Sunken Treasures

NORTHERN SHORES COZY MYSTERY

BOOK SEVEN

HEIDI HINRICHS

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

A Cup of Tea

Preview: Dark Signs

Imprint

Chapter One

A starfish lay right at her bare feet.

Enna crouched down to take a closer look. The ground in front of her was covered in mud, with about two inches of water pooling on top. The creature was floating in it. Judging by its size, it was maybe two or three years old, nowhere near fully grown. One of its five arms was missing, but it wasn't one of those rare four-armed starfish. It was just injured. Enna sighed. There was nothing she could do. Unlike mussels, their main food source, starfish couldn't anchor themselves to the seabed. So when powerful storms hit, they were often washed ashore—or in this case, into the basement of the harbormaster's office.

Enna picked up the starfish and pushed open the basement door at the bottom of the outdoor stairs. A gust of wind nearly snatched it from her hand. The storm had died down, but it was still strong. Enna looked up at the sky, where dark clouds raced past. By tomorrow, the sun would be shining down, almost bewildered by the destruction left behind. But the mud would need to be cleared out of the building by then.

She wound up and threw the starfish in a high arc. Her goal was the harbor basin, which was not far away. But just as she let go, a seagull let out a shrill cry. As if it had been waiting for this very moment, the bird swooped down, snatched the injured starfish from the air, and then disappeared. That was nature for you. No room for pity. The storm had turned the shore into a buffet, and the seagulls were making the most of it.

Enna shivered. Sweeping up all that mud had made her sweat, but now the cold wind chilled the moisture on her skin. She closed the door behind her. Enna loved the North Sea, but not when it came ashore uninvited. And certainly not in winter!

"Can you give me a hand, please?" asked Berger.

His voice called from downstairs. Enna hurried towards him, her wet footprints marking the stone steps. She'd taken off her socks and stuffed them into the back pocket of her shorts. Berger was easily recognizable by his rubber boots. They were covered in stickers of cartoon characters from some children's TV show, which Berger's son had glued to their legs, as Berger had admitted with some embarrassment.

Enna thought it was cute. Berger couldn't say no to his children. He was a good father and a great coworker. Right now, though, he was struggling to push a machine toward he, a fat metal cylinder standing on four small wheels.

"The fire department is letting us borrow their water and sludge vacuum," Berger explained. "I managed to negotiate to have it for half an hour."

That was fantastic news. Enna had wondered how they were going to get all the muck out of the basement before it hardened.

"Perfect," she said approvingly. She pulled the machine toward her. It was heavy.

"Careful, this thing weighs a ton," Berger warned.

Enna nodded. "No choice." She took two steps down the stairs, then grabbed the bottom of the cylinder. "You ready? On three. One, two, three."

They lifted the machine together. Enna grunted as she backed down the stairs, her arms burning. Halfway down it became too much.

"I have to put it down!" she gasped.

With a loud clatter, the machine hit the stairs. Berger's shadow loomed over her. "Are you barefoot?" he asked.

"The good thing about the water is it never gets colder than 39 degrees," she quipped.

"I meant because you could hurt yourself," Berger said dryly. "If that thing falls on your foot, you'll never fit into your socks again."

"Oh, and you think your boots are better?"

Berger shifted his right foot, probably checking how much protection his rubber boots actually offered. "Fair point," he admitted.

"All right, let's go. We've only got thirty minutes." Enna groaned and picked up the heavy cylinder again.

* * *

By the time the firefighters came to pick up the pump, the basement floor was almost dry.

"Looks good," Berger said after he had helped her clean up.

"Should we put the shelves back up?" Enna asked.

Berger shrugged and tapped his rubber boot on the floor. The concrete made a faint squeak. Water had obviously seeped in. It would probably be wiser to let the basement dry out for a few days before putting everything back. That was something they had to decide for themselves. They couldn't ask the harbormaster, who was busy trying to restore order to the port. Since their station had been spared the worst of the storm, all the officers had been sent to help out in the town offices.

Enna took a step back and surveyed their work. The basement looked almost as good as new. Whether the concrete had suffered any real damage, they wouldn't find out until later. It had been strenuous work, very different from the routine investigations that usually filled her days. Was she better suited for this kind of work? As a child, she'd sometimes dreamed of becoming a sailor. Where else could she get so close to the sea?

"We should probably leave it as it is," Berger said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She looked at his familiar face, which was an odd but endearing mixture of sharp angles and soft edges. Where was Pavel, anyway? The town had put out a call for extra hands to help repair roof damage at the town hall. She couldn't really picture him as a handyman, but given his height, he was probably perfect for the job. Enna smiled. Wasn't he afraid of heights? She'd love to see him trying to keep his balance up there.

"Yeah, let's leave it," she agreed, smiling at the mental image of Pavel standing under the rafters of the town hall, like Atlas holding up the sky.

Chapter Two

The beam was heavy. Pavel clenched his teeth. Why had he agreed to this? He could have come up with an excuse. Then he wouldn't be standing here, his arm muscles burning, while the carpenter took his time securing the temporary beam.

"Just a little longer, Inspector," Frerichs said. "You're doing a great job."

He knew the carpenter, though the man seemed to have forgotten that he was actually a chief inspector. Now probably wasn't the right time to correct him. The Fleetstedt administration had been relieved to find a skilled carpenter so quickly. The official in charge had made it clear to Pavel that he should treat the carpenter with the utmost respect. As if Pavel wasn't already the most accommodating person imaginable.

All he had to do to understand the town's urgency was to look up at the sky. Thunderclouds drifted across the grey expanse. It wasn't raining yet, but it was only a matter of time. Julia had ripped the entire roof off the town hall and scattered it across the marketplace. The fact that no one had been injured was due to the good sense of the people of Fleetstedt, who had wisely stayed indoors during the hurricane. Fortunately, February didn't bring many tourists. The town was virtually deserted.

From his vantage point, Pavel could see all the way to the horizon. After the church, the town hall was the tallest building in Fleetstedt, offering an unobstructed view of the bay. He was almost certain he could see a cargo ship in the distance, far beyond what he would normally expect to be able to see from this height.

"Almost there," Frerichs announced.

Pavel sighed. He imagined relaxing his muscles. Sometimes just imagining something was almost as good as the real thing. Like when he thought about the feel of Enna's lips on his, that brief moment under the mistletoe. Whenever he let his mind drift back to that, it was like his birthday all over again, and suddenly he was back at the Christmas market. He could almost smell the roasted almonds and fried dough they'd eaten right before the kiss.

But Christmas was long gone, and no amount of reminiscing would bring it back. Not even when he buried himself in the book his colleagues had given him: The History of Fleetstedt, From the Laying of the Foundation Stone to the Present. A detailed work, crammed with dates and facts. He'd never realized that Fleetstedt had been built by the Prussians. It felt so distinctly Frisian, just like every other town in the region, once home to one of the East Frisian chieftains.

"You can let go now," Frerichs said.

Pavel let go of the beam. His muscles finally relaxed. They still ached a little, but soon his arms hung at his sides, no longer demanding attention. Funny how people only noticed parts of their bodies when something wasn’t working properly, usually in ways that caused pain.

He swallowed. That day at the Christmas market had never been repeated. Neither of them had ever brought it up again. Maybe that was for the best. It kept the moment unique.

It was eternal and could not be taken away, unlike the roof of the town hall.

A sudden blow to his temple startled him.

"Oh! Sorry, Inspector!" cried the carpenter Frerichs. "I thought you saw the beam coming!"

Pavel rubbed the side of his head. There was no blood. Good. He'd probably end up with a lump. He waved it off. It was his own fault, really. Why hadn't he been paying more attention? If they were going to cover the entire attic with tarps, they'd need at least ten more beams in place. He rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms, and braced himself for the next one.

* * *

No, no, no. There was no way he was climbing up there. Frerichs couldn't seriously expect that of him. He'd rather sit in a bog for hours than do that.

"I'll take this side, and you take the other," Frerichs said, pointing to the thick blue plastic tarp.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Pavel asked, although he already had a sneaking suspicion. Frerichs was standing on a chair that teetered dangerously close to the edge of the attic.

"We need to pull the tarp over the roof beam," the carpenter explained, pointing to the wooden structure that ran across the entire roof about twelve feet above them. "It's simple. We climb up onto that beam you were just holding, I throw you the tarp, and you pull it toward yourself."

The beam was about six feet off the ground, but barely wider than his shoe. Frerichs nodded and climbed up first. As soon as he stepped onto the beam, the wood sagged under him.

"See, Inspector? Easy."

Pavel shook his head. He wasn't a circus performer who could just waltz across a beam like it was a walk in the park. No, his government salary was decent, but it wasn't worth this kind of risk. He glanced around. A stepladder was leaning against the attic wall. He grabbed it, opened it, and set it next to the beam. Then he climbed up. He wasn't quite as high as Frerichs, but with the ladder to hold on to, he felt much more comfortable.

"This should do it," he said. "By the way, where's your apprentice?"

"He's sealing the roof of the town theater."

The carpenter inhaled, swung the tarp, and tossed it over the roof beam. It unfurled too soon, snagging halfway up. Pavel stretched for it, but it was just out of reach. Well, that was a problem.

Frerichs couldn't let go of his end, or the whole thing would slide right off the beam. That meant Pavel had to pull from his side. He climbed onto the second-highest rung of the ladder. Still not enough, even though he stretched as far as he could.

The crossbeam, where Frerichs was standing, was the only option. Of course.

Pavel concentrated on the tarp, tuning everything else out. That was probably what Shaman Luna would advise him to do. Unfortunately, he couldn't simply ignore the height. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, then stepped down from the ladder and onto the beam.

Whoa. The thing wobbled a lot more than he expected. What would be the best way to roll when he hit the ground? He looked down, which was a mistake. The drop looked even worse now. Sure, six feet wouldn't kill him, but he'd definitely break something. Then he'd never be able to ride Heino, his service bike, again.

"Looking good!" Frerichs called, although nothing about this looked good. Pavel was basically already in free fall. His body just hadn't gotten the memo yet. "The tarp! Now!"

Right. The tarp. Up there. All he had to do was grab it. Then everything would be fine. He stretched as far as he could, his fingers brushing the smooth plastic. He pulled, but his strength wasn't evenly distributed. His right hand, his dominant one, was stronger, so that side gave way more easily. His body instinctively followed, tilting off balance. And just like that, he fell. Without thinking, his fingers clenched around the tarp. The plastic wasn't meant to hold his weight, but he didn't give it a choice. He sank to the ground with it. His right foot hit the floorboards, then his left. And somehow he was standing.

"Well done, Inspector," Frerichs praised. "I don't think I'd have dared to try that. Who knows how soon the tarp might have given way?"

Pavel's heart finally started to slow down. Too bad Enna hadn't seen that. She would have been proud of him. Or maybe she would have scolded him for being so reckless. Enna, Enna, he had to be careful where his thoughts took him. There were other people in the world. Berger, Müntefering, Sontje, whom he hadn't heard from in ages. Or Ms. Winters! That would have been something, if Ms. Winters had seen him like that. His landlady would have applauded.

"I... Yeah, that wasn't exactly the plan," he admitted, suddenly aware of the cold sweat on his back. He really needed a shower. The urge hit him hard and fast. "Do you need me for anything else, Mr. Frerichs?"

Gratefully, Pavel saw the carpenter shake his head. "No. I still have to secure the tarp on all sides. You can't help with that. But if you're up for it, come back when I'm working on the new roof frame. It's not easy finding helpers who don't wet their pants over a little height, if you know what I mean."

Pavel knew exactly what he meant. He’d been this close. He could practically smell the fear. Either Frerichs hadn’t noticed, or he was just messing with him. Either way, Pavel left the attic, took the elevator down to the ground floor, and stepped onto the broad, neo-baroque staircase leading to the marketplace. As a kid, he’d always imagined that pirates were once beheaded here, or witches burned at the stake. In reality, the town had been founded in 1745, shortly after Frederick II of Prussia took over from the last East Frisian prince of the Cirksena family. When they built the brand new town hall, they furnished it with pieces from the old princely palace. A massive table in the registrar’s office was one of the few things left. The rest of the furniture had vanished over the years.

The marketplace was littered with junk. The town had designated it as a collection point for garbage hauled out of flooded basements. The air was thick with the musty smell of damp wood and rotting fabric.

At the foot of the stairs, Pavel turned left. That was where he’d left Heino, locked to a railing. He usually left him there, waiting like a horse. But his service bike wasn’t there. His stomach dropped. His pulse skyrocketed. His hands went clammy. He grabbed at the metal bar where Heino was supposed to be. Nothing. Not even a scratch. No sign of Heino or the thief. His heart pounded in his chest. He was so sure he’d locked Heino up on the left side!

"You all right?" asked an elderly woman as she dumped a thoroughly soaked box from a wheelbarrow onto the marketplace pile.

"Me? Uh—yeah. No. Yes."

"You seem confused. Should I call an ambulance? I just have to press this button right here." She held up something that looked like a smartwatch. Then she chuckled. "They’d be in for a surprise."

"No, thank you. That’s very kind of you, but I was just startled, that’s all."

"Yeah, what this hurricane did..." The woman nodded. "It is pretty frightening. But we're not going to let it get us down, are we?"

"No," Pavel said, trying to keep his voice steady. "If only I knew where my bike was."

"You don’t mean that one over there, do you?" She pointed to the other side of the square. Three sanitation workers in bright orange uniforms were standing there. One of them was holding a black bicycle, examining it. His colleague reached for it, ready to toss it into the maw of the garbage truck, where a metal drum rumbled hungrily. But the first guy hesitated.

"It’s still in decent shape," he said.

"What are you going to do with it? We have to clear the square, Jan!"

Pavel was already running. Running for Heino’s life, because Jan was letting go of his Heino. His coworker grabbed Heino, dragging him toward the truck. Heino seemed to be struggling. His handlebars were twisting left and right. The man raised his foot. Was he about to kick Heino?

"Stop!" Pavel shouted, reaching for his belt. Shit. His service weapon was still at the office. It would have come in handy right now. A warning shot, and even the most stubborn… No, that would cost him a full day of paperwork. At least. Fortunately, the man heard him.

"Is this yours?"

"Yes, it’s mine." Pavel pulled out his badge. "Chief Inspector Neuhof. Hand it over."

"Hey, it was unlocked, just sitting there by the railing, and this is a designated garbage zone. We couldn’t just… "

Pavel nodded. Now that he had the handlebars in his grasp, he felt a whole lot better. "You’re right." Heino always manages to slip away, he thought. "My fault. I keep forgetting to lock him up," he admitted. "Won’t happen again."

“It’s all good,” said the garbage man. “I might’ve jumped the gun a little. You can see the old thing still gets ridden.” He gestured toward the basket, where an open bike lock lay. It was the one Berger had picked up for him back then. Pavel really had forgotten to secure Heino to the railing.

“Happy hunting,” the garbage man said, tipping the brim of an imaginary cap.

“Hunting?” Pavel didn’t even have his service weapon on him. But of course, the guy wouldn’t know that.

“For criminals, I mean.”

“Ah, thanks. Same to you. You know, for the garbage.”

In a way, their jobs weren’t so different. As Heino’s close call had shown, sometimes what looked like garbage wasn’t garbage at all. As the truck with the three men drove off, Pavel patted Heino’s saddle.

Glad to have you back, he thought. But he could never say it out loud. People would think it was strange, the way he was so attached to this old bike. But for him, it was an anchor, something that tethered him to reality, unshakably so. People weren’t like that. Mothers could take their moods out on their children, partners could fall in love with someone new, and colleagues could switch jobs. But Heino would never leave him.

Pavel took the padlock from the basket, looped it around the saddle, and clicked it shut. Then he set Heino on the kickstand. The bike tilted slightly as if it were tired. Pavel pictured the town hall in the morning. He had seen it to his left. That meant he had been standing over there. He could still feel the click of the lock closing in his fingers. How had Heino gotten from one side to the other? He shook his head. A mystery he couldn’t solve. Better to ignore it, or he’d lose his mind.

He pulled Heino a little closer and swung his leg over the basket to climb onto the saddle. Just then his phone rang in his pocket. Instinctively Pavel reached for it. Maybe it was Enna wanting to see him? But he didn’t lift his leg high enough to clear the basket. His foot got caught. For a split second, he had the choice of which side he would fall on. He let himself fall to the left. That way, Heino would crash into him and not the other way around. And just like that, he found himself sprawled on the pavement, the bike on top of him. But only for a moment.

“What on earth are you doing?” the elderly woman asked. “Are you sure you don't want me to call an ambulance?”

“No, I’m fine.” Pavel pulled himself up. Luckily, he was wearing work clothes, an old military tracksuit that was already dirty from the attic. “Thanks a lot.” He took Heino back from the woman, checked him over, and found no injuries. Damage, he mentally corrected himself. He set the bike upright and reached for his cell phone, which had stopped ringing. The screen showed a Hamburg number. Someone had left a voicemail. Pavel called his inbox.

“You have one new message.”

He pressed the number the automated voice gave him. At first, there was nothing but silence. Then a woman’s voice. No. That was impossible. Pavel pressed his lips together.

“You’ve gone as pale as a ghost,” the old woman said. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

Pavel hit the red button, ending the call. “No, everything's fine. I'm all right. I swear,” he lied.

Chapter Three

The first hike after a major storm was always the most exciting. Lars looked around. They had been following the tidal creek almost since leaving Fleetstedt’s harbor. But something was off; it didn’t flow the way he remembered. It was noticeably shallower, with fewer bends. Hurricane Julia must have piled up sand somewhere, forcing the returning water to carve a new path. Maybe it had even reclaimed an old one. Lars had only been an official hiking guide for three years. His father still knew the sea’s pathways better than he did.

The group trailing behind him was small. That meant less income, of course; the butcher shop was struggling, and he needed the extra money. But he didn’t mind. The mudflats were unpredictable, especially after a hurricane, and keeping an eye on a group of thirty people as he was required to was impossible.

With just seven hikers in tow, three young couples who either already knew each other or had met on the way over, plus an older man who was on his own, he could manage just fine. The lone older guy was also the only one wearing real rubber boots. The younger hikers’ plastic ones shimmered in a rainbow of colors, but Lars doubted they’d last the whole trek. He had warned them just yesterday. Good boots were easy to find in any tourist town along the coast. Not cheap, sure, but these couples didn’t look like they were short on cash.

If they ended up with wet feet, no big deal. The hike was strenuous enough that they wouldn’t get cold, and back in Fleetstedt, he had a small, heated room where they could change into dry clothes.

Lars turned his gaze back toward the sea. It was a breathtaking sight. The wind howled across an ochre-colored landscape speckled with black, its glossy surface reflecting the steel blue sky as if a thin layer of egg white had been brushed over it. Wispy, elongated clouds extended across the horizon. The sun wasn’t a problem; it was behind them, casting long, stretched-out shadows across the sand.

He turned to his group.

“Let’s do a little quiz. What color are our shadows? No peeking.”

A young woman raised her hand. He liked her because she looked athletic. Lars had a general appreciation for athletic people, though not in a way that had anything to do with weight. He had been outswum more than once by people twice his size. Seals and sea lions proved nature’s point: the torpedo shape was best for life in the water.

“Gray?” she guessed.

Too bad. That was the most common answer, but it was wrong. He would have liked to be able to give her credit for getting it right. Lars shook his head.

“Purple,” said the guy who had been sticking close to her.

“Also wrong,” Lars said with a smile. He turned and pointed north. “Look closely, can you see it?”

“Blue,” the older man said.

“Exactly. Our bodies block the sunlight from reaching the ground. But the sun isn’t the only source of light. The whole sky is glowing blue, surprisingly bright, and when the sun’s light is blocked, the reflection becomes more noticeable, especially here, where the mud is covered by a thin layer of water.”

“What about at night?” the younger guy asked.

“Well, then they’re black, obviously,” the young woman answered before Lars could.

Smart thinking, Lars thought. She was able to connect the dots and apply what she’d learned. The guy? Not so much. These kinds of individual differences showed up in every group. As a certified lifeguard instructor, he had to be aware of that. It was one of the biggest takeaways from his last training course.

* * *

They kept walking. The wind whispered, the water gurgled, and the group’s boots made squelching sounds with every step. The farther they moved from the coast, the quieter his guests became. A mix of growing exhaustion and the unsettling feeling of being at the mercy of the sea was setting in. The ground made it clear that just a few hours ago, the water had stood several feet high, and that it would soon return. His guests had no choice but to trust him to get them back to shore in time, without having to cross any of the tidal channels, where the water rushed through unexpectedly fast, as he had demonstrated with a small experiment earlier.

Lars stopped. It was time. He took a deep breath. The smell was incredible. The mudflats were teeming with life!

“What is it?” asked the athletic woman.

“Do you notice anything?” he asked in return.

Everyone turned around. “There’s a small island up ahead,” the older man said, pointing north.

Lars shook his head. That wasn’t what he meant. Who knew what the man had actually seen? “No, here.”

“The ground looks lighter,” said the athletic woman. Suddenly he remembered her name. Normally he didn't bother to remember how the guests introduced themselves at the beginning of the tour, but this woman’s name was Julia, like the storm that had just passed through.

“That’s right, Julia. We’ve now moved far enough from the coast to have left the muddy and mixed mudflats behind. You’re standing on nearly pure sand flats.”

“Oh yeah, it feels just like a sandy beach,” Julia’s companion remarked.

“Most of the sandy beaches along the East Frisian mainland are actually man-made,” Lars explained. “That’s because the mainland coast is sheltered from the wind by the islands. The soil is less affected by wind and waves. As it decomposes, it creates those unpleasant smells you noticed at the beginning of the hike. That area is called the mudflats.”

“Yeah, now it just smells salty,” Julia said.

“That’s because the sand here shifts around much more. It contains hardly any organic matter but a lot more oxygen. That also changes the ecosystem significantly.”

“And it’s easier to walk on,” Julia’s companion added as if trying to outdo her.

“Correct. But even the sand flats can have dangerous spots, what’s known as quicksand. Especially after major storms like Julia.”

The young woman smiled and her companion playfully nudged her in the ribs.

“That’s why you should never walk the tidal flats alone,” Lars continued. “You won’t sink completely, but getting yourself out can be tricky—and sooner or later, the tide comes back in.”

“Maybe we should turn back,” suggested another young man.

“Not before we check that thing out,” the older man insisted, pointing north again.

Lars looked at his watch. They still had plenty of time. “Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on the tide.” Then his gaze followed the man’s arm. There was something there, something that didn’t belong. Just to be sure, Lars pulled out his topographic map from his jacket. According to it, there wasn’t supposed to be even the tiniest sandbank in that spot.

“The storm must have uncovered something,” he said.

“Can we take a closer look?” Julia asked.

“Sure. We’ve got enough time to check it out. But we'll stay at least three hundred feet away. There’s still a lot of World War Two debris buried out here, and some of it can still be dangerous.”

Most of his guests nodded in agreement. Only the older man’s face twisted in dissatisfaction. Hopefully he wasn’t about to do something reckless.

* * *

It was a wreck, uncovered by the storm. The oval shape was unmistakable. A boat lay tilted on its side, exposing what remained of its deck. But the closer they got, the less Lars thought it was some remnant from World War II. The material looked too dark for rusted steel. He’d seen modern shipwrecks that had been buried in the sand for twenty years. This one felt older, much older.

About 500 feet away, he stopped the group. The hurricane and storm surge must have moved hundreds of tons of sand to reveal the wreck. Who knew what other surprises had come to light in the process? World War II bombs, old fishing nets, or even new micro-channels—additional drainage paths for water that the old ship had been blocking.

He offered his binoculars to the guests. Julia was the first to take them. The older gentleman had his own and was already methodically scanning the wreck.

“How old do you think it is?” Julia asked. “And all of this was completely buried before?”

“It’s hard to say how old it is,” Lars replied. “Looks like it’s made of wood, but that doesn’t really narrow it down much.”

He left out the fact that the wreck seemed to have an unusually flat bottom. For one thing, it was hard to tell from their vantage point. Even if it did, that just meant it was designed for use in the Wadden Sea. Ships like that had been used along the German and Dutch coasts for a long time.

“Maybe it was a pirate ship,” Julia suggested. “Sunk here by the Hanseatic League.”

Ah, the group must have visited one of the local history museums. Well, that was a smart way to spend a cold winter day. Lars shook his head. “It’s definitely not that old. We’d be talking about the fourteenth century there.”

“Too bad. Then it probably didn't hold any treasure?”

Lars smiled. Why did people always associate shipwrecks with treasure? Whatever this boat had been carrying, sheep, grain, coal, or whatever else was needed back then, had long since been scattered by the currents. The deck was almost gone, the cargo hold underneath open and empty. Lars had taken a good look through the binoculars before passing them to the others.

“I’d guess early eighteenth century,” the older man said, lowering his binoculars. “Anyone else want to take a look?” He offered them to the three couples in the group, but no one took him up on the offer. There was something distant about him, something that made people hesitant. He shrugged and slung them back around his neck.

“You know a lot about it?” Lars asked.

“A bit of everything. I’m a writer, you see. Research comes with the job.”

“Oh, would I know your work?”

“Only if you read science fiction.”

Lars shook his head. He barely read at all, and he certainly wasn’t interested in books about far-off worlds. There was already so much to experience in real life. Given the choice between being outdoors and sitting still with a book, he’d pick the real world every time.

“No worries,” the man said with a small smile.

“What makes you think it’s from the eighteenth century?” Julia’s partner asked, still peering through Lars’s binoculars.

“Just a hunch. The ship could be a Schmack. The size, about a hundred feet, fits. And I think you can see the remains of a side sword. Because of their flat bottoms, those ships didn’t have a keel. And the rudder was freely suspended from the stern.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Lars gestured toward the writer’s binoculars. The man smiled and handed them over. Lars adjusted the focus and studied the wreck. The man was right; on the upper side, there was a plank that could indeed be a side sword. The rudder was missing. But the stern must have risen straight up, making a freely suspended rudder a plausible design. Flat-bottomed ships like this had been common in the 18th and 19th centuries. Not a bad guess from someone who usually wrote about the future.

“Stay here, Steven!” Julia suddenly shouted.

Lars jumped. He yanked the binoculars from his face and tossed them back to their owner, who caught them with quick reflexes. Footsteps splashed through the wet sand. A man in a yellow raincoat was running toward the wreck. That had to be Steven, Julia’s partner.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Lars yelled after him, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough, so he ran too. Steven might be ten years younger than him, but he clearly wasn’t used to running on the mudflats. You had to stay airborne as long as possible and land with the whole sole of your foot instead of your heel. That way, you didn’t sink in as much and saved energy. Lars caught up to him after about sixty feet, even though Steven had a head start.

He grabbed Steven’s arm and yanked him around, making them both stumble. Lars braced himself with one leg, and for once, the wet sand worked in his favor, keeping him steady. Falling face-first into the mud in front of the other hikers would have been too embarrassing.

“What the fuck?” Lars snapped. He knew exactly why Steven had done it; he wanted to impress his girlfriend. Lars had been twenty once too. But no other question had come to mind in the heat of the moment.

“I… I…” Suddenly, Steven looked like a scolded child.

Julia rushed over and grabbed his arm. “I really don’t feel like watching you get swallowed by quicksand.”

“Well, technically, quicksand only forms in certain types of silt and sand deposits, not in mudflats like this,” the know-it-all writer chimed in.

Lars fought the urge to laugh. No wonder no one wanted to borrow his binoculars.

“These are mine,” he said, taking his own binoculars back from Steven. For a moment he looked at the wreck through them, but being twenty feet closer didn’t make much of a difference. Eventually archeologists would examine the old ship, and then he’d read about it in the local paper.

“Do you ever write for the newspaper, Mr.…?”

“Morris. And no, I write books.”

Lars felt his face heat up. Of course, he knew that writers wrote books, not newspaper articles. Why had he asked such a stupid question? He waved it off. It was time to head back before the other guys in the group got any bright ideas about impressing their girlfriends.

* * *

"So, did you have a good trip?" the harbormaster asked as Lars and his group returned to the dock.

Edwin Tholen was lounging on an old sofa in front of the harbor office, puffing on his pipe. All sorts of junk was piled up in front of the two-story building, probably debris from the recent storm surge. The fact that the harbormaster was still sitting there, completely unfazed, taking it easy on the couch was typical. He'd inherited that from his predecessor, who'd retired last year.

Lars tilted his head. "You know how it is with young men."

"Yep." Edwin gave the slightest nod. Lars felt understood and sat down next to him. Right now, he could have gone for a cigarette, even though he’d quit smoking when he was twenty. There was no point in asking Edwin; he only smoked a pipe, and the idea of sharing it would never even cross his mind. You wouldn’t share your wife either, would you?

"There’s a wreck out there, a little east of Holderpriel."

"Yeah?" This time, Edwin’s tone rose slightly at the end.

"Eighteenth century."

"Yeah!"

Lars nodded. Now, that was something special. If the tourists caught wind of it, that could mean even more lucrative tours out into the mudflats.

"Who do we tell about it?" he asked.

"Why don't you ask Enna? She should know."

Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? Enna was with the police. She’d know exactly who handled these kinds of discoveries. Lars glanced at his watch. Already three-thirty. Quitting time. He’d call Enna in the morning.

Chapter Four

February shone brightly. The colors practically crackled, even though the sun hadn’t risen yet. The sky had been clear overnight. A fine layer of frost had settled on the slopes of the dike and across the salt marshes, like icing sugar, or no, more like the salted rim of a perfectly mixed margarita. The East Frisian coast wasn’t sweet, it was salty, and the air hit your lungs like a shot of strong liquor burning its way down.

Enna never understood why people complained about winter being too dark. The sun rose just before eight and set around five-thirty. That was nine and a half hours of daylight! She whistled for Bjarne, and her furry companion immediately obeyed, trotting back to her side. Any minute now, the sun would crest the horizon. She knew exactly where it would happen. That was why she loved taking her morning walks on the western side of the bay, where Fleetstedt stretched out at the farthest tip.

And there it was. For a few seconds, the sky flickered green, like someone had flipped on a neon light. The green flash happened because the sunlight had to travel an unusually long distance through the atmosphere at that moment. Enna felt Bjarne’s tongue on her hand. The dog was already bored, even though he’d spent the last two days with the Bergers while she helped out at the harbormaster’s office.

Now the horizon turned such an intense shade of red that even the frost-covered salt marshes took on its glow. Diamonds transformed into rubies. It was high tide. The sea lapped gently at the shore, miniature waves nibbling at the water’s edge. Only the scattered driftwood hinted at how violent the North Sea could be.

Right in the middle of this peaceful moment, her phone rang. Enna sighed. If it was Pavel, she wouldn’t answer. Something had been off between them lately, ever since…ever since… She pulled the phone out of her pocket and saw Lars’s number. If the head of the local lifeguard association was calling, it could be a matter of life and death. She hit the green button. Bjarne nudged her knee.

“Yeah, go on, take a look around.” They were alone on the dike, so she could let Bjarne roam freely.

“Uh, hello? Enna, is that you?”

“Oh, sorry, Lars. That was meant for Bjarne.”

“That your new colleague, huh?”

Obviously they hadn’t caught up in a while. Bjarne had been with her for over six months. Not that she took him along when she was training.

“Ha-ha, no. That’s my dog. My colleague’s name is Pavel.”

“Ah, gotcha. You should bring him to training sometime.”

“You mean my colleague or the dog?”

“Very funny.” Lars sounded a little annoyed. Not a morning person, apparently. Or maybe this really was an emergency. Enna swallowed. If that was the case, there was no time to waste.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Hope I’m not interrupting. I’ve got to head over to the butcher shop soon, so I don’t have much time.”

“For what?”

“I need to ask you something. During a mudflat hike yesterday, my group and I came across a shipwreck.”

Enna frowned. Lars was with the lifeguards, so he should know exactly what to do in these situations. “And? Did you call emergency services and secure the site?”

“Nope. We were about two hundred years too late for that.”

Ah. Now she understood. A wreck. Of course! Supposedly, hundreds of old ships were still buried in the mud and sand. “Let me guess, Julia dug something up?”

“Yep. But who do I report it to? Is that your department?”

“No, that’s one for the archeologists. Where exactly is it?”

“East of Holderpriel, about a forty-five minute walk from Fleetstedt’s harbor.” In that time, you could cover maybe two miles on foot in the mudflats. That meant the wreck probably wasn’t inside the highly protected zones of the national park, or Lars and his group wouldn’t have been able to reach it.

“Got it. When I was in Flensburg, we had a wreck turn up in the Baltic. The water police had to secure it so that curious people wouldn’t mess with it.”

“So will you take care of it, Enna?”

“I’m not with the water police anymore, Lars. We deal with murders and other crimes, not ships that sank centuries ago. Plus, back then, the archeologists specifically requested our help. The police don't usually get involved in such things.”

“Come on, Enna, I really don’t have time to deal with this. Can’t you…I mean, at least contact the archeologists? I wouldn’t even know where to start…”

Enna felt sorry for him. She knew he hated the job he’d inherited from his father. But mudflat hikes didn’t pay nearly enough to make a living, especially since he also volunteered at the lifeguard association.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll pass it along. But keep it quiet, okay? You know how dangerous wrecks can be, and the last thing we need is a bunch of curious idiots crawling all over it.”

“Thanks, Enna. You’re a lifesaver.”

A warm feeling spread through her. Lars appreciated what she did for him. He’d had a thing for her for years. Maybe she should go out with him sometime. Sure, she had no clue what they’d talk about outside of sea rescue, but she talked enough at work anyway. That was what happened when you worked with two guys who barely said a word.

She whistled for Bjarne. He came sprinting back, carrying something odd in his mouth. Enna’s heart skipped a beat. One end was brightly colored, the other pale, it looked eerily like a human shinbone wearing a sock. A sock with the same bright colors as the Lego socks she had on today. Please, not a dismembered body. Not this early in the morning. But when Bjarne finally dropped his find at her feet, it turned out to be a piece of driftwood, a snapped-off branch that some animal had stripped of its bark. Wrapped around one end was a crumpled Haribo candy bag. Enna crouched down, gave Bjarne a scratch behind the ears, and pulled the bag free. She’d throw it away when she got to the office.

* * *

"Pavel asked me to let you know he’ll be late. He had to go to the doctor."

Bjarne nudged her, then trotted straight to Pavel’s desk and curled up underneath it. Lately, nothing could get him to move from there, not even when her colleague took off his shoes. Or maybe especially then; she hadn’t quite figured that part out yet.

"Thanks, Olaf. Anything else going on today?"

Berger shook his head. "Nothing major. The elementary school wants to know if we can do another traffic safety session in early March. Should I forward the email to you?"

"No, pass that along to Pavel."

Last time, a woman named Friedensreich had been in charge of the program, and she’d practically worshipped her colleague. Let him handle it.

"Also, the Department of the Interior is launching a campaign to prevent serious crimes. We need to fill out a survey for it."

Enna sighed. Oh, thrilling. If only that piece of wood had actually been a severed leg.

"Can you take care of it?" she asked.

Olaf shook his head again. "Sorry, someone higher up has to fill it out."

"Okay, then send me the link."

Berger nodded. "Already in your inbox."

Enna took a few steps toward her desk, but Berger didn’t leave. What else did he have? "You look like there's something else, Olaf."

"I’m not sure. A woman called twice today asking to speak with Pavel."

"What was it about?"

"She didn’t say."

"Could it be his landlady?"

"Ms. Winters? No, I’d recognize her. She only gave her first name, Katharina."

Katharina, like her friend who worked as an escort? Enna bit her lip. It had to be a coincidence. Then again, Pavel was single, made good money, and wasn’t exactly the best at forming connections with people. He’d probably be the ideal client for Katharina. Could she blame him for that? Or her? No. That wasn’t her place. Still, she felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Do you know my friend Katharina?" she asked.

"Never heard of her. Why?"

"Oh, no reason." She bit her lip harder. Berger was sharp. He’d definitely Google the name now. Katharina was very candid about her profession and advertised it openly on her website. How could she keep Olaf from looking her up? He needed a task. Something that would keep him too busy to dig around.

