Craig Russell - The Valkyrie Song

‘Who is he?’ Fabel examined the name and address written on the note.

‘He’s a doctor of some kind. His name was flagged up when the Norwegian police got a warrant to access Halvorsen’s email account. They could only get what is still in his in-box, uncollected. There was an out-of-office reply from this guy’s email address. The Norwegians knew I was in Hamburg and that there was a possible connection here, so they sent this on to me.’

Fabel checked his watch. Most of the day had been spent at the Drescher crime scene or in briefings. It was now six-thirty p.m. ‘Okay — so you think I should speak to Sparwald? It’ll have to be tomorrow now.’

‘No, I think we should speak to Sparwald, if that’s okay with you.’

Fabel shrugged. ‘I don’t mind you coming along to observe. But please don’t forget whose inquiry this is.’

‘Somehow I don’t think you’ll let me forget,’ said Vestergaard, and smiled.

The address Vestergaard had given Fabel for Sparwald was to the north of the city, in Poppenbuttel, in the Wandsbeck district. Wandsbeck had once been part of Schleswig-Holstein and had only been incorporated into Hamburg at the same time as Altona and even now, sitting on the shores of the Alster River, Poppenbuttel still felt more like a country village than a suburb.

As soon as Fabel and Vestergaard arrived, it was clear that the address they had been given was Sparwald’s place of work rather than residence. SkK BioTech was located in an unobtrusive, low-level building set in an expanse of well-laid-out garden and fringed with winter-bare trees. Five smallish flags flew from poles set next to each other, UN-style, in the garden: the SkK BioTech logo fluttered in the cold breeze next to the flags of the EU, Germany and, Fabel noticed, the white-on-red Nordic cross of Denmark. There was another flag beside it.

‘They must have known you were coming,’ Fabel said to Vestergaard, with a nod to the Danish flag. He looked at the flag next to it. It was a non-national pennant: a white field with a small flared red cross on it.

The small, dumpy receptionist took a while to come to the desk from an office behind. From her reaction, SkK BioTech was not accustomed to visitors, particularly ones without an appointment. Fabel held up his police identity card.

‘We need to speak to Herr Sparwald, if he’s available.’

‘Herr Doctor Sparwald,’ corrected the receptionist. She looked from Fabel to Vestergaard and back. She had the nervousness and vague expression of groundless guilt of someone unaccustomed to dealing with the police. ‘I’m afraid he’s not here. He’s on leave. Another two weeks.’

‘I see…’ Fabel considered his options for a moment. ‘What is it you do here?’

‘I work in the admin department. Deal with correspondence and answer the phones.’

Fabel laughed. ‘I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I meant what does SkK BioTech do, exactly?’

‘Oh…’ The fleshy cheeks of the small receptionist coloured. ‘We work for medical research companies. Herr Doctor Luttig could tell you more. Shall I fetch him?’

‘If that’s not too much trouble,’ said Fabel.

Fabel and Vestergaard exchanged a smile when the receptionist left. She returned with a tall, thin and lugubriously sombre man in his late forties. He was dressed in a white lab coat but, to Fabel’s mind, he had the look of a Lutheran preacher from some remote Frisian island.

‘I’m Thomas Luttig. I believe you are looking for my colleague Ralf Sparwald. Is there a problem?’

Again Fabel held up his ID. ‘I’m Principal Chief Commissar Jan Fabel of the Polizei Hamburg Murder Commission. This is Politidirektor Karin Vestergaard of the Danish National Police.’

‘Murder?’ Luttig’s grave expression became, somehow, graver. ‘What’s this got to do-’

Fabel held up his hand. ‘Please, don’t concern yourself. Nothing at all directly. We’re just helping out our Norwegian colleagues with a few inquiries. I believe Dr Sparwald is on leave?’

‘Yes. He won’t be back for… let me see, he’s been away a week, so he won’t be back for another two and a half weeks,’ said Luttig.

‘That’s a long holiday,’ said Fabel.

‘Yes. It is. I suppose it had to be… China you see. I suppose if you travel that far you’ve got to make it worth your while. Although I really could do with him here… Dr Sparwald is my deputy, you see, as well as being the most senior analyst.’

Fabel began to translate into English for Vestergaard what Luttig had said.

‘I studied at Cambridge, amongst other places,’ Luttig interrupted him. ‘It’s quite in order for me to speak in English if that makes things easier.’

‘Thank you,’ said Vestergaard, and smiled. ‘You couldn’t arrange cover for him? A trip to China takes a lot of arranging — you must have had a fair bit of advance warning.’

‘That’s the thing. I didn’t. Ralf sort of sprung this on me out of the blue. He’s like that — he is a very committed environmentalist. That’s why he works here: the group we do work for is heavily involved in environmental clean-up. But even with warning, it would be practically impossible to find someone to fill in for him. Or at least anyone with a remotely similar set of skills.’

‘Can you explain what it is you do here?’

‘Basically we’re an analysis laboratory,’ said Luttig. ‘We’re a wholly owned subsidiary of an environmental and biotechnical group. We do all of their analytical work. Toxicology. Everything from soil samples to human tissue. We specialise in evaluating environmental impacts and identifying pollution-related health risks.’

‘I see,’ said Fabel. ‘Do you know what part of China Dr Sparwald is visiting?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’

‘Is he travelling alone, do you know?’ asked Vestergaard.

‘Again, I’m not really sure. He said something about a Norwegian friend.’

Fabel and Vestergaard exchanged a look.

‘Didn’t you say you were helping the Norwegian police?’ Luttig frowned. ‘Is Ralf in some danger?’

‘No, no,’ said Fabel. ‘Not at all. It’s just that he may have information that could be useful to us. This Norwegian, do you know his name?’

‘No. Ralf just mentioned he might be travelling with a Norwegian friend. Are you sure Ralf’s not in danger? The Chinese authorities don’t always take kindly to foreign environmentalists.’

‘Do you have Dr Sparwald’s cellphone number?’ asked Vestergaard. ‘We could perhaps reach him on that.’

‘Certainly,’ said Luttig. ‘I’ll get it for you.’

‘You said you are a wholly owned subsidiary of a group,’ said Fabel. ‘Would that be the NeuHansa Group?’

‘That’s right.’

Fabel handed Luttig one of his Polizei Hamburg visiting cards. ‘If you hear from Dr Sparwald, I’d be grateful if you could tell him I would like to speak to him as a matter of urgency. And if you come across anything that you think would be of interest to us, please give me a call.’

‘Of course.’ Luttig turned back to Vestergaard. ‘I’ll get you Ralf’s number and home address.’

‘How did you know that SkK Biotech was owned by the NeuHansa Group?’ Vestergaard asked Fabel as they walked back to the car.

‘That.’ He thrust his chin in the direction of the pennant flying beside the other flags. ‘The small red cross. In German we call that a Tatzenkreuz. You know, the flared cross you see on German military vehicles. Well, the one on that flag is less flared and it’s red on a white background. It’s a Hanseatic cross. I’m guessing it’s some kind of corporate logo. That and the Danish flag made me think of Gina Bronsted, the owner of the NeuHansa Group.’