Craig Russell - A fear of dark water

‘I understand, Herr Senator, but I assume that’s not why you called me out here.’

‘Isn’t it?’ I want you to remember what I have said because, believe it or not, it is relevant to what I have to talk to you about. There is a lot of discussion in the media about the environment, and it has slowly climbed the ladder of political priority, but it’s still not high enough. There is a disaster waiting for us, Herr Fabel, and it’s just around the corner. There are a lot of people who believe that extreme action has to be taken now. Very extreme action. Drink?’ Muller-Voigt asked, making his way to the cabinet.

‘No, thanks,’ said Fabel.

‘Of course. Never on duty…’ Muller-Voigt smiled a half-hearted smile.

‘Never when I’ve got the car. Anyway, I’m not on duty. This is, so far, unofficial.’

‘I appreciate that, Herr Fabel. You don’t mind if I do?’

‘Go ahead,’ said Fabel. It occurred to him that Muller-Voigt was not the kind of man who would normally need fortification to face anything.

Ice tinkled against expensive crystal as Muller-Voigt brought his malt whisky over and sat opposite Fabel. ‘I really am grateful that you came to see me at such short notice.’

‘Well, it was pretty clear that it’s something urgent.’

‘Urgent, but, as you said, at the moment unofficial,’ said Muller-Voigt. He leaned back in the sofa and contemplated his whisky glass for a moment. ‘Obviously, I am kept fully up to date on all developments when something as major as the recent storm hits Hamburg. Storms and related damage lie within my purview, as you probably can imagine.’

‘I suppose so…’

‘So you’ll understand that any consequential fatalities and injuries are reported to me as a matter of urgency. Such as the body that was washed up at the Fischmarkt. The one I asked you about earlier today.’

‘As we already discussed, Senator, the woman washed up at the Fischmarkt wasn’t a consequential fatality. She wasn’t killed by the storm or flood.’

‘I see. How do you know she didn’t die as a result of the storm? And what makes you think she wasn’t a victim of this Network Killer?’

‘Listen, Herr Senator, I understand your interest, but all I can tell you is that the victim did not die as a result of the storm. The rest is a police matter at the moment.’

‘A Murder Commission matter, you mean…’

‘Herr Senator…’ Fabel infused a warning in his tone.

Muller-Voigt put his whisky glass down. ‘I want to see the body,’ he said decisively.

‘What?’

‘I want to see the body of the woman washed up at the Fischmarkt. I think I may be able to help you identify her.’

‘I doubt it. The body is in a condition that would make that difficult. There’s clearly something you want to tell me, Herr Senator. What is it? Why did you ask me to come here?’

Muller-Voigt took another swallow of whisky. ‘You know my reputation, Herr Fabel. With women. The Hamburg press would have everyone believe that I am some kind of unprincipled sexual adventurer. Well, my private life is my private life. I am unmarried and I am fortunate enough to enjoy the company of beautiful and intelligent women. I always have. And for some reason that I have never been able to grasp, they enjoy mine. But I am not married and never have been, so I am betraying no marriage vows. Unlike, it must be said, more than half of my upright married colleagues in the Hamburg Senate. Nor do I trick doe-eyed ingenues into bed or pay for cheap and nasty dalliances in the Reeperbahn. I’m not cheating on anyone and I treat the women with whom I am involved with respect and dignity.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ asked Fabel. ‘Your personal life is your own affair.’

‘Of all of the women with whom I have been involved over the years there have been only three for whom I had deep feelings. Genuinely deep feelings. One died a long time ago, while the second affair withered on the vine, as it were. The third is the woman with whom I was involved up until just two weeks ago.’ Muller-Voigt stood up, crossed the room to a bureau and came back holding a framed photograph. He fiddled with it for a moment before handing it over; Fabel realised that it was a digital photo frame and Muller-Voigt had been selecting the image he wanted to show him. It was a photograph of a young woman with dark hair and strikingly blue eyes. She was flashing a white-toothed grin at the camera but looked a little uneasy. Shy. She was also, Fabel could see, very beautiful.

‘This is Meliha,’ said Muller-Voigt. ‘I’ve been seeing her for the last three months. As you can see, she is considerably younger than me.’

‘She’s a very attractive woman,’ said Fabel and held the frame out to return it to Muller-Voigt. The politician made no move to take it.

‘Look at her very carefully, Fabel. She’s disappeared.’

‘Missing? How long?’

‘Not missing. Disappeared. Like I said, I was involved with her until two weeks ago, and then she disappeared without trace.’

‘And you think she might be the body washed up after the storm?’

‘I don’t know…’ Muller-Voigt shrugged, but there was nothing dismissive in the gesture nor in his expression. Fabel could see that he was a man in pain. ‘She could be.’

‘So you last heard from her two weeks ago?’ asked Fabel.

‘Yes… no…’ Muller-Voigt made an exasperated gesture. ‘It’s complicated. I got an email from her two days ago. Breaking it off with me. Or that’s what it seemed to be.’

‘Listen, Herr Muller-Voigt, I’m getting confused. You say this woman has been missing for two weeks, and now you’re telling me that you received an email from her two days ago.’ Fabel frowned. ‘One thing is for sure, she’s not the body washed up after the storm. That woman had been in the water for at least two weeks…’

‘Which is exactly how long Meliha has been missing. Listen, Fabel, I choose my words very carefully. When I say Meliha has disappeared, I mean exactly that. I know you think that I’m approaching you because I’m trying to pull strings to have this looked into discreetly and so avoid scandal. But that’s not it at all. Someone has, systematically, erased all trace of Meliha ever having existed. And I can’t report her missing if she doesn’t exist any more. And as for that email, I know it’s fake.’

‘Can I see it?’ asked Fabel.

Muller-Voigt gave a bitter laugh. ‘No. It doesn’t exist any more, either. I didn’t print it out because I never print anything out unless it’s absolutely essential. Environmental grounds, obviously. You’ll have heard of the Klabautermann Virus, I dare say?’

Fabel nodded. ‘Of course. I know the officer who’s been tasked with finding the people behind it.’

‘I have absolutely no idea what these people get out of destroying other people’s data,’ said Muller-Voigt. ‘Probably just the challenge of proving they’re even smarter nerds than the smart nerds who design the software… but, sadly, there are people out there who devote their time to developing ever more virulent, ever more destructive computer viruses. This latest one, the Klabautermann Virus, has been specifically targeted at official intranets and secure government email servers in the north of Germany. Now what is the point of that — other than to disrupt ordinary people’s lives? And the little bastards behind it may not even be anywhere near the north of Germany. They could be in San Jose or Mumbai or Beijing. Or just some spotty pubescent nobody in a back bedroom in Bonningstedt. Whoever they are and wherever they are, they infected the City and State government email. Because I’m logged into it, it got into my laptop and wiped all of my email folders — but not before sending itself to every contact in my address book. In short, thanks to the Klabautermann Virus, I don’t have the email any more.’