"Actually, I just remembered—we need to check the evidence room at the start of the year. You know the drill, everything that’s no longer needed has to go. Could you take care of that?"

The evidence room was the official term for the storage area. Its contents had to be reviewed at least quarterly, and anything unnecessary needed to be returned to its rightful owner, sold, or destroyed.

Now it was Berger’s turn to sigh. She instantly felt bad. No one liked this job; it usually involved tedious research to track down the rightful owners of evidence. Like that black rope Rainer Bruns had bought awhile ago. Who the hell did it even belong to now?

"I’ll help you later," Enna said. "I just need to make a quick call first. Did Pavel say why he needed to see a doctor?"

"Apparently, he has agonizing muscle pain. His landlady thought he might be having a heart attack."

That was definitely just sore muscles. Served him right. Enna smirked. He’d probably gotten a little too carried away with Katharina.

* * *

Fulfilling Lars's request turned out to be surprisingly easy. Enna Googled who had been involved in past shipwreck discoveries and quickly came across the Lower Saxony Institute for Historical Coastal Research, which also employed several marine archeologists. She called the main office and introduced herself.

"Is this about a find in the mudflats?" the woman at the front desk asked.

"Exactly."

"Then I'll put you through to David Zwack."

A few seconds of tinny piano music crackled in her ear before Zwack came on the line.

"What can I do for you?" he asked after introducing himself with his title and position.

"Enna Koopmann from the Fleetstedt police department. I’d like to report the discovery of a shipwreck in the mudflats."

"Oh, that's exciting. Did you find it yourself?"

"Am I speaking to the right person about it?"

"Well, technically, the Lower Saxony State Service for Cultural Heritage is responsible. But they mostly just handle the paperwork and end up sending cases to us anyway."

"So should I…?"

"No need. I'll take care of it. We shouldn't waste any time. Where are you?"

"Fleetstedt."

"Hmm, I'm afraid that doesn't ring a bell."

"Roughly between Leer and Wittmund."

"Ah, great. I can be there in forty-five minutes. Shall we meet at the harbor? Preferably with the harbormaster. He should be able to arrange a trip to the mudflats for us."

Wow. This guy was really in a hurry. Enna glanced at the clock. It was just after nine. Technically, it wasn’t her job to deal with sunken ships, but the idea of spending the rest of the day outdoors was pretty appealing. And she wouldn’t even have to write a report about it!

"All right, if that’s what you want."

* * *

"The number you have dialed is not available."

Enna hung up. Hopefully Pavel wasn't suffering from anything serious. She pictured him being slid into an MRI machine. No, she really didn’t want to get used to another new boss. And it was probably too soon for her to be promoted. Seniority still mattered a lot in civil service careers.

She checked the rearview mirror to make sure Bjarne was securely strapped into his harness. Then she backed the red Polo out of the parking space. She still needed to grab her boots from her apartment. The archeologist would surely want to check out the wreck. Only now did it occur to her that they might need a local guide. She’d walked through the mudflats a few times before, but only as a visitor. And after a storm surge, hazards tended to shift.

So she called Lars. After all, he was the one who dragged her into this.

"Not a great time," he answered immediately. That was the way it worked in the lifeguard community.

"Sorry, but it’s about your discovery. The archeologist will be at the harbor in half an hour, and we need a guide."

"I’ve got half-butchered pigs in front of me, and my dad’s at the doctor. If I don’t finish this now, the meat will spoil."

Did fresh meat really go bad that fast? But she couldn’t force Lars to come. Maybe she could entice him?

"How about we meet at Deichkante tonight? My treat?"

Lars laughed. "A year ago, I would’ve jumped at that, but I can’t do it anymore in good conscience. You guys are just…"

He left the sentence hanging. What was that supposed to mean?

"So you’re really going to send me into the mudflats alone? Seriously?"

"I’ve got an idea. Dietrichsen recently started offering carriage tours out there. She must have a permit. Why don't you ask her? Your archeologist will cover the cost."

"You mean Viola Dietrichsen?"

"Yeah, old farmer Dietrichsen’s daughter."

That was news to her. The Dietrichsen farm had been drowning in debt. For a brief moment, Viola had even been a suspect in her father’s murder. She’d probably be happy for the extra income.

Unless she was at the doctor’s. Since she was dating Dr. Sörensen, that was a real possibility, even if she wasn’t sick.

"All right, I’ll give it a shot. This is what I get for doing you a favor." She ended the call. Viola’s number had to be somewhere in her phone. Unfortunately, Bjarne couldn’t look it up for her, so she had to pull over. She parked the Polo in a no-parking zone. That way she wouldn't take up any of the valuable parking spaces.

There it was. The last time she had spoken to Viola was two months ago when she’d testified in court. She dialed the number, but no one picked up.

Dr. Sörensen, on the other hand, answered after four rings. Enna heard a rustling noise, like a long zipper being pulled, before he spoke.

"Dr. Sörensen speaking. Who am I talking to?"

Enna was sure he had her number saved. But she played along and introduced herself formally.

"May I speak with Ms. Dietrichsen, please?" she asked, getting straight to the point.

Sörensen didn’t reply immediately. He was probably weighing his options. She wasn’t just an old acquaintance. When the police called, people usually needed a second to collect themselves. "Viola!" he finally called. "Wait, it’s for you!"

Enna heard the shuffle of slippers. Sörensen was probably leaving his room—she imagined a bedroom with a messy bed—and carrying the phone to his girlfriend.

"Here, sweetheart, the police want to talk to you."

Viola was probably making a defensive gesture right now. But Sörensen must have pressed the phone to her cheek because Enna could hear her breathing, loud and clear.

"Viola Dietrichsen speaking." Compared to the doctor, Viola was practically whispering.

"I need your help, Ms. Dietrichsen. Of course, you’d be paid. It’s for a carriage ride into the mudflats with an archeologist."

"Paid, you say? That’s new, coming from the police."

"Well, the State Office for Heritage Management will probably cover it. But I assure you, you’ll get your money."

"If you say so… When do you need me?"

Enna checked the time. "About twenty minutes at the pier?"

Viola burst out laughing. "Just the three of us?"

"That’s right."

"All right, I just need to hitch up Julia. But twenty minutes won’t be enough. I can be there in forty."

"Deal."

"You did check the tides, right, Inspector?"

Enna froze. Surely the archeologist had checked if the trip made sense, hadn’t he?

"I… uh, yes, the client checked, of course," she lied.

She leaned back. Another crazy day, and not even a crime in sight.

“Bjarne, you wouldn’t happen to have the tide tables memorized, would you?” Bjarne let out a short bark. He probably knew the tides down to the minute but couldn’t find a way to tell her. Not that it was all that difficult to figure out. If high tide had been at sunrise today, which she’d seen with her own eyes, then the water was receding. Low tide would be around two-thirty in the afternoon. Mudflat hikes usually started two hours before low tide. With a horse-drawn carriage, they could probably set out three hours earlier, so around eleven-thirty. That meant she needed to kill about an hour and a half before meeting up with the archeologist.

She had just the plan. She was going to treat herself to some delicious cake. And where better than Frieda’s Tea Room? Viola Dietrichsen certainly wouldn’t mind having a little extra time to get the carriage ready.

* * *

“How do you do? I'm Enna Koopmann. We spoke on the phone.”

Enna extended her hand to the archeologist. He had tousled dark hair and looked surprisingly young. He was dressed in a button-down shirt, jeans, and a blazer, not exactly the most practical outfit for the season or their upcoming trek.

“David Zwack, like ‘Zwick,’” he said with a firm, warm handshake. “But just call me David.”

“Enna.”

Well, that was easy. How long had it taken her and Pavel to get to a first-name basis? And they were still using formal titles.

“Don’t worry, I checked the weather report,” David said, gesturing toward the backseat of his car, where a gray coverall was draped over the seat. She also spotted a pair of black rubber boots on the floor. “Is there somewhere I can change?”

“We’ve got some time to kill,” Enna replied. “The tides. We don't have to leave until half past eleven.”

David smacked his forehead. “Of course! I should’ve thought of that myself. Sorry about that. I probably stressed you out for no reason… I hope I’m not holding up important police work in Fleetstedt while crime runs rampant behind your back.”

He laughed, and while it had a teasing edge, it wasn’t arrogant. He certainly didn’t fit her usual image of an academic. Honestly, he looked more like the manager of an upscale outdoor gear store.

“No, I’m not the only officer in town,” Enna said. “By the way, you’re not afraid of dogs, are you?”

“Not at all! I love dogs.”

Oh, good. A man who wasn’t afraid of dogs. She whistled, and Bjarne nudged open the slightly ajar passenger door before trotting over to them.

“May I?” David took a step closer, and before she could even nod, he reached out to scratch behind Bjarne’s ears. But the dog stepped back. Weird. That wasn’t like him.

“Ah, he’s shy.” David straightened up with an easygoing smile as if nothing had happened. And really, nothing had. “Just like his owner.” Then he nodded in the direction of the police station. “Should I change there? You can introduce me to your colleagues.”

Not a chance. She wasn’t about to drag him into the station and fuel unnecessary gossip.

“I had another spot in mind. It’s not far.”

“Of course. I’m easy.” David opened the back door of his BMW and grabbed his coverall. “I’ll put the boots on later. I assume the equipment arrives at eleven-thirty as well?”

“Equipment?”

“Yeah, last time we investigated a wreck, we had a Quadski XL and a Unimog. The Quadski is amazing. You can speed across the mudflats at forty-five miles an hour, and when the water rolls in, the wheels fold up, and boom, it’s a jet ski.”

Enna shook her head. He was going to be sorely disappointed when he saw what they’d be using.

“That must’ve been in Cuxhaven. Their lifeguard station has top-notch gear.”

“Got it. So, we’re more low-tech out here. That’s fine. Honestly, a tractor would work just as well. You’d be surprised how good a hundred rumbling horsepower under the hood can feel.”

“It'll be one horsepower for us,” Enna said. “And her name is Julia.”

David burst out laughing. “That’s a good one. A single horsepower named Julia.” But when he caught sight of her expression, he quickly got himself under control. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. So we’re taking a carriage? I knew they used them for tourists, but I didn’t realize the police got in on the action too…”

Enna pictured herself trotting through Fleetstedt on Julia’s back. That would be something. But what would she do with Pavel? He’d never go near a horse that big. She grinned before setting the record straight. “The local carriage tour company has the only mudflat-worthy transport I could get my hands on at such short notice.”

David nodded. “Perfect. The wreck’s been waiting for us for years. A few more hours won’t make a difference.”

* * *

Frieda's Tea Room was a strange place. She was immediately captivated by the atmosphere. The dining area seemed to float outside of reality. There were no clocks, no softly-playing background music. The décor wasn’t modern, but it wasn’t old-fashioned either. The round tables were a perfect size, with just enough room for four teacups, a pot, and four small dessert plates. The curtains over the windows kept out any curious glances, both from the inside and the outside. It felt like the world outside that massive wooden door could crumble and no one inside would even notice.

Then there was the incredible smell. Despite the name, the tearoom also served coffee, and the two scents blended into an irresistible aroma. She glanced down at Bjarne, who had made himself comfortable under the table. He smacked his lips, the scent clearly getting to him. For him, it must be even more intense, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“This place is amazing,” David said. “Feels like I just stepped into my grandma’s kitchen.”

That was a good comparison, even if these days, you could order oat milk instead of whole milk with your drink, and the menu now featured donuts and muffins. The owner had to bake what customers wanted, and tastes had changed.

But butter cake was still on the menu. Enna closed her eyes for a brief moment and leaned back in her chair. Besides hers, only two other tables were occupied, but she couldn’t hear any of the conversation. Everyone who ate here automatically lowered their voices.

Someone reached for her hand. Instinctively, she pulled away. A shiver ran down her spine. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Pavel would never have done something like that.

“My apologies,” David said. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You looked so happy just now, and I ruined the moment. I only wanted to show you what I found out about our shipwreck.” The archeologist opened a brown folder containing some computer-printed lists. “These are the shipwreck records we have. I’ve marked all the ships that could match the location. But there are a large number of unreported cases.”

Maybe he really had just wanted to get her attention. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt. “So our wreck might not even be on your list?”

Somehow, Enna kind of hoped that was the case. It made the discovery feel more mysterious.

“That’s very possible. But that also means finding more information could be tricky. It all depends on how well it’s been preserved. Do you know anything about it?”

She shook her head. “Lars saw the wreck, not me.”

“Your friend?”

“A friend, yes.”

She didn’t like the question, but it was her own fault for not calling him Mr. Zinke. A first name implied some kind of relationship, and to a scientist, the connection between witnesses was probably important. If she had been investigating this as part of her police work, she would have asked the same question.

The coffee arrived. They had both ordered black coffee, though for different reasons. Enna thought drinking tea required a sense of leisure, and she was working right now. Zwack had simply admitted he didn’t like tea. Moments later, the waitress set the cake down in front of them. Enna had talked the archaeologist into trying the butter cake. He eyed his slice with clear skepticism. Instead of picking it up with his fingers, he cut a small bite with the dessert fork and cautiously put it in his mouth.

The sight triggered a memory in Enna. She could see Pavel brushing sugar and cake crumbs from the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger. She heard herself say: “Yes. I want to go to the shelter.”

“Excuse me?”

David stared at her with wide eyes. Two deep creases had formed on his forehead, making him look much older.

Enna shook her head. “That wasn’t meant for you. I was just thinking about when I got Bjarne from the shelter.” Hearing his name, the dog sniffed loudly, as if confirming her little white lie. The memory was actually older than that. Pavel had just pulled her out of the water, and shortly after, at this very table, she had whispered a quiet thank you again in his ear.

She stood up. She had no choice. “David, we need to sit at that table over there.”

David didn’t ask why, and she appreciated that. “Of course. I was just thinking there was a bit of a draft here.”

Chapter Five

Pavel raised his arm. The pain was brutal, but he clenched his teeth and held back a groan. No way was he going to scare Ms. Winters any further. She was sitting out in the waiting room after dragging him here in the first place.

"You haven't had a heart attack," the doctor assured him. "Did you do any unusual physical activity yesterday?"

"I was helping to repair the roof of the town hall."

The doctor grinned. "You can put your arm down, by the way." Pavel gritted his teeth again. Every movement hurt like hell. That was why his landlady had insisted on coming along, just in case. Dr. Langenbeck was the same internist who had diagnosed her late husband’s heart attack all those years ago.

"Maybe you should consider joining a gym," Langenbeck said. "But I’m probably the last person who should be giving health advice." He gestured toward a pack of cigarettes sitting on his desk.

"You really think this is just muscle soreness? I practice judo regularly."

Langenbeck tilted his head. "That’s great, but even with judo, you don’t use every muscle group. And now you’re paying the price. You did a lot of overhead work?"

"Kind of hard to avoid when you’re fixing an attic."

"There you go! No wonder your whole shoulder area is stiff as a board today."

"So there’s nothing you can do?"

"I’m not an orthopedist. But you should be glad you don’t need my expertise. Just take it easy, soak in a hot bath, or use a heating pad. You’ll feel a lot better by tomorrow."

Pavel tried to let his shoulders relax, but it was impossible. Every tiny shift in position had to be done deliberately, each movement accompanied by pain.

"Don’t you have some kind of magic shot to get rid of the pain?"

Dr. Langenbeck flashed his tobacco-stained teeth. Then he glanced around the room, his eyes landing on a cabinet. "Christine?" he called. "Can you get a muscle relaxant ready for Mr. Neuhof?"

The moment he spoke, the nurse who had greeted him and Ms. Winters earlier appeared in the room. Pavel, wearing nothing but his underwear, instinctively tried to cover himself with his arms. He barely managed to fold them over his stomach before the pain forced him to surrender.

* * *

A warm sensation spread through his torso from the injection site on his left upper arm. Ms. Winters flipped through the pages of a women's magazine. The nurse had asked him to wait in the reception area for another fifteen minutes, just in case he had a bad reaction to the medication. But it was already working. The pain didn't go away completely, but it was easier to ignore. It felt more like an unwelcome guest, annoying but temporary.

Pavel looked around. To his left sat a heavyset older man who looked familiar. Wasn't that Zinke senior, the butcher? He was deeply engrossed in a fishing magazine. Ha! Zinke was cheating on his trade. Fish instead of meat. Who knew, maybe he’d turn vegetarian next. Pavel smirked. Would he have found the contrast so funny under normal circumstances, or was the medication messing with his head?

Across from Zinke, an elderly gentleman sat staring intently at the leather hat on his lap. Another familiar face. Hadn’t he been a witness in one of Pavel’s latest cases? Fleetstedt really was small. In the first four weeks after moving here, he must have met three new people a day. Now he kept running into the same ones over and over. But that didn’t make sense! Fleetstedt had a population of about 30,000, and he knew maybe half a percent of them at best.

His eyes landed on the classic round clock on the wall. It was already noon! He had told Berger he’d be seeing a doctor, but Enna was probably starting to worry about him being gone this long. Pavel fished his phone out of his pocket. It was off. Damn. He pressed the power button, and the screen lit up. Sure enough, both Enna and Olaf had tried calling him.

He called Enna back, but there was no reception. She probably wasn't in the office. He tried Olaf.

* * *

"Yes?" Berger’s voice sounded odd, like he was sick or something. Maybe all the unexpected work over the last couple of days had thrown everyone off balance.

"Morning, Olaf! What’s going on over there?"

"Ugh, Enna stuck me with the routine inspection of the evidence room."

"You poor guy! Want me to bring you a fish sandwich from Matthiesen’s to cheer you up?"

"Now you’re talking." Berger made a smacking noise with his lips.

The thought made Pavel’s mouth water too. Ms. Winters had brought him here in a cab, so he’d walk back to the station and take a little detour by the harbor. If anything could make Berger’s miserable task a little less soul-destroying, it was a fish sandwich from Matthiesen’s Fish House. Well, maybe a slice of butter cake from Frieda’s Tea Room, but Berger seemed more like a savory food kind of guy. Pavel thought back to when Enna had once whispered her thanks in his ear, and the warm feeling in his chest spread even further.

"Where’s Enna, anyway?" he asked. "I’ve been trying to reach her."

"She was on the phone with some archeologist, then headed down to the harbor. She was supposed to be back by now, though."

The harbor, perfect. That was where old Ms. Matthiesen had her stand. He just hoped she was open today. But who was this guy Enna was meeting?

"Something personal?" he asked.

"No, apparently it’s about some discovery out in the mudflats. So, technically, police business too."

"Olaf, I’ll grab us a couple of fish sandwiches."

Pavel got to his feet. His landlady started, probably because he was suddenly standing in front of her. But at that moment, his body felt like it was finally back in working order.

"Ms. Winters? Duty calls. Please, let me get you a cab home."

* * *

Pavel waved after the pale yellow Mercedes as it drove off, taking his landlady home. Then he rolled his shoulders, almost pain-free this time, and started toward the harbor. Dr. Langenbeck’s practice was right in the center of town, which the doctor could probably only afford because he billed privately. Luckily, as a government employee, Pavel could afford it.

On the main square he passed a group of tourists, all wearing identical blue wristbands. Their guide was rattling off a history lesson in an exaggerated local accent, explaining when each building had been constructed. The street cleaners had done their job well; there wasn’t a scrap of garbage in sight. The town hall roof, however, was still covered with a blue tarp. His handiwork! Pavel felt a little proud. Without him, Frerichs wouldn’t have gotten it patched up so quickly.

He was walking down one of the narrow alleys leading from the square to the harbor when he heard a sound he knew all too well. Every time he pushed down on the left pedal of Heino, his service bicycle, it made that awful scraping squeak. Like the disgusted groan of a lifelong smoker or the gritty grind of sand caught in an unlubricated ball joint.

Pavel’s head shot up. Up ahead, a bike was making that exact sound. From behind, it looked like any other ordinary bicycle. But as it turned right, he recognized the old-fashioned frame and the unusually curved handlebars. It was Heino! He jogged a few steps after it before stopping short. No, he was imagining things. Heino had been parked in the station hallway for the last three days. He was sure of it.

Then again, he hadn’t actually seen him today. How many bikes were there in Fleetstedt? If half of the town’s 30,000 residents owned one, there was a good chance at least one looked like his. But would it sound exactly the same?

Pavel took off running again. When he turned the corner, he finally got a look at the rider. It was a man in jogging clothes with a large and apparently well-filled backpack on his back, for the cobblestones in this alley hardly caused its contents to bounce. The guy was pedaling hard. And every time he pressed down with his left foot, the bike groaned in that same familiar way, just like Heino always did.

The rider turned left. Pavel quickly got his bearings. He was heading toward the harbor—perfect, since that was his destination anyway. Pavel sped up, but the cobblestones ended, making it easier for the cyclist to gain ground. At the next corner, the man picked up even more speed. Had he realized he was being followed? It wouldn't be hard to notice. Did he feel guilty? Not necessarily. If a tall, lanky guy had suddenly started sprinting after him, Pavel would have picked up the pace too.

"Stop! Police!" he called out.

An innocent person would have stopped. Instead, the man in jogging clothes stood up from the saddle so he could pedal harder. Now Pavel could see him better. He was surprisingly short and slim. His hoodie was pulled low over his face, but from the side, something seemed off. Was it possible the man was actually a woman? The baggy clothes made it impossible to tell.

They reached the harbor. The smell of fresh fish sandwiches hit Pavel’s nose. Looked like Matthiesen’s Fish House was open. A small part of him hoped the stranger was just rushing to beat the lunchtime crowd, and that Heino was only speeding up to secure the first spot in line. But no such luck. The bike veered off before reaching the pier, slipping between two warehouse buildings. Pavel sprinted after it, lungs burning, but he was too late. Damn. If that really was Heino, he’d never see him again.

It had to be a coincidence. He needed to calm down. His…attachment to Heino was starting to get weird. It was just a bike, an object that could easily be replaced. Still, he was relieved Heino couldn’t read his thoughts. But no. He didn’t even need the bike. His own two feet had carried him all the way to the harbor almost as fast as that Heino lookalike had carried its mystery rider.

Slowly he made his way up the pier, following the delicious scent wafting from Matthiesen’s Fish House. Two workers in blue coveralls were in line ahead of him. When it was his turn, he greeted the vendor with a simple "hello," and without another word, old Ms. Matthiesen started making his fish sandwich just the way he liked it. He could always count on her to pile on more onions than usual and skip the lettuce and other greens that only got stuck in his teeth but were a hit with younger, health-conscious customers.

"There you go," Ms. Matthiesen said, handing it over.

Pavel placed a five-euro bill on the counter and carefully took the sandwich from her. He had to be careful now because the filling was generous, as always, and threatening to spill out of the paper wrapper.

"That was something, huh?" she said, clearly in the mood for a chat. Since he wasn’t a born-and-bred local, she saw him as one of her best conversation partners, right after Enna.

"What was something?" he asked, unsure where she was going with this.

"Julia."

"Oh, the storm."

"That was something," Ms. Matthiesen said with a nod.

"How did your cart survive it, anyway?"

"Weather report. Wheels."

Pavel glanced down at his feet. He was standing just in front of the rubber tires of her cart. Of course, old Ms. Matthiesen must have foresightedly tucked it away somewhere safe. These days, you could usually rely on meteorologists to get it right.

"By the way, have you seen Enna today?"

"Is that why you're here?"

He held up his hands defensively. "I told Olaf I'd bring him a fish sandwich."

Ms. Matthiesen tilted her head. "That one?" She pointed to the sandwich he had just bitten into. Damn. Now she’d think he had used Berger as an excuse and had really come because of Enna.

"I was going to grab a fresh one for him," he added quickly.

"Of course," she said, getting back to work. Pavel was sure she knew exactly how Berger liked his, too. They picked up lunch here often enough, especially when the station’s cafeteria closed due to staff shortages. "But Enna was here earlier," she said after a moment. "She came with a sharp-dressed young man, and then they rode off in Viola’s carriage."

A sharp-dressed young man? Well, good for Enna. "Out to the mudflats?" he asked.

"I think so. The guy had some equipment with him, shovels, a pressure washer."

That made sense. The washer would help blast the wreck free of sand and mud. That must be the archeologist Olaf had mentioned.

"Here you go," Ms. Matthiesen said, handing him the second sandwich.

Pavel reached for his wallet, but she shook her head. "Olaf’s got credit." She probably knew down to the last cent what Berger owed her. "Tell him to enjoy it," she added with a knowing smile.

* * *

Whistling, Pavel stepped into the station. Enna’s red Polo wasn’t parked outside, which meant she must have taken it to the harbor. Inside, the hallway split in two. Left led to the traffic and patrol officers, while a long corridor to the right led to their offices, housed in a single-story annex facing the street.

Normally, Heino was parked in the hallway. Was it there today? Pavel sure hoped so. That would mean what he’d seen in town had just been a mix-up.

And there it was. Pavel took a few quick steps toward the bike. It leaned against the right wall, handlebars tilted left, almost like a bull lowering its horns. It was even locked: the lock Olaf had bought a while back was looped around the back wheel and snapped shut. But the frame was not locked, the way Pavel and Berger always did it.

Pavel crouched down in front of the bike. There was dried mud on the chain guard and rear wheel. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the tread pattern where the dirt was stuck. Then he scraped a bit off and rubbed it between his fingers. The texture was half sand. He lifted it to his nose. If he caught even a hint of hydrogen sulfide, that would mean someone had pushed Heino through the mudflats.

But there was no telltale scent. Just a faint smell of machine oil, probably from the well-oiled chain. Pavel shook his head. That would have been way too weird. He stood up again, opened the door to the office, and was almost disappointed that Bjarne didn't run out to meet him as usual.

"Good day, Olaf," he called.

"Good day," Olaf replied without looking up, fingers tapping away at his keyboard. His screen was filled with spreadsheets.

"I brought you a fish sandwich."

His colleague spun around, grinning. "If only Enna knew how well we're doing."

"Have you heard from her, Olaf?"

"No, not yet. She’s probably out of range. But there’s no need to worry until at least half past five. High tide isn't until half past eight."

"Good, thanks. What’s on the agenda?"

"The evidence room. Quarterly inventory check," Berger sighed.

Right, he had mentioned that earlier. Pavel rubbed his hands together. Just looking at Olaf’s spreadsheets had already put him in the mood for some organizing.

"Oh yeah, let’s get them done. Mind sharing the file with me?"

Olaf clicked around. "There. You should have access now, Pavel."

"Thanks." He headed over to his own desk, booted up his computer, and logged in. Then he opened all the spreadsheets at once. Organizing things was his kind of task. That was when he thought of the mud on Heino’s tires.

"By the way, was Heino in the hallway when you got here this morning?"

Berger kept typing, his fingers clacking loudly on the keyboard. "Wish I knew! I couldn’t swear to it, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed if it wasn’t there."

"I'm sure you would," Pavel knew exactly how reliable a "pretty sure" could be. Heino had no alibi for this morning. It was a good thing he wasn't suspected of a crime.

His phone rang. It was an unknown number. He wanted to ignore it. He hated it when people called instead of just sending a text. At least with texts, he had a chance to prepare for whatever was coming. But he pressed the green button.

"Finally, I got through to you!" his colleague’s voice came through.

"Hello," Pavel said, narrowing his eyes.

"I’m calling from Dr. Zwack’s phone," Enna explained.

Pavel nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. The two seemed to have become fast friends, or why was Enna using the archeologist's cell phone? "I tried reaching you earlier. How’s your little adventure going?"

It was windy where she was. The gusts nearly drowned out her voice.

"It’s been interesting. I’ve learned a lot. And we’ve got a new case!"

Chapter Six

Julia greeted them with a hearty whinny. Viola Dietrichsen came around the side of the carriage, shaking hands first with the archeologist, then with the detective—without making eye contact. Enna understood. Her presence must remind Viola of her father’s murder.

"Can we get going?" Enna asked. "I’d like to be back before sunset."

"We can do that," Zwack assured her. "It’s only about two miles if I understood the information correctly. Just need to grab a few more tools."

Dressed in the coveralls he’d changed into in the tea room’s restroom, he looked surprisingly professional. Add a wide-brimmed hat, and he could almost pass for a young Indiana Jones. Enna still wasn’t sure what to make of him. There was something beneath his polite exterior that made her skin prickle. But maybe that was just the commitment issues her father had always accused her of. Weren’t goosebumps usually a sign of attraction? That had never happened with Pavel.

Zwack popped the trunk of his BMW, and they helped him load the tools and the pressure washer onto the carriage’s cargo bed. There was a long wooden plank back there, along with two foldable benches running lengthwise. But they wouldn’t need them, since there was plenty of space up front. Viola sat in the middle, the archeologist on the right.

"And what about you?" Enna asked her dog.

Bjarne panted happily, completely oblivious to the question.

"Is Julia okay with dogs?" she asked.

Viola nodded. "Julia doesn’t have a problem with anything or anyone."

"Great. Then you’ll walk alongside us," Enna told him.

"I'm sorry, but leashes are mandatory on the mudflats," Viola said apologetically.

"You hear that, Bjarne? Look, I'm going to tie your leash to the front bar here. Just stay away from the wheels, okay? You think you can handle that?"

Bjarne barked.

* * *

The ride was uneventful. Zwack talked about his time in Mexico, where he had earned his master’s in archeology. Viola listened without a word. She was probably used to visitors talking her ear off. Enna, on the other hand, wasn’t really paying attention. Still, Zwack’s excitement about the expedition made him seem likable. He clearly loved his job, just like she did.

Bjarne kept pace with them the entire time. Not that it was much of a challenge, since Julia trudged through the mudflats at a slow, steady pace, moving far more sluggishly than someone on foot. Enna debated hopping down and walking with Bjarne, but even in the sandy mudflats, she figured she’d still be slower than the carriage.

After about forty-five minutes, Zwack started getting restless. He had his binoculars up constantly now, directing Viola, which, judging by her expression, she didn’t appreciate. To the naked eye, the shipwreck looked like nothing more than a distortion in the landscape, like a few stray knots in the pattern of the seabed. Viola handed Enna her binoculars so she could see for herself that they were, in fact, looking at a shipwreck.

Viola pulled the carriage to a stop about sixty feet from the wreck. "You’ve got two hours, okay? Then we’re heading back."

"Thank you, Viola. You've done science a great service," Zwack declared.

"So, is this ship of ours special?"

"Every wreck is special."

"And how old do you think it is?"

"My guess is about two hundred years. What we have here is a Schmack, a type of coastal trading vessel. A dendrochronology report will give us a precise age, but there are a few indicators that point to the early nineteenth century."

"So not one of Störtebeker’s ships?"

"Ha-ha, no. And historically speaking, there’s no solid proof he was ever in East Frisia at all."

"All right, then. I’ll let you get to work. If you need help…"

"I’ll let you know, yes."

Enna grabbed the pressure washer from the carriage’s cargo bed and sat on it, watching as Zwack got ready. First, he tied himself to the carriage with a safety line while Viola unhitched the horse. Then he pulled on a pair of gloves and stuffed the pockets of his coveralls with plastic bags, probably for collecting samples. But he didn’t take any tools.

"Don’t you need pliers or something?" she asked.

"No, for an initial assessment, hands are the best tool," he explained. "The combination of touch and actuators that evolution came up with is unbeatable."

Enna studied her fingers. Actuators. That sounded like something Pavel would say. She wiggled all ten fingers. It almost looked like they had a mind of their own. A cool gust brushed past her. The wind was picking up. Hopefully, that didn’t mean a storm was coming.

"Looks like we might get some rain," Viola said.

A few clouds had gathered on the horizon. Enna had no idea if they would bring rain or a thunderstorm. A winter storm out here probably wouldn’t be pleasant.

"Mind if I let Bjarne off the leash?" she asked. "He won’t run off."

"Okay, I didn’t see anything," Viola said with a shrug.

Bjarne wagged his tail excitedly as she unhooked him. He immediately dropped onto his back in the mud, begging for a belly rub.

Enna sat back down on the pressure washer. Zwack had already reached the wreck and disappeared behind it. Suddenly he popped up through the remains of the deck and waved to them.

"Can you bring the pressure washer over here, Enna?"

She got up and carried the device over to the wreck. The ground here felt unusually firm. The storm surge must have deposited extra layers of sand. She noticed that the pressure washer didn’t have a power cord. There was no manufacturer's name on it either.

"How does it work?" she asked, handing Zwack the device.

"It’s powered by a compressed air tank. That’s what makes it so heavy. See this nozzle attached to the pipe up front?" Zwack twisted a valve on the tank. Then he pressed a button at the end of the pipe, and a mix of sand and water sprayed out the other side.

"And that’s enough to uncover the whole wreck?"

"Not even close. But I want to get a look under the stern. That part’s still fairly intact." Zwack pointed at the rear of the ship. "The problem is, there’s a ton of sand piled up inside."

"What are you hoping to find?"

"Clues about the cargo. That would help us identify the ship more accurately. See that broken mast stump above the tiller? That’s a driver's mast. Another hallmark of a Schmack. The more I look at it, the more confident I am about my timeline."

Zwack disappeared behind the wreck again. Since Enna wasn’t harnessed to anything, she took a few steps back toward the carriage. A loud hissing sound rang out. A fine mist rose behind the wreck as the archaeologist worked with the sprayer. He blasted away for five minutes before cursing under his breath.

"Do you need help?" Enna called.

"No, stay where you are. I’m going to start the blaster again in a minute."

Another surge of wet sand shot into the air. The wind had picked up, blowing the spray in Enna’s direction, forcing her to retreat all the way to the carriage. Bjarne barked, and she patted his head to calm him down.

"Shit!" Zwack yelled. "You’ve got to be kidding me!"

He appeared from behind the wreck, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"What’s wrong?" Enna asked.

"I know what this ship was carrying," Zwack muttered, wiping his face again. His curls were damp now, making them even tighter. If she had been a few years younger, she might have found him attractive. Wait. She wasn’t that old, was she?

"What was it carrying?" she asked.

"Tea! Some of the crates are still intact, especially back here where the stern shielded them."

She watched as he collected samples and sealed them in plastic bags. "But isn’t that a good thing?"

"It’s huge! This Schmack was likely used for smuggling tea from Helgoland. The French probably sank it. There’s a large hole in one side of the hull."

Zwack leaned over a plank, scraping at the edge of a semicircular opening with a small spatula, then dropped both the tool and the sample into another bag.

"So you were right about it being two hundred years old," Enna said. Her former boss had once told her that East Frisia had become part of the French Empire in 1810. Under Napoleon’s Continental Blockade, British goods, including tea, were completely banned.

"I’m usually right."

Enna smiled. That was something Pavel would say. "But?" she prompted.

"Someone’s been here before us and took something big. There’s a section missing, and I can see fresh break marks." He glanced at her. "You’re with the police, aren't you, Enna?"

"Yes, I am. Inspector."

"Then I’d like to officially report a violation of the Monument Protection Act of Lower Saxony."

Enna swallowed hard. Someone had looted the wreck? How was that even possible? Lars had only discovered it yesterday. "I understand. Can we take care of the formalities back at the station?"

"If we have to... But there’s something else I need to ask you, Enna."

"Go ahead."

"Did you tell anyone about the discovery?"

"Of course not." Did he seriously suspect her?

"But you weren’t there when it was first found."

"No, my friend Lars told me about it this morning, and I called you right away."

"That was the right move. This Lars, what do you think of him? Was he alone?"

"No, he was leading a group of tourists on a mudflat hike. He does that all the time. He earns a little extra money leading tours."

"He needs the extra cash?"

Something was wrong here, and it wasn’t just the wreck. Zwack was acting like he was the investigator here.

"David," she said firmly. "I don’t need to remind you that I’m the one in charge of this investigation. You might be considered a representative of the injured party, the state of Lower Saxony. But the case itself falls under police jurisdiction. And I certainly hope you don’t plan on interfering."

Zwack’s face tensed. She could see an argument forming in his mind, but in the end, he swallowed it down. Enna felt relief before he even spoke. "You’re right, Enna," he admitted. "If you need an expert on shipwreck research, I’ll be happy to help. But the investigation itself is entirely in your hands."

