A Cold Mountain
Chapter 5
by Daniel Pears, published on September 3, 2000
August 29 2000, the afternoon, Nymphenburgstrasse, Munich, Germany
Founded by the Hohenstaufen emperor Frederick Barbarossa, ruled by the Wittelsbach dynasty for 700 years, remembered for the extravagance of Ludwig II and as the site of Hitler's rise to power in the twentieth century, Munich today is one of the most fascinating and culturally enriching cities in Europe. The area around Munich is a jewel with mountains, lakes, fairy-tale castles and wintersport centres.
It was the worst time of year in Munich, when the tourists were in bloom. The cafés along Nymphenburgstrasse were packed with young Americans and globetrotting Australians. You could see them everywhere, posing for the world, forcing on passers-by the illusion that they were Bavarians born and bred and that they sat in those same cafés, at those same tables, in those same wicker chairs, day in, day out, the length and breadth of the Munich year. The city was theirs for a season, to have as they had never had a city, to sashay through by day and cruise by night, to inhabit in all its brightness and greyness and long summer loneliness. Russel Frey in his innocence would never have guessed, unless he had overheard one or other of them speaking English. He did not come to Hufeisen, one of the finest restaurants in Nymphenburgstrasse to be seen or to watch others. To be honest, he hardly noticed what was going on around him. While he sipped the small coffee in front of him, his eyes were glued to his laptop and to a book he had put on the table. Russel was 52. He wore a grubby white shirt and dark brown corduroy trousers. The pub was two blocks from his hotel. Russel landed in Munich at half past noon and after a long drive up the Autobahn, looking for the right exit, tired and stressed out, he reached Hotel Montree in Dachauerstrasse. As soon as he checked in and put his luggage in his room, he headed directly to Nymphenburgstrasse in order to find a nice place where he could have a decent meal and a cold drink. The street offered a huge number of shops, restaurants and historical buildings. Russel motioned to one of the waiters, paid end left the restaurant. He walked down the street, examining from time to time some of the shop displays.
When Russel reached the corner of Nymphenburgstrasse and Sandstrasse, he looked at his watch, making a wide arc with his arm. Ten to four. And the man he came to meet expects him only by half past six. Russel decided to go to one of Sandstrasse's pubs. He pointed to a bottle of Steinhäger on the centre shelf and said. "Give me one of those, would you? That's it, the fellow just behind you; some of your local poison." He opened his wallet and took out a banknote. In the cellophane compartment there was a photograph of a woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties. "My daughter," he explained to the barman, and the barman gave a watery smile. Russel emptied his drink and put it on the bar.
-"Another drink?" The barman asked.
-"No, but you have one. Go on, have one yourself."
The barman reluctantly gave himself a drink, locked the bottle away. He finished his drink, washed the empty glass, dried it and put it on the shelf under the counter. Russel turned away, nodded distantly and strode out of the bar. The barman watched him push his way through the door and disappear down the street. A very distasteful man, he reflected; but then he never had liked the English.
Russel reached Nymphenburgstrasse again and climbed down the stairs leading to the underground station. A group of children in school caps had gathered at the long quay. Russel gazed dully past them. A boy turned around, stared at him, blushed and whispered to the other children. They fell silent. Russel consulted the timetable and looked at his watch, the same wide gesture. The car was twenty-five minutes late. They would have to announce the reason soon over the loudspeaker. He wondered what they would say. They probably didn't even know and they certainly would not admit. The loudspeaker was humming; it blared suddenly, faded out and began again, properly tuned. The children stared expectantly at it. The underground's authorities regretted the delay. No hint of how long, no hint why. Russel hated waiting. He had a notion that people who waited were people of no substance; it was an affront to be seen waiting. He pursed his lips, shook his head, and stepped abruptly out of the station.
Russel walked up Nymphenburgstrasse and entered Loristrasse towards his hotel. I would catch a cab from there and head to my rendezvous, he thought. Russel hastened his uncertain step. The street was amazingly deserted. He had been walking about five minutes when a car caught him up. He didn't look over his shoulder because he was a shy man in his way and did not want to give the impression of asking his way or a lift. The car halted a few steps ahead, a tall figure emerged and stepped towards him.
-"Good evening, Dr. Frey. How nice to see you again," the man smiled.
"Excuse me," Russel said, startled. "Do I know you?"
-"We have seen each other on several occasions. How pity you don't seem to recall me." Suddenly the man was at his side, nearly attached to his left elbow. "It's a beautiful evening and the city is so perfect for a late walk.
-"Yes, well it's been nice meeting you", Russel said.
-"You shouldn't have left Cambridge, Doctor. Your daughter must be very worried."
Russel's back and neck stiffened. "What are you talking about? Don't you dare mentioning my daughter again. She has nothing to do with it." He shoved the man away with his left elbow and then quickened his pace. He was only a block from Dachauerstrasse. The man kept up with him easily. He was larger, more athletic than Russel had noticed first. "Get away go!" He shouted. Suddenly, Russel had both fists raised and clasped tightly. This was insane! The man swung out and knocked him down. He did it easily, as if it were nothing at all. Russel's pulse was racing rapidly. He dropped his laptop down but was still holding the book. He couldn't see very well out of his left eye, where he'd been struck. "Are you insane? What are you doing?"
