The Body on the Beach Read online

  ‘Thanks, we’ll be fine,’ Lena replied with a professional smile.

  ‘Good, that’s good,’ Reimers replied awkwardly. ‘Needless to say, I’m at your disposal any time regarding the case. I know the island well and’ – he paused for effect – ‘I’d imagine my company might be quite useful. People here can be rather stand-offish, especially with strangers . . .’

  Lena rose to her feet. ‘If we need assistance, we know where to find you.’

  Reimers looked irritated. ‘As you wish.’ He stood up also and held out his hand to Lena. ‘Looking forward to working with you.’ He nodded at Johann and led the way to the door.

  Back in the car, Johann asked, ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘An overly welcoming sergeant with sweaty palms,’ said Lena, driving back out on to the main road.

  ‘Some information about the island?’ asked Lena, and continued without waiting for a reply. ‘You’ve already seen Wittdün. The village came into existence alongside the ferry terminal; the port used to be farther north in Steenodde. Here we find ourselves in Nebel, which means fog but has nothing to do with the fact that it’s often foggy. As you can see, there are still plenty of old Frisian houses with thatched roofs in Nebel, not all of them actually old, but that’s a different story. Sailors from Amrum travelled all around the world, many of them on whaling missions. The most successful among them – captains, mainly – competed with one another over who could build the most beautiful house here in Nebel, while the less successful stayed out at sea – and that’s how Nebel gradually grew bigger. The northernmost village is Norddorf. It’s the most touristy of all, with restaurants, cafés, hotels, B&Bs – you name it. Luckily, Amrum folk kept large-scale tourism out for as long as they could, which is why you won’t find any architectural eyesores like you do on Sylt. The biggest attraction here is the Kniepsand, a huge beach on the west coast, almost a mile wide in places. It’s actually a sandbank. You’ll see it tomorrow.’

  They were nearing the next village and passed a sign reading Norddorf. Johann entered the address of the guest house into the satnav and started the navigation.

  ‘Just to be sure,’ he said. ‘And we need to pick the keys up too.’

  Their first destination was a small café in the heart of the village. Johann got out and returned a few minutes later. He handed Lena a key. ‘I asked for two, so we can be independent of each other.’

  Lena started the engine and was directed through Norddorf by the pleasant voice from the satnav. Eventually, they reached an intersection; straight ahead of them a dirt road led into the conservation area. They turned left and, as they passed the last house, the voice told them to take a sandy road. A minute or two later, Lena drew up outside a small Frisian house with a thatched roof.

  ‘Nice,’ she said, switching off the ignition. ‘And so close to the beach. I hope you packed your trunks?’

  ‘Is the North Sea warm enough yet?’ Johann asked doubtfully.

  ‘Depends on how sensitive you are. When I was a child, we went swimming in May if the weather was fine – never for long, though,’ she said, grinning, and opened her door. ‘Shall we?’

  The red-brick house with its white-painted wooden window frames looked newly renovated. Lena remembered that an old woman with no relatives had once lived here. In such cases the property passed into the ownership of the state. A wise decision, thought Lena, as they entered the house. The interior had also been restored with a light hand, preserving the character of the old place. Apart from a kitchen, there was a kind of study as well as a small sitting room.

  Johann left the larger bedroom to Lena, which she accepted without comment.

  ‘I need to stretch my legs,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Seven o’clock?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  ‘If you’re hungry, I recommend the Strandhalle beach restaurant. Go back to the road and you’ll be there in two minutes.’

  He looked at her expectantly.

  ‘The salty North Sea breeze and a walk on the Kniepsand will do me,’ she said, laughing. ‘I need to watch my figure.’

  She closed her bedroom door and opened the window. It was a good-sized room. Aside from the double bed and a large wardrobe, there was a seating area with two armchairs and a small table. Lena put down her bag, pulled the P2000 Heckler & Koch from its holster and placed it on the bedside table before sinking down on to the mattress and gazing up at the ceiling.