* * *

The archeologist's questions were important, of course. Enna knew Lars well and trusted him, but that didn’t mean she could completely rule him out. Pavel should handle it. He was neutral. As for Lars's clients, she could deal with them. And then there were the fifty thousand or so residents in the area around Fleetstedt.

The wreck lay nearly two miles off the coast, and thus far beyond the horizon, which for an adult was just over three miles away. Enna sighed. Anyone with a pair of binoculars, maybe twenty thousand people at most, could have spotted the new obstacle in the mudflats, recognized it as a shipwreck, and gone to investigate out of sheer curiosity.

This wasn’t going to be an easy case.

“Can I say something?” Viola, who had been quietly listening the whole time, finally spoke up.

“We need to head back, don’t we?”

“It’s not that urgent. I just wonder if someone should keep watch over the wreck. Now that it’s suddenly so valuable.”

They couldn’t exactly station a policeman out here. How do you secure something that disappears beneath the waves twice a day?

“I’m afraid the most valuable part of that wreck has already been taken,” Zwack said. The archeologist hunched his shoulders, looking a decade older.

“Don’t say that, David. If we don’t keep an eye on the thing, souvenir hunters will start hauling it away plank by plank.”

Maybe they could get the harbormaster involved. The wreck site must be visible from the pier. Since it wasn’t easy to reach, it might be enough to have someone scan the area with binoculars every twenty minutes during low tide. They’d also need to inform the local mudflat guides to steer clear of the area. She’d talk to the harbormaster.

“How heavy were the missing items?” she asked.

Zwack shrugged. “How should I know? The only thing I’m sure of is that there’s a fresh hole where something used to be. If there was a heavy safe there, maybe 175 pounds? If we’re talking about a few empty crates, maybe eighteen pounds?”

“Are we talking about empty crates?”

“I wish I knew! I did find some empty containers. But they could have been emptied by the currents. Or maybe they were empty to begin with if this ship was supposed to pick up English tea from Helgoland. In that case, the crew must have had valuables on board to trade. Or other goods. Give me a few days, and I might be able to figure it out.”

“I can send in our forensic unit.”

The archeologist raised both hands defensively. “I highly doubt your team is qualified to handle a scientific excavation like this.”

Good thing Maria Doldinger hadn’t heard that. “I suggest you talk to our forensic specialist. The next low tide is in the middle of the night, so there’s no immediate rush.” Maria would convince him she knew what she was doing.

What else did she need to consider? She’d never had to deal with cultural heritage laws before, but she knew the fines for violating them could be steep. The thieves wouldn’t turn themselves in willingly. But just how determined were they?

“David, let’s say the finder could sell what they took. How much money are we talking about?”

The archeologist shrugged again. “How can I even estimate that without knowing what was stolen?”

Okay. Maybe Maria Doldinger could figure that out tomorrow. There had to be clues. Maria always found something. Maybe they should take a different route back. The question of how the stolen items had been transported out was still open. They’d followed the same path Lars had taken with his hikers, but nothing had seemed out of place. There were plenty of ways back to Fleetstedt, at least until they hit the tidal channel that cut off the walkable areas to the west.

“We should head back now,” Viola said.

“Good idea,” Enna agreed. “Let’s load up the carriage and turn around. We’ll take the western route.”

* * *

It would be a while before water flooded this part of the mudflats again. But the current in the nearby tidal channel had already changed direction.

Suddenly Bjarne barked from the carriage bed. This time he was riding in the back. Enna had given up her spot on the front bench to sit with him. She noticed a seagull standing motionless in the mud and gently calmed the dog. The ground here was noticeably darker than it had been near the wreck, and the unpleasant, organic stench was growing stronger. They were nearing the silty mudflats.

The carriage swerved. The jolt was so abrupt that Enna had to grab hold of something. Had Viola swerved to avoid an obstacle?

“Sorry,” Viola called from the front. “I just wanted to show you something I’ve been noticing for a while. Look to the right, toward the tidal channel.”

“The water’s flowing the wrong way,” Zwack said.

“That’s just the tide coming in,” Viola replied.

Enna narrowed her eyes. Hadn’t Zwack worked on the salvage of several shipwrecks? He should know better. She studied the area beside the channel as Julia, their horse, trudged along, panting from the effort. The wheels were sinking deeper into the mud. Julia had to strain harder to keep moving. And yet the path they’d just been driving on was oddly flat.

Suspiciously flat.

“It looks like someone dragged a board along the ground,” Enna said.

“Bingo,” the farmer praised. “I think I know what caused it.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Someone drove a so-called mud sled, also known as a Kreier, through here. The back end would have flattened the ground like that.”

“And the tracks remained even after the area was flooded?” Enna asked.

“I’ve never seen it quite like this,” Viola admitted. “But it would make sense.”

Enna nodded. This was something Berger could look into. He loved speeding along the dike on those sleds.

“Who else around here owns one of these mud sleds?”

“I’d say most of the old farming families have one stashed in their barns. And sometimes they hold Kreier races.”

Right. Lars had taken part in one of those races with the local lifeguard group. Lars, who also knew about the wreck. She definitely needed to mention it to Pavel.

It was time to call him. Enna pulled out her phone, but there was no signal.

“Here, use mine,” Zwack said. He must have been watching her.

She keyed in Pavel’s number. He didn’t answer right away, not surprising. He never picked up unknown numbers on the first ring. She could almost picture his skeptical face, the way he wrestled with himself, weighing his curiosity against his dislike of talking to strangers. Then the line clicked.

Enna made it easy for him. “Finally, I got through to you,” she said quickly.

* * *

Pavel didn’t seem particularly thrilled about the new case. What was wrong with him? But as her superior, he had the final say.

“Are you sure, Enna, that this isn’t something others can handle? I mean, a violation of the Historic Preservation Act, that's a misdemeanor at best.”

“A misdemeanor that carries a fine of up to 250,000 euros. And we might be looking at the destruction of an archeological site here.” The archeologist nodded vigorously. “Pavel, come on, we don’t have anything pressing right now anyway, and I’d really like to make sure this theft gets properly investigated.”

“Berger and I just started inventorying the evidence room. That’s pretty exciting too, you know.”

Enna had to smile. Only Pavel could find those dry spreadsheets fascinating. Still, she had a bad feeling about leaving this case to others, even if she had to admit it technically wasn’t her department.

“Please, Pavel,” she tried again. “Dr. Zwack says this is an important find that could change our understanding of East Frisian history.” Zwack furrowed his brows. Okay, maybe she’d exaggerated a little. She grinned at him. “Science needs us, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, Enna… And maybe we really are dealing with Section 34 of the Lower Saxony Cultural Heritage Act, which carries a prison sentence of up to two years.”

“Exactly!”

“How about this, why don’t you bring the archeologist down to the station? That way, we can log the case properly. I’ll have Maria come in, too. Considering the tide’s coming in, the forensics team probably won’t be able to gather much evidence from the mudflats today anyway.”

“We could also take the samples the archeologist collected straight to Leer. That way, Maria wouldn’t have to…”

“No, Enna.” Pavel’s voice suddenly turned uncharacteristically firm. She wasn’t used to hearing him like this. “We’re doing this my way.”

“All right.” She had already pushed him out of his comfort zone once today, so she figured she could let him have this one. No need to overwhelm him. Besides, the theft meant he’d have to put his inventory lists on hold. “We should be there in about an hour and a half.”

“Sounds good.”

“See you later, Pavel.”

“Hold on a second. This might seem like a strange question, but I need you to think back. Was Heino in the hallway when you got to the office this morning?”

What kind of question was that? Was this some kind of test? Or had his service bike been stolen again? For a moment, she found herself lost in thought. No, she hadn’t seen Heino.

“I don’t think he was there, Pavel. But I didn’t think much about it since you weren’t in the office yet either. If I’d known he was missing…”

“He’s not missing. Thanks for the information. See you later.”

There was another crackle on the line, then silence. Pavel had hung up. Enna shook her head. What was up with him today? Had something happened during the cleanup at the town hall? She needed to talk to him about it. Pavel was the type to keep things bottled up, but that was what friends were for, right? And they were friends, weren’t they?

Chapter Seven

So that was why Enna was so interested in this case. Pavel studied the archeologist, who had casually taken his colleague’s seat without even asking and stretched out his legs. Enna hadn’t batted an eye. Dr. Zwack, he had to admit, was an attractive man. Tall and tanned, with dark, curly hair, broad shoulders, and a dimple in his chin. And he was young, probably even younger than Enna. Given the typical trajectory of an academic career, he had to be damn good at what he did to already hold such a high-ranking position.

Pavel swallowed. He was probably being unfair to Enna, but he couldn’t keep the thought from creeping in. He didn't feel jealous. Or did he? He searched his feelings. No, it was just plain logic. Zwack was a good match for Enna, so a relationship between them would make sense. Jealousy had never been something he understood. Even when his ex-wife had been with someone else, it had only bothered him because it meant she no longer wanted to be with him.

Still, he hoped Enna wouldn’t be quite that logical about it. It had nothing to do with jealousy. He just wanted things to stay the way they were.

“All right, what do I need to sign?” Dr. Zwack asked.

Pavel pulled his legs in and forced himself out of his chair. He could use another shot for the pain, but when Berger moved to help, he waved him off.

“I’m not that old yet,” he muttered. Of all people, the archeologist laughed. Well, easy for him to say, he hadn’t just spent two days helping to save the town hall. As Pavel opened the office door to grab the forms from the cabinet outside, Maria appeared in the doorway.

He stepped back and let her in. “That was fast.”

“Hello! Heinz and I were already on our way to Fleetstedt,” she explained. “Nils has an idea for a new technique he wants to test at his lab.”

Pavel stepped aside to let the head of forensics in. Her assistant, Heinz, followed.

“I didn’t realize you two worked so closely together,” he said.

“Nils is a great colleague. And honestly, our work overlaps quite a bit.”

Pavel thought about the heated debates he’d had with the medical examiner. But Maria had a point—when it came down to it, Kettler was rock solid in his field. Maybe he and Pavel were just too similar.

“Hold on, I’ll grab you guys some chairs.” He couldn’t remember the last time there had been six people in the office at once.

“No need.” Maria waved him off. “We just spent ages sitting in the car, and we’re in a bit of a hurry. So, what’s this about?”

“I can explain,” the archeologist chimed in.

Pavel was more than happy to let him take the lead. He dragged himself back to his chair and made himself comfortable.

* * *

"All right, I think you’ll have the results by tomorrow evening," Maria said, nodding at Heinz as she straightened up. She seemed to be in a hurry.

"What? That’s fantastic!" the archeologist said. "If I had gone through official channels, we’d be waiting for weeks. Maybe I should do this more often..." He batted his eyelashes.

Maria smiled, clearly flattered, but still shook her head. "You have no idea how much work we have. Fleetstedt isn’t our only responsibility, after all."

"Of course," Dr. Zwack said. "I understand. But can I at least take you out some time to say thank you?"

"I can’t stop you from asking," Maria replied. What exactly did she mean by that? Good thing he didn’t have to analyze her response, because, of course, she could have shut him down if she’d wanted to. That kind of vague statement wasn’t like her at all.

"Heinz, do you have the samples?" Maria asked, already turning toward the door. Pavel followed her. They shook hands before parting. But as Pavel trailed after them down the long hallway, all the way to the front door, Maria suddenly stopped.

"What’s up with you, Pavel?"

"I…uh, I need to talk to you about something."

"Yes?"

"In private. Well, not quite…just the two of us." Now he couldn’t even manage basic math. Why was he so nervous? Because this was about Heino?

"Heinz, can you go ahead and pull the car around?" Maria asked.

Heinz immediately did as his boss requested. "All right, so what’s this about?" Maria stepped a little closer. "Need some advice?"

"Advice?" Pavel’s eyes widened.

"I heard about the Christmas market."

The Christmas market. That thing. Heat rushed to Pavel’s face, and he swallowed hard.

"Where’d you hear about that?" A completely inappropriate question. They hadn’t exactly been alone. Half of Fleetstedt could have seen it. He refused to let his mind put an actual name to it.

"Doesn’t matter," Maria said. "I mean, you do come across as a little…how can I put this without offending you…"

She’d switched to a more casual tone. What did that mean? He tried to place it within the intricate web of relationships that connected them all, but he was too…flustered.

"Awkward. That’s the word you’re looking for."

"Yeah, exactly, but I⁠—"

He shook his head. "This is a misunderstanding. I actually wanted to ask if you could take a sample from Heino." He gestured toward the company bike they were standing next to.

Now it was Maria’s turn to widen her eyes. "From Heino?"

"Yeah, like I said."

"Oh. From Heino."

"Yes."

Maria shook her head but didn’t ask any more questions. She pulled a disposable glove from her pocket, knelt beside Heino, and collected samples from several spots.

"Also, get some of the dirt from the tire," Pavel said.

A car horn honked outside. It was probably Heinz in the forensic unit’s vehicle. Maria scooped up some of the material from the tire as well, sealing it in a bag before getting back to her feet.

"Mind telling me why?" she asked.

"Uh, for now…no. Please don’t say anything to anyone, okay? I owe you one. A huge one. Thanks a million."

Maria nodded. Usually, his face didn’t give away much. But this time, whatever was written there must have been enough to keep her from asking more questions. He really needed to find a mirror, so he could finally figure out how to pull off this effect on command.

* * *

"Thanks, Maria," he called after her as she reached the exit.

Suddenly, a warm hand touched his shoulder. He flinched and turned around. Enna stood in front of him, scratching her earlobe, just like she always did when she was curious.

"Thanks for what?" she asked.

Pavel cleared his throat. "For coming so quickly."

"She was already in Fleetstedt anyway."

The way she asked made it sound like she was jealous. At least that was one possible interpretation, but it depended on certain conditions that, as far as he could tell, weren’t actually present.

"I can still thank her for that, can't I?"

"Of course. It’s just…after she sent Heinz ahead, I thought maybe you two had some private matter to discuss."

The honking. Enna had interpreted it correctly. She was a damn good investigator.

"No, it was strictly business."

"I see."

"We should probably head back to the others. Otherwise it might seem strange, don’t you think?"

"Olaf and Zwack would understand if we needed to talk in private."

"Do we?"

"Unless you have something to say…I mean, do you, Pavel?"

He shook his head. Lately, even Enna had started switching to a more informal tone with him. It felt dangerous, though he wasn’t sure why.

"If that ever changes, Pavel, you know I’m always here for you, right?"

"Yes." A warm sensation spread down his spine. As he looked at her, he noticed just how beautiful her eyes were. She held his gaze easily, and for once, he had no trouble maintaining eye contact. If he just…

"Maybe we should discuss our next steps," Dr. Zwack called out from the office doorway.

Pavel straightened up. The archeologist was right. They were here to work, to investigate, not for whatever this was.

* * *

"So, what’s our next move?" Dr. Zwack asked, still sitting in Enna’s chair.

"First, I need to clear up a misunderstanding," Pavel said. "We are investigating. You, Dr. Zwack, can assist us as an expert if we have technical questions, especially if Maria Doldinger from forensics runs into a dead end."

"Of course." Zwack pulled his feet back. "The investigation is entirely in your hands. I’m just curious. Maybe you can give me some insight. Who knows, I might even have a few useful suggestions based on my expertise."

Pavel nodded. He could live with that. But if this turned out to be a criminal case, they had to avoid procedural mistakes. Like conducting private investigations into Heino. Fortunately, that had nothing to do with their current case.

"I think we have eight primary suspects," Pavel said.

"Lars and his hiking group," Enna added, leaning against the windowsill.

"Since you know Lars well, I’ll handle him tomorrow while you track down the seven hikers and question them."

"I could also…"

"No. While we still have daylight, we should be looking for those mud sleds. Plus, it'll give Bjarne a chance to stretch his legs, right?"

Hearing his name, the dog crawled out from under Enna’s desk. Zwack visibly jumped. He probably hadn’t even realized Bjarne was there.

"Hold on, Bjarne. Just a minute," Enna said.

"What else?" Pavel was growing impatient. He could feel Heino breathing down his neck. Not literally, of course, but he had the feeling that Heino was hiding something from him. And he had to figure it out alone. But first, he needed to get rid of his colleagues.

"We still need to arrange for surveillance at the wreck site," Enna said. "Someone has to keep an eye on it."

"How often?" Pavel asked.

"Every thirty minutes should be enough," Zwack suggested. "Just a quick scan of the bay with binoculars."

"Can we ask the harbormaster to handle that?" After all, Enna and Olaf had helped clean up the mess down there.

"I was planning on talking to him anyway," Enna said. "But I wanted to make sure you were on board with it."

Pavel nodded. "All right then, let's go to the harbor!"

* * *

"Who am I riding with?" the archeologist asked.

They were standing outside the station. A light drizzle hung in the air. Berger was waiting by the department’s BMW, while Enna headed toward her VW Polo.

"Dr. Zwack, you’ve helped us enough for today," Pavel said. "From here on, this is strictly police business."

"Of course. I’ll check in with you tomorrow."

"We’ll check in with you," Pavel corrected him, "as soon as we have new information or more questions."

"Or that." Zwack sighed. "Either way, thanks for your help."

"We’re not doing this for you. We’re doing it to uphold the law."

Zwack looked thoroughly deflated at that and didn’t reply. He just gave them a small wave and walked over to his car, parked, of all places, in a spot reserved for police vehicles. Pavel was about to call him out on it, but Enna had already noticed and shook her head.

"Should we take one car?" she asked.

"Sure, why not?" Pavel countered.

"Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea," Berger said, pointing at Bjarne. He had a point. After their trek through the mudflats, the dog needed a full bath before he’d be fit to sit on the leather seats of the department’s BMW again.

"All right, then we’ll all pile into the Polo," Enna decided. "Think of the environment!"

Pavel sighed but had to admit she had a point. He walked around the car and climbed into the back seat, hoping it would give him some buffer from Enna’s questionable driving. It turned out to be a bad idea, though, because Bjarne had been sitting in the back seat on the way here and left his mark. Pavel shrugged his shoulders and resigned himself to his fate.

* * *

Enna pulled into a spot just outside the harbor. By the time they arrived, it was already half past three. If they wanted to see anything useful, they’d have to hurry.

With some effort, Pavel crawled out of the car. The low roof in the back had forced him to hunch forward the entire ride, his legs awkwardly extended into Bjarne’s space. The dog had taken full advantage of that, thoroughly sniffing him the whole way.

"It’s best if I head east along the coast," Pavel suggested. "You take the other direction. There are more people that way, so you can split up and ask around."

He wasn’t wrong. But the truth was, Pavel also needed a little time to himself. Something was gnawing at him, and in this state, he wasn’t the best company.

Enna hesitated, clearly disappointed. She had probably hoped for some time with Bjarne herself. Suddenly her face brightened.

"If we’re going to be talking to people, Bjarne might get in the way," she said. "Why don’t you take him with you? It’s a better split anyway."

"Me? Uh…"

"Do you want to go with Pavel?" Enna crouched down and gestured toward her boss. "Well? Do you?"

Bjarne barked, which Enna immediately took as a "yes." She tossed the end of the leash toward Pavel. The dog jumped up to catch it, but Pavel was quicker.

"Sit!" he ordered, and Bjarne immediately plopped down, panting up at him like he was smiling.

"Come!" The dog trotted over and stayed right by his side as he took a few steps forward.

"Looks like you two are getting along just fine," Enna said. "Have fun, and see you later!"

* * *

Fleetstedt Harbor lay in the middle of a deep bay. The tide was still far out.

Pavel walked along a narrow path near the water’s edge. At first it was part of a hiking trail, but soon he reached a barrier directing hikers away from the shoreline, because this was where the national park began. As an investigator, he was authorized to bypass it. Just to be sure, he patted his pocket. His badge was there.

The landscape ahead was wide open. Salt marshes stretched out before him, part of the floodplain. No way could he let Bjarne off his leash here. There wasn’t a mud sled in sight.

On the drive over, they’d debated what the thieves might have done with the sled. It was entirely possible, no, highly likely, that their search would turn up nothing. The sled was probably tucked away in a shed somewhere, and without a concrete lead, they couldn’t just barge in and start searching storage spaces. Besides, there were professional organizations that used these kinds of sleds for things like mudflat rescues or oil spill response. It wasn’t out of the question that it belonged to one of them. If so, it was probably right back in the hangar where the thief had borrowed it.

Pavel pulled his hood lower over his face. The drizzle had turned into a steady rain. Bjarne didn’t seem to mind. He sniffed enthusiastically at the ground, the plants, bits of driftwood, and the occasional stray piece of plastic that had washed up. Pavel should have brought a bag to put plastic in. His mind drifted back to the mystery of Heino. How had the bike gotten so dirty? And who had taken it from the station, only to return it later?

His phone jolted him out of his thoughts. He hoped to see Enna’s name, or at least Berger’s, but it was prosecutor Müntefering. Pavel sighed and answered.

"Hello, Neuhof." Technically, he and Müntefering were on a first-name basis, but from the tone of his voice, the prosecutor was in a bad mood.

"Hello."

"You know why I’m calling?"

Pavel just let out a long breath.

"All right, then I’ll spell it out for you. You guys put in twenty-nine different forensic requests?"

"Wait a minute, I specifically asked Maria Doldinger to run that by you for approval."

"But you don’t even have a case!"

"Come on, Section 34 of the Lower Saxony Cultural Heritage Act, doesn’t that count?"

"Destruction of an archeological site? Seriously? Just because some cabinet might be missing from a shipwreck in the mudflats?"

The prosecutor had a point, in a way. But he hadn’t seen the way Enna had latched onto this case.

"This is about the historical record of East Frisia," Pavel said. "Do you really want to be the guy who shuts down an investigation that could make headlines in every local paper?"

"I don’t want to be anything. This is about costs. Twenty-nine tests! You didn’t even request that many for your last homicide case!"

Pavel nodded to himself. He should have seen that coming. Even in his first case in Fleetstedt, he’d had to call in favors from an old friend to get all the data he thought he needed.

"All right, all right. I’ll ask Maria to be very selective. How about half?"

"You get ten. Ten tests. That’s plenty to track down an old cabinet."

"Deal." Ten, he could work with that.

"Oh, that was fast."

Pavel smiled. Müntefering had probably expected a tougher negotiation.

"Hey, we don’t want to bankrupt the state of Lower Saxony over this."

"Thanks. I was starting to worry you’d throw a murder case on my desk just to justify the twenty-nine tests."

"A murder? For God’s sake, no. We’ve got more than enough on our plate already. The last thing we need is a suspicious death right now."

* * *

Pavel was proud of himself. He had managed to sell Müntefering on their new case. Well, technically, it was Enna’s case. His aching muscles were beginning to ease, and even the rain had stopped. A nice walk along the mudflats, paid for by the taxpayers of Lower Saxony. He was satisfied.

The path, which hardly counted as a path—hikers weren’t supposed to be here anyway—led him to another wire fence. No gate, but someone had secured the material to a post with metal wires. Pavel easily untwisted the top ones, lifted Bjarne over, and climbed after him.

Bjarne barked. Just on the other side of the fence, near the water’s edge, was exactly what they’d been looking for. Pavel had never seen one in real life before, but there was no mistaking it. The object was entirely made of wood, about as wide as a person, and built like a sled for snow. But instead of runners, the underside had a smooth sliding surface. A U-shaped frame with a footrest was mounted on top, designed for a person to stand and hold on while gliding across the mudflats.

"A mud sled," Pavel muttered. Bjarne barked in agreement.

Pavel had to be careful. If this was the sled the thieves had used, he could end up destroying valuable evidence. He examined every inch of ground he needed to step on to get a closer look.

Then he saw it. A pattern. Someone had tried to drag the sled farther inland but had given up after barely three feet, shoving it back against the eroded bank of the mudflats. That left a dark, moist strip of freshly disturbed earth, a little over a yard long. And right there, embedded in the dirt, was something.

Two parallel lines, interrupted by cross-hatched grooves. It looked familiar. Was that a tire track? Pavel pulled out his phone. Where was the photo of Heino’s tire? There! He compared the tread pattern. No doubt about it. Someone had used a bike with similar tires to Heino’s here. Had they transported it on the sled? The frame’s crossbar ran across the entire width at about waist height, not leaving room for a full-sized adult bike.

More likely, the bike had pulled the sled. As fast as these things could move across the mudflats, they were probably sluggish as hell on dry land, like trying to drag a sled across sand. Pavel clipped Bjarne’s leash to the sled’s frame and bent over the imprint. He took multiple photos, capturing it from different angles, then compared them to Heino’s tread marks again. The resemblance was uncanny. But how the hell had Heino ended up all the way out here? His mind flashed back to the slim figure he’d seen riding Heino’s twin earlier today. Pedaling along the harbor, heading toward the bay. A coincidence? Or was he getting a little too caught up in his own wild theories?

Maybe he should tell Enna about this. Just like she couldn’t be fully objective when it came to Lars, he wasn’t exactly objective about Heino. They should switch roles. That would be the professional thing to do. And if this had been about anything other than his department-issued bike, he would have had no problem agreeing. But it was about Heino. And no one else in the world could understand that the way he did. No one could think about it the way he did. He’d learned that much as a kid.

Pavel double-checked the photos on his phone, then pulled a pair of disposable gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped them on. He had to be careful now, had to think like Maria Doldinger. He had asked her to take samples from Heino, so she would analyze this just as he was doing now. They would check for tire impressions, which meant they needed to disappear. He grabbed a handful of grass, intending to brush it over the soil to erase the tracks. Or at least, he tried—but his hand wouldn’t move. Damn it. Frustrated, Pavel walked to the water’s edge and tossed the grass into the mudflats. By tonight, the tide would wash it away.

But what about the sled? He bit his lower lip. It was too obvious. He could push it into the mudflats, but the tide would just bring it back somewhere else. It was made entirely of wood, after all. Dismantling it wasn’t an option. And then there were his own footprints. Doldinger would find those, no question. But that wasn’t a problem. He had been assigned to find the sled, and he had found it. Unfortunately, that meant Heino was now officially part of the case. He felt sorry for his service bike. It was probably innocent.

Pavel sighed and reached for his phone to call Enna. And noticed too late that a seagull was dive-bombing Bjarne. It might not even be aiming for him, but the dog took the swooping motion and loud screeching as an attack. The leash didn’t unclip from the sled right away. First, the surprisingly strong Bjarne yanked the entire thing forward three feet. Right across the tire imprint. Wiping it out completely. Then the loop slipped free of the sled’s frame. Bjarne took that as permission, and bolted after the seagull.

"Bjarne, stop!" Pavel yelled, but it was too late. He sighed, glanced down at his still surprisingly clean shoes, and took off running.

* * *

The ground was uneven, and Bjarne was fast. He must have some hunting dog genes, ones that Pavel definitely lacked. Sure, he had long legs that helped him leap over small hills and narrow ditches, but that took energy. His lungs were already burning. He had to be at least half a mile from the coast by now, except when he turned around, he realized he’d barely covered a tenth of that distance. Unfortunately, that moment of self-assessment meant he failed to watch where he was stepping. His foot landed in a hole, probably dug by some animal, wedging in just enough to throw off his momentum. His body, however, kept going, and before he could process the physics of it, his knee had become the pivot point for a very sudden and very unplanned downward trajectory. The next thing he knew, winter-dry grasses were cradling him like an unkind embrace.

Gasping, Pavel pushed himself up. Air slowly refilled his lungs. Why the hell hadn’t he just rolled through the fall like he’d learned in judo? Probably because he’d been too busy crashing to remember. He got to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes. And there he was, the fugitive. Bjarne crept toward him, shoulders low, tail tucked, emitting a pitiful whimper that was part apology, part please don’t be mad.

How could he be? From Bjarne’s perspective, the leash dragging on the ground must have been an invitation to explore. Pavel ran a hand over the dog’s head and picked up the leash.

But Bjarne didn’t stop whimpering.

"What is it?" Pavel asked. God, he hoped the dog hadn’t hurt himself. If he brought Bjarne back injured, Enna would never speak to him again.

Bjarne let out a sharp bark and pulled at the leash. Pavel followed the tug. The dog had spotted something. Now, so did Pavel. Between two small grass-covered mounds, something dark glistened in the light. Its smooth, black surface reminded him of a dead seal. He needed to report this. A few years back, an influenza outbreak had wiped out a large number of seals in the area.

"Hold up, Bjarne!" he ordered as they got within thirty feet of the thing. A grassy hill still blocked most of it from view. Pavel glanced toward the sea, which was about 500 feet away. From the water, the dead animal would be impossible to see. But would a sick seal really crawl this far inland before dying?

Bjarne stopped.

"Down."

The dog obeyed immediately. Good boy. If the animal had died from a virus, Bjarne could be at risk of infection. God, he hoped the dog hadn’t gotten too close. Pavel studied the dog. He was behaving normally. But it was far too early for any symptoms of illness. Even animals had an incubation period. Damn. It would be heartbreaking if Bjarne never got to warm his feet under his desk again.

"Stay."

Bjarne panted but seemed to be obeying the order. There were no seagulls around at the moment. Pavel crossed the uneven ground in long strides, moving toward the dark shape. Almost unconsciously, he raised a hand to his mouth. The shiny black surface was not animal skin, but rubber. They were rubber boots. Their owner seemed to be growing out of them like a plant that had outgrown its pot. Lying on his side, the man’s body had wrapped itself around a thick root, as if clinging to it for strength.

Perhaps that was the last hope this man—judging by the clothing—had. Pavel, still wearing gloves, carefully rolled him onto his back. He was probably in his late fifties. A distinct bump on the bridge of his nose. Eyes open. Deep blue. Arms stretched above his head, fingers locked in a death grip around tufts of grass. His brown, waterproof coat was caked in mud. If he’d crawled here, it was strange that his back was so dirty. Unless he’d been dragged first, lying on his back, and only later, with his last remaining strength, had tried to move on his own.

Was the dead man connected to the wreck? That was still unclear. Pavel patted down the man’s coat. In an inside pocket, he found his papers. His name was Michael Morris, 58 years old, and he lived in Hamburg. If Pavel had it right, the address was in an upscale neighborhood in the expensive Eppendorf district. So, once again, they’d have to take a trip to the million-strong town.

This was Müntefering’s fault. I was afraid you'd drag me into another murder to get the twenty-nine tests. Well, here they were. Pavel stood up and fished his phone out of his pocket. The screen wouldn’t respond to his touch. Damn gloves. The second he pulled one off, a phone started ringing, coming from the corpse. Pavel checked the pocket on the other side of the coat and found a fairly new iPhone. The screen displayed the caller ID:

“Wattw. FS”

What did that mean? They could find out from the provider. But maybe the caller would reveal something. Pavel answered.

"It’s about time you picked up. We really need to talk."

The caller was probably waiting for a response. Where had Pavel heard that voice before? Right! It was Lars Zinke. Enna’s friend from the lifeguard association, the one who had reported the discovery. What did he want with the dead man?

"I think so too," Pavel said. "I was planning to drop by tomorrow anyway, but now I think we should meet today. Can you be at the station in two hours?"

"I…wait, is that you, Inspector?"

At least Zinke hadn’t hung up right away. Because he had nothing to hide? Not necessarily.

"Yes. Who were you expecting?"

"I…a customer."

"I’ll see you in two hours. And don’t do anything stupid, all right? Or should I send a patrol car to pick you up?"

"No, no. I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll come to you."

Pavel ended the call. The cell phone was not protected by a lock. Perfect.

"Thank you, Mr. Morris," he muttered. Had his friends called him Mike? Or maybe Micha?

Bjarne let out a bark. He’d stayed put like a good boy, but no doubt he was curious now. Pavel slipped the phone into a sterile evidence bag. It would provide them with important information. Maria already had his fingerprints saved. He studied the man’s face again. The tension in his expression suggested he had been in pain. But this could still be a natural death. Maybe he had overdone it at the gym and suffered a heart attack from the strain. Or maybe he had overexerted himself while moving stolen goods. The details would come from forensics and the medical examiner.

Pavel pulled out his own phone and dialed Müntefering’s number.

"Ah, Pavel, this really isn’t a good time. I was just about to⁠—"

"I found a body. Cause of death unknown," Pavel cut in. "Sorry, but you’ll have to⁠—"

"Oh. Why do you always have to take everything I say so literally?"

Pavel frowned. What was the point of words if they did not mean exactly what they said? But plenty of people didn’t see it that way. Müntefering was no exception.

"There’s reason to believe the victim was involved in a violation of Paragraph 34 of the Lower Saxony Cultural Heritage Act. So I’d like to combine the cases. With your permission, of course."

The prosecutor sighed. "Yeah, it’s probably not a coincidence. But could you call Kettler and Doldinger?"

Call. That horrible word. Pavel’s throat tightened. Then Heino’s tracks came to mind. Maybe it would be better if everything went through him.

"Fine," he said. "I'll take care of it."

"Much appreciated."

* * *

Half an hour later, Pavel was pacing back and forth to keep warm when Bjarne suddenly yanked hard on the leash. Pavel looked up and saw two people approaching. It had to be Enna and Olaf. He let go of Bjarne, who ran excitedly towards Enna.

“Well, has he been good?” she asked as the two of them reached him. She gave him a once-over and wrinkled her nose slightly.

“Bjarne? Yeah, totally.”

“And you?”

He thought about the trail he had almost messed up, and heat crept into his cheeks like a guilty little kid.

“Where’s the body?” Berger’s question saved him from having to answer.

“Over there.” He gestured toward the spot where he had found it. “But first, I wanted to show you the sled.”

“We found one too,” Enna said. “It was in a storage room at the lifeguard station and looks like it was used recently.”

“But you haven’t seen Lars yet…?”

She shook her head. “That is supposed to be your job, Pavel.”

He nodded. He’d tell her later that Lars had called the victim.

“Damn, this one looks like it was just used too,” Berger said. “The trail is still fresh.”

“Hm, yeah.” Pavel looked down at his feet. His black leather shoes were barely visible under all the mud.

“Did you find anything else?” Enna asked. “Anything that could help us?”

Heino’s tracks, yes. But those were long gone. What good would it do to tell Enna about them? They were useless as evidence now.

“No.”

“Well, let’s see if Maria can work some magic,” Enna said. “Maybe there were two different groups out on the mudflats. A fight broke out, and it turned deadly.”

One of those groups must have had something to do with the lifeguard station. That made Enna’s friend Lars their prime suspect.

“Olaf, could you keep an eye on the mud sled while I take Enna to see the body?” Pavel asked.

“Of course.”

“Here come our specialists,” Enna said, pointing toward the dike, which was at least half a mile away. Three figures stood at the top, loaded down with gear.

“Then let’s take a quick look at the victim before they get here,” Pavel suggested.

* * *

"What happened to your clothes?" Enna asked as they made their way to the second crime scene.

"Tripped." Pavel pointed to a tuft of grass. Then he noticed the muddy stain on his jacket sleeve and tried to wipe it off.

"Don't. Let it dry, then brush it off. I can help you at the station."

"Thanks, that's a good tip."

Just then his phone rang. It was probably Müntefering calling for an update. At the beginning of every investigation, he always pushed like crazy, as if there was some kind of prize for catching the suspect faster. Well, maybe there was—a nod of approval from higher-ups and good press coverage. Not that Pavel cared.

But it wasn't Müntefering's number. Hamburg area code. The contact wasn't saved, and for good reason. He noticed Enna sneaking a glance at the screen and declined the call.

"I'm always happy to help," she said. "With anything."

He put the phone back in his pocket. What was she thinking? Not that it mattered. There wasn't anything she could help with. When it came to ignoring things, he was a pro. No one could top him in that department.

"We're here." Pavel was relieved not to have to fill more time with small talk. He let Enna take the lead. He had already examined the body.

"Looks like he was in pain," Enna speculated, circling the scene in a wide arc.

"His name is Michael Morris," Pavel said, "and he's from Hamburg."

"Great. Guess that means another trip there. You better brush up on your judo throws."