His aggressor retrieved a pocket knife with his right hand and showed it to Russel. "This is the sword," he paused for a short while and then continued. "And this is the punishment." Saying that he covered Russel's mouth with his left hand and stabbed him twice in the throat with the right one, holding the knife. A gush of blood burst from Russel's throat and mouth as the man pulled out the knife. Russel clutched at his throat, trying to hold in the blood that seemed to come boiling out through his fingers. His left hand was still holding the book. "I don't think you should need this type of lecture any longer, Doctor." The aggressor tried to take the book from Russel, but the poor man was holding it firmly, as in a last desperate move. The aggressor laughed and stabbed Russel once again right in the heart. The doctor's eyes wide opened in astonishment and then his body collapsed.
The man checked Russel's pulse and then took his victim's wallet and watch. Then, he grabbed the laptop and the book. A piece of page got detached from it during the fight, but the man did not notice it. "Well, Doctor," the murderer smiled. "The game is over, I guess." He then kicked Russel's belly one last time and headed quickly towards the car.
August 29 2000, the evening, Loristrasse, Munich, Germany
The seductively chic shops along Nymphenburgstrasse lured tourists and local people alike. Murders weren't supposed to happen here. Clerks from the expensive shops were the first to leave their posts hurriedly walk or run toward Loristrasse. They wanted to see the murderer, or at least his handiwork with their own eyes. Shoppers and even owners left the fashionable clothing shops and cafés. If they didn't walk up the street, they at least looked to where several police cars parked. Loristrasse was now blocked off and completely barricaded to traffic. Inspector Erwin Oberg abandoned his car and walked the rest of the way to the crime scene, his feet pounding heavily on the sidewalk stones.
At the entrance to the street stood a young officer in uniform. Oberg took a last draw on his cigarette and flicked it away. As he approached, the young officer raised his hand."Excuse me, sir, no one is allowed in." Oberg retrieved his ID and showed it to the policeman. "I am sorry, inspector, I didn't know it was you. Sergeant Linge is expecting you."
-"Your name, officer?" Oberg had a soft voice.
-"Shültze Kraus, sir," the policeman replied, eager to show respect.
-"Show me the way, Kraus." As they were walking, Oberg asked. "Who found the body?"
-"The owner of a local butcher's shop. Officer Gotenland is interrogating him now."
-"Good. I might want to see him later. Ask him not to leave his shop."
-"Yes, inspector, sir." The young officer calmly nodded. Police cruiser and ambulance sirens were wailing everywhere on the familiar street. High above the eerie scene, pigeons fluttered and squawked. They seemed to want to see the crime as well. "Here we are, sir," the officer said.
-"Thank you," Oberg waved him off.
A sergeant with puffy green-black parka came waddling up to Oberg as he approached the yellow crime-scene tape. Both his hands were jammed in his pockets for warmth. "Good evening, Inspector Oberg." He cracked his lower jaw the way some people do when they are trying to clear their ears in airplanes. "It's not a pretty sight, that's for sure. Please, follow me, sir." They walked toward the crime-scene. "The body was found about two hours ago. We were contacted by Joseph Müller, a local butcher's shop owner. He discovered the body when he was closing his shop for the night. He called us immediately."
-"No one heard anything? No witnesses at all?"
-"I'm afraid so. We have not found any witnesses so far. However, I've sent our guys to the neighbouring streets and shops. Perhaps they would come up with something."
Oberg nodded approvingly and both men stepped towards a grey hair man that stood next to body laying on the floor.
-"Good evening, Erwin."
-"Good evening, Hans." Hans Eisler had been Munich Polizei's pathologist for many years. Oberg deeply respected him for his sense of humour and professionalism.
-"Time to party," Eisler jerked awake. He gave Oberg a glare.
-"Save your barrack-room humour for those who appreciate it," the investigator laughed.
-"Remer, come over here!" Linge yelled.
-"Who's he?" Oberg asked.
-"The photographer," the sergeant said.
A young thin man approached the small group. "Hello everyone," he greeted them. "If you want me to take a nice picture of you three, just tell me."
-"Shut up Remer," Linge said. "We are in a middle of an investigation here, for God's sake."
Oberg ignored the photographer and slithered down to inspect the corpse. It was an middle-aged body, .arms flung wide, head titled back. One eye was screwed shut, the other squinted balefully at the sky. He had high cheekbones, full lips that had already turned purplish. His mouth was stretched open in a scream. His shirt and trousers were socked with blood. At this moment, the flash of the camera popped, freezing the scene for an instant. "I want another picture here", Oberg pointed, "and another one here." The camera flashed twice more. Oberg bent down and grasped the body under the armpits. The flesh was still warm. "Herr Doctor. Your opinion, please."