  The oppressive feeling hadn’t let up during the drive across the island. But now, in this entirely unfamiliar room, she started to relax a little. Lena hoped a walk on the beach would do her good. If there was anything about Amrum she’d missed, it was the Kniepsand, with its endlessly wide expanse of beach.

  She checked her phone. It was just past six o’clock. There wouldn’t be many holidaymakers left on the beach at this hour, and if she avoided the Strandhalle, she could walk for hours without running into anyone. She leapt off the bed and walked out of the room.

  ‘Lena?’ came a male voice from the door.

  She turned. Erck had hardly aged in the fourteen years since their last meeting, except that the lanky body of the youth had given way to a stronger, more manly stature. His eyes hadn’t lost the glow that had bewitched her all those years ago.

  Erck had seemingly appeared from nowhere. She guessed he must have been in one of the beach huts they’d passed on their way. Those huts – technically illegal – were tolerated by the council as long as they were entirely constructed from driftwood and other beach detritus. Most of the huts were creative constructions that had to be resurrected each summer. Some beach hut builders buried their materials in the autumn and dug them out again in early summer.

  ‘I was helping friends rebuild their beach hut,’ Erck said in response to Lena’s look of surprise. ‘Since when are you back on the island?’

  Lena slowly recovered from the initial shock of seeing him. ‘Not very long,’ she murmured.

  ‘I can’t believe we ran into each other right away,’ Erck said with excitement. He stepped towards her to take her in his arms. ‘Don’t be angry with me,’ he whispered, ‘but I need to do this.’ After a few moments, he took a step back and studied her face. ‘You’re even more beautiful than you used to be.’

  Lena smiled in spite of herself. ‘And you’re an even bigger charmer than you were fourteen years ago.’

  ‘Has it been that long?’

  Lena didn’t reply. At least Erck didn’t seem to bear her any grudge. Her sudden departure from Amrum had been her only option back then.

  ‘How long are you staying?’ asked Erck, still looking amazed at Lena’s sudden reappearance.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Has something happened to your father? No, I would have heard. Or Beke?’

  ‘No, I’m here for work.’

  ‘Hein Bohlen? Are you investigating his death? Strange, I thought you were with the CID in Kiel. Or—’

  ‘I am,’ she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds serious. I heard via the grapevine that it might not have been a heart attack after all. But . . .’ He paused. ‘Murder? Here on Amrum?’

  ‘I can’t talk about it.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Sorry. But . . . are you going to have any spare time? Have you eaten? We could—’

  ‘Erck, I’m sorry. I need to go over the files.’

  ‘Dammit.’

  Lena could tell how disappointed he was.

  ‘How about tomorrow or the next day?’

  Lena hesitated. ‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea . . .’

  Their eyes met.

  ‘The Lena I knew wasn’t afraid of anything. What’s the worst that could happen? I’m sorry, but you won’t get away from me that easily again. Tomorrow or the next day? I’d prefer tomorrow.’

  Lena sighed. ‘I’ll think about it, OK?’

  Erck pulled a pen from his pocket, grasped her hand, and scrawled a number on her palm. �
��Call me?’

  Lena hesitated for a few moments, then nodded.

  4

  Lena walked into the small kitchen the next morning to find Johann at the stove, pouring water into the coffee filter. A basket with four bread rolls sat on the table, together with butter, jam, ham and cheese.

  ‘I went shopping last night,’ Johann said when he saw Lena looking at the table.

  ‘Moin, moin,’ she said in greeting and sat down at the table. ‘Looks good.’

  Johann dumped the filter in the sink and brought the pot of coffee to the table.

  ‘Black, thanks,’ Lena said with a smile.

  Johann sat down too. ‘You do eat breakfast, don’t you?’

  ‘I will today,’ she replied, helping herself to a roll.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Johann once he’d poured coffee for them both.

  ‘Hein Bohlen was found by two holidaymakers. I’m guessing they’ve left the island by now.’

  ‘As indeed they have – I checked yesterday. They live in Hanover. I asked the local station for support. One of my former classmates from college is a constable there and he was going to pay them a visit and get back to me today.’

