Human Rites, page 14
“So you know that it is legal and one of the best techniques we have to track the electronic communications of organised gangs.”
“Which is exactly what we’re dealing with. So your issue is the legality of data-gathering, Herr Stein?”
“No. I know it’s legal. I’m far more concerned about civil liberties and privacy issues. Just because we believe a painting to be under threat, the police have no right to listen into conversations coming from that house.”
Tomas shook his head. “Herr Meyer disagrees.”
Stein’s head snapped round with a furious glare and Tomas looked away.
Beatrice cleared her throat. “I’m confused. If this imitates a mobile phone base station, how can it possibly work from here?”
Tomas was eager to explain. “The data didn’t come from this machine. I asked Herr Meyer if we could use this technology as a back-up to the physical surveillance. He gave the instruction to the Munich team, not me. All I have is the data they gathered. It takes a long time to find the relevant information and I had to ask a communications analyst, but I found it and we are in a far better position than before. The only problem is here in Hamburg. We have the technology.” He indicated the box. “But Herr Stein refuses to let me use it.”
“If Meyer and the BKA approved its usage, I don’t see the problem. Herr Stein?”
“Munich can make decisions regarding data-gathering according to their own policy. Ours is only to use communications interception in clearly defined circumstances. This is not one of them.”
Beatrice sat down, partly to defuse the tension but mostly because she had not yet recovered from a night drinking coffee and watching an empty house. She yawned.
“If I understand you correctly, this FlyTrap shows a certain amount of telephone activity from a mobile phone belonging to one of the security officers at the Munich house. We assume it was a warning to potential thieves not to attempt the heist that night. If that’s the case, and as yet we have no other evidence, surely we’d want to use this machine to eavesdrop on the Netherlands operation. So I don’t see why you need it here in Hamburg.”
Tomas, eyes glittering, tapped a couple of commands into his screen. “Listen to this. It’s in German, but I will translate.”
A voice recording came from the computer’s speakers. Beatrice made out a few words but kept her attention on Stein’s face. His frown eased as he listened and as the speakers ended their conversation, he nodded.
“That’s clear. The caller doesn’t identify himself but says their ‘appointment’ for the evening must be postponed because his boss asked him to do overtime. The person at the other end, who speaks German with a strong Dutch accent, asks if the caller is being watched. The caller says that eyes are everywhere. He then suggests an opportunity over Christmas, when the place is empty. The Dutchman says he’ll talk to his people but confirms our suspicions by saying ‘Tonight, Nina stays home’. Tomas, you said there was an SMS?”
Tomas tapped at the keyboard, his complexion pink with excitement. This man evidently loved his job. “The first one is from the same mobile and more or less the same location, on the outskirts of The Hague. It says ‘Due to increased levels of interest, his client prefers to withdraw his offer. Thanks for your help and I will be in touch.” The security guy replies ‘A temporary withdrawal, I hope? As mentioned, access over the Christmas holiday will be no problem.’ There’s a two-hour gap in communications before the Dutchman sends a final text. ‘Other options I need to investigate. Thanks for the information and I will contact you if we decide to proceed’. So, they’re looking at other paintings. This means we have to get as close as we can to the other pictures on the list.”
Stein sat opposite Beatrice, his expression thoughtful. “DI Stubbs, how do you see it?”
“I assume we know who owns the Munich mobile, Tomas?”
“Yes. The other calls and texts show it is the younger security guard, Udo Katzmann.”
“So in theory, we could bring him in and lean on him a little. He’s obviously an amateur or he’d have used a separate mobile for communication with this gang.”
Stein shook his head. “That risks alerting the nucleus we’re onto them. Tomas has a point about using the FlyTrap, but I cannot authorise this. Nor can you, DI Stubbs. I will ask Herr Meyer for his decision and we can proceed in conjunction with the Netherlands police.”
