Blood Ties Read online

  ALSO BY

  ALEXANDER HARTUNG

  Nik Pohl Series

  Broken Glass

  Jan Tommen Series

  Until the Debt is Paid

  Grave Intent

  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 © 2019 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 Vom Gleichen Blut by Edition M, Amazon Media EU S.à r.l. in Luxembourg in 2019. Translated from German by Fiona Beaton. First published in English by Amazon Crossing in 2019.

  Published by Amazon Crossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

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

  ISBN-13: 9781542015837

  ISBN-10: 1542015839

  Cover design by @blacksheep-uk.com

  First edition

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Prologue

  The pain in her lower abdomen made her eyes water. Blood ran down her inner thigh, all the way to her bare feet. Her hospital gown flapped around her, exposing her back. The only source of warmth was the hand towel she had quickly grabbed and thrown over her shoulders. Step after cautious step, she placed her feet on to the cool lino. Making a noise wasn’t an option: the women’s hospital was always deserted at this time of night and the men would notice every sound.

  The baby in her arms was sleeping. Wrapped up warm in a blanket, a woollen hat on its head and shoes on its little feet. A tiny new human being. Helpless and fragile. And the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Nothing in the world was more important than this child.

  It had been a difficult birth, with the contractions lasting seven hours. But when she had looked into her baby’s eyes for the first time, all the suffering had vanished. Any pain and fear forgotten. And as the child had lain on her chest, looking up at her, she’d been powerless to hold back her tears.

  She had only been asleep for two hours when her phone rang. Just once, as had been discussed, and the flashing moment of joy was gone. She pulled the tube out of her hand, twisted out of bed and lifted the child from its cot. And then, as a night nurse was called into another room, she set off.

  She had already carried out a thorough search of the hospital months before the birth: locating emergency exits and following dark basement corridors that led outside. And now the time had come to put her knowledge to use. She made no attempt to use the main entrance or to see if the side door was clear. There was every chance the men were waiting there for her.

  Every metre was torture and the staircase in front of her seemed to stretch down endlessly. So she concentrated on one step at a time, until she finally reached the ground floor. She slipped through a side door into a small room where she knew there was an unlocked window and climbed up on to the slim ledge. Clenching her teeth, she squeezed both herself and the child through the narrow opening, suppressing an excruciating need to scream. Once on the other side, she sat down and let herself fall to the ground. The rain had stopped but the grass still felt damp underneath her feet. With its rectangular lawns, the hospital’s inner courtyard resembled a small park, and the only light came from the glinting stars in the clear sky above. A fountain splashed softly and invitingly. How she would have loved to sit on a bench and listen to the water as it whispered. But there wasn’t a second to spare.

  She squeezed the sleeping child tightly to her chest one more time and kissed its head, taking in every curve and dip of its face: the small lips, the peaceful eyes and the tiny nose. It was an image she would never forget. Then she knelt down and carefully placed the mini bundle underneath a bench. Dawn wasn’t far off and the park was starting to show signs of life. Some birds had started to sing and a squirrel was scurrying up an oak tree. The early risers among the patients would soon want to stretch their legs and the nurses would need a quiet place to smoke. Someone would find the baby and give it a better life than she could. Away from violence and fear and suffering.

  She was struck by another spasm in her abdomen. Standing, bent double, she clenched her fists. Blood started running more heavily down her thighs and she realised her legs wouldn’t be able to carry her for much longer. But for as long as they could, she would draw those men away from here; away from that hospital, and away from her child, whom she loved so dearly.

  Chapter 1

  The bar’s interior was alluring. High leather stools stood before a dark cherry-wood bar, while to the back of it were towering mirrored shelves, stocked with expensive single-malt whisky. Each of the small tables was occupied and a Premier League game was playing on a television. The game’s commentary had been turned off and in its place rolled the smoky tones of Tom Waits, telling the story of a prostitute from Minneapolis. At one of the tables, deep within the bar’s dusky yellow light, an attractive red-headed woman moved sedately with the melancholic music. Her eyes were closed and she held a tumbler of ice in her hand. Jon had always enjoyed coming here, but not anymore. Nowadays, he didn’t like to be around other people. Come to think of it, he didn’t even like venturing out of his flat and only did so if he really had to. But the informant he was meeting today was of the old school. Details were never given over the phone and emails and texts were strictly avoided. As such, the only option left had been to meet face-to-face in a public place. Jon sat down at the bar, ordered an eighteen-year-old Talisker and picked a pretzel stick from a glass.

  ‘I don’t have much time,’ came a voice from behind him; a voice so deep and raspy, it would have made for a perfect duet with Mr Waits himself. An older man sat down beside him, drink in hand. His creased, bearded face told of a life of alcohol, and his hair, shaggy and grey, hung down to the frames of his dark sunglasses. He looked older than his forty-nine years.

