik threw Paddy a heavy punch to the stomach. He gasped loudly and looked at Nik with wide, wet eyes. If Nik hadn’t still been holding him up by his hair, he would have been doubled over on the ground again.

  ‘Call him a cripple one more time and I’ll smash your head till you forget your own fucking name.’

  ‘What d’you want?’ Paddy begged.

  ‘I want you to stop hiring kids.’

  ‘Justin came to me,’ he cried.

  ‘Stop fucking me about.’ Nik pushed him even harder against the wall.

  ‘It’s true!’ Paddy screamed. ‘One of my guys brought him in two weeks ago. Justin said there was loads of cokeheads on his estate, so I gave him a couple of bags.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Twenty,’ said Paddy. ‘Two days later, it was all gone so I gave him his share. And after seeing the money, he wanted to do it again . . . so I gave him another twenty. I didn’t make him do anything.’

  ‘Do you know what happens to someone if they get caught with that much coke on them?’

  ‘Justin’s got a clean record and he’s still a minor,’ remarked Paddy. ‘They can’t touch him.’

  Nik pushed the man’s legs out from underneath him and slammed him into the grimy, wet sludge. ‘Get the drugs back from Justin and leave him alone. ’Cau
se if you don’t, Paddy, you’ll be begging me to let you crawl away the next time I find you.’

  Without another glance in the man’s direction, Nik crossed the street and headed towards his local. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to sleep, so he may as well grab a couple of beers and catch a bit of the Premier League.

  He kicked at a slushy mound of snow in frustration. He’d known it wouldn’t be long before Justin was tempted into dealing. His mother barely had enough money to buy him clothes, let alone a mobile phone or a PlayStation. Not even for Christmas. And anyway, living on Munich’s Neuperlach estate meant it was only a question of time before he turned to crime.

  The snow was getting worse. As a child, Nik had loved this time of year. He’d fetch his sledge from the basement and head over to Olympia Hill with his friends after school. They’d sledge down it until it got dark, over and over again, even after they’d started to shiver. Nowadays, the snow was just a hassle. It caused traffic jams and found its way through even the most waterproof of shoes. Nik zipped up his jacket and lowered his head, swearing under his breath as he made his way along the street.

  ‘Do you sleep in those clothes as well?’ a woman’s voice called out behind him.

  ‘Not now, Mira,’ Nik moaned. ‘I just got off a horrible shift. My appearance is the last thing on my mind.’

  The woman caught up with him. She was wrapped up warm in a winter jacket, scarf and hat. Her long brown hair sat full and thick under the rim of her hat. She had a small face with a childlike nose and strikingly pale, almost flawless skin. He used to call her Dolly because everything about her reminded him of a porcelain doll.

  ‘There’s a hairdresser opposite your flat, you know,’ she said, eyeing Nik as he pushed his black hair away from his face yet again.

  ‘No time,’ he replied impatiently.

  ‘Yeah, or for a shave either, I see.’ She looked disapprovingly at his dark, unkempt beard, scattered with flecks of grey.

  ‘What do you want, Mira?’

  ‘I want you to buy new shoes.’ She pointed down at his worn-out boots and the sodden shoelaces trailing along the ground. ‘Or at least just do up your laces in this weather.’

  ‘I can take them off more easily this way,’ Nik said defensively. ‘And I hate laces. So until my favourite boots come with Velcro, I’ll just have to walk around like this.’ He sighed loudly. ‘But I’m sensing shoes aren’t the real reason you cornered me.’

  ‘You’re a policeman, Nik,’ she admonished. ‘You can’t just go around threatening people with your gun or beating them up.’ She made no attempt to mask her accusing tone.

  ‘So how else d’you suppose I get Paddy to leave Justin alone?’ asked Nik. ‘With a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates?’

  ‘Oh, come on. You must’ve learned plenty about non-violent methods at police college.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Loads of theory,’ he agreed. ‘But the police are treated much worse than the authors of those books like to think.’

  She raised her left eyebrow and pressed her lips together, like she always did when she wasn’t satisfied with Nik’s excuses.

  ‘Let me tell you a little bit about Justin,’ he said. ‘His father was a notorious criminal who got his girlfriend pregnant when he was out on day parole. Two weeks later, he got shot robbing a bank. Justin’s mother only realised she was pregnant five months later. She quit drinking immediately, but it was too late. Her son was already harmed. Not that a deformed hand is the worst of Justin’s problems.’ He turned to Mira. ‘And his mother’s always been on benefits. All in all, he’s had a pretty awful start in life, if you ask me. So I don’t think looking out for him a bit is such a bad thing, do you?’

  ‘And beating up an infamous drug dealer is what you call looking out for someone? If you want to help him, why don’t you take him to school so he can finally learn to read properly? Or sort out a job for his mum so she doesn’t have to sell her body.’

  He turned his back on Mira. ‘Jennifer might have messed up her life but she’s a good mum. She could have just had an abortion or put him up for adoption like everybody was telling her to do. But she didn’t. And ever since, she’s been battling with social services so they don’t take him off her.’

  ‘And why these two?’ asked Mira. ‘There are loads of families around here with issues. Why did you specifically seek out the most hopeless one?’