  ‘That’s great – only, what would the poor people from Hanover have said if I’d sent someone along too?’

  ‘OK, my mistake,’ Johann replied after a brief pause, a blush spreading across his features. ‘I should have let you know yesterday.’

  ‘Everything’s hard at the start, like my Aunt Beke always says.’

  Johann punched the address of the children’s home into the satnav.

  ‘I think I can manage without that,’ Lena said and started the car.

  The drive through Norddorf didn’t make her feel as uncomfortable as it had the day before. Erck popped into her thoughts. She’d saved the number he’d written on her hand on to her phone. Her thoughts had kept drifting to her first love while she was studying the case file last night. Fourteen years ago, she’d begged him to come with her, even though she knew how attached he was to this patch of dirt in the middle of the North Sea. A week before she was due to leave Amrum for good, he’d told her amid tears that he was going to stay on the island.

  ‘Inspector – I mean, Lena, what do you think about Sabine Bohlen?’ asked Johann as they drew near the children’s home.

  ‘Well, she asked for a post-mortem. You wouldn’t do that if you were the murderer, would you?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She might have been afraid the truth would come out later so did it as a measure of precaution, so to speak? And the likelihood of a post-mortem actually happening seemed very small.’

  That’s precisely what had been bothering Lena ever since her conversation with DSU Warnke, but not so much because of the widow herself. After the death certificate was issued, together with the plausible explanation of a previous illness, there should have been no reason to conduct a post-mortem, but nonetheless the Flensburg headquarters had taken the initiative. Lena wondered whether the reason was indeed Sabine Bohlen’s doubt over the cause of her husband’s death, or if there was something else.

  ‘We’ll see. Did you call ahead, Johann?’

  He nodded. Lena could tell he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with them addressing each other by their first names.

  She parked in front of the children’s home. The two-storey brick building with its black roof tiles lay east of Norddorf. Lena estimated that someone could walk briskly over to the mudflats on the eastern shore in a little over two minutes.

  The two detectives climbed out of the car. The door opened as they walked up towards the entrance, and a woman of around forty with short black hair came out to greet them. She was, Lena guessed, around five foot two, and she wore jeans and a baggy grey shirt which concealed her figure.

  Lena held out her hand to the woman. ‘Good morning. I’m Detective Inspector Lorenzen, CID Kiel, and this is DS Grasmann from Flensburg.’

  ‘Sabine Bohlen. Please come in.’

  They walked down a long corridor with numerous closed doors. A metal sign reading Management hung on the last door. The office was plain, with an old wooden desk and a table with four chairs.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Sabine Bohlen, waiting for Lena and Johann to sit down. ‘Can I offer you something to drink?’

  ‘No, thanks, we’ve just had coffee,’ Lena replied.

  Sabine Bohlen didn’t move, gazing in turn at Johann and Lena, so Lena pulled back a chair and gestured for her to sit.

  ‘We’re investigating the possible murder of your husband,’ Lena said calmly.

  ‘Murder? He didn’t . . . ?’ asked the woman.

  ‘We’re not a hundred per cent sure yet, but there is some evidence to suggest that he didn’t die of natural causes. We’d like your help in reconstructing your husband’s movements on his final day. Let’s start in the morning. What time did you get up?’

  Sabine Bohlen hesitated briefly, then she sighed and said, ‘Same as always. It would have been around half past five. I get breakfast ready for the children, which takes a while. Hein goes . . .’ She swallowed. ‘Hein used to go to the office, start up the computer, check his emails, and so on. Around half past six he’d wake the children and give me a hand. That Tuesday was like any other day . . .’ She stopped.

  ‘So you got out of bed together . . .’ Lena said encouragingly.

  ‘We sleep – used to sleep – in separate bedrooms. I’m a very light sleeper and Hein used to go for walks late in the evening, and sometimes he snored. Not every night, but like I said, I’m a very light sleeper.’

  ‘So the first time you saw your husband that day was in the kitchen?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fairly sure – the same as every day. Of course, sometimes we ran into each other on the way to the bathroom, but that day . . . No, I’m pretty certain that I only saw him once he’d woken the children.’