  ‘And I don’t want to be here long,’ replied Jon, passing the man an envelope under the bar.

  ‘You asked me to look out for strange cases and incidents at the police,’ said the man, accepting the envelope with trembling fingers.

  ‘That’s right. Not everything gets uploaded on to the CID server,’ said Jon as the bartender set down his whisky in front of him. ‘So I need someone on the inside.’

  ‘And why are you so interested in these cases?’

  ‘Sometimes, there are lines that the CID can’t cross and that’s when I come into play. To right some wrongs, you might say.’

  ‘And how do you do that?’

  ‘Probably best you don’t know.’

  The man emptied his glass in one gulp, clearly in need of the courage. The ice cubes clinked as he placed his glass back on the bar. ‘Did you hear about the abduction of the girl this evening?’

  J
on nodded. ‘It’s the top news story.’

  ‘Well, it’s normally Unit 11 that deals with abduction and extortion. But people from Unit 7 and homicide were also at the meeting.’

  ‘What do corporate and homicide have to do with abduction?’ asked Jon.

  ‘That’s exactly what a lot of us are asking,’ answered the man. ‘But nobody on the case will say a word.’

  ‘OK, so there’s more to the abduction than they’re making public?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘And d’you know why?’

  The man shook his head. ‘As I said, nobody’s talking. It’s as if the chief of police has imposed a vow of silence.’

  ‘Does this kind of thing happen a lot?’

  ‘Not in recent years.’

  Jon stood up and put down a twenty-euro note on the bar top. ‘Thanks for the tip,’ he said, sliding his untouched glass to the informant. He then made his way to the U-Bahn.

  Accessing the CID server to download details about the abduction wouldn’t be a problem, but after that, he’d need someone well versed in working dubious cases. Luckily, he had just the man for the job.

  It was a heavenly Saturday afternoon. Nik raised his face to the seamless sky and let the rays warm his skin. He was sitting in Munich’s Olympic Stadium, watching the rugby match between Germany and Argentina. Every bleacher was full and the atmosphere topped that of many a football game he had watched at the Allianz Arena. The spectators were a diverse bunch, clearly stemming from all corners of the world. In the row in front of him was a group of Fijians, who were dancing with a man sporting the green South African Springboks shirt. Then beside them, complete with sun-scorched faces, were three men from England, bawling and bumping jovially with plastic beer glasses in their hands. A German player on the right-hand side of the pitch caught the ball and started bolting towards the try line. Everybody sprang out of their seats.

  ‘Come o-o-o-on!’ cried a man dressed as a banana two seats down. A bull-necked Argentinian was now running after the German but it was no good. The ball was passed right to another German player, who then dived gloriously into the end zone.

  ‘Ye-e-e-a-ah! Fantastic try!’ screamed the banana. A woman to the right of Nik, dressed as Pippi Longstocking, hugged him in ecstasy. The mood in the stadium was intoxicating and Nik couldn’t help but laugh and reciprocate the hug.

  The commentator’s voice sounded loudly over the stadium speakers. ‘Twelve-nil to our home team, ladies and gentlemen.’ Music started to play and more people jumped up to dance in the stands. Just as Nik was raising his glass to the English trio, his mobile started to vibrate in his breast pocket. He pushed his way through the elated masses and managed to find a small clearing where the music was slightly quieter.

  ‘Hello, Jon. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Hi, Nik. Sorry to bother you . . . I know you’re at the rugby, but something’s been on my mind since yesterday evening.’

  ‘Let’s have it then.’ Nik moved further away from the crowds.

  ‘Did you hear about the abduction of fourteen-year-old Greta Grohnert?’

  ‘Hard to avoid it,’ replied Nik, before taking a swig of beer. ‘Only story the press seem to care about at the moment. Abducted yesterday evening from her home. I read a special commission’s been set up and the search is in full swing. Child abductions are never good news but I can’t say I noticed anything particularly unusual about the case.’

  ‘Did you know that the family’s chauffeur was shot during the abduction?’ asked Jon.

  Nik let out a high-pitched whistle. ‘No, I didn’t. Where did you hear that?’

  ‘An informant told me about a few discrepancies with the case so I downloaded the files from the CID server . . . I’ve still got back-door access.’

  ‘Right, well, that level of violence isn’t typical for an abduction,’ commented Nik, ‘and certainly doesn’t suggest it was down to some kind of internal family conflict. And it also doesn’t sound like some random kiddie-snatcher who just happened to be passing.’

  ‘Yeah, well, whoever it was put a lot of effort into planning it,’ added Jon. ‘And victims rarely get out of that kind of abduction unscathed. If at all.’

  ‘The CID were smart to keep that piece of information to themselves,’ said Nik. ‘Was there a ransom note?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Jon. ‘And that’s the next odd thing about the case.’

  ‘OK, listen, I’m heading home.’ Nik placed his glass on the ground and started making his way out of the stadium. ‘Send me everything you’ve got.’

