Craig Russell - The Valkyrie Song

Gessler was a shortish but good-looking man in his forties with a reputation for being a bit of a ladykiller. Fabel had noticed when he picked him up at the Presidium that Gessler was wearing a Hugo Boss suit. And tapping something into his BlackBerry.

Fabel had also noticed that Gessler’s eyes had lit up as soon as he had introduced him to Karin Vestergaard. The light had failed to catch in hers.

‘There’s been a lot of new building,’ explained Fabel. ‘The Hanseatic Trade Centre in the Speicherstadt itself as well as the HafenCity, which is all new. Gina Bronsted has headquartered her NeuHansa Group in one of the biggest and newest buildings. Rumour has it she has a thirteen-million-euro penthouse apartment above the shop, as it were.’

They passed through the Speicherstadt and into the HafenCity. Glass and steel were everywhere, but it was obvious an effort had been made to extend something of the spirit of the old Speicherstadt into the architecture of the twenty-first century.

‘Very impressive,’ said Vestergaard.

‘It’s not finished,’ said Gessler. ‘There’s going to be an opera house to compete with Sydney — the Elbphilharmonie Concert Hall.’

‘How do you want to handle this, Jan?’ asked Vestergaard as if she hadn’t heard Gessler.

‘I’ll ask her about Lensch, her employee, and Claasens, the export agent. She also met Westland the night he died. This is all quite… involved. She’s a Flensburg Dane — I think I told you that already — meaning she’s German by nationality but Danish by ethnicity and first language. If I’m struggling, maybe you can jump in. Also, I’ll leave the questioning about Jespersen to you.’ Fabel turned and spoke to Gessler. ‘Hans, I smell a rat here. I’m not saying Bronsted herself is directly involved with any of these killings, but NeuHansa is always there in the background.’

‘I don’t interrogate people, Jan — I interrogate paperwork and computer data. If there’s a link between NeuHansa and these murders, then there will be something on file, somewhere, something that might look innocuous but which will point us in the right direction. I need to get access to their files. When you introduce me, it would be best not to disclose my department, unless she asks specifically.’

‘Okay.’ Fabel swung his door open and got out, followed by Gessler and Vestergaard. He heard Gessler give a low appreciative whistle and when he turned he half expected the corporate cop to be staring at Karin Vestergaard’s legs. Instead Fabel followed his eyes to a massive, sleek luxury motor yacht anchored further down the quay. The yacht had the look of something equally suited for space travel as sailing: a long, elegant white needle with a superstructure of black glass and elongated arches. A helicopter sat on the aft deck.

‘I know what that is,’ said Gessler. ‘That’s the Snow Queen. Ninety metres and it came in at about a million euros a metre.’

‘Gennady Frolov’s yacht?’ asked Fabel, his eyes still following the lines of the mega-yacht. Fabel was not a sailor, and he had no real interest in boats, but it struck him that the Snow Queen was one of the most graceful objects he had ever seen.

‘Yep,’ said Gessler. ‘Take a good look… this is as close as you or I will ever get to that kind of wealth.’

They headed into the NeuHansa Group building. A receptionist who looked as if she’d been recruited from a model agency rather than a business school asked them to wait in the vast pillared atrium. They sat on one of the dozen white leather sofas, each of which looked several times more expensive than the one that Fabel and Susanne had at home. Like the mega-yacht docked half a kilometre along the quay, this was intimidation by wealth.

‘Do you want to get a drink afterwards?’ asked Gessler while they waited. ‘We could deconstruct the interview.’

‘Sorry,’ said Fabel, although he knew the true direction of Gessler’s invitation. ‘I’m meeting a friend in town.’

‘And I have work to do for my office in Copenhagen,’ said Vestergaard without a smile.

After waiting ten minutes, they were conducted up to the eighth floor of the NeuHansa building.

The office suite was populated only by a few workstations and a handful of male and female staff who looked as if they’d come from the same model agency as the downstairs receptionist. Another point in the making: a lavish underuse of some of the most expensive floor space in Hamburg. Fabel, Gessler and Vestergaard were led into an inner office. It was huge and plush and looked more like a trendy hotel suite than a working environment. A tall, slim woman in her early to mid forties stepped out from behind an impossibly huge desk, indicating that they should all take a seat on the sofas arranged around a coffee table. Gina Bronsted was what Fabel would have described as a handsome woman. Attractive, but with a jaw so strong that it hinted at the masculine. Her blonde hair was cut shortish, but in a manner that softened the severity of her features. Everything about her — her hair, her cream jacket and skirt suit, the matching shoes, her simple sky-blue blouse — was understated and tasteful. It also screamed wealth. Fabel realised he was looking at the flesh and blood equivalent of the luxury yacht anchored outside.

‘Frau Bronsted?’ asked Fabel, remaining standing.

‘Herr Fabel.’ She smiled and extended her hand. ‘Please… sit. Excuse me a moment.’ She walked over to the door and said something to the woman who had shown them in.

‘I’ve asked Svend Langstrup to join us. Herr Langstrup is in charge of all security matters as well as being one of my team of legal advisers.’

Fabel responded by introducing Karin Vestergaard and Hans Gessler. As Gessler had suggested, Fabel didn’t mention that he was from the Polizei Hamburg’s corporate crime division.

On hearing Vestergaard’s name, Gina Bronsted smiled broadly and began speaking in Danish. After a short exchange she turned back to Fabel.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t often get a chance to speak my native language.’

‘If you don’t mind, for Frau Vestergaard’s sake we’ll speak in English.’

‘That’s not necessary,’ said Vestergaard in lightly accented German. ‘I’ll be able to follow what’s said.’

Fabel stared at Vestergaard blankly for a moment. ‘Good…’ he said. He gave a small laugh and shook his head. ‘That will save a lot of time…’

‘I must say, Herr Fabel, that I have a pretty good idea what it is you want to talk to me about. I’ve already been through it all with that annoyingly persistent lady from HansSat TV.’

‘Sylvie Achtenhagen?’ Fabel shook his head. ‘She’s been here?’

‘Pushing her luck. I reminded her that I had a controlling stake in the station she worked for. She’s a very arrogant individual, you know.’

‘You don’t say,’ said Fabel without a hint of irony. At that moment a tall dark-haired man of about forty walked into the room and smiled at everybody. He was slim, but broad across the shoulders. At some point his nose had been broken and there was a faint scar on his forehead, just above the eye. He didn’t look to Fabel like a legal adviser, unless lawsuits in Denmark were settled in a boxing ring. The man introduced himself as Langstrup and sat down.

‘You take care of security for Frau Bronsted?’ asked Fabel.

‘Amongst other things, yes,’ answered Langstrup, without the Danish accent that Fabel had expected. Fabel guessed he was a German Dane like Bronsted herself. ‘With Frau Bronsted’s rising political profile, as well as her success in business, there are sometimes threats to her safety.’

‘There have been threats?’ asked Vestergaard.

‘Potential threats.’