The last time they’d visited Hamburg, Pavel had caught a suspect off guard with his martial arts skills. Hopefully, as long as Morris wasn't living with another man, or hadn't lived with one, he wouldn't need them again.

Something jingled. Enna straightened up. "Ta-da! An apartment key."

That was very good. It meant they wouldn’t have to involve their colleagues in Hamburg right away. Of course they’d inform them, but now they wouldn’t have to deal with the usual red tape before they could search the apartment.

"And your expert opinion?" Kettler had arrived. Enna flinched. That meant her part in this was over.

"Hello, Nils. Didn’t hear you coming." She shrugged. "I’d say he died from internal bleeding. If there were gunshot wounds, I’d have seen them from this position. Looks like he crawled here, so he was still alive after whatever happened. I’d estimate he’s been dead no more than twelve hours."

Kettler planted his hands on his hips. "Hello to you too. If you already know everything, why bother calling me?"

"Because you’re the best, Nils. If there's something wrong, you’ll figure it out," Enna flattered him.

Pavel didn’t need a medical examiner to tell him something was wrong. Morris hadn’t just tripped and died. Why hadn’t he called for help? His phone had both battery and reception. He could have dialed 911 or the number of someone he knew. But instead, he’d accepted his fate and died here. That meant he was hiding something. Or he hadn’t expected to die so quickly.

"We should search the area, including the mudflats," Pavel said. "There might be another body."

"What makes you think that?" Enna asked.

"He had a working phone. He could’ve called for help, but he didn’t. Maybe there were two of them. A fight broke out, and our guy here killed the other one but was mortally wounded in the process."

"And why am I just now hearing this?" Enna crossed her arms, pursing her lips. She was angry with him, he realized.

"I didn’t know about the second guy until⁠—"

"I’m talking about the phone! That’s an important detail. Did you secure it?"

"Yes, and while I was standing next to him, he even got a call from Lars—" Shit. He’d meant to tell her that later.

"Excuse me? My Lars called him?"

"Yeah, your Lars. I didn’t want to strain your relationship before talking to him. Otherwise, you might think I was trying to—" He cut himself off. No, that was ridiculous.

"Trying to what, Pavel?"

"Nothing." He shook his head firmly.

"All right, then. You’re hard to follow at the moment, my dear colleague. But please promise me that you won't hold back any more information." Enna moved her arms to her sides.

"I promise," he said. "Scout’s honor."

He thought of the clues about Heino that Enna still knew nothing about. But that could hardly be called information. After all, Bjarne had covered the tracks, and who did he belong to? Exactly.

"Are you done with your marital spat now?" Kessler cut in.

"Neither of us is married," Pavel corrected him.

Kessler snorted. "You sure sound like it."

Enna grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. "Come on, Pavel. Nils needs peace and quiet to work."

Chapter Eight

Enna looked at Pavel in the rearview mirror while she waited for the light to turn green at Fleetstedt's largest intersection. How had he managed to get that dirty? The patterns on his clothes didn’t match his claim that he had simply fallen. So where had those splashes on the back of his thighs come from, the ones she had noticed on the way to the car? They looked just like the mud that coated her shorts when she went jogging along the dike in bad weather. Pavel was much taller than she was, but he must have run across the salt marshes, too.

Had he been chasing someone? Or had someone been chasing him? Had Bjarne slipped away from him? Her dog had rested his head on Pavel’s shin and was quietly snoring. He was so adorable. And the moment Pavel’s eyelids drooped and he drifted off for a second, he struck her as oddly sweet, too. It had to be some kind of emotional transference. Sometimes, when she was overwhelmed with affection for Bjarne, she felt like she could hug the entire world along with him.

She pulled into the parking lot in front of the station and noticed a familiar vehicle. As they got out, she let the others go ahead, wanting to clean some of the dirt from Bjarne’s fur. The side of the van bore an ad for Zinke’s Butcher Shop. Pavel hadn’t told her he’d told Lars to come here. She decided not to let it annoy her. It made sense. They needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Enna didn’t believe Lars had hurt anyone, but the head of their lifeguard team could be impulsive. Maybe he’d gotten himself into something he hadn’t fully thought through.

Her plan to clean Bjarne off turned out to be impossible. It almost looked like both of her “boys” had gone tearing wildly across a field together. Maybe they had. But then why wasn’t Pavel saying anything about it? She wouldn’t have been surprised to find mud splatters on Pavel’s sleeves, too. She pictured him chasing Bjarne on all fours, and a smile crept across her face.

It disappeared the moment she saw Lars. He was sitting on a folding chair in the hallway, right behind Heino, who was leaning against the wall as usual. Her eyes landed on the bike. It was dirty. And suddenly Pavel's strange question from this morning popped into her head: had she noticed his service bike today?

"Hi, Enna," Lars said. His voice sounded pitiful—she had never heard him like this before. Had he really messed up?

"Hello, Lars," she replied and walked past him.

"Wait a second," he said, grabbing her jacket sleeve. "What's going to happen to me?"

Enna stopped. "Since we know each other personally, Pavel will handle your interview. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd get into serious trouble if I gave you any information."

"I see." Lars swallowed and let go of her jacket. The fabric brushed against her thighs as it fell back into place. Guilt gnawed at her. She had always considered Lars a friend, and now she was refusing to help him.

Bjarne nudged her with his nose. That touched her. He must have sensed that she wasn't feeling too great. If only Pavel would act normal—but even he seemed to be hiding something.

She stopped just outside her office door and looked into Bjarne's deep brown eyes. "Do you want to tell me what you and Pavel got up to? You must know something." Bjarne barked. But unfortunately, words weren't something he could offer her.

* * *

Enna sat alone in the office. She had opened all the windows to air out the room. A sudden gust of wind swept under the desk and struck her bare calves. It felt like getting smacked with a bundle of birch twigs in a sauna. Bjarne let out a quiet whine, sounding like a Siberian wolf. Enna got up and shut the windows again before everything inside turned to ice.

She was supposed to call Müntefering, but every time she reached for the phone, her arm trembled. She couldn’t stand hearing his voice ever since that criminal had threatened both of them with death. But there was an easy way around it: she typed out a message instead.

“Mr. Müntefering - We need financial records from the East Frisian People's Bank regarding the Zinke family's finances. The owner's son, Lars Zinke, has come under suspicion. Could you take care of it? Thanks a lot!”

That should do it. Müntefering hadn’t been contacting her directly anymore either. Maybe he was struggling with the same trauma. Where was Olaf, anyway? Ah, probably with Pavel, who had asked him to sit in on Lars’s interview. Enna bit her lower lip. She felt nervous, as if she were personally responsible if Lars had actually committed a crime. Why was this affecting her so much? Was it because he was her friend? Or because she never in a million years would have thought him capable of something like this? That was it. It shook her confidence in her own judgment. If Lars could be guilty, then anyone in her life could be. They could all lie to her, betray her, Pavel, Katharina, her father, and maybe even Bjarne.

Enna looked under the desk. Bjarne caught her gaze and held it. No, not Bjarne. He was the one thing she could count on. Bringing him into her life had been the best decision she’d ever made.

She needed a distraction. Pavel had told her to look into the other people who had joined the mudflat hike. She started by Googling “Fleetstedt mudflat hike.” That led her to the local tourism board’s website, where they raved about the benefits of a trip like that. There was also a link to the only tour operator—Hauke Onken. Apparently the local fishmonger had expanded his business. She typed the listed number into her phone and called.

“Mudflat Hikes in Fleetstedt—A fun experience for the whole family. Suitable for all levels of fitness. Unfortunately, our staff is currently assisting other custo—” The automated message cut off. “Hello. Onken here.”

Enna smiled. The fishmonger wasn’t much of a salesman, but with no competition, he didn’t have to be. What mattered was that he always had good stock.

“Hello, this is Enna Koopmann from Fleetstedt Police. I hear you run mudflat tours?”

“You're from the criminal police, right?”

“Correct.”

“Great. Could you please tell Olaf I’ve got the gurnard? He needs to pick it up today if possible.”

“Of course, Mr. Onken. But in return, I need a favor.”

“From me?”

“Yes. I need the list of participants from the last mudflat tour Lars Zinke led for you.”

“Isn’t that…like…a privacy issue or something?”

“Mr. Onken, this is about an unsolved death. We need those names as soon as possible. And in exchange, I’ll make sure Olaf gets your message.”

“All right, then. I’ll email you the list. But don’t forget about Olaf.”

“As soon as I have the list.”

“Hang on, I just booted up my computer. What’s your email?”

Enna dictated her address. Onken typed loudly, and a soft whooshing sound signaled the email being sent. A moment later, her own computer chimed with a “ping.”

“Thank you, Mr. Onken.”

She hung up and opened the file. Skimming through the names, she reached the last entry, Michael Morris, the dead man. He had booked the tour that same morning and paid in cash.

Enna read the other names out loud.

Julia Bänsch

Steven Gawlik

Justus Gering

Justine Gering

Adrian Hermeling

Silvia Wittbrodt

None of the names rang a bell. Justus and Justine were probably siblings. As for the others, she guessed they were couples. They had listed a small hotel in Fleetstedt as their address, which meant they likely knew each other well. Justus Gering had made the reservation for all of them, paying in advance via bank transfer a few weeks ago. That meant these three couples were probably witnesses rather than suspects. Hopefully they were spending a few more days in Fleetstedt.

Enna called their hotel. Better to make sure she’d still be able to talk to them tomorrow.

“Hotel Zum Fregattenkapitän, this is Elzbieta. How can I help you?”

The woman on the phone had a distinct accent. Based on her name, Enna guessed she was Polish. She introduced herself.

“Oh, the police.”

“Hello. I’m just calling about a group staying at your hotel. Three young couples, all under thirty.”

“Oh, I know who you mean. Do you want me to put you through to one of them?”

“Thanks, but I just need to know if they’re checking out tomorrow.”

“No, they’re staying for three more days… Wait, am I allowed to tell you that?”

“Yes, don’t worry. I really appreciate it, Elzbieta. If you ever need anything from the police, feel free to reach out to me, Enna Koopmann.”

Perfect. That meant everything was lined up, and no one could accuse her of neglecting her job. Just then, her computer chimed again with a “ping.” This time, the sender was Otto Kammerer from the local branch of the Volksbank. His email had several attachments, along with a short message.

"Hello, Enna. You didn’t have to send your hard-nosed prosecutor after me right away. Did I do something wrong to deserve the full force of the law coming down on me? I thought we always got along just fine when it came to these kinds of requests."

Looked like Müntefering hadn’t exactly been gentle with his inquiry. He wasn’t usually this proactive. Enna kept reading.

"I’m guessing you want the short version. See, if you’d called instead, this would’ve only taken me three minutes. The Zinke company is in rough shape financially. People are buying less meat, more fish, and overall spending less money. On top of that, they’ve got a few mandatory upgrades the authorities have ordered, and to top it all off, the biggest supermarket in Fleetstedt switched to a competitor in Leer. So yeah, they’re barely keeping their heads above water.

Why are we still giving them loans, you ask? Well, their property is right near the coast. The zoning laws would allow for a new residential area or even a big hotel to be built there. That’d be a whole lot more appealing than an aging butcher shop, don’t you think?

Anyway, that’s the situation. Now, of course, I’m dying to know why you needed this information. Best, Otto."

Wait, was she actually on a first-name basis with Otto Kammerer? Enna couldn’t remember. She was sure about his colleague, Michaela, but she’d just had a baby and was on leave. Kammerer was probably trying to keep things casual, hoping she’d share something in return. Not happening. She printed the summary and headed straight for the interrogation room.

* * *

"How did you meet Michael Morris?" Pavel was asking.

Enna put on the wireless headphones and took a seat in front of the semi-transparent glass panel behind which Pavel and Olaf were talking to Lars. It looked like things were getting interesting. Knowing Pavel, he wouldn't want to be interrupted. She'd just listen a bit and wait for the right moment to tell him about Onken's and Kammerer's statements.

"He introduced himself as Michael Morris." Lars pronounced the name in German, making it sound much different, much more intriguing, than when Pavel had said it.

"And when was that?"

"The day before yesterday. He called and asked if I could take him to the mudflats right away. He offered me two hundred euros."

"Were you able to?"

"The tide was coming in. It would have been suicide."

"So you told him he'd have to wait until the next day."

"I invited him to join my scheduled tour at the regular price."

"Did you mention to anyone that someone was in a big hurry to get to the mudflats?"

That was a good question. Lars furrowed his brow. "Edwin, I think. He's the one who prepares the equipment."

"Tholen?"

Lars nodded. So the harbormaster had known that there must be something important out on the mudflats.

"Did you know anything else about the victim?"

Lars shrugged. "No. I don't really care who I take out there. It's just a job."

"A job you desperately need."

Lars nodded. "You could say that. The business is barely staying afloat. My dad didn’t invest in it for years. Now the food safety authority is breathing down our necks, and on top of that, the biggest supermarket in town dropped us. Something like that could break us fast."

Enna nodded. That lined up with Kammerer’s assessment. Lars didn’t seem to be hiding anything. Since he was sitting there alone with her colleagues, it meant he had also chosen not to have an attorney present. Pavel would certainly have told him that he was to be questioned as a suspect and informed him of his rights.

"Could?" Pavel pressed.

"Well, our location is pretty valuable. My dad doesn’t want to sell, but if the bank pulls the plug on us, he won’t have much of a choice."

"Hold on a moment, I need to check something."

Pavel stopped the recording, got up, and left the room. Enna was waiting for him just outside, headphones in hand. He smiled, so he didn’t mind that she had been listening.

"I assume you’ve already looked into the finances?"

"Of course. His story checks out. Kammerer from the Volksbank is practically drooling over that property. As soon as the Zinkes are deep enough in debt, the bank will call in their loans."

"Will the family have anything left?"

"Since Kammerer isn’t worried about his loans, I’d assume they’ll get something. But that depends on how well they manage their business in the coming years and how long they can keep the butcher shop running."

"That's a shame. It weakens Lars's motive quite a bit. He doesn't seem to be desperate for money."

Enna narrowed her eyes slightly. The expression worked.

"Oh, of course, I'm glad that your friend Lars has a weaker motive," Pavel explained.

Enna was relieved, even if that wasn’t very professional. But there was still the matter of the sled in the lifeguard station. Lars had told both her and Olaf that he had no idea it even existed.

"Thanks," Pavel said. "I’ll get back to it."

* * *

Pavel's tone changed noticeably as he continued to question Lars Zinke. They went over his alibi. Lars had claimed he’d been at work, but no one had seen him there. His father had been at the doctor’s office multiple times that day, with proof to back it up.

"There are tracks from a mud sled near where the body was found," Pavel said. "My colleagues found one in your possession."

"Not mine."

"In the storage room at the lifeguard station, that you’re in charge of."

"But I’m not the only one with a key."

"You previously stated that you had no knowledge of the mud sled." Pavel reached to the side of his chair, pulled a tablet from a bag hanging there, tapped on the screen a few times, and handed it to Lars. "That man riding the sled, that’s you, isn’t it?"

Lars looked at the screen and smiled. "That’s from the Dollart near Dyksterhusen. Damn, Inspector, that must’ve been ages ago. See my swim trunks? I don’t think I was even eighteen then."

"So you admit you know how to use a mud sled."

"Sure. But I had no idea there was one in our storage shed."

"And what if we find your DNA and fingerprints on it?"

"I have no idea how long something like that lasts, but of course, it could still be from back then."

Pavel shook his head. "I already looked into that. The mud sleds from 2015 were provided by the local club."

"That may be, but we also participated in other events later on."

So far, Lars was handling this well. But what about the phone call Pavel had mentioned earlier?

"You called Mr. Morris. I picked up. Why did you call him? What did you want with him? Were you trying to make sure he was still alive after your little altercation on the mudflats?"

"Chief Inspector, you can't pin that on me. I didn’t have a fight with your victim. Morris called me before the tour. He seemed to be in a hurry, so I later called him back to ask what was so urgent. That’s when he offered me some extra cash to help him transport something."

"Something?"

"He didn’t say much, just that it was heavy. That’s when I told him about mud sleds."

"So, you were working together."

"No. I told him I’d think about it. But later, he stopped answering his phone. And when I saw the search operation, I freaked out. I wanted to ask him to make sure he didn’t mention my name."

That sounded a lot like an excuse. Enna studied him. His right leg was bouncing, a dead giveaway that he was nervous. She’d seen it in competitions before. But he wasn’t showing any signs of lying. And he had reported the find to her.

"Why did you tell Enna about the wreck? Wouldn’t it have been easier if the authorities never knew about it?"

"Morris advised me to do so. Otherwise, I'd only make myself suspicious. He was sure he could move the object fast enough."

That checked out. The mudflat tour was documented, and there were witnesses. If Lars hadn’t passed on the information, he’d look even more suspicious now. But Enna didn’t think he was involved. He seemed to be telling the truth.

"All right," Pavel said finally. "You can go for now. But stay available in case we have any more questions."

Pavel saw it the same way she did. That was good. Enna turned off the transmission and placed her headset on the console. The door to the interrogation room swung open. Lars walked past her without looking up. That was exactly the look Bjarne gave when he'd done something he wasn't supposed to. Pavel stopped beside her and stared through the glass at the now-empty room.

"Too bad. I mean...good. The most obvious solution isn't always the right one. We need to cast a wider net. I suspect the writer knew about the wreck before the mudflat tour. Someone must have spotted it once the storm subsided. That left two full days to plan a recovery."

"Maybe they went right after the storm and only then realized how heavy their treasure was."

"Or they figured it out by going through old records and piecing together what kind of ship it must have been and what it was carrying."

Pavel had that distant look again, the kind that meant he was already imagining himself buried in case files for nights on end. Enna just smiled. She'd long since given up trying to spoil his fun. Pavel needed his sleepless nights now and then.

Chapter Nine

"You’re really going through with this?" Heinz asked.

Olaf nodded. There was no turning back now. What would his colleagues think if he chickened out? He pulled off his uniform pants. The wind swept over his bare legs. So this was how Enna always felt in just her socks. Goosebumps rose on his skin, but it wasn’t as icy as he had feared. The wind came from the west, carrying the scent of the Gulf Stream, Irish beer, and spring.

He handed Heinz his pants, then peeled off his shirt as well. Olaf had watched plenty of videos of sled races to study the technique. It was similar to dog sledding, only without the dog. In the past, they had actually used draft animals, but whoever had illegally retrieved the cargo from the wreck certainly hadn’t.

Now he was starting to shiver. He stepped past the water’s edge onto the mudflats. His swim trunks didn’t offer much warmth, but at least his beanie kept his head from freezing. Heinz pulled out his phone.

"Don’t even think about it!" Olaf yelled.

"Come on, I have to document this for Maria."

The forensic technician had been too swamped analyzing evidence to come herself, so she had sent her assistant instead. The two of them had hauled the mud sleds out of the back of the truck and down into the muck. Now, Heinz mounted his cell phone on a tripod he had already set up.

Olaf inspected the sleds. The one on the left was the one they had found at the lifeguard station. It looked more modern, reinforced with steel brackets at the corners and two smooth metal runners along the bottom. Would those make it faster? He was about to find out.

He spat into his hands and grabbed the pole, planting his left foot on the sled’s flat platform. Since he was right-handed, his right leg was probably stronger. But the second he shifted his weight, his standing foot sank deep into the mud. The cold shot up to his knees. He couldn't afford to stand here too long, or he'd freeze to death.

"On the count of three," he called out, staring out over the mudflats, where the setting sun cast a golden glow as if to welcome him. "One…two…three!"

Olaf pushed off with all his strength, imagining himself gliding effortlessly across the sludge. Instead, his chest slammed straight into the pole. Oof. Yeah, that was going to leave some bruises. His wife was definitely going to ask questions.

What the hell had gone wrong? Static friction, Pavel would have grumbled. Getting the sled moving took far more force than keeping it in motion. But he had to apply that force gradually. A few inches of movement would be enough to break through the resistance. Olaf turned to Heinz.

"Delete that, will you? I'll try again in a minute."

He’d better delete that embarrassing first attempt. Olaf would check later to make sure. He clenched his jaw. The cold had spread to his upper body now, making him shiver.

"One…two…three!" This time, he built up force in his right foot, increasing the pressure bit by bit. From the outside, no one would even notice. That was why he hadn’t picked up on this phase in the videos. It was a silent battle between him and the sled. And only one of them could win. Him. Olaf Berger, the reincarnation of Highlander. Or maybe Lowlander. And, yes! The sled shifted forward, just a millimeter. Now all he had to do was keep going.

Olaf pushed and pushed. The mud sled was sliding! Hell, yeah! And it was gaining speed. Now all he had to do was pull his foot free, jump on, and push off again, but the mud wouldn't let go! His foot was buried so deep it felt like the earth itself had claimed him. He gripped the sled’s handles, but now that it was moving, stopping it was another story. It was full of the energy Olaf had pumped into it, and now it was rebelling, sliding forward on its own, just as a good mud sled should. Off-balance, Olaf tumbled face-first into the mud.

The loud thud of his half-naked body hitting the wet ground was immediately followed by laughter. Heinz. Olaf was this close to lunging at him and dragging Maria's assistant into the mud with him. He was already on his feet, snarling like a bear, when he realized how unprofessional that would be. With muddy fingers, he adjusted his beanie.

"Next try." The sled had stopped about four paces in front of him, standing there innocently, as if it hadn't just betrayed him. Oh, just you wait. I'll tame you yet. Olaf turned to Heinz and raised a mud-covered hand.

"If any of this is recorded, I swear the wrath of the Mud God will be upon you if it ever gets out!"

"Ha-ha! The Mud God himself has risen! I'm impressed!"

Olaf shook his fist at him again. At least Maria and the rest of his colleagues hadn't been there to witness this mess. Time for round two. This time the ground was a little firmer, so his foot didn't sink into the mud. The sled moved forward. Olaf pushed and pushed. There was something primitive about it, but at the same time childlike, like riding a scooter as a kid. Back then he had loved to play in the mud. And what were the mudflats, really, if not a huge, endless puddle of mud?

He steered the sled toward the bay, aiming roughly for the wreck. He didn't have to go all the way there. This experiment was to see how fast he could go. He adjusted his path slightly to avoid the channel to his right, where the water flowed back to the sea. Steering was tricky. He had to lean his whole body into the turn. Then, suddenly, the sun broke through the clouds again, bathing the mudflats in a golden glow. For a moment, Olaf Berger felt like the happiest man on earth.

The moment ended when he decided to turn around. He entered the 180-degree turn with too much inclination. About ninety degrees in, the sled flipped over. Olaf went flying, right into the mud. Again. This time it was worse. The wind had dried the first layer of mud on his skin, trapping his body heat like a second layer of insulation. Now he was cold and wet again.

But he knew exactly how to fix it. Olaf straightened the sled. As he did so, he noticed that the two metal strips were clearly visible in the pattern he had left on the mudflats. That pattern hadn't appeared in Pavel's photos of the crime scene. Did that rule out the lifeguard sled as the vehicle they were looking for? Olaf shrugged. That was for someone else to figure out. But he'd better remind Heinz to take pictures of these specific tracks.

* * *

"The Mud God is back!" Heinz called out to him from across the field, holding a blanket in his hands.

"Don’t worry about it," Olaf said. The effort of the fast ride had warmed him up from the inside. Only his fingers still felt cold. "We've got work to do."

He filled Heinz in on the distinct characteristics of the tracks left behind by this sled. Heinz snapped a few photos of them.

"Now for the object."

They had brought along a specially prepared crate weighing around sixty-five pounds. Heinz had packed it with old encyclopedias that were no longer needed at the forensics lab. Olaf pushed the sled with its loading area in the front, stopping right at the water's edge before stepping onto it. Heinz handed him the crate.

"Here. It's heavy." Heinz didn’t seem to have any trouble with the weight, but then again, his build was entirely different from Olaf’s.

"Ugh." Berger bent his knees slightly, letting the crate slide down against his body. Unfortunately, it scraped off some of the crusted mud in the process. Whatever. He still had another run ahead of him. Once the crate was in place, Olaf gave it a test shake. It was as secure as a baby in a crib. The sled, on the other hand, was now much harder to get moving. He finally managed it, but this time he ran out of breath much faster. By the time he reached the shore again, he was sweating profusely.

"Either they were in way better shape than I am, or there were two of them," he said.

"The sled’s too narrow for two people," Heinz pointed out.

"True." The sled was broader than Olaf but not as wide as Heinz’s shoulders. "But they could’ve taken turns. Or the object was lighter than our crate."

Olaf sat down at the edge of the field where the grass ended. He absentmindedly dabbled in the mud with his feet. He needed a three-minute break. Heinz draped the blanket over his shoulders. This time Olaf didn’t protest.

"Good work, Berger."

Olaf smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for his reputation if Heinz showed that Mud God video around after all.

* * *

The traditional mud sled was the last one up. Olaf was surprised at how easy it was to ride. This thing must be made of a different, lighter wood. Push off, glide, push off, glide, it almost felt like going downhill. He was faster than the clouds drifting above him, crossing his path. His destination was north, the clouds were heading east, and he had the right of way. This was better than driving the company BMW in the fast lane on the autobahn. It wasn’t blood pumping through his veins anymore, it was freedom. And damn, it felt good. He had a great job and was exactly where he needed to be, with the best people he could ask for. The only thing spoiling the moment was the lingering smell of rotten eggs.

“Whew,” he muttered, steering the sled toward the shore.

“I’ll help you,” Heinz said.

Together, they lifted the wooden sled onto the grassy bank. Olaf patted the handlebar. No one had claimed it yet. Maybe he could just leave it here and borrow it for the occasional ride across the mudflats. It wouldn’t exactly fit in the evidence room anyway. He pictured Christine, his wife, stretched out on the loading area in a bikini, slowly getting covered in the thick, wet sludge. Then they’d roll around in the mud together and… no, Christine definitely wasn’t the type for that. But he could bring the kids out here. They’d have a blast.

“What are we going to do with you now?” Heinz asked, snapping a photo of the sled’s tracks in the mud. Olaf’s mind flashed back to Pavel’s pictures. This was definitely the kind of sled that had been used to transport the body they’d found.

“You guys have a shower at the forensics lab, right?”

Heinz nodded. “You, uh…think you could ride in the trunk? Maria will kill me if the backseat gets covered in mud.”

Olaf frowned. Did he just hear that right?

Heinz punched him on the shoulder, the muddy blanket barely softening the blow. “Relax, I'm just messing with you. Of course you’re sitting in the back. You couldn’t do more damage than that decomposing corpse we had in here last week.”

Heinz was joking again. If there had been a body last week, they would have heard about it. That was Kettler’s jurisdiction, anyway.

“No, seriously, it’s true,” Heinz said. “Happened in Leer.”

Forensics covered multiple districts. But what if that case was somehow connected to theirs? He needed to let Pavel know, so he could check it out.

“All right, hop in the backseat, will you? We have to get going. Maria’s probably waiting for us.”

Chapter Ten

Pavel knocked on the door, but no one answered. Maria Doldinger had assured him via email that she’d be available at the forensics department early in the morning, so he had gone out of his way to book a cab to Leer, paid for it out of his own pocket, and thrown himself into the morning traffic.

He pushed the door open. A pungent, chemical smell hit him immediately. Pavel slipped through the opening and shut the door behind him. He jumped when a fluorescent tube flickered on above his head.

“Maria?” he called.

“I’m here!” At that exact moment, a horrible screeching noise rang out. He followed the sound, which sounded like Doldinger was in the middle of torturing someone.

Not that he believed her capable of such a thing. Maria Doldinger was a perfectly normal person with a low level of neuroticism. And she was a brilliant forensic scientist whose judgment could always be trusted.

Pavel encountered a curtain made of heavy, transparent plastic sheeting. He could only guess what was behind it. Though to be fair, it really could be a torture table. What the hell was up with his imagination today?

He pushed one of the sheets aside and stepped through. Maria stood at a workbench, holding a power tool in her hand. A spinning disc whirred over an object locked in place.

“Hello, Maria!” he shouted over the noise.

Maria switched off the tool and took off her safety glasses.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m analyzing the wood from the wreck.”

“If Dr. Zwack knew…”

“I’m pretty sure he knows these kinds of tests aren’t exactly non-destructive.” She turned to face him. “What can I do for you? Your boss approved all my requests for analysis, which I honestly wasn’t expecting.”

Pavel nodded. Maria had requested more than she actually needed, knowing she’d only get approval for the bare minimum. Smart move.

“What have you found out so far?” he asked.

“The ship was definitely built in the early nineteenth century. Or at least, that’s when the tree was cut down. But the wood came from the south of France.”

“That far away?”

“Well, I suspect that the French had it built there, in the style of the Dutch shipbuilders, as a schmack.”

“Because a schmack floats so well?”

“A schmack has no keel. It’s specially designed for shallow coastal waters. And there aren’t many of those down along the Atlantic.”

“So?”

“I’m just a forensic scientist,” Maria said with a shrug. “But couldn’t the French have built it for espionage? Maybe the crew posed as smugglers to infiltrate areas controlled by the British.”

“That sounds like something Zwack could use to rewrite history.”

Maria beamed at the compliment but waved it off. “It’s just a small detail. But it might change what we’re looking for. Up until now, you’ve been thinking about a chest full of gold, right? Well, it could just as easily be original documents. I’m sure they’re worth a fortune on the black market.”

That was exactly what Pavel didn’t want to hear. If the culprit could stash their loot in their pocket, the search was about to get a whole lot harder. But reality didn’t care about his preferences.

“Where’s Enna, by the way?”

“She’s picking up the reports from the medical examiner, then heading out to question some witnesses.”

Pavel had deliberately divided the work that way. He wanted to hear Maria’s findings alone first.

"Have you made any progress with the evidence in our murder case?" he asked. His index finger started trembling nervously, so he shoved his hands into his pockets. Somehow he felt like a criminal himself, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong.

"Of course, that’s the first thing I looked into," Maria explained. "The sled from the Lifeguard Association has a variety of fingerprints on it, including Lars Zinke’s, and Enna’s, too."

"Enna found the thing with Berger."

"Then she must’ve forgotten her gloves. There’s a new method I can use to determine the approximate age of the prints. But it’s pricey. Would that help you?"

Knowing that Zinke’s prints were old could clear the Lifeguard Association trainer. But Pavel didn't seriously consider him a suspect anymore anyway. Dr. Zwack had told him over the phone last night that the thief would be lucky to get fifty grand for the stolen item. That was about all the black market would offer, no matter what the find actually was, especially if the seller was in a hurry. Fifty grand wouldn’t solve any of Lars’s problems, which meant there was no real motive.

"No, let’s save that for an emergency. Anything else?"

"Yeah. We found the victim’s fingerprints on the sled, which is made entirely of wood. And we also noticed a few black stains on the right side of the loading area."

"Do they tell us anything about what was being transported?"

"You could say that, but probably nothing that’ll be useful to you, Pavel."

"You’re making me curious."

"I tested the material. It’s oil stains. But not just any kind of mineral oil, it’s sunflower oil-based."

"For cooking?"

Maria shook her head. "No, esterified sunflower oil. It’s used as a lubricant, often on bicycle chains. It’s highly biodegradable. Did you know that a single drop of mineral oil can contaminate anywhere from 160 to 260 gallons of water?"

"I didn’t know that, but it makes sense. So someone transported a bike on the sled?"

"That’s what it looks like."

"Thanks, that’s…surprising." Heat rushed to Pavel’s face. He couldn’t help but think about the trail Bjarne had accidentally destroyed.

"That’s not all. I can even tell you the type. There aren’t that many chain oils on the market made from sunflower oil. You’re looking for someone who’s willing to spend serious money on their bike." Maria gave him a quick glance, as if to silently add, someone like you.

"Ah, a cycling fanatic."

"No, they prefer mineral oils. Those are still the best when it comes to friction, wear, and viscosity. A bio-oil like this must degrade by sixty percent within twenty-eight days. Naturally, that happens to the chain as well. So you’re looking for an affluent, environmentally conscious recreational cyclist."

Next, she’d probably predict the owner’s height, age, and blood type just from the properties of the oil. Doldinger was really good. If Pavel ever committed a crime, he certainly wouldn't do it in a county under the jurisdiction of the Leer Crime Lab.

"You wouldn’t happen to have the owner’s address for me, would you?" Pavel forced a smile.

Maria shook her head. "It’s possible. I can tell you the exact product—it’s Biotek Chain King. A hundred-milliliter bottle costs 33 euros."

Jesus. That meant a liter cost 330 euros. About the same as a good bottle of Dom Pérignon. What kind of person spent that much on chain oil? The Fleetstedt bike dealer had admitted he only stocked it so customers would see all the other oils as cheap by comparison. Pavel had felt strangely…satisfied when he bought it. That must be the same feeling people got when they splurged on designer clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was susceptible to that.

"You don’t believe me?" Maria asked. "I could ask around for you. As far as I know, only one dealer in Leer carries this oil. It’s probably the same in Fleetstedt. And on Sylt, they probably bathe their bikes in it."

Maria laughed, and Pavel made a sound that could be interpreted as amusement.

"Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I’m sure this fancy stuff is available online too. I’m just not sure if this really helps us."

Maria pursed her lips. She’d clearly expected more praise. He felt bad because she’d done excellent work, but he needed to talk to the Fleetstedt dealer himself.

And fast. Pavel checked his watch, pretending he had an appointment. "Sorry, but I have to run."

"You don’t even want to hear about the trace evidence around the crime scene?" Maria’s eyes widened. And rightly so, because normally, he was desperate for every new detail. He had to be careful not to look suspicious.

"Of course I do. I was just about to ask you before I go."

Maria opened a brown folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. "I found traces from two people. One was our victim. Shoe size six, which is very small for a man. The other⁠—"

"Thank you, Maria. Can I take the report with me?" Pavel reached for the paper. "Everything’s in here, right? I’ll read it on the way back. If I have questions, I’ll get in touch. Thank you. Really, thanks a lot."

He gave a slight bow, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Maria’s gaze. He felt completely exposed under her scrutiny. Without another word, he slipped out of the work area, sectioned off by plastic curtains.

Out on the street, he spotted the forensic team’s truck. To be on the safe side, he stepped into the shadow of a nearby wall. In the back seat was a dirt-covered figure. Was that Berger? Good thing Berger hadn’t seen him. Pavel walked about a hundred yards toward the town center before pulling out his phone to call a cab.

* * *

It wasn’t until he was almost at the station in Fleetstedt that he remembered Maria’s report. He really needed to pull himself together. Pavel unfolded the sheet of paper. Maria had sketched an overview of where the body had been found, marking several key locations along the way. The first stop was the mud sled. That was where the victim and the killer had apparently arrived together. It wasn’t clear whether they had both used the sled. The unidentified person could have also crossed the mudflats on foot, in which case the tide would have erased their tracks.

But at the sled, they still seemed to be getting along. From there, two parallel tracks led away from the shoreline. Both sets of footprints turned slightly inward, and the steps were short, suggesting they had been carrying something heavy together. About fifty yards in, they had put it down. The plants in a radius of about six feet had been trampled flat. "Fight?" Maria had scribbled in the margin. That seemed likely, considering the bloodstains she had found. Most of it matched the victim, but there were two small splatters from another person as well. The murder weapon, however, was nowhere to be found. Maria suspected it had been a large rock, which the killer must have taken with them.

This was where the trails split. The victim had managed to crawl another fifty yards. The unknown suspect, on the other hand, had walked toward the road, turned around at some point, gone back, not to check on their injured companion, but to the sled, and then headed back to the road. In the dust near the roadside, Maria had spotted tire tracks, but there were far too many to pin any of them to the suspect’s vehicle.

So what did they have? A fight between two thieves who had probably disagreed over how to split their loot. What would the medical examiner make of it? Enna would no doubt fill him in on the drive to Hamburg.

* * *

Right now, though, he was relieved that neither she nor Berger was in the office. He was sweating. He grabbed Heino and rode back to his apartment. Ms. Winters opened the door for him. She liked sitting by the window, watching the street below.