With a sight irritation, Eisler daintily stepped forward, removing the glove from one hand. He pressed hard on the chest with his fist. Blood gushed from the mouth and bubbled out of the nostrils. He took out a pocket recorder and began to put down his first observations. "Homicide case H234 914. A man, about 50 years old. No rigor mortis. Dead three hours. Maybe less." He pulled his glove back on.
-"What else have you learnt so far, Herr Doctor?" Oberg asked.
-"Well, there are multiple stab wounds or what we, pathologists, call 'patterns of rage'". The doctor pointed to the neck. "He was stabbed twice in the neck with a small cutting instrument. Perhaps a pocket knife. From the angle of the cuts I would say the murderer is right-handed. As you can see, gentlemen, the skin cuts in the front of the neck shows distinct ecchymosis. The air passage was cut at the lower part of the larynx through the cricoid cartilage." He turned to Oberg. "He was also stubbed in the heart. I might be wrong, of course, but I would suggest the heart wound caused the death of the poor man. Death was instantaneous."
The inspector gestured to Remer. "Take two more pictures. One of the neck and another one of chest."
Looking down at the corpse, Oberg lit a cigarette. Then he squatted on his haunches and stared into the single open eye. He stayed that way for a long while. The camera flashed twice. "Thank you, Remer," Oberg said, then he turned to Linge. "Do we know who the victim was?"
-"No, identification. No wallet as well. We don't know whether he was German or a foreign tourist. Our guys are showing photos of the victim to some people around. Someone might recognise him. We are also contacting some of the city's hotels. Perhaps our man checked in to one of them." He paused. "Still, we have found something that might turn out to be of some importance."
-"What?"
-"A business card." The sergeant retrieved a small plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over to the inspector. "There might be some fingerprints on it."
Oberg gazed at the business card. "It reads 'Gabriel Knight- Schattenjäger'. No phone number. Only an address. Who the hell is he?"
-"I called the police station ten minutes ago and asked them to check it down." He paused. "Do you think that he our man fell victim to a robbery?"
-"Might be," Oberg seemed lost in thoughts. "Perhaps a drug-addict in a desperate need for easy money. However, the way he was killed seems suspicious. Did a thief really have to stab him three times. Usually they merely knock their victim down."
-"Perhaps he tried to resist," Linge suggested.
-"Herr Doctor," Oberg turned to Eisler. "Do you think that the victim fought his aggressor back."
-"I'm afraid I'll have to carry out a thorough examination of the body before I answer that, Erwin."
-"I see. You can take him to the morgue now. We don't have to keep him here any longer."
-"I'll be in touch with you." The doctor shook his hand and stepped towards the ambulance.
-"Have you come by some evidence, sergeant? Beside the business card, that is to say." Oberg asked.
-"Yes. We found several pieces of what seems to be part of the remains of an electronic device of some sort. Perhaps a cellular telephone, a walkman or a portable computer. I'm not an expert."
-"Anything else?"
-"We also came by a paper. It was found beneath the left foot of the victim." He retrieved another small plastic bag from his pocket. "Page 236. No title above." He handed it over to Oberg.
The inspector examined the paper and began to read it aloud. "Now as soon as the army had no more people to slay or to plunder, because there remained none to be the objects of their fury, (for they would not have spared any, had there remained any other work to be done,) Caesar gave orders that they should now demolish the entire city and temple, but should leave as many of the towers standing as were of the greatest eminency." He handed it back to Linge. "I have no idea what this is about. The name of Caesar is mentioned. I'm not sure it's related to the murder itself. Seems pretty vague. We should ask someone at the University of Munich."
The sergeant checked his watch and retrieved his radio. "Officer Hagen. Officer Hagen. This is Sergeant Linge. Over."
-"What can I do for you, sergeant?" Came a reply.
-"Have you checked down the name I gave you earlier? The name was Gabriel Knight."
-"Just a moment, sir," the officer replied. "Yes, sergeant. I have it right here."
-"Well?"
-"Apparently the guy is a local celebrity. He took part in the investigation of the famous werewolf killings two years ago. I'm reading here that he helped Commissar Leber in apprehending the killers. He's an American writer, by the way. Over"
-"Thank you, Hagen," the sergeant turned off the radio.
-"The werewolf killings?" Oberg raised his voice. "Yes. I remember that case. It was terrible. Mutilated bodies were discovered, among them the one of a small girl. Can we reach the Commissar Leber?"
-"He retired last year."
-"Is he still in Munich?"
-"I think he moved to Heidelberg."
-"Well, never mind. We can always call him if we need to. Where can we find this Herr Knight?"
-"The business card says Rittersberg. It's a small village located on the mountain plateau between Lake Starnberg and Rosenheim."
-"Well, sergeant," Oberg smiled. "I think we should pay a visit to this Schattenjäger guy. After all, we don't want to face mutilated corpses again, do we?"
-"You think he might be involved in this murder?"
-"Who knows, Linge? We might be lucky this time." He walked down the street and suddenly turned around. "By the way, call officer Gotenland and tell him to free the butcher. We don't need him for the time being. Ask him to put the man's testimony on my desk."
Last update: October 24, 2007
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