“That’s fine with me. On the same issue, Tomas, employing a secondary tactic was an interesting idea. However, it is totally unacceptable to do so without asking permission from Herr Stein or myself. Going over our heads to Meyer was a poor decision and I’m surprised Meyer allowed it. It will not happen again. This unit functions as a team, and as such it offers its members the courtesy of full disclosure.”
She resisted the urge to ask for agreement and opened her laptop. She could feel Stein’s eyes on her, but kept hers down.
The morning passed quietly with the three officers absorbed in their own tasks. Apart from the occasional request for confirmation, they worked in silence. Stein’s phone rang just before eleven. He picked it up, glanced at the display and left the room. Beatrice decided it was coffee time.
“Tomas, I’m going to the canteen for my caffeine fix. Can I bring you anything?”
He looked up. “Thank you. I’d like an espresso. And...” He hesitated.
“Yes? I’m having a pastry so I’m happy to get one for you too.”
“No, not a pastry. I want to apologise. Meyer told me to inform you and Herr Stein about using the FlyTrap. It was my choice not to do that because I know how much Stein hates the idea of covert interception. He would have stopped it and we’d have zero results after last night.”
“That doesn’t sound much like an apology. More of an excuse.”
“It’s both. I am sorry I didn’t inform you.” His eyes met hers, slid away and looked back from under his brow.
“Accepted. I hope you’ll do the same to Herr Stein. It might be a good opportunity to talk about your different approaches to the FlyTrap. As I understand it, he’s only following the official policy for the region.”
Tomas waved his head from side to side, in an ‘I’m not so sure’ gesture.
“Well, I’ll leave it up to you. But we’re working as a team, so no secrets. Now do you want a pastry or not?”
Tomas caved in and requested a Berliner.
On the way to the canteen, Beatrice stopped at Margrit’s desk. The girl looked up from her screen with a bright smile.
“Hello DI Stubbs. How’s it going?”
“Very well, thank you. I wondered if I could ask you a favour.”
“Of course. I’m on Herr Stein’s team so it’s not a favour, it’s my job.”
“It’s not actually work-related. You see, I’ve been looking into retreats for my holiday next year. I want somewhere peaceful, where I can meditate and contemplate but nothing overly religious. Someone recommended this one in Rosenheim, but the website’s all in German. Would you mind having a look and tell me what you think?”
Margrit took the piece of paper with the URL written on it.
“Sure. Do you want me to do it now?”
“No, there’s no hurry. Just when you have a spare five minutes. Thanks Margrit, I appreciate it.”
By the time Beatrice got back with the cakes and coffee, Stein had returned. She approached the room with caution, trying to read the body language between the two men. Tomas’s humble posture and Stein’s relaxed attentiveness suggested an apology was in progress, so she went back to the canteen and added a latte and a croissant for Stein. On her return, both men were working on their computers so she decided it was safe enough to enter.
“Elevenses time!”
Stein smiled, his face unlined and open. “A good time for a break and a discussion of procedure. Thank you, DI Stubbs. That was Herr Meyer on the phone. He’s spoken to detectives in The Hague and the decision has been taken at the European level to commit to telecom interception in three locations: the house in Bremen which houses the Grosz, the gallery in Lübeck with that Schad painting of a hunter, and at the location in The Hague. It’s been identified as a light industrial unit which imports and exports fruit. We’re responsible for Lübeck and Bremen. As Tomas knows the FlyTrap pretty well, I suggest he oversees both operations, keeping us informed at all times, naturally.”
A look passed between the two men.
“Good. Glad to see you two have buried the ratchet. I agree, I think Tomas deserves a role of responsibility after all the effort he’s put in.”
A look of confusion passed across Stein’s face but cleared as Beatrice passed him his coffee. Tomas bit into his doughnut, careful not to sprinkle sugar on his keyboard.
“I have one area of concern,” said Stein. “Do we warn the owners of the house and the gallery? They are potential victims, not suspected criminals, so perhaps they should be aware that every personal call or SMS might be scrutinised.”
Beatrice thought about it as she tucked into her apple strudel. “Did Herr Meyer have an opinion?”