“Hello, Pavel. Leaving work early today?” she asked.

“Hello, Ms. Winters. I just need a shower.”

“Oh? Going out with Miss Enna?”

Where did that come from? Winters had been trying to set him up for a while now. Didn’t she realize that if it worked, she’d lose her favorite tenant, as she liked to call him?

Then again, she wasn’t entirely wrong. “We’re heading to Hamburg later,” Pavel explained.

“Just don’t get lost in St. Pauli.”

“No worries, we’re meeting up in Eppendorf. But right now, I really need to⁠—”

Winters disappeared back into her apartment, and Pavel unlocked his door. The bathroom door was open. He took off his clothes, got some fresh underwear, and stepped into the shower. There was a bathtub right next to it, but he could never stand sitting in hot water for too long.

But what about Heino? He could use a wash. He pulled on his underwear, stepped outside, and retrieved the bike from the street. Heino fit nicely over his shoulder as he carried it upstairs. Maybe that was why their suspect had gone back to the sled from his car. He didn’t want to leave his bike behind! Pavel could totally understand.

“What are you doing with Heino on the stairs?” Winters asked. As his landlady opened her door, a draft swept through, and his apartment door slammed shut. Just great.

“Leonie, would you be so kind as to open the door for me with your spare key?”

Ms. Winters cleaned his place once a week when he wasn’t around, so it wasn’t unusual for her to have a key. She looked at him with mild amusement but climbed the stairs and unlocked the door for him.

How embarrassing. This case was obviously getting to him more than any other—except for the time Enna had been kidnapped, of course.

Oh well. Now that Heino was here, he might as well go through with it. He carried the bike into the bathroom and set it in the tub. Then he grabbed the shower hose from above the faucet and rinsed Heino down with hot water. But that wasn’t enough. Pavel lathered up a washcloth and scrubbed the bike from top to bottom. Even the tires, the rims, and finally, the chain gleamed like new.

Not that it was good for Heino. Its joints needed oil. He went to the little cabinet in the hallway, grabbed the expensive bottle of Biotek Chain King, and carefully lubricated everything that needed it. Using the expensive oil wouldn't change anything. The local bike shop owner would remember the tall, well-dressed guy who’d bought the priciest oil and paid with a credit card anyway. As a finishing touch, Pavel polished Heino’s rims until they shone.

Only then did he lean back. What the hell was he doing? Was it normal to wash your bike in the bathtub? What next? Was he going to sleep with Heino in his bed? Ridiculous. He’d just wanted to get rid of the grime. And the suspicion that weighed heavier on him than on the bike, which, if he was being honest, didn’t have thoughts or feelings of its own. Yeah, this was about him. He was just weird. No one would ever understand.

He grabbed his phone from the windowsill and scrolled through his photos. There was one from the Christmas market, where he’d celebrated his birthday with Maria, Nils, Olaf, and Enna. They hadn't found him too strange. Wasn’t that what mattered? He kept scrolling. There, a track in the mud. Heino’s tire print. He held the screen up next to the freshly polished tires.

The resemblance was unmistakable. He photographed Heino's tires and ran the image through Google Lens. The image search turned up a whole list of other tires. He selected the closest match, which led him to a website that sold vintage bicycle tires. Apparently, Heino was sporting a model from a British company that had been out of business for twenty years. In the cycling community, those tires went for at least 150 euros if they were in good condition.

Wait a minute. A few months ago, Heino had accidentally ended up at a recycling company in Fleetstedt. "Braun Recycling specializes in refurbishing all kinds of old equipment and reselling it to retro enthusiasts." Was that where the tires came from? Originally they’d tossed Heino onto the junk pile, but after Pavel had raised hell, they’d repaired the bike and given it back to him.

He still had Braun Recycling saved on his phone.

"Hello, Charlotte Braun speaking."

"Hello. This is Chief Inspector Pavel Neuhof from the⁠—"

"Oh, you're the bike freak who really wanted his old bike back."

She remembered him, even though their encounter had been at least six months ago. Then again, he had made quite a fuss about it back then.

"That’s me. I just have a quick question."

"Fire away."

Pavel instinctively reached for his gun. Even though he knew the phrase, his brain always needed a split second to process it correctly before filing it under go ahead, start talking.

"When you gave me my bike back, did your mechanic make any adjustments?"

"That's a strange question. Why?"

"Please, I need an answer. It’s a matter of life and death."

That line always worked well. And it wasn’t even a lie. There wasn’t a single second in a person’s life when it wasn’t a matter of life and death. That was just the way it was. Everyone had to die, and after that, everything they had ever thought or done would be lost forever. It wasn’t depressing, it was a fact. And it had the major advantage of making other people’s opinions irrelevant. After all, the present world was becoming the past with every passing second.

"Inspector? My mechanic is right here. He says he put on some fresh tires from our stock because your back tire was full of holes. Since he wasn’t sure if it happened on our watch, he figured it was best to play it safe. I hope that’s not a problem?"

"Not at all. These tires seem to be a pretty special model." Pavel gave her the brand and product name. "Have you put them on any other bikes?"

"That’s your second question."

"Ms. Braun, please, life and death…"

"Relax, I was joking. Actually, we got those tires from a clearance sale. We bought twenty sets, and we still have thirteen left."

"Perfect. Do you have a list of who else bought them?"

Christine Braun sighed. "You give someone an inch… But yeah, as soon as I get back to the office, I'll take care of it."

"That would be a big help. I’ll also send over an official request from the prosecutor’s office."

"All right. Is that it? I've got..."

"One last tiny question before I let you go. Do you happen to use Biotek Chain King for lubrication?"

"Biotek, Biotek… Doesn’t ring a bell."

"Sure it does, boss," her mechanic chimed in. "That stuff is super environmentally friendly. We use it on all our upcycled bikes."

"Much appreciated. That makes me very happy." Pavel hung up before Braun could ask why that particular detail pleased him so much. He crawled over to the bathtub. Heino was leaning against the faucet, looking like he was asleep. Pavel ran a hand over the freshly oiled chain. The Biotek oil was almost transparent. He took a sniff. Sunflower seeds. Suddenly, he had a craving for a salad with seeds and sunflower oil, even though he usually preferred olive oil. Before heading to Hamburg, he definitely needed to have something to eat.

Heino would soon be off the suspect list. Or at least, he was on the right track. Maybe he could even give him an alibi. No, that was the wrong word. Prove an alibi—there had to be cameras monitoring the entrance to the police station. That was one of his tasks for the night shift.

Chapter Eleven

The room smelled of mothballs and starched bed linens. Seven of them were sitting around an oval table in a back room of the Zum Fregattenkapitän Hotel; Bjarne was waiting for them in the car. The hotel was a typical seventies-style building, no fancy wellness spa, no sleek design. But it was clean, affordable, and got the job done.

“Julia Bänsch?” Enna scanned the list. A friendly-looking young woman with blonde hair raised her hand.

“Steven Gawlik?” The man sitting next to her lifted his arm. He had an unremarkable presence and barely made eye contact.

“Justus Gering?”

“That’s me.”

“And I’m Justine Gering, his sister before you ask.”

The two of them looked like wealthy kids from Hamburg, the type who attended elite boarding schools. Enna recognized the Lacoste logo on their polo shirts, and Justine carried a Gucci handbag. They didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the group.

“Adrian Hermeling?”

“Right here.” The young man had an extremely short haircut. Maybe he was on leave from the military?

“Then you must be Silvia Wittbrodt,” Enna said, gesturing toward a red-haired girl who had her arm linked with Adrian’s.

“That’s right.”

“Thank you all for making time for me on such short notice. This is a tragic matter, the death of a man, that we need to get to the bottom of. I’m questioning you as witnesses. You have to tell the truth, and you can’t leave anything out. Unless, of course, answering would incriminate you. At your request, we’re conducting this as a group interview, but we can switch to individual questioning at any time. Any questions?”

Julia raised her hand. “The man who died, was it that old guy?”

The victim hadn’t actually been that old. It was strange. Just a year ago, Enna would have considered herself part of Julia’s generation. But now that she’d hit 35, she viewed this group as “young people” and apparently no longer included herself in that category.

“That’s right,” she said. “What can you tell me about him?”

“He barely spoke,” Justus said.

“And he had professional equipment,” Julia added. “He even had his own binoculars.”

“Even the harbormaster was impressed with his boots,” Justine, Justus’s sister, chimed in.

“You met at the harbormaster’s?”

“Yeah, he had the gear we needed,” Justus explained.

"Did he know the stranger?"

Julia shook her head. "No, not even Lars knew him."

"What makes you think that?" Enna asked.

"The guy showed up a little late, and Lars didn’t recognize him until he showed him the booking on his phone."

"No, recognized his voice," Justus objected. "The moment the stranger spoke, our guide smiled."

That matched Lars's statement that Morris had called him the day before.

"The guy used his binoculars a lot," Julia added.

"And he was in a real hurry! Lars could barely hold him back," Justus said.

"And he didn’t talk to any of you?"

"No," Julia said. "Only to the harbormaster at the beginning."

"About what?"

"The boots. After that, they kept their voices low."

"None of you heard what they were saying?"

Steven flinched slightly but didn’t say anything. Enna tilted her head and looked at him, and he dropped his gaze.

"You heard something, didn't you, Steven?" she asked.

He gave a quick shake of his head. That was the problem with group questioning. Some people just wouldn’t talk. But pushing too hard would only make it worse.

"What did you all do after the mudflat tour?"

"'Whoa, do we have to prove our alibi now?" asked Justus.

"We all went to Deichkante afterward," Julia answered. "It’s a bar by the⁠—"

"I know it," Enna cut in. She was familiar with the owner. Andy would be able to confirm that.

"Was the guy killed during that time?" Justus asked.

"Sorry, ongoing investigation. Thank you, that's all for now."

"Well, great, guess we can finally go hike up to the lighthouse," Justus said.

The group filed out. Enna took her time. As planned, she caught up with Steven, Julia’s shy boyfriend, in the hallway and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"You heard what the stranger and the harbormaster were talking about, didn’t you?"

Steven stiffened and tried to pull away, but then hesitated. "I don’t want to get anyone in trouble."

"You’re not. On the contrary, the more we know, the fewer problems there’ll be for everyone."

"The harbormaster threatened him."

Well, now that was interesting. "What did he say?"

"I don’t know—I couldn’t make out the words. But I saw his face. I know what someone looks like when they’re making a threat."

That didn’t match the Edwin Tholen she knew. But people changed when strong emotions took over, and greed was definitely one of those emotions.

"Thank you, Steven."

The young man pulled away from her grip and hurried after the others.

* * *

Pavel still wasn’t back at the office. Enna’s stomach growled. She checked the time. It was already noon, and she’d completely forgotten to grab something to eat. Too late now. Pavel would probably be back any minute. His service bike wasn’t in the hallway. Maybe he was with Nils? The medical examiner hated being rushed. Ideally, you waited for him to call. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

She checked her phone again.

"12:19 PM departure Hamburg."

Pavel had sent the text message this morning, which meant in exactly nine minutes, they’d be sitting in her red Polo. Had Pavel taken into account the fact that Berger was driving the department's BMW? He wasn’t going to like that.

Enna sat down in her chair and absentmindedly stroked Bjarne. He probably missed the routine that usually prevailed here, and he sensed that he had a long drive ahead of him.

The office phone rang. 12:11 PM. She didn’t recognize the number, but the area code, 04421, was from Wilhelmshaven. Enna answered.

“Hello, Enna. David Zwack here.”

“Hello. Do you have any news?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t discuss the status of the investigation.”

“And the wreck? You’ve got to give me something, Enna. I turned over all those samples to you.”

Enna bit her lip. She couldn’t involve the archeologist in the case. But she got why he was desperate. It wasn’t every day a two-hundred-year-old shipwreck washed up on the North Sea coast.

“Forensics obviously prioritized tests relevant to the case.”

“I understand that, but there must be something I can take back to my bosses.”

The institute Zwack worked for was probably banking on a major discovery. But first, there was a crime to solve.

She suddenly felt a draft behind her. The office door had swung open. Pavel stood there, holding up his phone, displaying the time. 12:17 PM. Two minutes to go. Bjarne rubbed against his legs like an oversized cat, probably hoping for a walk.

“Dr. Zwack, I can’t give you any more information at the moment. But forensic results should be coming in today.”

“Then let’s talk in person! I’m already on my way to Fleetstedt.”

Pavel held up his phone again. 12:18 PM.

“Unfortunately, I won't be able to meet you. I’m about to head out.”

“What about tonight?”

Pavel shook his head. What was that supposed to mean? That he didn’t approve of the conversation? That she shouldn’t meet with Zwack? Oh no, buddy, that’s not how this works.

“All right, then, ten o’clock at Deichkante.”

“Ten? That’s—no, forget it, we'll meet at the Deichkante restaurant at ten o’clock.”

Enna hung up, then grinned. Deichkante Restaurant, ha-ha. The archeologist was in for a surprise.

“Can we go now?” Pavel asked. “It’s already⁠—”

“Yes, I know! Let’s go!”

She pulled up her knee-high socks, the ones with the colorful wave pattern, grabbed her coat off the hook, and hurried out of the office. 12:19 PM, that was still doable! She hurried past Heino, who looked freshly polished and smelled faintly of sunflower oil. Outside, it was drizzling. She dropped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The small clock on the radio display read 12:18 PM. As she watched, it flicked over.

Pavel slid into the passenger seat after securing Bjarne in the back. He held up his phone again. 12:23 PM. Enna pointed to the radio, and Pavel started fiddling with the settings, probably to correct the time. She swatted his hands away. She hated clocks that were always precise. It was a gift when the car gave you an extra five minutes in the morning. Her Polo was a little time machine.

“I’ll make up those five minutes,” she said, revving the engine.

“Four minutes.”

“That’s even easier.” She checked the rearview mirror. The street was clear. With a sharp twist of the wheel, she threw the car into reverse, tires screeching. The seatbelt yanked against her chest as she hit the brakes. Then, with a stomp on the gas, they shot forward, tires squealing.

Pavel exhaled sharply. “We don’t have to make up those four minutes.”

Enna just grinned and said nothing.

* * *

They were on the highway when Pavel’s phone buzzed. He hesitated, glancing at her.

“Go ahead and answer,” Enna said with a nod. “I don't mind at all.”

Pavel sighed. “Hello, Katharina.”

Katharina? Her Katharina? Enna pricked up her ears, but she couldn't hear anything. She eased off the gas a little. At seventy-five miles per hour, the Polo was ridiculously loud. But even at fifty-five, she couldn’t make out a single word. Who calls someone and then just says nothing? That didn’t seem like something her friend, the one who worked as an escort, would do. Pavel, however, turned out to be surprisingly patient. He just sat there in silence. If it were Enna, she would have filled the awkward void with some kind of noise, anything. Even Bjarne seemed to pick up on the tension because he suddenly barked, something he almost never did in the car.

“Oh, Katharina.”

So, there was going to be some actual conversation after all. What was the woman on the other end going to say now? About time you answered, Enna imagined. Or maybe something more dramatic, like, You asshole, you spent the night with me and then ghosted me? Or, if they were really going for maximum drama, Pavel—you’re going to be the father of triplets in two days, so get your ass over here! No, that was too much. Enna stifled a giggle. Pavel shot her a look and pointed at the speedometer. She’d slowed down to barely 50. She stepped on the gas.

“No, I’ve already told you, that’s out of the question.”

Not the sentence she’d expected. What was out of the question? Marriage? Acknowledging the child as his? That he would kill Katharina's boss? Pavel would be able to commit the perfect crime. She, on the other hand, only knew how to do it in theory. She knew what not to do, but she’d still slip up somehow. Pavel wouldn’t.

Suddenly, he hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Excuse me? He couldn’t do that!

Apparently he could. Pavel didn’t even seem to think she deserved an explanation. That was cold.

“So, who’s Katharina?” she asked, trying her best to sound casual.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Well, she seems to matter to you, and as the best work partner in the world, I’m concerned about you, Pavel.”

Was that a glint in his eye? He rubbed at it quickly.

“Enna, the truck!”

Enna slammed on the brakes. The Polo fishtailed for a moment but stayed in its lane. Up ahead, a massive semi was merging onto the highway. The truck behind them flashed its high beams. That was way too close.

Katharina. The name was easy enough to remember. At least now she knew it wasn’t her friend. She should be disappointed. Her friend’s clients probably had a lot of fun. And yet, somehow, she wasn’t. Pavel would find that completely illogical. But to her, contradictions were perfectly normal.

* * *

“So, what did you find out from Maria?” she asked.

Pavel reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a sheet of paper, and placed it on the center console.

“Could you just give me a quick summary, Pavel? I’m guessing you don’t want me reading the report right now.”

“Of course, no problem.” Pavel looked relieved that she wasn’t about to grab the paper. “We have Lars's and your fingerprints on one of the sleds and the dead man's on the other. There are also traces from two people onshore. Based on the evidence, they were carrying something together at first, then there was an argument, after which one of the two people could only crawl. The other ran to the road and drove away.”

“So all we need to do is find the second person, and we’ve got our suspect.”

Pavel nodded. “Sounds simple, but…”

“But? They were working together, then got into a fight over who got what. The victim got shoved, fell badly, and⁠—”

“That’s too simple.”

“Pavel, not everything has to be complicated.” Or did it? After that whole Christmas market incident, everything had seemed very simple to her, too, and yet it had become complicated.

“No, but that wouldn’t explain…” He stopped himself. “Never mind. Let’s check out Morris’s apartment first. Maybe we’ll learn more.”

The way Pavel resisted the simplest explanation wasn’t like him. But he was right—they had to stick with the investigation.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and handed it to Pavel.

He glanced at the screen and raised an eyebrow. “It’s Kettler.”

“Then answer it.”

“He probably wants to talk to you.”

She let go of the steering wheel for half a second, and Pavel went pale. “How, exactly?”

“All right, all right.” He picked up and tapped the screen.

“Hello, Enna,” came Kettler’s voice.

“Hello, Nils,” Pavel replied.

“Oh. What a pleasure, dear colleague.”

“Likewise.”

“Enna’s with you, isn’t she? I can hear the engine of her Polo.”

“You can recognize a car just by the sound?”

“No, just Enna’s Polo. Listen carefully. The engine is slightly out of rhythm. If it were a person, I’d diagnose extrasystoles.”

“A corpse with a heartbeat, that’d be a first,” Pavel quipped.

“Ha-ha, good one, Neuhof. Did you know a hanged man’s heart can keep beating for up to half an hour? But tell Enna not to worry. In a healthy person, those extra beats aren’t a big deal.”

“Does that apply to a Volkswagen engine too?” Enna called out. “Hello, Nils.”

“Hello, Enna. I’m a doctor, not a mechanic.”

“Oh, fantastic. That’s really reassuring. And you didn’t think to mention this before?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Great. So now it’s one of those problems that might have been an easy fix at the start, but the longer you ignore it, the worse it gets.”

Pavel cleared his throat. Why did he suddenly look so pale? Enna instinctively eased off the gas, but that wasn’t the reason.

“What’s wrong, Pavel?”

“Nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Nils interjected. “I took a look at your victim. He wasn't in the best physical shape. Pretty typical for men who’ve lived alone for a long time. His teeth were in bad shape, and his diet must have been pretty poor.”

“But that’s not what killed him,” Pavel said.

“No, I just wanted to give you some context. He didn’t have much money.”

“All right. So what did kill him?” Pavel asked.

“Well, first, there was an unfortunate encounter between the back of his head and a hard surface. My guess? A fall.”

“The hat brim rule.”

If it had been a blow, the weapon would have struck above the widest part of the skull. Falls, on the other hand, usually cause injuries lower down.

“Exactly. Did forensics find anything with traces of blood?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Too bad. The victim crawled for a while, judging by the abrasions on his hands. Then he lay in the grass, weakened, for several hours.”

“Until he died.”

“Not exactly. Morris might have survived if he hadn’t been strangled. The killer must have straddled his back and pressed down on his larynx, cutting off his airway. I found petechiae all over his neck and face.”

Enna swallowed. Had the killer come back, intending to dispose of the body, and only then finished the job?

“That takes a lot of strength, doesn’t it?” Pavel asked.

“Normally, yes. But the victim was already severely weakened. He probably couldn’t fight back.”

“You think it was the same person?”

“I really can’t say. There were no traces of the attacker on him from the initial struggle. But from the second one? Plenty. If you find the person, a DNA match should be enough to confirm it.”

“All right, we’ll hurry.”

“I wouldn’t rush too much. We’re still analyzing the DNA evidence.”

* * *

"Two attackers or just one?" Enna asked as they exited the highway. A sign on the left pointed toward Hagenbeck Zoo.

"Two," Pavel said immediately.

"Why?"

"I…I don’t know. Just a feeling."

Enna laughed. A feeling. Pavel had never used that as a reason for anything before.

"Hey, I do have feelings," he insisted, nodding firmly.

"I never said you didn’t. But this is the first time you’ve used them to justify your opinion."

"Maybe I’m learning from you."

Under different circumstances, Enna might have felt flattered. But this time, something was wrong. A feeling. She felt excluded.

* * *

She turned off Lokstedter Weg onto Erikastraße. This was where the victim had lived. Enna reached for the keychain in the pocket of her shorts. The street was lined with historic buildings and small villas, their driveways occupied by expensive SUVs. There was only one open lane in the middle, forcing her to pull aside whenever oncoming traffic appeared.

Enna stopped the Polo at number 158.

“We’re here.” She pointed to a red brick house on the right with the correct number, unbuckled her seatbelt, and opened the door.

“Uh…you’re not seriously going to just leave the car in the middle of the street, are you?” Pavel also unbuckled his seatbelt but kept his door closed.

“Of course. There are no free parking spaces. We’re the police, nobody can do anything to us.”

Pavel grimaced. She was thoroughly enjoying making him squirm.

“We can’t do that. Keep driving. Please.”

In the rearview mirror, Enna spotted a yellow Mercedes cab approaching. Oh, perfect. A cab driver! He wouldn’t just let this slide. The cab rolled up behind them and, when nothing happened, honked.

“Enna, come on, this is so embarrassing.”

“Here’s an idea—you get out, and I’ll go find a parking space.”

Pavel sighed. “Fine. But…never mind.” He got out and closed the door.

Grinning, she pulled away, watching in the mirror as Pavel apologized to the cab driver. Then, just ahead, a No Parking sign came into view, guarding an open space. Perfect. She pulled in. She grabbed Maria’s report from the center console and skimmed through it.

There was a section about fingerprints. The trace evidence around the crime scene. But then, wait, what? Black stains on the mud sled? Pavel hadn’t mentioned those. A chain oil with a sunflower oil base. She thought back to the faint, pleasant scent that had lingered around Pavel’s service bike. What the hell was going on here? Had her dear colleague deliberately kept information from her? And if so, why? Or did he genuinely not think it was relevant and had simply ignored it? Frankly, that would be very Pavel of him. If he decided something didn’t matter, he could erase it from his mind as if it had never existed. But even then, shouldn’t he have at least mentioned it to her?

Frustrated, Enna tossed the report onto the passenger seat. She didn’t care if it ended up on the floor. She yanked out the key, flung the door open, and slammed it shut so hard the Polo practically shuddered, like a dog that had just been kicked. Instant regret. She ran a hand gently over the door handle as if to apologize. That was when she noticed Bjarne, still in the backseat, now barking. She had almost forgotten her dog because of that idiot! She let him out, clipped on his leash, and started walking briskly down the street toward the house where Morris had been registered.

* * *

The house number was mounted on a brick building. To the left, a short flight of stairs led down a few steps. At the bottom, a dark rectangle marked the entrance to the basement apartment where Morris had apparently lived. Small windows let in light through wide shafts. Probably the only way to afford a place in this part of town.

"Pavel?"

He must have gone in already. That was reckless, even if the records showed the deceased had lived alone.

"Pavel? Are you in there?"

Enna hesitated at the black rectangle, unwilling to step through without knowing what was waiting for her. She was relieved to have Bjarne with her, but at the same time, she worried about him. Sensing her unease, he barked.

A window on the second floor opened, and an older woman leaned out.

"Hello! He is already in the apartment, too!" she called down.

Good to know. But why wasn’t Pavel answering? Wait a moment. "Too?" she called back.

"Yeah, like the other guy."

"The other guy?"

"How should I know? The one who got here first."

Damn it. The old lady definitely hadn’t warned Pavel. Enna pulled her service weapon from its holster.

"Stay." Bjarne obediently sat, alert and still.

Enna crept down the stairs. They were stone, muffling her footsteps, though she’d already given herself away with all the shouting.

Up close, the black rectangle turned into a gray doorway. Morris had painted the walls of the narrow hallway gray. To the right, three jackets hung on a coat rack. To the left was a small bathroom, as indicated by a sticker on the door. Another door led deeper into the apartment. A semi-transparent glass panel showed the warm glow of orange light inside. A shadow moved inside, heading toward her.

Enna pressed herself against the wall, her gun trained on the figure. Heat rushed through her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull the trigger. The last time she’d heard a gunshot, she’d thought she was going to die. It had to be Pavel. Please, let it be Pavel. The glass door opened.

"I was wondering where you were," he said. It really was him. Relief flooded her, just as a dark figure rushed up behind him, swinging something heavy and striking Pavel at the base of the neck. The tall man collapsed like a Jenga tower where someone had pulled out the wrong block from the wrong place. It was disconcerting; he didn't just fall forward, he crumpled at the knees first.

The attacker took off. Enna didn't go after him. She dropped to Pavel's side, tried to catch him, and managed to keep his head from hitting something. She propped him up against the wall and patted his face gently.

"Pavel! Pavel, wake up!"

His eyes fluttered open, and she came this close to kissing him out of sheer relief. Much too close, she thought, remembering just in time that he had forgotten to inform her of all the results from the forensics lab.

"You have to go after him, Enna. That was our guy or his accomplice. It has to be!"

Pavel tried to push himself up, but she pressed him back down.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Really?"

"Really."

Good. She picked up her gun—then put it down next to Pavel. She wasn't going to use it today anyway. And if she wasn't going to use it, it wouldn't do much to command respect. Enna squeezed Pavel's shoulder, then walked past him. To the right was the living room, to the left was a small kitchenette with dirty dishes piled in the sink. On the opposite wall, light streamed in through two narrow windows. One of them was open. Directly in front of it lay a large wooden statue that Enna guessed was from Africa. The attacker had probably used it to hit Pavel.

She climbed out of the window and landed in a cobwebbed light well. The grate lay to one side. The attacker must have escaped through here. She looked up, but from inside the house, this place wouldn't be visible. That meant the old woman had seen the intruder when he first entered through the front door. With a groan, Enna pulled herself out of the pit. She was now standing in some kind of garden. Clotheslines stretched across the space, currently empty due to the cold. A loud clatter broke the silence. The sound came from a chain-link fence that separated the yard from the neighboring property. She sprinted toward the sound, just in time to see a shoe disappear over the top. Someone tumbled to the ground with a groan.

"Stop, stop, police!"

The intruder didn't obey. But scaling fences had always been one of her strengths. The man in front of her wasn't particularly fit, and he was carrying a bulky backpack. She grabbed the fence, pulled herself over, and landed gracefully on her feet. It was a trick she'd learned at the academy. He was maybe a hundred feet ahead of her. For a split second, he looked over his shoulder. For an instant, she thought she recognized Lars, but no, it wasn't him. And Lars probably didn't own blue coveralls either.

She couldn't catch up with him on a straight path. He had long legs, almost like Pavel, and took big strides. But the way he gasped for breath gave him away. He was struggling.

"Stop running! You won't get away!" she shouted breathlessly.

This time the man actually slowed down. His shoulders slumped. He knew it was over. Enna slowed down as well. At that moment, he grabbed a huge pile of firewood and pushed it over. The logs, still uncut for burning, tumbled towards her. For a second, Enna had no choice but to concentrate on keeping her footing. The man took the opportunity and disappeared around the corner of a house.

Enna ran after him, but she hadn't expected the path to split right around the corner. A thick hedge blocked her view, making it impossible to tell which way he had gone. She chose the right. But when she reached an intersection where she finally had a clear view, there was no one in sight except for a mother pushing a baby stroller. Heart pounding, she turned and ran the other way. But this time, the intruder's lead was too great. She reached a main road where she had to stop to catch her breath. Damn it. Frustrated, she stomped her foot. Arggggh. This could have been her chance to solve the case!

As she walked back, a van pulled into the street. "Frerichs Carpentry: A Long-Standing Family Business." The words were printed in bold letters on the back door. Below them was a phone number.

Frerichs? The name sounded familiar. Wasn't that the carpentry firm from Wittmund? But it wouldn't be unusual for a carpenter to take on jobs in Hamburg. Especially here in Eppendorf. The pay was probably much better than in a small town in East Frisia.

* * *

With sweat trickling down her back and damp strands of hair clinging to her forehead, she finally reached the house where the dead man had lived. When she looked into the light well, she saw a head sticking out of it. Pavel's.

"So, did you catch him?"

She slapped the wall. "He got away. Damn it! If only I'd…"

"He probably left some DNA behind," Pavel said. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

She had to give him credit—he never rubbed it in when things didn't go as planned. Not that it made her any less angry that she had fallen for the intruder's trick.

Still, she wasn't about to let him off the hook for withholding information. But now wasn't the time for that argument.

"Have you called forensics yet?" Enna asked.

Pavel shook his head. "Leer isn't in charge of this case, and technically neither are we. But Müntefering is the one who has to deal with this mess, and he'll figure it out."

Without another word, they separated. Enna took the living room, putting on a pair of disposable gloves before touching anything. Pavel took the kitchen and bathroom. They'd learned from past experience that he had a much higher tolerance for disgusting things, and judging by the smell alone, the kitchen would test that limit.

Morris had interesting tastes in books. Four floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the wall behind the sofa, crammed with science fiction novels. The first one, on the top left shelf, had an entire section dedicated to a certain Michael Morris. Enna pulled out a few volumes. The first had been published in the early seventies, the last only three months ago. Writing science fiction didn't seem to be a very lucrative career. Probably not much better than crime fiction. Enna had occasionally toyed with the idea of writing a book based on her police experiences. The Wadden Sea Murder, A New Case For Enna And Pavel. Or should it be Pavel and Enna? No, if she was the author, her name would come first. She smiled. Would anyone read something like that?

The desk under the still-closed window was full of papers. She leafed through them. There were a lot of bills among them. According to the bank statements, Morris's bank account was consistently below zero, and he was using his overdraft to the fullest. He did, however, pay his rent regularly. One corner of the desk was empty. On the floor beneath it lay an abandoned power plug. Enna sighed. The burglar had obviously stolen the writer's laptop—and certainly not for any of the manuscripts that might be on it.

"I guess the killer wanted to cover his tracks," she called out.

"We need to get into Morris's cloud accounts," Pavel replied from the kitchen.

"That's hard without even knowing his email address." Enna scanned the papers again. Nothing, not a single mention of an email account.

Pavel didn't answer. She heard the toilet flush. Following the sound into the hallway, she spotted a phone jack near the entrance. A DSL modem was plugged in, its lights flashing green. Tracing the wires with her fingers, she found what she was looking for, a network storage drive. She pulled out all the plugs.

"I bet his computer backed everything up to this automatically."

Pavel emerged from the bathroom holding a toothbrush in a plastic bag. "Just to be on the safe side," he said. "Just to make sure we know exactly who we're dealing with."

Enna shrugged. The visit hadn't been very fruitful.

"Morris wasn't doing too well financially," she said. "Did you find anything?"

Pavel shook his head. "That could be a motive for getting involved in something shady."

"You think he was just a pawn?"

"Yes. He didn't have the connections to move anything of value. He must have been tipped off by someone. Too bad we can't go through his emails."

Enna held up the network drive. "Looks like the intruder didn't think of this—or didn't have time to take it."

* * *

"Bjarne, come!" The dog obeyed and Enna gave him a quick pat. He probably could have caught the suspect. But with his size, high fences were a challenge. They locked the apartment again and rang the doorbell at the main entrance. The same old woman answered. Enna and Pavel introduced themselves.

"Hello. Would you mind answering a few questions about Mr. Morris?" Enna asked.

"Would you like to come in? I have coffee and tea."

"No, unfortunately we're in a bit of a hurry," Pavel said. The old woman frowned. "But we really appreciate the offer," he added quickly.

"Did Mr. Morris have many visitors?" Enna asked.

"No, hardly any."

"And did he go out much?"

"Not usually. Although recently he started working on weekends."

"Oh? I thought he was a full-time writer?"

"I guess it didn't pay the bills."

"Where did he work?" Pavel asked.

"At the archeological museum."

"Wait, Hamburg has an archeological museum? I had no idea."

Pavel admitting that he didn't know something? She should mark this day on her calendar.

Besides, his assumption that Morris had no connections didn't hold water anymore.

"Yes, over in Harburg," the woman said.

"Thanks, you've been a big help," Pavel said.

"And you're sure you don't want any coffee?"

"No, but thank you," Enna said. "We've got a lot of work to do today."

* * *

Once they were in her Polo, silence hung between them like a thick fog before a storm. Pavel must have noticed the paper on the passenger seat, Maria's findings. But he didn't mention them. Enna caught her own reflection in the rearview mirror and gave herself a small nod. She wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

Pavel rubbed his neck but said nothing. Enna felt no urge to sympathize. If he hadn't gone in alone—if he had just waited outside the door—they might have caught the intruder. Their teamwork had been smoother before. Or less bumpy, Pavel would have corrected her if he could read her mind. After all, you can't reduce something that wasn't there in the first place.

She deliberately pulled out of the parking space a little too sharply, hoping for a reaction. Pavel groaned. At least that was something.

"Did you notice anything about the intruder?" he finally asked once they were back on a four-lane road heading for the highway.

"He was dressed like a contractor, but that could have been a disguise. Contractors go in and out of places all the time."

"Young or old?"

"Not exactly young. I was in much better shape than he was."

A van suddenly cut in from the right, forcing Enna to slam on her brakes. She honked. The writing on the side of the van revealed that it belonged to a local plumbing company. That jogged her memory; she'd seen another van near Morris's house earlier.

"When I was walking back to the house, I passed a carpenter's van. The company is based in Wittmund."

"That's a long way from here."

"Frerichs Carpentry: A Long-Standing Family Business. Does that ring a bell? Frerichs, that was the guy who found the body at Ewiges Meer, wasn't it?"

Pavel stiffened. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, absolutely. I even thought at the time that Eppendorf probably pays better than East Frisia."

"I was with Frerichs on the roof of the town hall. He was building the scaffolding for the temporary repairs.”

The town hall was the second tallest building in Fleetstedt, right after the church. From there you'd have a perfect view of the mudflats. What if Frerichs, who had been one of the first to assess the damage, had seen something?

"Frerichs could have set this whole thing in motion," Enna said.

"You know what? Let's ask him. I should still have his number." Pavel pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and then Enna heard a dial tone. He'd put it on speaker.

"Hello, Frerichs Carpentry," a woman's voice answered. "Your trusted experts in all things wood. How may I help you?"

"Hello. This is Chief Inspector Neuhof from Fleetstedt. I need to speak to Mr. Frerichs."

"I'm sorry, but he's out at the moment."

"In Hamburg?"

"He's at a customer meeting, as far as I know."

"But you don't know exactly where?"

"All I know is that he said he'd be back in about two hours."

Enna did the math. That would fit almost perfectly if he'd left Hamburg just before them.

"He's driving his van, right?" she asked.

"This is my colleague, Enna Koopmann," Pavel explained.

"No, the van is gone. We already reported it stolen to the police."

Great. So they were right back where they started. Enna banged the steering wheel. For the first time in a long time, she was in a really bad mood. And it was Pavel's fault. She hated being played for a fool.

Chapter Twelve

Luckily, Berger was there. Pavel had never been so happy to see his colleague before. Olaf had a spreadsheet open on his screen. He was probably still going through the evidence room inventory lists. Now he was smiling. He was probably relieved to finally close those boring spreadsheets. He was in for a surprise when Enna, who had turned into a lump of ice during the journey, came in.