  ‘And then he helped you with breakfast?’

  ‘No, not that morning. He said there was something he needed to do and went to his office.’

  ‘Do you know what he meant?’

  ‘No. I assumed it was paperwork – there’s always paperwork to sort out. The authorities swamp us with forms and inquiries. The tax office automatically assumes institutions like ours are tax evaders, and the council continuously comes up with ridiculous and time-consuming new regulations. Not to mention the school – looked-after children always get branded as trouble-making welfare cases, no matter how hard the little ones try.’

  Sabine Bohlen glared at the detectives indignantly, as though they were responsible for the unfair treatment of her wards. Her face had turned red. Then she seemed to remember who she was talking to. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a nervous wreck at the moment.’

  ‘Of course. We understand,’ Johann said in gentle tones. ‘Please, tell us what your husband did that morning.’

  Sabine Bohlen took a deep breath. ‘Yes, what did he do? First he drove the children to school and the three little ones to kindergarten. We’ve been driving them ever since a group of youths ambushed our kids on their way to school.’ She sighed. ‘When he returned – wait, no, he didn’t – he went straight to the supermarket and didn’t come back. We handle the cooking ourselves, which means we have to get groceries in every other day. That usually takes between one to two hours. And then . . . he had an appointment, but don’t ask me who with. Most likely with our accountant Tamme Lüschen in Wittdün, but I’m not a hundred per cent on that. I guess Hein was back in time for lunch. And then—’

  Johann asked for the name of the supermarket and whether he could have the receipt. Sabine Bohlen nodded.

  ‘You can’t say for certain whether he came back here after his appointment?’ asked Lena Lorenzen.

  ‘All the days run together in this place. I’m sorry. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Frau Bohlen,’ said Johann in the same friendly tone as before, ‘we’re at the very start of
our investigation and it’s impossible to tell yet which of the many details may prove significant further down the track.’

  Sabine Bohlen gave him a grateful look. She stood up, fetched a piece of paper from her desk and handed it to him. ‘You asked me on the phone to note down my husband’s friends and associates. I hope I haven’t forgotten anyone.’

  Johann Grasmann took the list. ‘Thank you very much. This will make our job so much easier. Now let’s return to your husband’s day. We’ll leave it open for the moment as to whether he was back for lunch or not. You said he took the children to school and kindergarten. Did he pick them up at the end of the day as well?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sabine Bohlen said. ‘Isabel must have done it that day. We have a minibus for that purpose.’

  ‘Isabel?’ asked Lena.

  ‘Our in-house teacher and caregiver, Isabel Müller. She replaced Anna about six months ago.’ Frau Bohlen wrinkled her nose. ‘Anna quit without giving any notice. We were awfully lucky to find Isabel.’

  ‘So . . . your employee picked up the children,’ Lena said. ‘And that afternoon – was your husband back?’

  ‘I can’t tell you with a hundred per cent certainty. He’s usually here because homework time is the most challenging part of our day. Completing high school is the single most important factor in breaking the vicious cycle. Most of our children come from broken families – drugs and alcohol, abuse and unemployment.’

  ‘So your husband’s normally home in the afternoon?’ asked Lena.

  ‘Yes, of course, that’s what I just said,’ Sabine Bohlen snapped. ‘Weren’t you listening?’

  ‘Of course DI Lorenzen is listening,’ Johann said soothingly. ‘It’s simply part of our job to ask for details and make absolutely sure we’ve understood everything correctly.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s like I said – my nerves.’ Sabine Bohlen closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘The afternoon,’ Johann said. ‘How long is homework time usually?’

  ‘We try to be finished by four. The children need time to play and develop their own interests. We want to prepare them for the real world out there and that often has very little to do with school. We try to get them involved in looking after the house and the garden – on a voluntary basis, of course. Taking responsibility for oneself is very, very important to us. They need to decide for themselves how they want to spend their free time and what they might volunteer for. We call it free project work.’