“He said that after the Munich non-event, he would advise not informing them. We might be sabotaging our own operation by doing so.”
Tomas nodded vigorously. “Exactly. We don’t know if the security teams and owners are involved in some way. This is our chance to find out. I say no. We listen, assess any relevant data and pinpoint the next target. From there, we can use traditional methods of surveillance.”
“I tend to agree,” said Beatrice. “We delete any information which is not pertinent to this case, but we listen to all of it.” She rammed home her point. “We are very close to identifying a gang who don’t simply steal works of art but use violent means to do so, ruining lives in some cases. As far as I’m concerned, we put every possible means we have into catching these people so we can find who pulls the strings. I believe we owe that to the victims.”
She was pushing Stein’s buttons, she knew. Evidently, so did he.
“Thank you, DI Stubbs. I had not forgotten the victims. It seems I’m in the minority, so I’ll accept that. For this operation, we do not warn innocent people their personal conversations are being monitored. Tomas, can I leave you to arrange the two local units and report back to DI Stubbs and myself on how you plan to analyse the volume of data?”
Shoving the rest of the Berliner in his mouth, Tomas nodded, still chewing, and started work immediately.
Stein’s gaze rested on Beatrice’s face. “I’d like to discuss a few points with you in more detail. Do you have plans for this evening? I think it might be a good idea to get out of the office and share our thoughts on the management angle of our collaboration.”
Beatrice flushed. There was something extremely intimate about the way he used the word ‘you’ instead of her name. This was practically asking her on a date. Then she remembered her commitment and grimaced.
“Oh hell. I’d really love to, but my boss is arriving tonight. He wants to have dinner and I’m not in a position to refuse. Could we do lunch instead?”
“Your boss is coming from London? Must be important. Of course we can have lunch instead. But we get out of the building, OK? I know a nice place a short walk away. Can we say twelve-thirty?”
“Yes, I’ll look forward to it. I had planned to speak to Frau Eichhorn about the paintings in question, but under the circumstances, perhaps I shouldn’t mention them. What do you think?”
Stein gazed at her until she began to feel awkward. “Shuffle the cards. Ask her about a lot of paintings and slip those into the middle somewhere so as not to attract attention. Oh.” He leaned forward and picked a piece of apple strudel off her jacket.
“I was saving that for later,” she said.
“Too late!” he replied and slipped it into his mouth. “See you at lunch.”
She watched him walk away with a heartfelt sigh, the scent of his aftershave lingering in her nostrils. It was probably for the best they couldn’t have dinner together. Her imagination was likely to run away with her. Instead, she had to spend several hours with Hamilton. Her smile faded.
Chapter 18
Daan wrapped his hands around the coffee mug, took a sip and swallowed, his gaze resting on the mantelpiece. He shook his head again. A scratch at the door indicated Mink was ready to come in. Adrian opened the door and she bounded back across the threshold, leaving wet pawprints in her wake. Outside the light was weak and yellowy, but the storm had gone, at least temporarily, leaving a trail of broken branches and drifts of tobacco-coloured leaves in its wake.
Back inside, Daan was still shaking his head. “This makes no sense. We both stood here last night, looking at those photographs. We identified me and Holger. I even remember noticing the dust when I picked one up. Last night, those pictures hadn’t been touched for months and there was no crucifix anywhere in this room. This morning, the pictures are gone, the surface has been cleaned and there’s a huge cross in the middle.”
“And the door was locked. When I thought I heard it close, I came down and checked. It was locked. I’m one hundred percent certain.”
“Two people in this house with the door locked. So it must have been you or me. I don’t think I’ve ever sleepwalked. Even if I did, I wouldn’t know where to find a cross in this house. Holger’s grandparents don’t have such a thing, as far as I know. They’re Calvinists and reject all kinds of iconography.”
Adrian rubbed his face. “It wasn’t you and it wasn’t me and it certainly wasn’t Mink. I wonder why she didn’t bark?” The dog’s tail whisked back and forth across the floor as she faced the two men.