He heard the pitter-patter of dog paws. Bjarne trotted straight over to Pavel’s desk and curled up under it.

“Hey, Olaf. Miss us yet?” Enna asked, flopping into her chair with a dramatic flourish.

She seemed like a different person, but when Pavel tried to catch her eye, she narrowed her eyes, just long enough for Berger not to notice. He sighed.

Olaf clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s wrong, Pavel? Need help?”

“He got knocked around a bit,” Enna explained. “Thought it’d be a great idea to go into someone else’s apartment without me. Again.” She shrugged.

Pavel sat down. He didn’t need sympathy. Not from her.

Olaf turned Pavel's chair around and leaned over him. "Right in the neck. That looks painful. Want me to drive you to a doctor?”

“No, it’s not that bad,” Pavel said. “What’s really frustrating is that we’re right back at square one. Someone stole the victim’s laptop. We suspected Frerichs, the carpenter, but his company van was apparently stolen. Can you check on that, Olaf?”

“Of course. I'll go check on it right now.”

“Thanks.”

"Things didn't go as badly as Pavel is making out," Enna chimed in, holding up the network drive she'd found. Of course, she had to contradict him. "Once we analyze this, we'll know more."

"I'll take it to IT," Olaf offered.

"Thanks, Olaf, you're a gem," Enna said. But she sounded a little too grateful. Even Olaf seemed to notice, because he gave Pavel a questioning look.

That was the moment Pavel realized he was about to be left alone with Enna. Was there any way to avoid it? Why had he sent Berger to check on the theft instead of going himself?

As Olaf left the office and the door swung shut, Pavel suddenly jumped to his feet. He mumbled something about the "bathroom" and hurried after his colleague.

* * *

"Hold on a second, Olaf."

Berger was walking so fast that they were close to Heino by the time he reached him.

"Did you forget something, boss?"

"Yes. No. I have a problem."

"One I can help with?"

"I hope so." Pavel pulled Berger along until they reached the entrance to the men's room. He turned on the faucet to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. Olaf raised an eyebrow.

"What's this about? It's about Enna, isn't it?"

"You've been in a relationship forever, Olaf. You know how these things work."

Berger shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder. I guess I've just been lucky so far."

"Not at all. I can tell when you and Christine look at each other."

That was a lie. They didn't look at each other any differently than he looked at his landlady or Pavel looked at himself in the mirror every morning. But Olaf was the only one he could ask.

"If you mean... So, what's going on?"

"I, uh, did something really stupid." Pavel took a deep breath. This technically involved Berger as well, but he would definitely handle it better.

"And what exactly did you do? You'll have to tell me."

"I kept a forensic test result from Enna."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, it would have made Heino look suspicious."

Berger pulled a face. "Your bike. Suspicious." He puffed out his cheeks.

"Maria found traces of oil on the sled. Chain oil that costs 330 euros a liter, the kind I use on Heino."

"Pavel, you don't seriously think your bike took on a life of its own, do you?"

Pavel shrugged. How could he explain this without Olaf thinking he'd lost it? "Fact is—his tires were covered in mud the morning after the murder." He decided not to mention the evidence Bjarne had accidentally destroyed. "And then, to top it off, I took him home and got rid of all traces."

Berger laughed and nudged him. "I can explain the mud. Right after the storm surge, I went to have a quick look around on Heino. The streets by the harbor were a mess, and I didn't want to completely wreck the department car."

"Was that you?" Or was Olaf just trying to reassure him? Berger had been the first one in the office the next morning, and Heino had been parked here the whole time.

"Yes, it was me. I meant to tell you, but with everything going on, it slipped my mind."

"Oh, Berger, I was such a..." What word would fit here? Sheep? He thought of the sheep that had been killed outside the Dietrichsens' farm gate. No, he wasn't a sheep.

"Stubborn ox?" Berger offered.

For a second, irritation flared in him. Olaf was a stubborn ox. But then again, oxen were strong and intelligent. They just had a habit of charging through obstacles without much thought, and they weren't exactly talkative.

"You're one too, Olaf." Pavel chuckled.

There was a knock on the toilet door. "You guys in there?"

Pavel held a finger to his lips, but Olaf ignored him. "Yeah, Enna. What's up?"

"Glad you two are having such a good time in there, but I have to go. Bjarne still needs his walk. See you both tomorrow."

"Bye, Enna," Olaf called.

"Bye," Pavel said.

"Bye, you two."

Her footsteps faded. There was no real reason to continue talking in the bathroom now. But somehow it felt kind of...cozy. Like chatting with an old friend at a bar, except the bar was just a couple of sinks, lined with white tiles and smelling of disinfectant.

Olaf tapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Is that all you wanted to ask me, Pavel?"

"Not quite. I was hoping for some advice. What do you do when you've pissed off your wife?"

"Roses," Olaf replied immediately. "Roses work wonders. And something home-cooked."

Pavel sighed. Cooking wasn't an option. Even if he followed a recipe to the letter, the result never looked like the picture in the cookbook. And red roses? Not exactly appropriate for a colleague.

"Thank you, Olaf. You should go home early. Your wife will appreciate it."

Olaf grinned. "Trying to get me out of here so you can pull an all-nighter, huh? Just don't let Enna catch you tomorrow morning. Last time she almost dumped a bucket of cold water on you."

No, she wouldn't catch him this time. Pavel already had an idea of how to prevent that.

* * *

Pavel had a topographic map of the Fleetstedt area open on his screen. He used the mouse to mark the spot where the wreck had been found. Then he drew a circle with a three-mile radius, centering it over the marked location. Anyone within this area, standing at an average eye level of about five foot three, would have been able to spot the newly surfaced object in the mud.

Fleetstedt’s harbor was just a little too far away. Even if he increased the observer’s eye level to his own, six foot three, the radius only extended by a quarter mile and did not reach the harbor.

But things looked different if the observer climbed a floor higher, roughly ten feet up. Say, to the second floor of the harbormaster’s office. From an eye level of around twelve feet, the horizon stretched out nearly five miles. With a decent pair of binoculars, it would have been clear that the object wasn’t just a sandbar or a dead animal. The wreck would have been unmistakable as something man-made.

Pavel virtually climbed onto the town hall roof. At a height of forty-five feet, the horizon stretched for about nine miles. Interesting. Frerichs was certainly a candidate. So was the town hall’s janitor, who had been the first to assess the storm damage. Maybe even the mayor, if he’d been up there. But they hadn’t seen the janitor or the mayor anywhere near the victim’s apartment. They had, however, seen the carpenter.

Pavel smiled, momentarily distracted by how many professions were tangled up in this mess. A carpenter, a janitor, a mayor. A police officer, a fire chief, a harbormaster. Hell, maybe even a bartender had a view of the wreck. He eyed his beer and pushed it aside. Not helping. A dance instructor. He tapped his foot lightly and chuckled.

The office door swung open. What was Berger still doing here?

"Everything okay, Pavel?"

"Yeah, all good. I thought you…"

"I checked up on the theft. Turns out a delivery van was reported stolen this morning."

"By who?"

"Ms. Frerichs."

Did the carpenter have an alibi for being in Hamburg? No, he could have reported the van stolen on purpose, just in case someone had seen it in Hamburg. That was clever. Too clever for Frerichs. If that was how it played out, someone must have advised him, a partner pulling the strings from the shadows. "Hey, Frerichs, you have to get us Morris’s laptop, or we’ve got a problem." Frerichs hadn’t followed orders to the letter. He’d forgotten about the network hard drive. Or maybe they had interrupted him before he could do a more thorough search.

"We need to go through the traffic cam footage from this afternoon," Pavel said.

"My wife… You said…"

"Of course, Olaf. Go home to your family. I’ve got this."

"Thanks. Christine will be thrilled if, for once, I don’t get home ridiculously late."

"How long will it take to analyze the hard drive?" Pavel asked.

"Our IT guy says it’s encrypted. He’s not sure if he can crack it. He asked if we could get our hands on the laptop that backed up to it."

"Are you sure we don't want to give this to Maria?" Pavel suggested.

Olaf shook his head. "Rudi is good. He just can't work miracles."

* * *

Pavel closed the topographic map. There were too many unknowns. Frerichs and all those different tradesmen might have seen the wreck. But there were plenty of other possibilities. Not on land, but in the air and on the water.

He pulled up the flight records first. Some of the nearby islands were accessible by small prop planes. Sure enough, seven different light aircraft had flown over the bay near Fleetstedt shortly after the storm. Any one of them could have spotted it. Next, he requested a list of registered drone pilots from the Federal Aviation Authority. Any autonomous drone weighing over 8.8 ounces had to be registered. In Fleetstedt and the surrounding area alone, nearly two hundred people fit the bill. The actual list would take a day or so to arrive after he filed a formal request with the court.

Pavel sighed. There was no way he could check out all those people. Müntefering would have to set up a special task force just to handle it. The even larger number of unregistered drones, those under the weight limit, were probably irrelevant. At least he hoped so. Those tiny things couldn’t fly autonomously all the way out to the wreck. Or so he hoped.

And then there were the fishermen and boaters who had gone beyond the nearby tidal channel. The harbormaster should have records of them. It wasn’t exactly peak season, and even after Hurricane Julia, the weather had been miserable. But some people weren’t deterred by pouring rain.

Pavel leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. For the first time, his late-night work session wasn’t fun. Maybe he should just go home. He downed the last of his second beer. The lightheartedness he’d felt earlier was long gone. Pavel felt completely sober, even when he stood up.

Wait a minute. He couldn’t just leave it like this.

He sat back down, turned on his computer, and started typing a message to Müntefering.

Chapter Thirteen

Enna’s phone rang just as she reached the top of the dike. Bjarne, trotting obediently by her side, looked up at her, almost reproachfully. Don’t answer it, Enna, he seemed to be saying. Otherwise, our walk will be over. Look at the horizon. The sun’s just starting to rise in the east.

“Don’t worry,” she said. But then she saw the number. Müntefering. Her finger hovered over the green button. She hesitated, fought an internal battle, and won. She couldn’t let him win, the bastard who had once shot at her. Müntefering had been a victim, just like her. Enna tapped the screen.

“Hello, and congratulations on leading your first case!”

“Hello, prosecutor. What’s that supposed to mean? Are you taking me off our current case?”

Pavel! She never would have expected this from him. Just because she wouldn’t let him get away with something, he had obviously pulled some strings and gotten the prosecutor involved. When she met him in the office, he would get a piece of her mind!

“No, Enna. You’re in charge of this case. I had to remove Pavel. He’s too personally involved.”

“Excuse me? What, did he commit the murder? Or is the murderer his long-lost brother or something?”

“It has something to do with Heino. I’m surprised you didn’t know. I thought you two were pretty close?”

Enna swallowed hard. Yeah, they were close. More than that. But from the start, something about this case had felt different.

“I’ll have to have a serious talk with him,” she said.

“That might be difficult. He took the day off.”

"And you agreed to it? I need him if I'm going to solve this case."

"Like I said, he's out. If we don't do this by the book, it'll blow up in court."

"I don't understand."

She thought about the oil trace on the sled that Pavel hadn't told her about. Maybe it wasn't even intentional. She had assumed it was and had been waiting for him to apologize. But now he was completely removing himself from the case? Who would have seen that coming?

"If you want, I can forward you his email. As the new lead investigator, you have a right to it. Pavel seems to have a personal connection to the case."

"No, I... I don't know..." He hadn't written the email to her. Why couldn't he talk to her directly? Then again, she hadn't exactly made it easy for him. But that didn't mean he had the right to shut her out.

"Suit yourself. In that case⁠—"

"Wait. Send it to me."

"All right, Enna. I just forwarded it to you."

Her phone buzzed to confirm. Bjarne cocked his head. "Don't worry, buddy, we're not done yet."

"What's that?" Müntefering asked.

"I'm just talking to my dog."

"Oh. Well, good luck with the case. I expect your first report by the end of the day."

Enna ended the call. There was no way she was writing a report tonight. And that email? On one hand, there was Pavel, keeping things from her. On the other, there was Bjarne, who was completely incapable of deception. He had the higher priority. Everything else could wait.

“Come on, Bjarne!” She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with salty air, and took off running. To the left were the salt marshes, and beyond them the sea. To the right, the dike cast a long, dark shadow. On the horizon, the sun stretched out its golden fingers, reaching across the land, sweeping away the last traces of the night’s dreams, and setting the stage for the next nine hours of her life.

A seagull screeched. It was probably not every day in winter that a dog and its owner ran over the top of the dike, huffing and puffing.

* * *

“I’m worried about Pavel.” Olaf approached her, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“What’s going on?”

“He was supposed to pull an all-nighter yesterday. But he never showed up.”

“He took the day off.”

“What? But the case isn’t solved yet!”

Apparently, no one had told Berger yet. Hm. That was her responsibility now. She was the one in charge.

“Sorry, Olaf. I completely forgot to tell you. Pavel’s off the case. Müntefering pulled him.”

“That—” Berger planted his hands on his hips. “You did protest, right?”

She shook her head. “The prosecutor was just following Pavel’s request. He thinks he’s too personally involved.”

“Because of Heino?” Berger frowned.

“Yeah, because of Heino. What do you know about it?”

“He told me yesterday that he swept some evidence concerning Heino under the rug.”

That definitely wasn’t how Pavel would have phrased it unless he had literally grabbed a broom and swept something under the rug.

“Well, he didn’t tell me about the oil trace on the sled,” she admitted. “But he left Maria’s reports sitting out, practically begging me to read them.” And now she was defending him for doing something so stupid.

“There was also some mud on Heino’s tires,” Berger added.

“Excuse me?” This was turning out to be more serious than she’d thought.

“It was a mistake. I took Heino out the morning after the storm surge. That’s why the tires were caked in mud. But somehow, Pavel got it into his head that Heino had been at the crime scene.”

That changed everything. Pavel had a habit of fixating on details others brushed off as irrelevant. She actually liked that about him. But why hadn’t he told her about it? She couldn’t afford to make the same mistake.

“Müntefering forwarded me Pavel’s message,” she said. “Do you want to read it together?”

“Absolutely,” Olaf said. “I’d love to get a better look at how Pavel’s mind works. He thinks in such a peculiar way. Sometimes it seems overly complicated, but in reality, he’s taking the shortest path to the answer.”

Enna grinned. She knew exactly what Olaf meant. It was like the curved flight paths planes took from Europe to America. Sometimes, the fastest way to a destination wasn’t the most direct route. She opened her email inbox. The message Müntefering had forwarded was sitting right at the top. Enna opened it.

Dear Paul,

I’m incredibly embarrassed to say this, but I’ve failed. In our current case, I haven’t been able to separate my personal feelings from my professional duties. I actively withheld evidence that implicated my department-issued bicycle in the investigation. In doing so, I violated my responsibilities and am therefore requesting to be removed from the case.

I assume my colleague, Enna Koopmann, will take over from here, and I leave it up to your discretion whether this should apply to all future cases as well. My ability to make sound decisions seems to be compromised at the moment.

Respectfully,

Pavel Neuhof

P.S.: I’d like to request a day off to process my mistake.

Enna leaned back. Damn. That was a bombshell.

“He’s basically offering you the top position,” Olaf said.

“No way. Not happening.”

Müntefering hadn’t mentioned that part. Then again, neither she nor Pavel had a say in such decisions. That came from higher up. Maybe they were waiting to see how she handled this case. Or maybe they were considering bringing someone in from the outside. She pictured that one detective from Wittmund. Oh, hell no. If that happened, things would never go back to the way they were. And now everything was suddenly on the line. How could Pavel risk it?

“I think his message is pretty remarkable,” Olaf said. “He admitted his mistake and took responsibility. That’s an admirable trait.”

“You told him to do this, didn’t you? You guys were locked in the bathroom forever yesterday.”

The two of them had been joking and laughing together. It was part of the reason she’d gone home, because she’d felt shut out. Maybe she could have prevented all this if she had just walked in and confronted them.

“Me? No. Absolutely not. This wasn’t my idea.”

“So what did you advise him to do? I bet he asked you.” He usually asked her for advice. Enna swallowed.

"Something pretty stupid. Red roses and a home-cooked meal."

Her mouth fell open. All she could manage was a stunned, "Oh." It had been so long since anyone had given her roses. She tried to think of an occasion, but none came to mind. She probably would have liked it. A lot. Even now she could feel the ghost of a happiness that never really existed. And the cooking, well, that was kind of sweet.

"Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Yeah. Really stupid," Enna murmured. "Really, really stupid."

Chapter Fourteen

Of course, it had to rain today of all days! Pavel pushed harder on Heino’s pedals. His rain cape covered his shoulders, but every passing car sprayed water all over him. His shoes were already squeaking.

But maybe this was the punishment he deserved. Maybe that was why he had unconsciously come up with the crazy idea of getting on his bike for the ride to the forensics lab. He'd figured he'd make it in about an hour and a half at a steady 15 miles an hour. Would have, if it weren’t for the brutal headwind pushing against him.

The upside? He wasn’t cold. Sweat and rain streamed down his face. Based on the taste, he guessed the ratio was about two-thirds rain, one-third sweat. The perfect isotonic sports drink. Maybe if the police force ever got rid of him, he could launch his own trendy beverage brand. Cop-Up had a nice ring to it. Or was that too close to 7-Up?

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pavel swerved into a bus stop and took cover under the shelter. The sign next to him confirmed that he was nearly in Leer. An elderly woman in a long raincoat sat on the narrow metal bench, a well-groomed poodle sitting primly beside her. At the sight of Pavel, the dog barked. He nodded at the woman and stepped to the far end of the shelter.

He took out his cell phone and shook off the moisture. The manufacturer claimed it was waterproof. By tonight, he’d know for sure.

The screen lit up. Two missed calls and several new emails. Most were junk. But one was important. He’d been waiting for it. It was from Charlotte Braun, the owner of Braun Recycling, with the list of bicycles outfitted with the same tires as Heino. It contained six names. Wait, hadn’t Braun said there were seven other bikes with identical tread patterns?

Pavel pulled up the company’s number, but didn’t dial Braun’s direct line. Instead, he changed the last two digits to zero.

"Hello, this is Margot Wegener from Braun Recycling. How can I help you?"

"Hello, Neuhof here. I have a question about a product I bought from you."

"I’ll put you through to the workshop."

"Actually, do you know if Jonny’s in?"

Jonny was the mechanic Charlotte Braun had introduced him to back then. The guy who had patched up Heino.

"He’s in the paint shop right now."

"Could you put me through to him?"

"Sure, hold on."

Jonny picked up immediately. "What’s up? I’m kind of busy."

"You know me, Jonny. You fixed up my bike and put those fancy tires on it."

"Hah! You’re the lunatic who refused to buy a new bike and insisted on keeping that old junker? Don’t tell me you’re still riding it!"

"Of course I am. Though my front tire⁠—"

"You’re in luck. We still have a few of those in stock."

"I'm not sure I want the same ones again. Has the tire on your boss's bike worn out yet?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, guilt set in. The tires had never let him down. Even now, in the downpour, they gripped the road like a dream.

"Nah, still going strong," Jonny said. "Hardly any wear at all. They don't make them like they used to, proper vulcanization and all."

"Thanks. Maybe I'll swing by and pick up a new one."

"Sure thing. I can install it for you if you want. We're always happy to help the police."

"What did you just say? Police?" Was that Charlotte Braun's voice in the background? Shit. Hopefully this wouldn't raise any red flags.

"Appreciate it," Pavel said quickly and hung up.

* * *

So, Charlotte Braun also rode a bike with the same tire tread he’d seen at the crime scene. Why hadn’t she put her own name on the list? Had she simply forgotten, since he had only asked for buyers? His own name wasn’t on the list either, after all. But she had originally mentioned seven sets of those tires. Something wasn’t adding up.

But he wasn't going to make the same mistake this time. He wrote a message.

Hey Enna,

I need to tell you something. At the crime scene, I found a tire tread that matched Heino’s. So I did some digging to find out who else has the same tires and came across Charlotte Braun from Braun Recycling.

I don’t know if it’s relevant to our case, but she left her own name off the attached list of buyers, the one she put together at my request.

I’m really sorry about everything.

Good luck with the investigation!

Pavel hit send. He turned to say goodbye to the old woman, but she was gone. A bus must have come while he wasn’t paying attention. Maybe he really did need this day off.

* * *

"Heinz? Take the bike for me, will you?" Maria Doldinger called out. "And you, take a shower first."

Heinz appeared, gave a quick nod, and returned with a large tarp, which he wrapped around Heino. The sight was painful to watch. Pavel had the sinking feeling he’d never see his bike again. Maria would take it apart, neatly sort the parts by size, and have them stored in the evidence room, where, ten years later, Berger would send them off for recycling during the mandatory inventory check.

"Don’t worry, we’re just taking a look at your bike," Maria assured him.

"It’s about the tread and the oil," Pavel said.

"Yeah, Enna already filled us in. She figured you’d show up here. But she thought you’d take a cab."

Maria opened a door. A bright neon light flickered on behind it. The room didn’t look like a bathroom.

"What usually happens in here?" Pavel asked.

Maria gestured toward the drain in the floor and lifted a tarp, revealing a silver metal table underneath. Where did they keep the scalpels and hatchets?

"Not very comfortable, but the water’s hot." She took his hand. "Your fingers are all blue. Maybe you should hold off on looking in the mirror for a while."

He glanced up. The area above the metal table was mirrored. Thankfully, all he could see from this angle was his receding hairline, which somehow looked even worse than when he faced the mirror head-on. Maria opened a cabinet and pulled out a large towel and some kind of robe, though it was open in the back.

Pavel pointed at the slit.

"Just wear it backward and tie it up with the string. I'll try to find you some underwear. We'll toss your clothes in the dryer."

"You have a dryer here?"

"It dries clothes too. We'll call it an industrial dryer, so your imagination won't run wild."

"Thank you, Maria."

She looked at him but made no move to leave.

"Your clothes," she reminded him.

"Oh, right."

Pavel stripped down to his underwear and handed his dripping clothes to Maria. "Be careful with the jacket. It's delicate."

The forensic technician nodded and left, her heels clicking on the floor. A door slammed shut. He was alone. Pavel turned on the shower. There was no curtain, no stall. He slipped out of his underwear, stepped under the warm stream, and closed his eyes.

* * *

"So, back among the living?" Maria asked.

Pavel pulled the robe tighter around himself. His skin burned from the scalding-hot shower. He was probably as red as a lobster, but at least his core temperature seemed back to normal.

"Looks like it." After showering, he had simply followed the sounds. Maria was sitting at a desk in front of a microscope, occasionally adjusting glass slides with a soft clatter.

"Mind if I ask what you're working on?"

"Unpaid work for my colleague in the archeology department."

"Ah."

"It’s fascinating, really. Just by looking at the surface of the wood, I can figure out how these pieces were worked on back in the day. Here, take a look."

Maria slid to the side. Pavel squinted his left eye shut and peered through the microscope’s eyepiece. Some orange fibers filled his field of vision.

"Interesting." He straightened up.

Maria switched on the computer screen beside her. A collection of iron tools appeared. Pavel couldn’t tell if they were meant for woodworking or medieval torture.

"Which one of these do you think was used to create the pattern you just saw under the microscope?"

"I have no idea."

Maria pointed to a tool that looked like a flatiron. "This plane. It was moved against the grain of the wood. The craftsman must have still been an apprentice."

Pavel had to admit—it was interesting. It felt like detective work, except that all the people involved had been dead for centuries. That probably made it easier to deal with emotionally in the long run.

"Maybe you should switch to science," he suggested.

"No thanks. Living off temporary contracts and scrambling for grants? Not for me. Here, I have job security and a pension."

"That bad, huh?"

"Did you know that Dr. Zwack is currently unemployed? His last contract expired at the end of last year. Now he's hunting for new external funding and teaching a few seminars at the university in Hamburg to get by."

So, Dr. Zwack was struggling financially. That was interesting. Pavel had always considered the archeologist a secondary victim. After all, the thief had stolen a crucial part of his research.

"Maria, a question. You’ve talked to Dr. Zwack a lot, haven’t you?"

"Yeah, he even invited me to dinner once." Was she blushing?

"Do you think it’s possible he orchestrated the theft himself?"

Maria pressed a thumb to her chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Hard to say. He seems honest, but can you ever really know people? I mean, who am I telling?"

Pavel nodded. If there was one thing he’d learned from his cases, it was that no one was incapable of committing a crime. If the motive outweighed the fear of getting caught, any hesitation vanished. That was especially true for highly intelligent people who believed they were smarter than law enforcement. And Dr. Zwack undoubtedly fell into that category.

But there was one problem. Enna was the one who had tipped him off about the discovery. And he had examined it for the first time while she was there. Or had he?

"Thanks, Maria. I think I need to give Enna a quick call."

"Wait, Pavel. I have something for you."

Maria stood up, motioning for him to follow her out of the room. She led him into her private office. Children’s drawings covered the walls, and a framed photo sat on her desk. It showed a family, three kids and three adults. Okay. None of his business how Maria lived her life.

"That’s my sister with her husband and kids," she explained, clearly noticing his glance. But what was he supposed to say to that?

"Cute," he tried.

Her computer powered up with a small beep. "This is what I wanted to show you." The forensic technician pointed to an image of a muddy footprint. Pavel could make out four small circles and a rectangle just in front of them.

"That’s a foot," he said.

"That's right. We found a footprint on the older sled. You can even see the heel." Maria highlighted a misshapen smudge at the far end of the picture. "That allowed us to estimate the shoe size."

"A six or a nine?" Pavel recalled Maria's report. The victim had worn a size six, the killer a size nine.

Maria smiled. "Neither."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I figured that would get your attention."

"To be honest, I haven't dealt with footprints too often."

"Don't worry, Pavel. They're as unique as fingerprints. Or, you know, butt prints or tongue prints. Unfortunately, there aren't any databases for them."

Pavel nodded. "With the suspects we're dealing with, a database wouldn't help us anyway. But if I find the person whose prints match, we can confirm that they used the mud sled, right?"

"Exactly. And by the way, the person is probably left-footed."

Pavel squinted at the picture with furrowed brows. Maria could tell that from this picture?

"See the slight curve from the toes to the ball of the foot and down to the heel? That tells us it's a right foot. That means they pushed off with their left, stronger leg."

"Does that make a difference?"

"I've been watching Berger's videos. When he pushes off with his weaker leg, his left, he slows down noticeably and has to take more breaks. We're talking about several miles on the sled. It's a serious physical challenge.”

He'd suspected it from the start—there were at least three people involved in this case. The smallest shoe size was dead. The size 8 had been driving the sled. The size 9 had a confrontation with the size 6. But who had ultimately cut off the injured man's air supply?

"By the way, being left-footed is often, but not always, associated with being left-handed," Maria added. "So if you have a left-handed suspect..."

Pavel ran through the list of suspects in his mind. Unfortunately, he hadn't noticed which hand any of them favored.

"Thank you, Maria. This is all very fascinating."

"I hope it brings some clarity to your case."

Pavel shook his head. "If anything, it has only complicated things. But it's not my case anymore."

"What?"

"I asked the prosecutor to reassign it to Enna."

Maria's eyes widened. But how could he explain it to her when he hardly understood it himself?

"It's about Heino," he said. "I made some mistakes."

"Your call, Pavel. But it's good to take responsibility when it's needed." Maria shut down the computer.

Pavel picked up the phone and scrolled to Enna's number. But how would that look? The case was hers now and here he was, still interfering. She wouldn't like it.

"Maria, can you do me a favor?"

"As long as it doesn't take too long... I've got a lot on my plate today."

"It won't. Can you call Enna and tell her about the footprint? And mention that Dr. Zwack is out of work?"

"And you?"

"I'm going home to enjoy my day off."

Maria nodded. "Good idea. Why don't you go to the sauna? There's not much going on in February. Heinz will text you when he's done with Heino."

Pavel swallowed. He imagined Maria's assistant handing him a bag of disassembled parts. Heino's tires neatly sliced to analyze the rubber pattern, the seat chemically treated to extract possible butt prints, the handlebars scraped from where they had searched for tongue prints, the frame tested for metallic composition.

"You okay?" Maria asked.

"Yes," Pavel lied.

Chapter Fifteen

Debt upon debt. The bank statement Kammerer had sent over looked downright grim, both for Braun Recycling and for Charlotte Braun's personal finances. At first, Enna was surprised that Otto described her as one of his best customers, and then she noticed the monthly interest payments that had been rising steadily since the beginning of last year.

At some point, Braun Recycling was bound to collapse under the weight. The startup had already burned through the investment of a large, nationwide waste management company rumored to have ties to organized crime. Chances were, Charlotte Braun had already had some unwelcome visitors.

The motive was there. But what about the opportunity?

It was time to put the owner of Braun Recycling under the microscope.

* * *

"Hello, Ms. Braun. Inspector Enna Koopmann from the Fleetstedt Police."

"Hello. You must be Inspector Neuhof's assistant. How can I help you? Do you have any questions about the list I sent to your boss?"

Enna swallowed a sharp reply. Sometimes it was an advantage to be underestimated.

"We have a few more questions for you. It would be great if you could spare us some time this afternoon."

"Your colleague is welcome to visit me again. The coffee is probably better here."

"No, we need to take your statement, and for that we need you to come down to the station."

"I see. Do I need an attorney?" Braun let out a fake laugh. "That would be something, ha-ha. No, just kidding. Of course, I'm happy to help in any way I can. Your colleague Neuhof knows that very well."

"Great. Then I'm sure we'll get along well. See you at three?"

"I'll make time."

"Much appreciated, Ms. Braun."

Enna ended the call, then held the receiver away from her face and gave it a little shake, as if to get rid of the slime that must have built up on it.

Berger came in just in time to see her gesture and burst out laughing. He understood immediately.

"Did you get Frerichs, Olaf?" she asked.

Now that Pavel wasn't around, they were on a first-name basis, as if it had always been that way.

Olaf shook his head. "I spoke to his apprentice. He's working up in the attic of the town theater. Frerichs was supposed to be helping him there today, but he never showed up."

Enna puffed out her cheeks. It looked like the carpenter Frerichs had panicked. Maybe he didn't have much faith in his own scheme with the supposedly stolen van. Damn it. She would have liked to question him together with Charlotte Braun. Criminals seldom trusted each other. Braun would probably have tried to pin everything on Frerichs. But if he had skipped town while she voluntarily came in for questioning, the scales would be tipped against him and in her favor.

"We should put out an APB..."

"Already done."

"Good." Olaf was a gem. He thought ahead, and she didn't have to walk him through every little step.

"I could talk to his wife," he suggested. "If she's worried about him, she might reconsider the alibi she gave him."

"Why would she be worried? If she's in on it, she probably knows exactly where he's hiding."

"If. Frerichs isn't much of a talker. Typical East Frisian. He probably kept it all to himself."

Berger was right. And they were dealing with someone who hadn't hesitated to commit murder. Maybe Frerichs had shoved Morris in the heat of the moment, but someone else had gone after the injured man and finished the job.

"Frerichs wears a size nine shoe, right?" she asked.

"Yes. His apprentice showed me his work boots."

That fit, too. Braun, Frerichs, and Morris had been in on something together, and when it came time to divvy up the loot, things got ugly. It was a solid theory. The only thing missing was proof. They needed a confession, either from Frerichs or Braun. Enna hoped it would be Frerichs. She wouldn't put it past Braun to pin the murder on him.

"Olaf? Pay Frerichs' wife another visit and tell her we're worried about her husband." That was true enough. "And while you're at it, maybe mention that Braun's investor is rumored to have ties to organized crime." Also true. The waste management business had long been a playground for international criminal networks.

"You want me to soften them up a bit." Olaf grinned. "That's my specialty."

Enna didn't argue, even though she had a different impression of him. Olaf was much too nice to be mean to witnesses or suspects.

"Bring her in if she's willing to give a statement."

* * *

And just like that, he was gone. Enna stretched out her legs. Bjarne squeezed past them, giving a big stretch before shaking himself. He probably expected a walk, but that wasn’t happening today.

She jumped when Pavel’s phone rang. Rolling her chair over to his desk, she glanced at the display. Nils. He probably had no idea about the new arrangement.

“Hello, Nils!”

“Hello, Enna! It’s nice to hear your voice.”

Enna smiled. Nils always had this friendly way about him, without ever actually wanting anything from her.

“Likewise. What’s got you calling Pavel?”

“Good question. I’d have preferred to call you directly, of course, but I got the impression our mutual friend is a stickler for the chain of command.”

Enna shook her head. Pavel wasn’t above bending the rules now and then. And yesterday, he’d withheld evidence. Well, only if you were nitpicky like he was.

“Even better that you answered instead. He’s not there, I take it?”

She wasn’t in the mood to explain everything right now, and that was exactly where the conversation would go if she gave the wrong answer.

“Nope. But I am.” Technically true.

“Perfect. I have to admit I made a mistake. Or let’s call it an oversight.”

What was going on with the men today? First Pavel admitted a mistake, and now Nils, who had never officially made a mistake? Enna smiled.

“I’m listening.”

“I found traces of nail polish on our victim. Not on his neck, but on his clothing. Looks like the attacker used gloves while strangling him, but then took them off at the scene to get rid of them. Smart move, actually. If they’d left the gloves on, we could’ve identified them from the fiber residue on the neck. But when they pulled them off, tiny particles got left behind.”

“What color?”

“Pink. More precisely, RAL 010 70 35, also known as baby pink.”

Baby pink. Who the hell painted their nails that color? Definitely not the carpenter Frerichs. But then again, he did work with paints and varnishes.

“Are you sure it’s nail polish and not some kind of acrylic resin? Just asking because one of our suspects is a carpenter.”

“Yeah, I can rule that out. Unless your carpenter likes painting furniture with nail polish. But that’d get expensive real fast. The polish contains nitrocellulose. Plus, I found traces of a clear base coat.”

“Thanks, Nils. That’s a big help.”

She hung up. Exactly how helpful Nils’ discovery would be was still unclear, but one thing was certain, she needed a search warrant, for both Braun’s apartment and Frerichs’ workshop. Müntefering would have to convince the judge. But first, she switched Pavel’s phone for her own. He wasn’t on duty today, after all. Then she sent Müntefering a quick message.

Ugh. Today was chaotic. Right now, Pavel’s help would have come in handy. But she’d manage without him.

“Olaf, can you handle the search of Braun’s apartment at three? Then take care of Frerichs’ workshop afterward? Müntefering will be there, too.”

She’d still have to inform Müntefering, but he owed her one. Besides, she couldn’t be in two places at once—and someone needed to convince Charlotte Braun that confessing was in her best interest.

Her phone rang. One glance at the area code told her it was forensics calling.

"Hi, Maria. What’s up?"

"Your colleague was just here. He asked me to call you."

"What, he couldn’t do it himself? But leaving me to handle the case alone, yeah, that he can manage."

"Don’t be mad at him. He didn’t have a choice. Pavel was really down about it."

"Yeah? Well, he could’ve told me that himself. But I guess he doesn’t have the balls for that." It felt good to let some of her frustration out. With Maria, she could talk like this.

"He probably just wanted to avoid looking like he was interfering in your investigation from a distance."

"Oh, so instead, he gets someone else to do it for him?"

"All right, Enna, enough. If he’d called, you’d have seen it as meddling. I know you too well."

Enna exhaled sharply. Her friend had a point. She wasn’t exactly being fair.

"All right, so what’s the message?"

"Two things. First, you should take a closer look at Dr. Zwack. He’s been unemployed since the beginning of the year."

Interesting. He hadn’t mentioned that. Suddenly he had a motive. "And the second?"

"The second is even better. We found a footprint on the mud sled. And whoever left it wears a size eight."

Size 8, that wasn’t exactly rare. "A footprint—is that as significant as…?"

"…a fingerprint? Yep. Bring me the owner, and I’ll nail them with it."