  Nik had considered Jon’s flat his home for a long time now; it had a lot of perks that made it far more attractive than his own place. A large living room with a home cinema projector, access to every streaming service possible, surround sound, a brand-new kitchen with a large fridge and a Salamander broiler – which even Nik could use to cook a steak – and not to mention the cleaning woman who came once a week. And all of that with no rent and no bills. There was no way he would have been able to afford anything close to that with his last job as a CID inspector.

  Nik used the bare white wall in the living room to hang up information on the case. Right at the top was a photo of Greta Grohnert sitting on a garden swing, her face framed by curly brown hair. Her red cheeks and innocent smile might have still been those of a child but her features had already started to hint at the beautiful woman she was to become. To the right of her photo, Nik had written ‘Suspect?’ in red marker. This area of the wall was still bare. Next to that were photos of the Grohnerts’ family home: a two-storey villa, painted bright white, with a pointed roof, upon which solar panels had been mounted. A large balcony projected from the front of the building, looking out on to a garden lined with beech and oak trees. The property was surrounded by a wall of about six feet and at the very front was an entrance gate, made of dark wood.

  Nik’s phone rang. He answered and put the call on speakerphone.

  ‘How far along are you?’ Jon asked.

  ‘I’m just sorting through the first bits of information. Would be good to have a bit more on the sequence of events.’ Nik pinned another photo of the crime scene on to the wall.

  ‘OK,’ Jon began. ‘At 6.37 p.m. the family’s chauffeur set off to take the Grohnerts’ only daughter to ballet class. As the driver was leaving via the gate, the kidnapper shot a bullet through the window. The bullet hit the driver in the temple, causing him to die instantly. The kidnapper proceeded to put the girl into another car before driving away.’

  ‘OK. Let’s go through all those stages bit by bit,’ said Nik. ‘Did the daughter go to this ballet class on a regular basis?’

  ‘Driven there every Friday. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Because an abduction is easier when the target follows a planned routine. The fact the kidnapper was waiting at the gate at exactly that time suggests good planning. The Grohnerts are wealthy and live in an expensive neighbourhood so it’s possible money was the motive.’

  ‘They’re wealthy, but according to the father’s statement, nobody had threatened to do it and he doesn’t owe anyone any money. That’s why he never installed any far-reaching safety precautions at the house. Just the security system. Although it’s no run-of-the-mill security system, I might add.’

  ‘Abductions are only very rarely announced before they are carried out and no businessman has ever owned up to having dubious connections. The father’s statement is of little use.’ Nik pinned the photo of the shattered windscreen to the wall. ‘OK, let’s talk about the weapon. What was used to shoot the driver?’

  ‘According to the autopsy it was an HK P30. The bullet was left in a bad state so it’s hard to tell, but chances are high it was a Heckler & Koch.’

  ‘Then no one would’ve heard the shot.’

  ‘Right. According to the report, nobody did,’ said Jon. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘The P30 loses next to no precision when it’s used with a silencer.
It would have been stupid to attract attention from the whole neighbourhood by making loads of noise. A shot from a P30 without a silencer can be heard two hundred metres away.’ Nik looked at a photo of the dead chauffeur. His head was slumped on top of the steering wheel. The entry wound on the left temple was clearly visible and blood had sprayed on to the headrest, the dashboard and the front window. The fingers on the left hand were still seized up around the steering wheel, while the right hand was on top of the gear stick. ‘The driver’s murder was planned,’ continued Nik. ‘If the kidnapper had threatened him, his head would have been turned to the side and the shot would have been in his forehead, not the temple.’

  ‘The guy sounds pretty ruthless,’ Jon remarked. ‘Not good at all.’

  ‘Any witnesses?’

  ‘A delivery guy had just come out of the house next door. He didn’t hear any shots or see a gun so he didn’t think twice when he saw Greta getting into the VW with a man. He got in touch with the police as soon as he heard the news.’

  ‘Did he see the kidnapper?’

  ‘Only from behind. He described him as particularly tall and slim . . . wearing dark jeans, a sweatshirt and brown trainers. He was dragging his right leg behind him.’

  ‘Number plate?’

  ‘Nope,’ Jon replied. ‘But a search for the car has gone out anyway.’

  ‘For a dark blue VW . . . in Munich?’ Nik asked sceptically. ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘That was the only witness.’

  ‘Six thirty to seven p.m. on a Friday evening . . . in good weather . . . and the only person on the street was a delivery guy?’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘Has the family’s social circle been questioned?’

  ‘According to the interim report, the family’s closest friends were questioned yesterday. And then this morning it was the parents’ work colleagues, Greta’s friends and her school teacher.’ Jon let out a groan of frustration. ‘A whole load of records and not a single bit of new information. They’re all in shock and nobody has a clue why anyone would want to kidnap Greta, or who might have done it.’