“Because she sleeps like the dead. Useless guard dog.”
“That’s true. When I heard the door close, it was impossible to hear much at all over you two snoring. You were both out cold, like I’d been. Where did the pictures go? Where did that cross come from? Who the hell has access to this house and why would they come in during a massive storm to replace family photos with a crucifix? And what’s up with Mink?”
The husky’s eyes were fixed on Daan and her tongue lolled as her tail made rhythmic sweeps of the rug. Daan broke his focus on the cross and shifted his attention to the dog.
“She’s hungry. Me too. We should have some breakfast and then I need to... shit, look at the time! I’ve got to go! No time for the full Danish. I’ll shower, you fry an egg and put it in a pork sandwich to take with me. Give Mink some leftovers. No bones! I don’t want her farting in the Jeep all day. We have a long drive.”
He thundered up the stairs, cursing the time. Mink followed Adrian into the kitchen and watched as he prepared her breakfast.
“Here you are, girl. Eat up. I’ll wrap some bones for later. Now, he wants a fried egg and what?”
The mechanics of making the sandwich only occupied half of Adrian’s attention. His gaze was drawn to the window and the patterns in the swirling leaves conjured by the wind. Someone was trying to scare him and doing a pretty good job of it. Staying on a stormy island in winter was perhaps not the smartest move. He should be at home, with friends, with crowds, London Transport, Catinca, the shop. He shouldn’t be alone.
Daan barged into the kitchen, poured himself another half cup of coffee and drank it in one. “Sandwich ready? You fed the dog? OK, listen. I don’t know how that happened.” He jerked his head in the direction of the living-room. “But it is a bit freaky. At this time of year, Sylt can be a bleak place. I have a job today, otherwise I’d stay. Still, there are two things we can do. One, I’ve just set the CCTV cameras to record. They don’t usually run during the winter, but this counts as special circumstances. If anyone is creeping about the place, we can see them. Two, how about I leave Mink with you? At least you’ll have some company.”
Mink’s head angled at the mention of her name. Daan dropped to his haunches and spoke soft words, unintelligible to Adrian, as he scratched her neck. Her tail drooped and her ears folded back. She didn’t want to stay.
“Are you sure? She doesn’t look happy.”
“She’ll sulk for half an hour. Then take her for a walk on the beach. Give her a bone when she gets back if you can cope with the farts. Take her out again this afternoon and feed her when you eat. She’ll be fine. Make sure she has water and I’ll come by on Friday morning to pick you up for the tour. OK? I have to go. Thanks for dinner!”
He grabbed his bags, scratched Mink’s chin, hugged Adrian and ran out the door. They watched as he executed a three-point turn and drove off with a toot. Adrian looked down at Mink.
“Do you want to go for a walk? Walkies?”
Her head dropped, she turned tail and curled up in the corner of the hall, refusing to look at him. Adrian locked the front door and before he could dither, removed the cross from the mantel and put it in the cleaning cupboard. His stomach rumbled and he decided Daan’s breakfast recipe sounded intriguing. He set some butter to melt in the pan and started shredding some pork. He’d got halfway through a rendition of To Know Him Is To Love Him when he sensed a presence at his side. A pair of serious blue eyes studied him as Mink’s nostrils flared in the direction of the counter. Adrian unwrapped a bone and placed it in her gentle jaws. She took it into the hallway and started gnawing.
“Eat that now and then we can both fart outside.”
The wind was still powerful as Adrian and Mink crested the dunes and he had to lean into it to make any headway. Mink ran ahead, chasing sea birds with a gleeful bark. The cold air blew away the last traces of his hangover and he ran down the other side of the dune to join the dog. The vast arc of beach stretched away towards the distant town of List to his right, with a spit of sand curving out into the sea. The voices of two horse riders reached him, as they conducted a shouted conversation as their mounts kicked through the surf. Further along, a man threw sticks for a small scruffy terrier. To his left rose a headland topped with dune grass, deserted but for gulls.
