Craig Russell - A fear of dark water

He sat and stared out of the window of his office on Georg-Fock-Wall as Fabel ran through, for the third time that day, his suspicions about the Pharos Project and its role in the disappearance and probable murder of Meliha Kebir, as well as the killings of Berthold Muller-Voigt, Daniel Fottinger and Harald Jaburg.

Fabel did his best, but knew that he had no hard evidence on which to base his claims. Securing any kind of warrant was a distant hope. He looked at his watch and glanced across at Werner Meyer whom he’d brought along with him. They had been talking it through for the best part of the morning and Fabel wanted to get back to the Presidium. After his conversation with Menke the previous day, Fabel had initiated a major manhunt for Niels Freese.

Goetz did not turn from the window when Fabel had finished speaking and gave no indication that he had heard what the Chief Commissar had said. Fabel remained patiently quiet: he had dealt with Goetz on countless occasions before and knew that the Chief State Prosecutor always took his time to think things through. Either that, or he enjoyed making police officers desperate to close in on a suspect sweat.

‘So all of these deaths have been sanctioned to keep a secret?’

‘That’s what I believe.’

‘But you have no substantiating evidence?’

‘None, Herr Goetz. We need the warrants to seize computers and compel testimony. It’s the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of this.’

‘Herr Fabel, you have been a police officer long enough to know that if I granted warrants on this kind of speculation, and the execution of said warrants yielded nothing material, then you and I would both be looking for another line of work before long. Now, if you had asked for surveillance warrants — wiretaps, email interception, that kind of thing, through which we could gradually harvest more convincing evidence — then I would have given that more credence.’

‘But don’t you see, Herr Goetz,’ said Fabel, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone, ‘such measures are futile against an opponent who is infinitely better resourced in terms of technology than we are. There is no form of electronic surveillance that they would not immediately spot and counter.’

Another silence as Goetz continued to stare out of the window.

‘All this internet business,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s a whole new environment for crime and we don’t have the laws or even the basic understanding to combat it. About six months ago there was a case put up to me, not by your commission but by one of the child protection agencies. This girl — fifteen, if I remember right — threw herself under an S-Bahn train. She’d been a victim of so-called cyber bullying. She couldn’t get away from it. It was relentless — vicious, vile stuff sent constantly to her computer, to her phone… it was a real campaign to destroy the spirit of a human being and it was facilitated by all of this technology that’s supposed to make our lives better. She felt she couldn’t escape it so she threw herself in front of a train. Fifteen. A life over before it had properly begun. I really wanted to go after the girls who had driven her to it, but the laws aren’t there. The understanding isn’t there. That poor girl, driven to that…’

Turning suddenly from the window, he leaned forward onto his desk, the heavy shoulders hunching.

‘We’ve got four dead victims — and from what you’ve told me, these people have the arrogance to believe that they can go on killing whoever they feel is in their way, including a Hamburg State Senator, and attempting to murder a senior Hamburg police officer. If there’s one thing that really gets me fired up, gentlemen, it’s when someone thinks they’re beyond the reach of the law.’ Goetz slammed his open hands down on the desktop. ‘I’ll grant your warrants. Search, seizure and arrest. I’ll try to get them ready for this evening, but there’s a jurisdictional crossover because of the location of the Pharos or whatever they call this cult commune. I need to speak to the Lower Saxony Prosecutor’s office.’

Fabel stood up, beaming. ‘Thank you, Herr Prosecutor…’

‘When do we execute the warrants?’ asked Werner once they were back in the pool car Fabel had been given.

‘Tomorrow morning. When we get back I need you to do the liaison with the Polizei Niedersachsen.’

‘No problem.’

Fabel took his cellphone from his pocket and rang Susanne at her office in the Institute for Legal Medicine.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘You were a bit shaken up this morning.’

‘Can you blame me? Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, like I told you. Still a bit shaken up too, but I’ve got a job to do. Have you finished going through the psych assessment and history I got on Niels Freese?’

‘Yes. It’s an interesting one, I’ll give you that. According to his records, Freese suffered brain damage at birth that’s left him prone to Delusional Misidentification Syndrome.’

‘In layman’s terms?’

‘We all suffer from a mild form of it every time we experience deja vu. Just as we experience the delusion of having experienced something before, patients with full-blown DMS have more florid and specific delusions.’

‘What kind of delusions?’

‘Take your pick. Fregoli’s Delusion makes you think that everyone around you is actually the same person in disguise… if you’ve got Capgras Delusion you believe your family members or friends have been replaced by identical impostors… and if you’ve got Cotard’s Delusion you don’t believe you’re even alive. What Freese seems to have is Reduplicative Paramnesia. The poor bastard thinks he’s been transported to an exact copy of the world.’

‘Well, I have to say, that makes him sound pretty mad to me.’

‘The sad thing is that these delusions are never the result of a mental illness. The root always lies in neurological damage: a brain injury, stroke, Alzheimer’s or something like that. Poor Freese has had this since birth. His reality is one that’s almost impossible for us to imagine, Jan. Just think of it: almost continuous deja vu, constant feelings of deep significance provoked by the most ordinary object, person or event. And then the long periods of short-circuited memories and the belief that everything around you is a fake, a conspiracy. All the trappings of paranoia without the schizophrenia. Niels Freese is a sane man who lives in an insane reality.’

‘But he’s a killer; and from what you’re saying, these people are not dangerous…’

‘Anyone who’s delusional is dangerous. There are instances of people suffering from Capgras Delusion slicing open their spouse to look for the mechanical workings or the robotic circuitry inside. People with Cotard’s Delusion frequently kill themselves or others, believing it doesn’t matter because no one is alive anyway. If you want my professional opinion, Jan, then I suggest you find Freese quick. Before he harms himself or others.’

‘I need to find him quick, all right,’ said Fabel. ‘Freese is the key to reality as far as I’m concerned. He ties everything together.’

After he hung up from his call to Susanne, Fabel dialled Anna’s number.

‘Did you get the information I asked for?’

‘Yep, Chef. Tim Flemming is exactly who he claims to be and his background is what he said. No disciplinary or other problems, either while in the Kiel harbour police or as a naval frogman. But something interesting did come up. His younger sister became involved with an extreme religious group that later became a focus for the attention of the BfV. Flemming apparently removed her from this group against her will and held her at a secret address in Denmark, where he worked with established deprogrammers to undo the brainwashing. It worked, so no charges were ever brought.’