Perfect! Enna imagined Maria hammering a giant, rusty nail into the suspect’s foot. Apparently, Pavel’s habit of taking idioms literally was starting to rub off on her. Probably because he made her think more about the words she used. Was that a good or a bad thing?

"I can’t wait," she replied.

"One more thing. The mud sled driver was almost certainly left-footed and probably left-handed too."

"Thanks, Maria. If that doesn’t break the case, I don’t know what will."

* * *

"Make sure to remind the forensic team to check the bathroom for footprints during the searches," Enna typed in a message to Olaf. "Because we have the footprint of one of the people involved in the crime."

Her phone rang. The call had been forwarded from Pavel’s number, so she couldn’t see where it originated. Probably Müntefering had forgotten who was now in charge of the investigation. Men!

But a woman’s voice came through the line. "Hello, Waldemar! So nice of you to finally pick up."

Waldemar? Wrong number, Enna was about to say when she remembered Pavel’s personnel file. This woman must know him well if she knew about his biggest secret. Katharina. She must be the mysterious caller he always refused to talk to.

"This is Enna Koopmann, his colleague. Waldemar," the name felt completely wrong in her mouth, "has the day off."

"You’re his colleague, and you know his birth name? You two must be pretty close. I’m Katharina."

"Yeah, we get along okay," Enna said, instantly regretting it. More than okay.

"I don’t believe that. He doesn’t talk to anyone about it."

Had they ever actually talked about it? Enna only knew from looking at his file.

"What can I do for you?" she deflected.

"I’m Waldemar’s…" Katharina started.

"Hold on. That name just sounds completely wrong to me. Could you please…?"

"Of course, happy to. His family still calls him by his birth name. Anyway, I’m Pavel’s sister-in-law."

That was a relief. Sister-in-law was good. Enna had been afraid she was about to hear ex-wife or secret lover.

"So his brother's wife? Or his sister’s?"

"His brother’s. And that’s the problem. The two of them had a huge falling-out. They haven’t spoken in years. I don’t even know why. Only Wilhelm and Waldemar, sorry, Pavel, know."

"Maybe that’s for the best," Enna said.

"For a long time, it was," Katharina admitted. "They fought every chance they got."

Enna checked the time. She had more important things to do than listen to Pavel’s family drama. But this Katharina woman had piqued her interest.

"But?" Enna prompted.

"Pavel’s brother is sick. Very sick."

"And he wants to make amends before he dies."

Katharina sighed. "No. He’s stubborn as hell. But I think it would be good for both of them."

So that was something the brothers had in common.

"How’s that supposed to work if your husband doesn’t want it?"

Another sigh. "If Wal … if Pavel apologized, Wilhelm would accept it."

Enna shook her head, even though Katharina couldn’t see her.

"Don’t shake your head, Enna. There’s always a way. I'm sure it would be good for Pavel, too, if the brothers could reconcile. He’ll never get another chance. All he has to do is⁠—"

"You know him well enough. Why not try convincing your husband instead?"

"He’s fighting his illness. Wilhelm still believes he can beat it, even though every doctor says otherwise. Reaching out to his brother now would be admitting defeat."

This was a very messy situation, and Enna couldn’t see a solution for it.

"Katharina, forget it. Those two are too much alike."

"I just thought if I could talk to Pavel, explain the situation to him… But he hangs up the second I call."

Yeah, Enna had witnessed that firsthand, and it showed her just how stubborn Pavel could be.

"Look, he just doesn’t want to. And when Pavel doesn’t want something…"

Suddenly, Bjarne barked. Berger must have returned to the office.

"Was that a dog?" Katharina asked.

"Yeah, that’s Bjarne, our office dog. He’s been with us for a few months now."

"So, you didn’t have him when Pavel was transferred to Fleetstedt?"

"No. Back then, I didn't know that I would need a dog."

Back then. What that sounded like! It hadn’t even been a year.

"And Pavel still dares to come to the office?"

"Why wouldn’t he? Bjarne loves sleeping under his desk. Sometimes he even takes him for walks."

That was normal, wasn’t it? Bjarne was impossible not to like.

"Ms. Koopmann, Waldemar hates dogs! If he sees someone walking a dog, he either crosses the street or turns around."

"Pavel likes Bjarne. So I wouldn’t call him a dog hater."

"Enna, may I call you that? I think you might be our last hope. If you persuaded Pavel to like a dog, then you can convince him to make up with his brother. You must be an angel."

Enna glanced down at herself. An angel in shorts and long black socks covered in yellow Einstein faces. Yeah, right. If only Katharina knew who she was talking to.

"I can guarantee you I’m no mythological being," she explained. "And I really need to get back to work. I’ve got a case that needs my full attention."

"Please, Enna, just try. If you care about Pavel, and I get the feeling you do, help them to reconcile. Time is running out."

What did Katharina know? Enna wasn’t about to meddle in Pavel’s life.

"Thanks for your call, Katharina. You can reach your brother-in-law at this number tomorrow. Why don't you talk to him?"

Enna hung up.

Chapter Sixteen

There was the pizzeria, his cue to turn right. Olaf put on his blinker. A couple of schoolchildren on bicycles came towards him. He waited for them to pass, then turned onto Brandenburger Street. Berger counted the house numbers. Nineteen. Seventeen.

"You've reached your destination," the GPS said. Berger pulled into a wide parking lot. Frerichs, the carpenter, lived in a 1970s brick house with narrow front windows. The unusually wide gable faced west, away from the street. That was probably where the living room was. The massive windows probably offered a great view.

He locked the car. The air smelled of freshly cooked food. This part of Wittmund was full of single-family homes and duplexes. He walked along a paved path around the house. The large concrete slabs were uneven, pushed up by tree roots along the property line. It looked like Frerichs didn't have much time to keep up with the house or the yard.

Olaf rang the doorbell.

"Forgot your key again? Wait, I just have to drain the potatoes," a woman's voice called out.

He waited. A moment later the door opened.

"Well, it's about time you—" She stopped mid-sentence. "Who are you?"

"Hello, Ms. Frerichs. I'm Detective Berger from the Fleetstedt Police." Olaf held out his hand, but she didn't take it. She was in her late forties, short and thin, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"What do you want?"

Her tone was sharper than expected, especially for someone answering the door of a house like this. Was she hiding something? At the very least, Frerichs must have told her about the stolen van.

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“Then talk.”

Olaf glanced around. “Wouldn't you rather be inside? The neighbors…”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Fair point. Come in.”

She stepped aside, and he walked in, slipping off his shoes in the entryway before following her into the kitchen.

“You don’t mind if I continue cooking? I need to have dinner ready before Siegmar gets home from the construction site.”

“Go right ahead. It smells delicious.”

Olaf caught the scent of spices and vinegar. Steam curled from a pot on the stove. It took him straight back to his childhood when his grandmother used to make bean soup that smelled just like this.

“What time does your husband usually get home?”

“He should’ve been here by now. But I’m not done cooking yet anyway.”

“Ms. Frerichs, Ilya, your husband’s apprentice, told us he never showed up at the job site today. Any idea where he might be?”

Frerichs shook her head. “Ilya must be mistaken. Youngsters these days…”

“No, he wasn’t at the town theater.”

“Then he must have had an urgent client meeting.”

Ms. Frerichs didn't want to know. She was afraid of finding out something she wouldn’t like. Now she stirred the pot vigorously, a little too vigorously. Some of the hot broth splashed over the edge, and she jerked her hand back.

"Yesterday…" Olaf began.

"Yesterday he was with me all day. Really." She spat out the lie as if she had no choice, then chewed on it the way a picky eater choked down an overcooked asparagus spear. Olaf could see right through her.

"The delivery van was parked in front of the house?"

"Until it was stolen, yes."

"Do you know a Charlotte Braun?"

"No." The answer came too fast, she hadn’t even thought about it.

"Ms. Braun owns Braun Recycling. Her investor is known for some…questionable business practices. The kind of guy you don’t want to get on the wrong side of."

"Then maybe this Ms. Braun should find a different investor."

"Too late for that. I’m afraid your husband might’ve gotten himself involved in something he doesn’t fully understand. We still have a chance to get him out of it."

"My husband hasn’t done anything wrong. He wouldn’t."

Olaf didn’t think Frerichs was the murderer either. "The people he’s involved with could make it look like he did. You don’t have to say anything that could incriminate him, or yourself. That’s your right as his wife. But you might be able to help your husband."

Olaf’s phone buzzed. A message from Kuni, his colleague in traffic control.

"Hello. The Wittmund officers found the stolen delivery van. South of town, near Isums. Across from the campground is a dirt road that leads to a lake. Someone tried to sink the van there. The guys are pulling it out now."

"Excuse me, Ms. Frerichs. I need to respond to this." Olaf tapped a reply.

"Thanks, Kuni. Tell the team I’ll be there with a witness. If possible, have them hold off on the recovery until I arrive. Thanks."

Kuni responded with a thumbs-up emoji. Olaf sighed.

"Ms. Frerichs, I need you to come with me."

"But you can see I’m in the middle of cooking…"

"Your husband’s van has been found. Someone tried to sink it. I think you should be there when…"

He didn’t finish the sentence on purpose. Ms. Frerichs pressed her hands to her face. He felt sorry for her. Berger swallowed hard. She turned to the stove and switched off all the burners.

"You’re right, Officer. I should be there." When she looked back at him, her eyes were filled with tears.

* * *

The scent of spices still lingered on Frerichs and her clothes. The silence in the car was so heavy that Olaf had to open the window. The constant humming of the tires on the road made the silence a little more bearable.

He looked at the map. The GPS didn't recognize the road he needed to turn onto. There it was! The BMW rumbled over gravel before the ground turned to mud. Days of rain had softened the earth, and the arrival of the other units hadn't helped. Olaf spotted an ambulance, a fire truck, and a special oil spill vehicle. Whenever a car went into the water, there was always the risk of an oil spill.

The officers had been waiting for him. He recognized most of them, at least by sight. Four in all. Wittmund's department was clearly better staffed than Fleetstedt's.

"What should I do?" Ms. Frerichs asked.

Olaf walked around, opened the passenger door, and offered her his arm. Then he led her past the parked vehicles. The back of the van came into view. The lettering was still legible: "Frerichs Carpentry: A Long-Standing Family Business." The phone number underneath, however, had disappeared under the murky water of the lake.

A fellow officer walked by and murmured in Olaf's ear, "Van's empty.”

Kuni must have filled them in on the situation. Was it cruel to let Ms. Frerichs believe, even for a moment, that her husband might be inside? What if she collapsed from the shock? Or was it necessary for her to understand just how much danger he was in?

“What did he say?” Ms. Frerichs asked.

“They’re starting now.”

Right on cue, the motorized winch whirred to life. A blue-and-yellow tow cable snaked across the muddy ground, stretched taut, then jerked as it pulled on the van’s tow hitch. The winch let out a strained whine. Olaf had to hold onto Ms. Frerichs to make sure she stayed at a safe distance. They had a clear side view of the van. Then the cab broke through the surface. Murky brown-gray water spilled from the door seams in thin arcs, revealing the two front seats.

The van was empty. Ms. Frerichs pressed her hands to her face. Olaf gave her a moment before leading her back to the BMW.

“We’re heading to the station now,” he said gently. She nodded.

“Thanks, guys,” he called to the officers.

As he pulled onto the main road, a forensic unit's vehicle passed him, heading toward the lake. Maria Doldinger and her team were in for a long shift today.

Chapter Seventeen

Bjarne trotted over to Olaf, tail wagging. Berger gave him a quick pat before turning to Enna with a heavy look.

"Hello. Ms. Frerichs is in the interrogation room. I told her you want to question her as a witness."

"You advised her of her rights?"

"Yeah. It’s all documented."

"Thanks, Olaf. Sit in on the interview as a witness, will you?"

* * *

"Hello, Ms. Frerichs. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to us."

Frerichs sighed. She sat stiffly in her chair, kneading her fingers in her lap.

"My colleague already informed you of your rights. I just want to emphasize that you can stop this at any time, that you have the right to an attorney, and that you don’t have to say anything that could incriminate you or your husband."

"I just want Siegmar to come home."

Enna nodded. "That’s what we’re trying to help with, but we need to know exactly what your husband got himself into."

Frerichs bit her lip. "If only I knew! He never told me anything. It all started after the storm surge."

"Your husband found something, didn’t he?"

"I don’t know. He came home from work that day in an unusually good mood and immediately made a phone call. I had made collard greens with smoked pork, but he let his dinner go cold."

"Business hasn’t been good?"

"He has more work than he can handle, but people don’t pay on time. The lumber supplier doesn’t care that we have to chase down our customers."

"So you don’t know who he talked to about his discovery?"

"I didn’t even know there was a discovery."

Ms. Frerichs seemed genuinely anxious to help them. But her husband had probably kept everything important from her. Damn.

"Tell me the truth about the van."

"It was parked in front of our house, and in the morning it was gone. Just like I told your colleagues. But Siegmar told me not to worry. He said he'd arranged it for the insurance claim."

Enna had suspected as much. Frerichs had carefully planned his trip to Hamburg. But that didn't get her any closer to what she needed: proof.

A knock at the door. Berger opened it. She heard whispers.

"Enna, can you step outside for a moment?" Berger asked.

"Excuse me," Enna said, stopping the recording. A uniformed officer she didn't recognize stood at the door.

"I'm from the technical department," he explained.

"Oh, did you crack the hard drive?"

The man shook his head. “I was told to tell you that the only way to get past it is with brute force. Our colleague estimates it could take several weeks. You'd better look for other evidence.”

Damn it. Enna took a deep breath. The case was slipping through her fingers.

"Thank you, officer."

She sat down again.

"Was that about Siegmar?" Ms. Frerichs asked.

"Only indirectly, I'm afraid. Do you have any idea where we might look next? Friends? A favorite place?"

"He always said his favorite place was in the kitchen with me."

That was sweet, but not helpful.

"Have you noticed any unfamiliar computers in the house?"

Ms. Frerichs shook her head. "Siegmar hates those things."

Figures. He must have given Morris's laptop to Charlotte Braun. She specialized in recycling things. Enna studied Ms. Frerichs. The couple hadn't lived a glamorous life, but they had been content. Not so long ago, Erika Frerichs would have called herself happy. And then a damn storm surge rolls in, rips the roof off the town hall and tears the two of them apart.

Hopefully not forever. At this point, Enna wouldn't put anything past Charlotte Braun.

There was another knock. You've got to be kidding me! They were in the middle of questioning a witness. Annoyed, Enna jumped up so quickly that her chair tipped over. Ms. Frerichs jumped. Outside, Bjarne barked, startled by the noise. She yanked the door open. Bjarne came bounding toward her, but another officer stood behind him.

"What now?" she asked, a little too sharply.

"Hello, I have a message for you from Prosecutor Müntefering. You weren't answering your phone."

True. She'd turned it off before the interview.

"What does he want?"

"To inform you that Charlotte Braun wasn't at her apartment or office. Müntefering has officially put out an APB on her."

"Thank you."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. They were too late. Again. Braun would get rid of Frerichs' body and then disappear. She probably had plenty of people ready to help her.

Enna turned back to Ms. Frerichs. "Thank you for your time. Detective Berger will drive you home now."

"You don't have any more questions?"

"No. I'm out of ideas."

"Please, you must find Siegmar. He's not a bad man."

Enna didn't answer. That was a promise she couldn't afford to make. Not again.

* * *

"I'm sorry, but I can't take you out right now." She scratched Bjarne's back, right where he liked it most, while her thoughts drifted to Dr. Zwack. Why hadn't he told her he was out of work? Had she unwittingly given him key information? Had her question set everything in motion? She replayed the sequence of events in her mind.

She'd found the institute through a simple Google search. Anyone else could have done the same.

"Is this about a discovery in the mudflats?" was the first thing the receptionist had asked. Why was that? The institute dealt with all aspects of historic preservation in Lower Saxony, yet her first guess had been the mudflats. Probably because she wasn't the first person to report it.

And then the woman had put her through to Zwack. He'd at least pretended to be surprised. Not knowing Fleetstedt? That was believable. Neighboring towns were either bigger or prettier or both. But now that she thought about it, he had given himself away pretty quickly. She could still hear him:

"Shall we meet at the harbor? Preferably with the harbormaster."

He had known that Fleetstedt had a harbor. That wasn't common knowledge. Sure, the discovery had been in the mudflats, but that didn't automatically mean there was a harbor nearby. Should she call him and ask him? No. He'd just make excuses, and worse, he'd be tipped off. Right now he probably felt safe. After all, he probably had nothing to do with Morris's murder.

Then an idea struck her. She'd use his ego to lure him in. But she didn't feel like calling him and faking her way through a conversation. A text would be easier.

"Dr. Zwack - I’m in the process of finally figuring out what was stolen. Since work always makes me hungry, and you still owe me that dinner, I suggest we meet tonight at the local Italian place, right by the harbor where we first met. How about seven o’clock? Best regards, Enna Koopmann."

She read over the message one more time. The tone was just right, not too pushy. Enna was certain he’d accept, even if the idea made him a little nervous. The thrill was what he craved. She hit send.

But her research wasn't finished yet. Maybe there had been reasons beyond budget cuts for why the institute hadn’t renewed Zwack’s contract. She Googled his publications. The list was surprisingly long. She hadn’t realized how often shipwrecks were dredged up from the mudflats. In almost every major case over the last ten years, Dr. Zwack had been involved in the research.

As the lead author, he had written nineteen papers, most of which used measurement analysis to infer a ship's cargo or construction. His work had been widely cited by his peers, which must have earned him plenty of recognition in the scientific community. And yet, the institute had let him go. Why wasn't he employed elsewhere? It suggested his reputation wasn’t entirely spotless. Maybe they’d never been able to prove anything against him. Or maybe he’d simply made enemies. Enna had to keep that in mind. Scientists could be brilliant, but they weren’t saints. They could be ruthless, sabotaging colleagues just like in any other field. Zwack could just as easily be the victim of jealousy.

Enna searched the police database for similar cases. Sure enough, two years ago, a 1920s cargo ship had surfaced near Cuxhaven—and shortly thereafter, some of its furnishings had gone missing. Three years ago, a storm had uncovered a nearly intact 16th-century fishing boat. It had disappeared on its way to a storage facility. Then there was the case of an English sailing vessel unearthed by a flood near Sylt—only to have its intricately carved figurehead disappear.

In all three cases, Dr. Zwack later published an article about the discovery. He had been directly involved in researching the find. To cross-check, Enna listed all of his co-authors. No one else had worked on all three cases.

Zwack's superiors must have noticed this pattern. But in court? That wouldn’t be enough. The only way she could get to Zwack was through Charlotte Braun, and she was on the run.

So was it even worth luring Zwack out tonight? No. It had been a dumb idea. She pulled out her phone and typed out a cancellation.

"Hello, Dr. Zwack. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to make it tonight…"

Just as she was about to hit send, his status changed from “Last online today…” to “Online.” Three dots popped up in the chat window. Zwack was typing. A moment later, her phone chimed with his reply.

"I’d love to, Enna Koopmann. See you at seven. Of course, dinner’s on me!"

Her phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the table. She picked it up again. Considering she was about to meet a potential suspect alone, she felt surprisingly calm. But what was she going to do with Bjarne in the meantime? She hadn’t thought about that. Bjarne… hmm. She could ask Pavel. He had nothing to do today anyway. She smiled, remembering his sister-in-law's claim that Pavel hated dogs. What nonsense. His own family didn’t know him nearly as well as she did. To prove it, she sent him a message.

"Hi, Pavel. Could you watch Bjarne tonight? I have an appointment at the Italian restaurant at seven. Thank you very much! Oh, by the way, your Ms. Braun seems to have vanished into thin air."

Pavel replied immediately.

"Sure, always happy to help. Who’s the lucky guy? Sorry about Braun."

"Dr. Zwack. Work-related."

"Work-related smirking face"

Enna was about to type a reply when her phone screen switched to an incoming call. She answered.

"Maria, tell me you have good news."

"Unfortunately not. We finished the preliminary search of Frerichs' workshop, but there was nothing. Only his and his apprentice's fingerprints. If anyone else was there, they were careful."

"Professional. So no computer either?"

"No. And as far as we can tell, he’s never owned one. Everything is still done on paper."

"What about Braun Recycling?"

"We haven't gotten to that yet. I thought Frerichs was a priority. He seems to be in real danger."

She wasn't wrong. Still, Enna would have liked to confirm that the footprint belonged to Braun.

"But I can tell you that she wears a size eight shoe."

"Thank you, Maria. That's something, at least."

"You sound like you lost her trail."

"That's exactly what happened. If she's managed to disappear for good, we'll never solve this case."

"Then let's hope you find her soon."

"How long do you think it will take to search her office?"

"About two hours. We're working as fast as we can with a full team, but we're not miracle workers."

"I appreciate that. You know me, patience is not my strong suit."

Maria laughed. "Don't worry, that's what I like about you."

"See you later, then."

"Oh, one more thing—can you tell Pavel he can pick up Heino?"

Wait, what? Pavel had actually sent his department-issued bike to forensics to be dismantled? He really wanted to atone for his mistake. Very honorable.

"Sure, I'll tell him."

Chapter Eighteen

Finally. He’d been waiting for this message all day. His landlady had made him chicken soup, and he had eaten so little of it that she had almost called for an ambulance.

"Just a heads-up, you can pick up Heino now. Best, Enna. grinning face"

Short and to the point, but hands down the best news of the day. Pavel whistled as he left his apartment.

Ms. Winters intercepted him on the stairs as if she’d been expecting him. "You’re looking much better!"

"Thanks, I am feeling better too." Better, in fact, than he had in days. If it were up to him, he’d already be back investigating. But that was out of the question. He couldn’t interfere with Enna’s case. Müntefering had officially taken him off it.

"Do you have a date?" his landlady asked.

"With my bike," Pavel said, grinning.

"You shouldn’t be alone all the time."

As if he were alone! Pavel had plenty of friends, more than enough. But his landlady wouldn't understand. She’d been married to the same man for over forty years, a fact she liked to remind him of regularly.

"Have a lovely evening!" he called over his shoulder as he stepped outside.

He walked to the next street corner, turned right, and stopped to pull out his phone and call a cab.

Suddenly, Ms. Winters was standing next to him. She’d thrown a thin jacket over her bathrobe, her gray hair whipping in the wind. She looked like a slightly confused nursing home escapee. "You can take my car, Pavel. Save yourself the cab fare and maybe use it to take your colleague out instead."

Now, that left him speechless. "Ms. Winters, you’re going to catch a cold. I’m just standing here because⁠—"

"I may be old, but I’m not stupid. You always come around this corner where I can’t see you, and ten minutes later, a cab pulls up. Your neighbor, Mr. Mahmood, does the same thing."

Pavel shook his head. If it were possible, they should put Ms. Winters on the payroll as a civilian investigator. She was not to be underestimated.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a car key, and waved it at him.

"Thanks," Pavel said. He preferred taking a cab over driving himself any day. But on the way back, he’d be bringing Heino, and most cab drivers wouldn’t be thrilled about cramming an old bicycle into their backseat.

* * *

When he arrived at the forensics department in Leer, Heino was already waiting outside. The bike, miraculously, was in one piece! Pavel had to resist the urge to drop to his knees in front of it. He ran his hands over it, from the handlebars to the luggage rack. It was real. His bike. A note was tucked under the rack. He pulled it out and read it.

"Hello, Neuhof. We're so busy right now that I had to choose this method of delivery. Don't come up. Please thank me some other time. I've taken the liberty of replacing the bottom bracket. The new one’s ceramic, super tight, and requires very little maintenance. Just a few drops of synthetic oil now and then. It retails for over three hundred euros. Don't ask me where it comes from. Now you should be able to go faster than with the old worn-out bearing. Oh, and Heino definitely wasn’t out on the mudflats. We found a tire track under one of the sleds that rules that out. Heino's tires are so worn out that there's no way he could have left that track. So he's officially off the hook."

Pavel slumped. Well, that was a hell of a story he’d convinced himself of. But maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing for Enna to take the lead on a case for once. He wouldn’t be around forever, and a good boss made sure to train a successor in time.

A good boss. Not exactly a category he belonged to. He was lucky Olaf and Enna put up with him at all.

His phone buzzed.

"Hey, Pavel. I've been systematically going through Zwack's research - every time there's a shipwreck involved, something... happens. It's like he attracts theft. Could be a coincidence, but… face with monocle Best, Enna."

That was interesting.

"Good work!"

He checked the time. Time to head back. If he was going to watch Bjarne tonight, he had to make it to Fleetstedt on time. He loaded the bike into the back of the car. Ms. Winters drove a Passat Variant, big enough to fit two bikes, easily. He strapped Heino in so he wouldn’t shift around during the ride, then started the trip home.

* * *

Pavel approached Fleetstedt from the north, following the dike instead of taking the Leeraner highway straight into town. That way, he’d avoid the rush hour traffic. Enna’s place was on the east side, so it made sense to bypass the town center. Besides, he liked this route, despite the fact that a murder had occurred there just a few months ago.

But he knew the statistics. The chances of someone dying an unnatural death out here were already slim. The odds of it happening twice in a single year? Nearly impossible.

Still, he drove carefully. The wind, rolling off the sea and over the dike, kept nudging at the steering wheel. Winters’ Passat was reliable, but it wasn’t exactly new, and the steering and brakes didn’t respond as smoothly as Berger’s department-issued BMW. He wasn’t in a hurry. The temperature outside was barely above freezing. Even so, he rolled down the window. Fine salt crystals scraped against his skin, a natural exfoliation treatment, better than any overpriced spa.

Still, he was glad he wasn’t making the trip on his bike. He reached back and patted Heino's saddle. Bjarne would join him later. That was almost as good as spending the evening alone. Or with Enna. Work-related, she’d written. Yeah, sure. Not that it was any of his business.

At that moment, he saw the silhouette. Someone was pedaling hard against the wind at the top of the dike. The shape looked familiar. Those wide handlebars, the low-slung top tube, the old-fashioned frame…

"One of your siblings, Heino," Pavel muttered.

His foot hit the brake before his brain fully registered why. Charlotte Braun. Slim, of medium height, and, according to Enna, on the run. Could it be her? He checked the time. If he stopped now, he wouldn’t make it to Enna on time. She was waiting for him with Bjarne so she could go out for a nice evening. He couldn't spoil that for her.

Unless he brought Braun in with him. She’d forgive him then. Anything else was unthinkable. Braun was a wanted fugitive. He had to bring her in. Pavel jumped out of the car, threw open the trunk, and yanked Heino free. The bike was still strapped down. Damn it. He unbuckled the strap and freed the frame. Now! Pavel swung onto the saddle.

Come on, Heino. Show me what you’ve got.

He took off, searching for the access road leading up to the dike. There it was. Although a locked gate blocked the way for cars, he could easily slip through on his bike. Where was Braun, if it really was her, trying to go? Pavel stood on the pedals, pushing harder. By now, the old bottom bracket would have been squealing like a dying seagull. But the new one? Smooth as butter. His weight helped build speed. His long legs gave him extra power. Heino was going fast. Not even the wind slowed him down. His coat, which he hadn't closed, blew in the wind. From the street, he must look like Batman.

Batman on his Batbike.

Come on, Heino!

The path along the top of the dike grew rougher. The last rays of sunlight slipped beyond the horizon. Pavel had forgotten to turn on his light, making it harder to spot the potholes ahead. On the other hand, it also meant Charlotte Braun hadn’t noticed him yet. Suddenly she stopped, got off her bike, and started fiddling with its front wheel. For a split second, she glanced in his direction.

She must have sharp eyes, because she recognized him instantly. Or maybe she just sensed the danger, the way Enna sometimes seemed to know exactly what he was thinking without him saying a word. Pavel increased his speed. Hopefully she wasn’t armed. But Braun wasn’t looking for a fight. She was banking on speed. She was probably counting on her youth, but that was foolish. Pavel had longer legs and more weight. He’d catch up to her without even exerting himself.

But that was a mistake. Typical male arrogance, Enna would say. What he hadn’t factored in was that Braun’s bike had a far better gear system. Heino only had three gears, and he was already in third. There was no way around it, he’d have to make up for it with sheer muscle power. Pavel gritted his teeth, throwing every ounce of strength into the pedals. Power versus technology. Normally, he’d bet on technology. But he didn’t have a choice. He pushed himself to the limit, his muscles screaming. He could feel the proteins flooding his fibers, lactic acid burning through his legs. His body was running at full capacity, and Heino fed off his energy, angling his handlebars forward like horns, determined to catch up to his sibling. Dirt flew behind them like the dust of a charging bull, carrying Pavel closer and closer to his target.

"Stop!" Charlotte Braun jerked her bike around as Pavel sprinted up. There were still ten feet to go. It took him three feet to register the change in the situation. At six feet he recognized the gun in Braun's hand, and at nine feet he just managed to duck and then jump sideways over the handlebars as Heino crashed into the other rider's bike, knocking Braun off her feet. Pavel heard a crack; had someone shot Heino? He finished his roll, jumped up, and, with dirt on his hands and face, lunged at the businesswoman, ripping the gun from her hands and burying it under her bike, under Heino, and under himself.

Braun groaned. "Are you crazy? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You're under arrest, Ms. Braun." He read her her rights. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought to bring handcuffs, so he planted his knee firmly on her right forearm until he could get Heino and his sibling off her.

"Ow! That hurts, you ruffian!"

Ruffian. What a wonderfully old-fashioned word. Had anyone ever called him that before? Too bad he hadn't met Ms. Braun under different circumstances. Anyone who used words like that... Pavel felt strangely light, almost cheerful.

"You are a flight risk. I have to detain you until backup arrives."

He took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed Enna's number.

"Where the hell are you, Pavel?"

"Sorry, Enna. I ran into someone you put out an alert for. Thought you might want to talk to Ms. Braun?"

"You’ve got her? That's fantastic! I'll send Olaf to you."

Oh. That was a shame. He'd been hoping to see Enna.

"Olaf, sure."

"I'd come myself, but, you know..."

"Your date. I remember."

* * *

Ten minutes later, the flashing blue lights of Berger's car signaled his arrival. Charlotte Braun hadn't said a word since she'd made the reasonable request to speak to her attorney. Pavel waved Olaf over with his cell phone's flashlight. Berger had brought another officer with him. Together they handcuffed Braun.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked.

"Flight risk," Olaf and Pavel said in unison.

"Kuni, can you take her to the car?"

"Sure thing."

The officer led Braun away. Pavel picked up Heino. He didn't seem to be damaged. Braun's bike, on the other hand, had broken a few spokes when Heino crashed into it.

"I can load them both into the car," Pavel said. It would be unfair to leave Braun's bike behind. After all, it wasn’t to blame for its owner.

"Enna wants you to handle Braun's interrogation."

Pavel swallowed. The date had to be really important to Enna if she was willing to let him interrogate the prime suspect.

"She's the boss," he said.

"No, it's not a boss thing. She just doesn't want Zwack to get away. We don't have anything solid on him right now."

"Oh, so she's hoping I can get Braun to confess so she can arrest her date?"

"More or less."

Pavel shook his head. This was going to be tough. Braun seemed determined to say only what they already knew.

"I'll see what I can do. Let me pack up the bikes and I'll meet you at the station."

* * *

"I will only speak in the presence of my attorney," Charlotte Braun stated.

"We know. She’s on her way. But you still have to answer the basic identification questions."

The door to the interrogation room opened with a bang. "Don’t say a word, Charly."

Pavel looked up. The attorney was about the same age as the suspect.

"My name is Sophia Kies. I represent Ms. Braun. Here’s my⁠—"

Pavel waved it off. "Come in, have a seat. The sooner we get our answers, the sooner we all get to go home. Well, except for your client. She’ll be heading to a cell."

"Don’t let him intimidate you, Charly. You don’t have to say anything. And you shouldn’t."

"We were just about to go over the personal details."

"Those, you do have to provide."

"See? That isn’t so hard."

Pavel went through the routine questions from his form, then smoothly transitioned to the real interrogation.

"Three years ago, a somewhat controversial waste management company invested in your startup…"

The attorney let out a laugh. "Nice try, Chief Inspector. Charly, you know what to do."

"Say nothing. Got it."

"I’ll ask my questions anyway."

"I can’t stop you. But I do hope you’re not trying to intimidate or wear my client down."

"Of course not. It’s just that her bank accounts are empty, the investors’ money is gone, and she had to start looking for alternative sources of income."

"No comment," Kies said. Nevertheless, Pavel slid a stack of bank statements across the table, documents Enna had gotten from the local bank. They weren’t meant for Braun. They were for Kies. Once she saw that Braun couldn’t afford to pay her, maybe her enthusiasm would cool. Kies pushed them aside without even looking. They were probably friends.

"And then Frerichs called you because he found something…"

Braun raised an eyebrow, feigning boredom.

"No comment," the attorney repeated.

That was probably a lie. It hadn’t been Frerichs who contacted her, it had been Zwack. He already knew from past dealings who could offload valuable artifacts for him. The inconsistencies Enna had uncovered in Zwack’s research spoke volumes. Pavel was proud of her work. Now all they needed was the smoking gun.

A knock at the door. Pavel glanced at his watch. Sixteen minutes into the interrogation, right on time. He opened the door. A plainclothes officer stepped in, holding up the hard drive from the victim’s apartment. He leaned in and whispered something.

"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. If two witches were watching two watches, which witch would watch which watch?"

"Ah, thank you, very interesting," Pavel whispered back.

The officer left. Pavel sat back down. "I must correct myself. It wasn’t Frerichs who called you. It was Dr. Zwack after our poor carpenter tipped him off about the wreck. Zwack then brought Morris in as the muscle, and Frerichs realized too late that he’d been played."

Charlotte Braun knew exactly what a network hard drive looked like. She had to know that all of Morris’s correspondence was on that thing. Pavel hadn’t lied. He hadn’t claimed to have the evidence in his hand. That kind of bluff wouldn’t hold up in court, and Kies would have torn them apart for it.

"Don’t say anything, Charly." Kies smiled. She must be a good poker player. But Pavel wasn’t bad at the game either. He could do the math. And he could control his emotions so well that sometimes even he believed he didn’t have any.

Charlotte Braun really didn’t say a word. Where the hell was Maria Doldinger with those files? Right now, he had no reason to keep Braun here any longer.

"Chief Inspector," the attorney said, leaning in so far that Pavel had to look away out of sheer courtesy. Smart move. Now she had the upper hand in the stare-down. One-nothing to Kies.

"That’s me," he said.

"Ms. Braun is wasting her time here. That's why she's going to leave this room with me. Also, we are formally filing charges against your colleague Berger for assault. My client suffered bruises and abrasions during her so-called arrest."

The attorney stood up. Pavel leaned back in his chair and grinned like he had something up his sleeve.

"What?" Kies hesitated, then sat back down.

One-one, a tie.

Chapter Nineteen

Enna leafed through the menu. The waiter was standing beside her, a crisp white cloth draped over his left arm. His patience was impeccable. In the kitchen, though, he would probably curse her, muttering about the impossible woman in shorts who took forever to make up her mind. But at the table, he was the picture of professionalism.

She felt sorry for him. If she ever got out of this situation, she'd give him a ten-euro tip as an apology. What was taking Pavel so long to crack Braun? It shouldn't be that hard to find her footprints in her apartment and compare them to the ones on the sled, right? She couldn't stall the very charming Dr. Zwack forever.

She glanced over the top of her menu. Zwack was an interesting guy. A natural storyteller. He liked himself a little too much, but he didn't force it on others. When she'd walked in wearing paisley shorts and knee-high green socks, he hadn't even blinked. Not everyone could do that. The waiter, for example, made a conscious effort not to look under the table as he passed.

In retrospect, the choice of outfit had been a panic decision. She hadn't wanted to go out with Zwack. Part of her had hoped he'd take one look at her and leave. But the archeologist wasn't that easy to shake. He had charm, emotional intelligence, and, from what she gathered, a pretty rough childhood.

Under different circumstances, she might have liked him. If he wasn't a criminal. No, she had zero patience for people who broke the law. And she really didn't understand how some women were willing to go out with murderers.