  Nik shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘This boy, Justin. He reminds you of you when you were young,’ she finally concluded.

  Nik frowned. ‘I might not be the brightest one in my family, but I don’t have attention deficit, and I’m not particularly hyperactive. Plus, my dad didn’t rob any banks.’

  ‘But you do know what it’s like growing up without a dad. All those things he never did – you’re trying to compensate with Justin.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for a therapy session, Mira,’ said Nik. ‘I just don’t want Justin to think crime is the only way he can make something of his life. He might have a disability, but he’s got opportunities.’ He turned towards her. ‘Look, don’t take this personally, but you just don’t get it. It’s not like you learn a lot about life on the street by studying art history and working as a gallery assistant.’

  ‘I don’t need to know about the streets to see that you’re ruining yourself.’

  ‘Ruining myself how?’ He was annoyed now. ‘Because I wear a tatty old leather jacket? Or because I’ve got food stains on my jeans?’

  ‘OK. Let’s start with your lack of sleep,’ continued Mira. ‘When was the last time you slept for more than four hours? That’s if you sleep at all anymore.’

  ‘I’m on an early tomorrow.’ Nik was getting even more frustrated. ‘I start at five thirty. No one is properly rested when they have to get up at four after working a twelve-hour shift the day before.’

  ‘So you mean you’re working early and instead of getting some rest, you’re on your way to the pub to watch football and drink beer?’

  ‘You might not believe it, Mira, but lots of people actually call that relaxing.’

  ‘Yeah, people who want cirrhosis.’

  Nik sighed. He hated Mira’s constant warnings and clever comments about everything he did. If it was up to her, he’d be working for the road safety department, eating vegetables and drinking green tea.

  Thankfully, they’d reached the bar, so he could end this conversation. ‘Bye now, Mira,’ he said, raising his hand. ‘I’m off to get drunk.’

  The game had already started when he got inside. He sat down at a small table and gave the barmaid a wave. Had he paid more attention, he would have noticed the man outside the pub, watching him arrive.

  Nik groaned as the Leicester goalkeeper picked up the ball from the goal for a third time. The easy days from the previous season were gone and the only thing left was the shadow of a surprise title in the Premier League. Downing his beer in one, Nik simultaneously signalled the barmaid to bring him another. As he turned back to watch the game, a man sat down at his table. The first thing Nik noticed was his short, dyed-blonde hair, sticking straight up. The man’s winter jacket was undone and Nik could see his large stomach protruding out of a black woollen jumper. The man’s lips parted in an unnerving smile, revealing a set of bright white teeth. His nose was small and he had thin lips, more like those of a dainty woman, and his eyebrows were uneven, as if he’d tried to pluck them after a bottle of schnapps.

  ‘Seat’s taken.’ Nik kept his eyes fixed on the large TV screen as he picked out a small pretzel from a bowl on the table.

  ‘This won’t take long,’ said the man in a deep voice. ‘My name’s Jonathan but for as long as I can remember people have called me Jon.’

  ‘Fuck off, Jon.’ Nik crunched on his pretzel, eyes still on the TV.

  ‘Oh . . . Inspector Pohl. Did nobody teach you any manners at police college?’

  Nik took the man in. He never forgot a face and the one looking back at him wasn’t one he’d
seen before. He looked at the rest of him: the gaudy hair certainly didn’t belong to a CID officer, and his Apple Watch wasn’t flashy enough for your typical dealer or pimp. His fingernails had been bitten right back, and his teeth were far too straight and white to be natural. His jumper looked like cashmere and his winter jacket, much like his watch, was more practical than fashionable. His skin was so pale it looked like he hadn’t ventured outside in years, and he was sucking on a peppermint as though he was trying to mask his bad breath. Looking back at his eyes, Nik could see no signs of excessive drinking, and the man’s non-dilated pupils and steady hands didn’t indicate drug use. But there was a waft of garlic and fried chillies, which Nik put down to cheap Asian fast food. That would explain the mints, he supposed.

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Actually, you do,’ answered Jon. ‘I was down at the police station four weeks ago. But I was wearing a wig and glasses at the time. And I had a full beard.’

  Nik tried to remember a man of this description. It finally came to him. ‘Oh yeah, you were that fat piece of shit who sat beside my desk for half a day. Lost a fair bit of weight since then, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I was padded up in a few places. I’ve actually put on weight.’

  ‘Only people with something to hide change their appearance.’

  ‘My anonymity is very important to me and there are too many cameras at the station. And vigilant police officers,’ said Jon. ‘But I wasn’t there because of me . . .’

  ‘. . . But because of a missing woman whose case is closed and filed.’ Nik remembered the case. He reached for another pretzel and lobbed it in his mouth. ‘And if I remember correctly, my colleague, Danilo, told you back then what that means.’

  ‘Yeah, he did. Before I asked him for the case to be reopened.’

  ‘Oh, and why was that?’ asked Nik. ‘Because of a false statement? Or official misconduct from the judge? Or maybe a violation of the European Convention on Human Rights?’

  ‘No, none of those,’ answered Jon. ‘It was because if someone would just put the effort in, then they might throw a whole new light on this case.’