To be fair, Zwack wasn’t a murderer. She had checked his fingernails—no polish, no base coat, nothing. He hadn’t strangled Morris.

"May I tempt the lady with some tiramisu?" the waiter asked.

He’d finally had enough. She didn’t blame him. If she were dealing with a customer as indecisive as herself, she’d have snapped ages ago.

Enna nodded. "That’s exactly what I was about to say."

"Would you like anything with that? Espresso, cappuccino, milk…?" The waiter covered his mouth with his hand, clearly bracing himself.

Enna smiled. "An espresso, please."

"One espresso. And for the gentleman?"

"Hmm, let me think about it," Dr. Zwack said.

The waiter’s face turned red.

"Just kidding. I’ll have an espresso, please." Zwack let out a hearty laugh, and somehow, Enna and even the waiter joined in. Other diners glanced over at them. So, the archeologist did have a sense of humor. The waiter exhaled and hurried back to the kitchen.

"You don’t look tired yet," Zwack observed.

"Just a little."

"The night’s still young, isn’t it?"

Nope. She was not taking him home. Her sense of duty didn't extend that far.

"The night might be, but I’m not."

"There’s a bar nearby, the Deichkante."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it has great reviews. The owner’s apparently a real character."

Enna puffed out her cheeks. The Deichkante. Calling it a bar was a stretch. But Andy was great. Why not? If Zwack tried anything, all she had to do was give Andy a signal. And honestly? It might be less exhausting than this dinner. And if she could get the archeologist drunk… All in the name of fighting crime.

"All right," she said. "But drinks are on you."

* * *

On the way to her favorite bar, Enna checked her phone three times. No call from Pavel. Surely he couldn’t be holding Charlotte Braun this long? She tested her signal. The connection to the cab dispatch worked fine.

They entered the Deichkante. It was cramped, noisy, and smoky, just the way she liked it. She dragged Zwack through the crowd toward the bar.

“Hey, Andy. Two beers, please.”

“Hey. Coming right up.”

Andy, ever the professional, rinsed two glasses and filled them at the tap.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. On me.” She slid the second glass toward Zwack. He seemed fascinated by the place, scanning the crowd like he was mentally cataloging the most bizarre characters.

“Where’d you leave your Pavel?” Andy asked.

She made a face. “He’s not mine.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

The damn rumor mill!

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That guy doesn’t belong here,” Andy said, nodding toward the archeologist.

But Zwack was already gone. His spot at the bar was now occupied by a man with a thick mustache who seized the opportunity to order three beers and three shots. Andy went back to pouring drinks. Enna went back to work—finding Zwack. Pavel would have been easier. His height alone made it impossible for him to just vanish. But Zwack had disappeared into the jungle of beer bellies and swaying bodies. She swam after him like a fish through the current and finally spotted him with two Dutchmen, passionately explaining something about a shipwreck.

Enna's cell phone buzzed with a new text message.

"We're ready now. Where are you?”

“At the Deichkante.”

“Can you bring him outside? I can’t arrest him in there.”

Pavel was right. That would be a disaster. She had to lure Zwack out.

“We’ll be right out.”

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and tapped Zwack on the shoulder. "It’s so loud in here. Do you want to go outside?" she shouted.

"I was just explaining to my friends how⁠—"

The rest of his sentence was swallowed by the noise. Great. Time to bring out the heavy artillery.

“I thought maybe we could…” She attempted her most seductive look. Not exactly her area of expertise. She much preferred letting the man make the first move.

But Zwack got the message. He immediately said goodbye to the Dutchmen and let Enna pull him outside by the hand.

"Don’t do anything stupid," Andy bellowed after her.

That was definitely meant for someone else. Enna and Zwack stood outside in the cool night air, bathed in the glow of a lone streetlamp. Thin wisps of breath curled from their mouths and noses.

Where the hell was Pavel? Zwack, fully into his role, pulled her close and tried to kiss her. Enna slipped out of his grasp. She found a piece of gum in her pocket and popped it into her mouth.

"Just let me…" she said, chewing dramatically.

"That doesn’t bother me," Zwack replied.

Finally, the blue lights appeared. Their reflection hit the wall across the street, washing it in flickering blue. Enna batted her eyelashes again, this time textbook perfect, as she grabbed Zwack's arm and twisted it behind his back.

“Ouch! What the hell are you doing?” he yelped.

“Dr. Zwack, you’re under arrest. My colleague Berger will explain the rest.”

Chapter Twenty

Now it was Pavel’s turn to stand up.

The attorney frowned at him. “What is this all about? Can we go now?”

“Follow me,” Pavel said.

Olaf shook his head. But he couldn’t explain the plan to him just yet.

Pavel walked down the hallway toward the exit. First they passed Heino, then the other bicycle, the very one he had caught Braun on.

“Would you mind letting us through?” the attorney asked.

“Just a moment.” Pavel knelt on the ground in front of the front wheel, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his photos. “This is your bike, isn’t it, Ms. Braun?”

“Should I say something?” Braun asked her attorney.

“Is it yours?”

Braun shook her head.

“Berger?” Pavel asked.

Olaf pulled a sheet of paper from his uniform jacket and read aloud, “I was riding my bike along the dike ridge when Chief Inspector Neuhof brutally crashed into me.” He looked up. “You signed this.”

“Fine, then I guess it’s mine,” Braun muttered.

“What did I tell you, Charly?”

“You’re the one who told me to file that report in the first place!” Braun shot a glare at her attorney, who placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“We shouldn’t let them get us worked up. That’s exactly what they want.”

“I’ll get worked up if I damn well feel like it.”

The attorney sighed.

“Please take a look at this photo, then at the tire,” Pavel said.

“There are thousands of tires like that,” Braun scoffed.

“You sent me a list yourself, Ms. Braun. There are only seven pairs in use.”

“Exactly. Could have been anyone.”

“No. This tire has a defect. It’s easy to spot because it’s still fairly new. You should have ridden it more often.”

The attorney walked over to the bike and gave the front wheel a good tug. The tread was far more worn down. She didn’t say a word, probably because there was nothing to say.

“Shall we head back?” Pavel asked.

“Do I have to?” Braun asked, her tone clipped.

Her attorney gave a small shrug. “Just don’t say anything, okay?”

* * *

The mood in the interrogation room had shifted. The attorney had noticeably withdrawn, unsure of the best strategy. Pavel fired off various questions about Braun’s business, and occasionally, she even answered. That was enough to stretch the conversation for a whole hour.

Finally, his phone buzzed. A message from Maria Doldinger.

"We were able to match the footprints from Braun’s apartment to the ones found on the sled. And we also found the nail polish."

Damn. Finally! With a little finesse, they could wrap this case up today.

“Ms. Braun, Ms. Kies? I’ve just received new information. A footprint was found on the mud sled at the crime scene, and it’s a perfect match to yours, Ms. Braun. That means you were at the scene of the crime. You had a motive and the means to kill Mr. Morris.”

“Me? That’s…”

“Wait a minute,” the attorney interrupted. “I need to confer with my client in private.”

“Of course.” Pavel switched off the recorder and stepped out of the room with Olaf.

It took just three minutes before the two women were done talking. Pavel sat back down and restarted the recording. The device made an audible click as it turned back on.

“My client would like to make a statement,” the attorney said, her voice steady.

“Go ahead, Ms. Braun.” Pavel was intrigued. He had a rough idea of what she was about to admit.

“All right, you’re right. Mr. Zwack approached me, asking if I could find a buyer for a valuable artifact. He never mentioned that he hadn’t acquired it legally. I met with Mr. Morris, who was supposedly a fellow researcher of Zwack’s, and we secured the object using a mud sled. Just as we reached the shore, Frerichs showed up. He felt Morris had double-crossed him. A fight broke out, and Morris fell. I took off on my bike because Frerichs wanted to attack me too.”

“Mr. Morris was strangled.”

“Yes. Dr. Zwack later confessed to me that he had to get rid of him as a witness.”

“And where are the artifact and Frerichs now?”

“Zwack must have taken the documents we found. The whole thing shook me so much that I wanted nothing more to do with it. As for Frerichs, I have no idea where he is.”

“Why didn’t you come to us?”

The attorney answered for her. “Ms. Braun would have incriminated herself. It’s obvious why she didn’t go to the police.”

“Right. Well, I appreciate your cooperation. Olaf, you can go pick up Enna and her date now.”

“Date?” Berger asked.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Dr. Zwack sat there looking like a broken man. For a split second, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. And even then, only a little. Berger had already informed him of his rights and mentioned the murder charge.

"Dr. Zwack, would you like to respond to the charges?" she asked.

"I didn't kill Morris! I was only out on the mudflats once, and that was with you!"

"Let's start at the beginning. How did this whole mess even start?"

"Frerichs. It all started with him. He saw something out on the mudflats, googled it, and ended up at my door. Just like you. Until then, everything was still going according to plan."

Enna nodded. "Go on."

"I suspected there might be something of value out there, so I reached out to my contacts. You see, because of the Treasure Trove Law, there's hardly any official market for finds from the mudflats. That drives up the price of anything that bypasses the legal system..."

The Treasure Trove Law dictated that discoveries, such as shipwrecks, automatically became state property.

"This wasn't the first time you've done something like this," Enna said.

"No."

"And those contacts of yours, they were Ms. Braun and Mr. Morris."

"That's correct. Braun knows how to find buyers, and Morris is good with his hands. Well, was."

"I see. Yes, you have to use people according to their talents. That's when they are at their best."

"You get me."

No, she didn't get him. But she wasn't about to interrupt his confession.

"Let's talk about the day the artifact was recovered."

"I only know what I was told. Morris and Braun met and used one of those mud sleds to retrieve the object. Then Frerichs showed up. Apparently, he had spotted their little operation from the roof of the town hall and decided he wanted a piece of the action. Morris wasn't having it. Frerichs pushed him. He fell, landing badly."

"And then you went after him and finished the job by strangling him."

"Me? No way! I wasn't even there!"

"Then how do you know what happened?"

"Frerichs told me. He came to me in a total panic. He said Braun went after Morris after he fell and made sure he didn't get up. She strangled him right there, determined to get rid of him as a witness. He swore he even begged for the guy's life, but she wouldn't listen. She said Morris was hurt so badly he'd need medical attention, and that meant he'd talk. Braun couldn't risk that.”

It sounded plausible, especially since they had found traces of nail polish at the scene.

"So you didn't kill Morris? Then why does Braun say you did?"

"Because she wants to get rid of me. The artifact is hidden somewhere in her factory."

That was possible. They hadn't had time to search Braun's factory yet, only her office.

"And where is Frerichs now?"

"Hiding at my place. He's terrified of Braun."

"Why should he be afraid of her?"

"Because she might do to him what she did to Morris? Besides, he still hasn't turned over Morris's laptop."

The laptop—that could be the missing piece that tied everything together. They desperately needed it.

"Dr. Zwack? I'd like to take a little trip to your place." She gave him a quick wink, but strangely enough, the archeologist didn't react.

"Of course."

"This is how it's going to work. You're going to go in and tell Frerichs that we know everything. His wife will be waiting for him outside. Braun will be locked up. He'll be perfectly safe."

"All right. I'll explain it to him."

"Great. And after that, I'll come by with the forensics team to tear your place apart."

"I have nothing to hide."

"Three violations of the Historic Preservation Act, Dr. Zwack. You'll be facing a judge too."

* * *

Enna pressed the intercom button. "Send her in."

Charlotte Braun entered alone.

"Where's your attorney?"

"We had...a disagreement about our strategy."

"Do you want to wait until you have new counsel?"

"No, I just want to go home. Can I go now?"

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Braun. You are suspected of the murder of Michael Morris."

"What? I already told you who did it!"

"You made a claim. But now we have evidence that traces of your nail polish were found on the victim. It also matches the nail polish found in your bathroom. So all the evidence points to you. And you had a motive."

"But I didn't do it."

Enna stifled a yawn. Why didn't she just confess? This would only drag things out. They still had to go all the way to Wilhelmshaven to lure Frerichs out of his hiding place. At least now she understood why the attorney had left.

"Ms. Braun, the evidence against you is overwhelming. The judge has ordered you to remain in custody. I strongly recommend a full confession. In my experience, it will significantly reduce the sentence."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Of course, Charlotte Braun hadn’t confessed. Enna yawned. After the long night, she had taken the day off. Let the others deal with the last bits of cleanup and paperwork. Müntefering hadn’t objected to her request, even though they still hadn’t recovered the artifact from the wreck. Letters! All of this chaos over a few letters, supposedly capable of rewriting history, letters that had been safely tucked away in that wreck for so long.

She didn’t care. She had slept in, deeply and without guilt. Then she’d taken a walk along the dike with Bjarne and somehow ended up at the far end of Deichstraße, where her old friend Luna had once lived.

Well, maybe not entirely by chance. She was here because of Pavel. Enna didn’t believe his sister-in-law really had any influence over him, but she knew someone who did. The narrow path leading to Luna’s trailer was almost completely overgrown. Bjarne still remembered it, though, and trotted ahead happily. When she heard a clattering noise, she rushed after him. But nothing had happened. The storm had torn off the awning, and Bjarne had been climbing around on the remains.

Enna cleared the debris just enough to reach the trailer door. It stuck a little but wasn’t locked. She pushed it open and stepped inside. The air inside was noticeably warmer than outside. The stove was cold, and none of the many candles were lit, yet the space still radiated warmth. It was probably just because of the brightly colored fabrics draped along the walls. The scent of patchouli hung in the air, a smell that, for Enna, was synonymous with Luna. A kettle sat half-full on the gas stove. On the small coffee table, there was a teapot with an infuser still inside. A strange white-and-blue film with fine veins had formed on the surface of the liquid. It looked like something Luna had been cultivating for mind-expanding purposes.

Enna sat down, picturing the times they had shared tea here. Back then, Pavel had been so…stiff. He had come a long way, just like she hoped she had. It was hard to see personal growth from the inside. She needed other people to reflect it back to her. Was that a weakness or a strength? Probably both, like most things in life.

Luna's bowl of bones lay on the table. Enna picked up the bowl, gave it a shake, and emptied it onto the white tablecloth. The tiny bones tangled in the lace trim, something that had never happened when Luna did it. She shook out the cloth. One of the bones tumbled to the floor and rolled a few inches away. As she bent down to pick it up, she noticed a slip of paper. It wasn’t folded.

Dear Luna-Barbara,

I wish I could have told you in person that your friend Nadja was killed at the hands of her own daughter…

Enna flipped the note over. This wasn’t meant for her. It was Pavel’s handwriting, and the letter wasn’t addressed to her. She felt a twinge of envy toward Luna-Barbara. Enna had never received a handwritten letter from Pavel. Then again, neither had Luna, unless she was floating around the trailer as a ghost. Realistically, she was probably stretched out somewhere on a beach in Tenerife, feeling the pebbles digging into her back. Wherever Luna was, she was fully present. She wouldn’t leave ghosts behind.

Enna looked around for something to write with. She found a pencil in a compartment under the desk, flipped Pavel’s letter over, and scrawled on the back.

Dear Pavel,

Thank you so much for the info about my friend Nadja. Because of that, I’d like to give you a gift. It’s something living that’s currently in Hamburg. At least for now. I know you might not want to be reminded of it, but think of it as a present that’s wrapped up. Unwrap it slowly, only as much as you can handle at any given moment. When the time feels right, I’m sure you won’t want to miss getting to know it. So please don’t wait too long.

Blessings, Yours

The paper ran out at just the right moment. She left the name off. That way, the illusion was just right. Enna set the letter down on the coffee table and slid the edge of the teapot over it to keep it from blowing away, no matter what happened.

Then, she pulled out her cell phone and typed a message to Pavel.

"I was walking along Deichstraße and thought I saw a light on at Luna’s. It was probably just my imagination!"

That way, the mystery was just right.

A Cup of Tea

Dear Readers,

I’m so glad you’ve found your way back to Enna, Berger, and Pavel! After their wonderful time at the Christmas market, the three of them have settled back into their daily routines. Pavel has managed to clear his beloved Heino of all suspicion. But what will happen with his family in Hamburg? I’m just as curious as Enna is, and I hope you are too.

In this novel, I’ve woven in a bit of East Frisian history. Believe it or not, the infamous pirate Klaus Störtebeker found refuge in Marienhafe at the end of the 14th century, back when the town still had direct access to the sea via the Leybucht. At the time, East Frisia was ruled by several families of chieftains, whose power struggles eventually became a serious problem.

Unlike the rest of Europe, though, East Frisia never fully adopted a traditional feudal system. While the people were subjects of their chieftains, they remained free farmers, never bound to their land or a feudal lord. Later, the region passed from Prussian rule to France (which forced the East Frisians to adopt surnames for the first time in 1811), then to Hanover after Napoleon’s defeat, and finally back to Prussia (an outcome largely welcomed by the locals).

I imagine Fleetstedt as a Prussian administrative town, which means it doesn’t have the typical layout of a historic East Frisian village. That gives me a little more creative freedom. But don’t worry, it’s still nestled within the East Frisian landscape, and Leer, Aurich, and Emden aren’t far away.

Did you know that as of May 1, 2025, the old East Frisian naming tradition has returned? East Frisians are once again able to take their father's first name (for sons) or their mother's first name (for daughters) as their last name. The new law actually extends the old one, which only allowed patronymic names (from the father). Even more interesting, you don't have to be born or live in East Frisia to participate; it's enough to feel like an East Frisian. So I could rename myself Heidi Brigitten. Hmm, do I want that? No, I think Heidi Hinrichs suits me better. Or maybe I've just gotten too used to it.

Here's a handy guide to the old and new East Frisian naming rules: heidihinrichs.com/links/4447724

Want to see a mud sled race in action? Check out some original footage here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=zd16l_nb63Y

I hope you enjoyed this latest case with Enna, Berger, and Pavel! I'd love to hear what you thought. If you have a moment, leaving a short review at heidihinrichs.com/links/4607472 would mean the world to me. Or, if Amazon asks you to rate the book, just clicking on those stars helps more than you know.

Anyway, I'll see you in the next mystery. I'm especially looking forward to it because I want to know if Pavel picks up on Enna's hidden clue. I know from personal experience that not every old acquaintance is worth reconnecting with. Some stories belong in the past and should probably stay there. Well, in a few weeks we'll have our answer smiling face with smiling eyes—in Last Voyage, which you can pre-order here:

heidihinrichs.com/links/4716276

Warm regards,

Yours, Heidi Hinrichs

P.S. Don't forget to download the character profiles of our detectives at heidihinrichs.com :-)

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Preview: Dark Signs

CHAPTER 1

The North Sea was angry this morning. The waves crashed against the cutter as if trying to outdo each other. Each time they struck, the spray rose several feet and splashed against the windows and metal roof of the narrow cockpit.

Dirk Matthiesen remained unfazed in the dull glow of the bridge lights, steering the cutter through the foothills of the morning thunderstorm. He held a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

Another wave crashed into the hull, splashing water against the windshield. The windshield wipers quickly cleared it away.

It was a violent thunderstorm, the kind that happened more often at the end of summer, but usually further out to sea. Even the experienced fisherman was surprised that the storm was so violent.

But he didn't mind. His father and grandfather always said the best chance for a good catch was in a storm. Dirk couldn't say if it was true, but he believed it, just like he believed in his gray sheep's-wool sweater with the Fleetstedt soccer club logo embroidered on it. He wore it to every important game, never missing a single one. The only time he didn't wear it, his club lost ... it was the same with fishing.

As the cutter crested the next wave, Dirk took a gulp of tea. The tangy taste invigorated him. He decided to stay on course for another half hour, then turn around and head back. As soon as the swell died down, he would use the winch to haul in the nets. Then he would find out what he had caught. He hoped for cod, plaice, mackerel, and pollock. Herring were in demand at the moment, but they were close to being overfished and the season had already ended. He had recently heard that this year's spawning season had been particularly poor. It remained to be seen how herring fishing would continue along the German North Sea coast.

Once again the sea pounded against the windshield and smothered the light on the bow. Dirk briefly checked the GPS signal, made a slight course correction, then put down his magnetic cup and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

It was time for a break.

He put a cigarette between his lips, slipped into his oiled, waterproof rain suit, pulled on his wide-brimmed hat, and stepped to the door.

The wind howled loudly and immediately tore at his suit, but Dirk remained undaunted. He stepped outside, closed the door carefully behind him, turned his back to the wind, and pulled out his storm lighter. The bright blue tip glowed, he inhaled and smoke filled his lungs.

Dirk sighed contentedly, inhaled deeply twice, reversed the cigarette in his fingers to protect the embers, and stepped up to the railing.

To the north, the storm was slowly moving away from the coast, but it was still a dark tower of clouds with lightning flashing through it. The sea would be choppy for a long time. Even now, it greeted him with a slap of cold spray.

He ducked as more spray poured down on him. A quick sweep of his arm brushed the water from his coat. He took another drag on his cigarette.

Dirk used the trough of the wave to move forward toward the bow. The boat was heading east, parallel to the coast. The sky there was a dull gray with a silver streak. If he had to hazard a guess, he would say it would be a beautiful day. Windy, but cold and clear.

He paused again, sheltered his cigarette from the next wave, then walked over to the winch. The rigging of the net disappeared into the dark water, stretched taut.

Dirk smiled. He knew it. This would be a wonderful, lucrative day.

He pushed the lever on the motor and it rattled, drawing the net in a few inches. It jerked and banged loudly from the engine housing. Dirk would have given a lot to have a more modern boat right now, but the Berta was still in great shape. Besides, he couldn't afford a new boat. They had all the bells and whistles, from sonar to GPS, shoal detectors, and other nonsense. None of it had anything to do with fishing.

He continued to fiddle with the winch, tweaking the cable guide, watching the pale cable slide out of the water inch by inch.

Then came the net. It was full to bursting, which surprised even Dirk. It appeared to be a great catch. If the net was already full, he could pull it in and empty it, turn the Berta around, cast the net again, and catch more on the way back.

It looked like it was going to be a really, really good day.

Excited by the prospect, Dirk went to work. He reduced the speed of the winch, corrected the course of the rope, and pulled the catch farther and farther out of the water.

The net was dark blue, patched in several places, but still doing a good job. Inside were the shimmering bodies of hundreds of fish. The sight made Dirk's heart race – until he spotted something pale.

His heart suddenly pounded loudly in his chest and Dirk stopped the motor. He tapped it twice more, and the winch stopped.

Two-thirds of the catch hung out of the water. The rest rose and fell with the waves, in time with the ship.

Dirk swallowed and moved closer to the railing. He even leaned dangerously over the railing for a better look, and his fears were confirmed.

One of the repaired meshes of the net had broken again. The fish behind it wriggled and struggled against their prison, but they couldn't get out because a pale human hand and tattooed forearm was stuck through the hole.

CHAPTER 2

A harsh wind was still blowing along the coast as Police Inspector Enna Koopmann got out of her red Polo. She had parked right in front of the harbor, which lay before her in the gray morning light. A number of fishermen were going about their business; some were carrying crates, some were unloading their catch, others were repairing damage to their boats, but everything seemed subdued, almost as if enveloped in a silent fog.

The news of Dirk Matthiesen's catch had already spread like wildfire.

A body, Berger had told her. Fortunately, Berger had had the presence of mind to listen to Matthiesen's call and instruct the fisherman to leave the catch untouched. But he had probably figured that out himself. Anyone who owned a television and watched it every so often knew from countless crime thrillers that you shouldn't touch a corpse that was clearly recognizable as such, or any evidence might be destroyed. Wonder when they’ll get here.

Enna pushed the thought aside; there was nothing she could do about it. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts – today she wore blue socks with fried eggs on them – and made her way over to Matthiesen's berth.

She spotted the boat from a distance. Several fishermen had gathered on the dock to catch a glimpse of the dead woman.

Enna was immediately annoyed and quickened her pace. "Hey!" she called while still a ways off. "Don't you have things to do?"

The men looked at her with annoyance at first, but then they recognized the local policewoman and the crowd dispersed.

Two men remained. Enna guessed that one of them was Matthiesen.

She stopped in front of them and pulled out her ID. Still annoyed by the onlookers, she looked at them. "Did you all come to see the body?" she asked gruffly.

One of them shrugged. "You don't see something like that every day."

Enna snorted. "Have you ever heard of peace for the dead? And respect?"

The man shrugged again, then gave the other a friendly pat on the shoulder and walked away.

Enna watched him go and shook her head. She said to the other man: "So you're Dirk Matthiesen?"

The bearded man in the oiled coat just nodded.

"Good. And you fished a dead woman out of the sea this morning?"

"I've never had a catch like that."

Enna could believe it. "Let's go take a look."

He pursed his lips and led Enna over a swaying metal plank onto the boat. BERTA was written on the hull. The paint was peeling in several places. There was a strong smell of fish and seaweed that made Enna feel a little sick, but she fought back the nausea and followed Matthiesen around the small captain's cabin to the winch. A bulging net hung there.

Enna studied it for a few seconds before she spotted the protruding, tattooed arm between the bodies of the fish. And then the woman's face, half covered by a shimmering mackerel. Dark hair clung to her cheeks like seaweed.

Enna took a deep breath. "Can you bring in the catch?"

Matthiesen hesitated, wrinkling his nose. "I'd hate to do that," he said. "A dead body on your boat is not a good thing."

Enna raised an eyebrow. "Superstitious?"

"No, but I have my limits."

"I see. Bring her in anyway, please. We can't leave her like that, let alone free her."

Matthiesen pressed his lips together, but he turned on the winch motor and did as the policewoman had asked.

Enna watched curiously as he brought the catch up to the level of the railing, then over it, and finally winched it in.

"Careful now," Enna warned. She wanted to have the body as little damaged as possible, although there was probably plenty of damage already. Nils was going to have fun.

Matthiesen, in the meantime, proceeded very carefully, lowering the catch gently onto the deck. The net spread out in front of them. A few fish were still struggling, but most were already dead.

"Shall I open it?"

"Yes, please."

Enna watched as the fisherman untied a knot in a thinner rope, sending the catch spilling out onto the deck. A wave of silver fish came all the way up to Enna's feet.

She cursed and stepped back. She’d never be able to get the stench out of her sneakers.

"Careful," Matthiesen warned, deftly stepping between fish in his knee-high boots to get to the body.

Enna grumbled and followed. There was no avoiding it.

The body lay on its side among the mackerel and pollack. It was a disturbing sight, because, to Enna's surprise, the woman was completely naked. A large tattoo adorned her arm, extending from her shoulder to her back. Other symbols were imprinted on her skin, but they were oddly jumbled. It looked ... strange.

Then Enna realized why. They weren't all tattoos. Some of the symbols were painted on. Enna recognized the black paint, since it was used by the German Lifeguard Association. When they competed in the water, they weren't allowed to wear bibs, so they wrote their numbers directly on their skin with waterproof marker.

This looked similar, except that someone had drawn intricate lines and symbols on the skin of the dead woman.

I wonder what it means.

Matthiesen beside her was probably wondering the same thing, as his eyes met Enna's. "Looks ... bizarre."

"Yes, it does. Do you know the dead woman?"

The fisherman shook his head. "Never seen her before."

"Where did you fish her out of the water?"

"Good question. I noted the GPS coordinates when I discovered the body, but how long she had been in the net ... no idea."

"Can you tell me the distance traveled?" Pavel would certainly want to know. Hopefully he wouldn't come up with theories about currents this time.

"Sure. I'll give you the GPS coordinates of the route."

"Good. Did you notice anything else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, anything out of the ordinary? A boat or something? The lady must have gotten out to sea somehow." And she probably hadn’t been there too long, Enna added mentally. The body wasn't bloated yet. She guessed that the woman hadn't been in the water for more than a few hours, but Nils would be able to tell her more. However, she didn't know how this was connected to the storm. Had she been surprised by it? Also unlikely. She wouldn't have gone naked into the sea during a storm.

You might swim naked at the beach, but not in a storm.

"No," Matthiesen replied quietly. "I didn't notice anything. It was the same as always."

"All right, then. Thank you."

Enna bent over the corpse for a moment, but even up close, it revealed nothing more to her.

"And now?" asked Matthiesen.

"Let's wait for the coroner and the forensic pathologist." They would be able to gather more information. Hopefully.

The fisherman puffed out his cheeks. "And what about my catch? I'll have to write it off, won't I?"

"Probably."

"Shit," he said, pulling cigarettes out of his pocket. "And the day started so well."

Enna raised her hands apologetically as she waded back out from among the silver fish. "That's how it is sometimes."

"Yeah," he grumbled, lighting his cigarette. "That's how it is." The wind tore the smoke from his lips and blew it away in thin threads.

* * *

Pavel spotted Enna's red Polo from a distance. As always, it was parked in the no-parking zone right in front of the harbor. He couldn't help but shake his head and smile.

Then he saw Nils Kessler's black sedan. The forensic pathologist in the woolly hat and dark coat was already walking along the pier. He was carrying his silver case.

Pavel pursed his lips. He had hoped to inspect the body before Kessler did, but the man had probably flown in on a private jet. Okay, that wasn't fair. Pavel himself had been unreachable this morning because he'd left his cell phone in his jacket pocket the night before. It was only when Berger stood in front of his door calling that he heard the cell phone.

Pavel started to pedal again, heading down from the dike to the harbor on Heino. The salty wind puffed out his jacket and played with his thinning hair.

He pedaled on, past the Polo, past the sedan, and along the pier with his bicycle chain squeaking. There were piles of seagull droppings all over the place. It was an interesting detail that Pavel hadn't noticed before. It seemed to fit the mood of the day.

Pavel accelerated again and arrived next to a fishing boat called Berta at the same time as Nils Kessler.

The forensic pathologist paused and looked at Pavel with a frown. "Does this look represent your way of working?"

Pavel dismounted, lowered the squeaky kickstand, and stood Heino safely up on it. "What do you mean?"

Kessler raised his eyebrows in that signature way he seemed to love. "Are you kidding, Neuhof?"

Pavel threw up his hands apologetically. "Not at all, Kessler. I really don't understand your question. I⁠—"

"Hey, you two!" Enna appeared at the railing and waved to them. "Glad you're finally here."

Kessler mumbled something unintelligible and made his way up the plank to the boat.

Pavel waved back at Enna, then followed closely behind Kessler.

* * *

"Clean." Kessler had maneuvered between the fish and examined the dead woman. His eyes were narrowed to slits.

Pavel nudged Enna in the side. He asked quietly, "What does he mean, clean?"

Enna waved him off and asked the forensic pathologist, "You can't say what the cause of death was without an autopsy, can you?"

"No. But there doesn't appear to be any external violence this time. She has a number of wounds, but at first glance, they look post-mortem. Probably caused by the net."

"Is it that easy to see?"

"Yes. Without circulation, there are no hematomas. So the injuries look different. But what I find strange," he opened one of the dead woman's eyes with his gloved fingers, "is the dilation of the pupils."

Pavel stepped closer and examined the dilated eye. "Mydriasis," he said. "A normal process after death."

A brief, indecipherable look from Kessler. "True, Neuhof, but mydriasis can be caused by several factors, including chemical changes in the body after death and the effects of drugs or stress before death."

Pavel smiled. "So we'll get a toxicology report this time?"

"You're into that, aren't you?"

Pavel instinctively stepped aside and looked at the ground, then caught himself and raised his index finger. "Couldn't you just answer my questions objectively?"

Kessler turned away and checked the second eye for dilation.

Enna sighed loudly. "I have a suggestion, gentlemen."

Pavel and Kessler answered in unison, "Yes?"

Enna smiled. "How about the three of us go to the Deichkante sometime?"

Kessler burst out laughing. "With him? I don't think so."

Enna's face darkened. "But it would be good, Nils, if you two could get along better."

Pavel started to answer, but Enna cut him off. "He's not that bad. You just have to accept him as he is."

"Really? Do I have to? I don't think so."

Pavel started to say something a second time, but Enna beat him to it again. "What is it with these symbols and lines, anyway?"

Kessler shrugged. "That's a very interesting question. We have a few classic tattoos here. But the rest look like ordinary waterproof markers."

Pavel studied the symbols. He couldn't categorize them. They reminded him of Germanic runes, but there were Celtic influences as well, and he thought he might even recognize an Arabic style.

Enna also leaned over the dead woman and studied the symbols. "Quite intricately drawn. She probably didn't do it herself."

"Unlikely," Kessler confirmed. "You can't get that close to the upper arm yourself – at least not with this quality. Someone almost certainly did it for her."

"Postmortem or premortem?" asked Pavel.

Kessler looked at him again with an inscrutable expression. Then, to Pavel's surprise, he asked: "What do you think?"

"I think both are within the realm of possibility. The color is quite vivid, so it's not old. I suspect it was applied close to the time of death. In any case, it would be important to know, because whether someone is decorating a corpse or a living person makes a significant difference in terms of motivation. Do you have a hypothesis?"

Kessler shook his head. "Hopefully the autopsy will answer that."

Enna pointed to a symbol above the woman's bare breast. "That symbol looks familiar."

Pavel and Kessler both shook their heads.

"Never seen it before," Kessler said.

And Pavel: "What do you associate with it?"

"I have no idea. I can't say. It's like something is itching at the back of my brain, but I can't reach it.”

"Interesting image." Pavel took out his cell phone and snapped some pictures of the symbols. He was about to move the dead woman's arm to get more pictures of the symbols, but Kessler intervened.

"Stop that! You'll get all the symbols in razor-sharp focus. On Monday."

Before Pavel could reply, Nils pushed aside more of the fish, which were starting to smell, and opened his suitcase. "Will you leave me alone now? I have work to do."

Pavel started to object, but Enna was already pulling him away. "Good luck, Nils!" she called to the forensic pathologist.

He mumbled something unintelligible and took his SLR camera out of its case.

* * *

When they were out of earshot, Pavel asked: "I don't understand Kessler! How do you get along with him?"

Enna shrugged. "Nils is usually a really nice guy. And he does a good job. I don't understand why you have a problem with him."

What kind of question was that? Kessler was clearly attacking him and not taking him seriously.

"Because he doesn't do what⁠—"

"You want?" Enna curled her lips into a pout. "You should work on that, Pavel. There are several ways to get what you want. With Nils, you need patience and kind words. Two qualities you lack."

Pavel furrowed his brow. Patience was his middle name. The term kind was less familiar to him. They were all here to solve the mystery of a dead woman, not to exchange kind words. But Enna liked to mix things up, so he sighed and conceded defeat. "I suppose you could be right. I'll make more of an effort."

"That's good."

They had reached his bike. Pavel picked it up off the stand and pushed it along beside them.

Not far away, a seagull sat on a salt-crusted wooden post sticking out of the water. It seemed to be watching the two inspectors suspiciously.

"What do you make of those symbols?" Enna asked, suddenly changing the subject.

Pavel pulled out his cell phone with one hand and pulled up the pictures. He scrolled through them one by one on the screen. When he reached the last one, he shrugged. "It's hard to say. But it's an important piece of the puzzle. If we can solve it, we'll certainly be a big step closer. I’ll run the images through the recognition AI back at the office. Maybe we'll find out what they mean soon. Did that itchy idea pop into your head again?"

Pavel imagined an idea materializing in the back of his mind that he had to scratch.

"Unfortunately not," Enna said.

"Too bad. But it may come back. What's right will come back, my grandmother used to say. First I thought of Germanic runes. Then the Celts, and even the Moors."

"The Moors? What made you think of them?"

"Those decorations. They almost look like the reliefs in the Alhambra in Spain. Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"It's worth a trip."

He imagined himself biking all the way to Andalusia on Heino with Enna on his back.

"I'm more into good food and wine."

"Spain has that too." Pavel smiled and stopped Heino next to Enna's Polo. "Would you check the identity of the deceased?"

"And what will you do? Follow the symbolism?"

That had indeed been his plan. Pavel smiled. He was in the mood for a mystery. "You know me better than I thought."

His good mood was obviously contagious, because now Enna was smiling too. "You love riddles, don't you?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I love riddles."

"Then let's solve this one."

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