The Body on the Beach Page 7

  ‘Maybe. I’m not sure,’ grumbled Lars Meiners.

  Lena looked around the office. ‘Would you mind if we sit down, please?’

  ‘Why? Is there more to talk about?’

  ‘I’d hardly ask for a seat if there wasn’t,’ Lena said with growing irritation. She gestured towards a table and chairs. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Herr Meiners.’

  Grudgingly, he followed the detectives over. Lena pulled a small recording device from her bag and placed it on the table. ‘You don’t object, do you?’

  ‘What if I did?’ asked Lars Meiners pointedly.

  ‘No problem. We don’t mind continuing this conversation at the station in Husum.’

  ‘Switch it on then.’

  Lena didn’t need to be asked twice. ‘You were about to rethink the question as to whether the TV programme was already over when our colleague called you.’

  Lars Meiners cleared his throat. ‘Like I said, I can’t remember for certain. I think I’d just switched off the TV.’

  ‘And how long had the TV been off?’ asked Johann impatiently.

  ‘Now, listen here, young man—’ began Lars Meiners angrily, but he stopped short when he saw the look on Johann’s face. ‘All right, all right, I’m thinking. Yes, I’m pretty sure the programme had finished.’

  ‘And what did you do afterwards?’

  ‘What do you think? I went to bed – or was on my way, at least. Then the phone rang, and I left a little while after that.’

  ‘A little while? What does that mean?’

  ‘I’ve just about had it with all your questions. You’re twisting my every word. I left to pick up the body. Isn’t that enough?’ Lars Meiners took a deep breath. ‘Why are you asking me all this, dammit? I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘And no one says you have,’ Lena said with a smile. ‘We’re just trying to get everything straight for our records. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I just don’t remember the exact time – that’s no crime, is it?’

  ‘No, of course it isn’t. I think we’ve narrowed down your departure time pretty well. It’ll do for now. Who was at the beach when you arrived?’

  ‘Walter Reimers, of course. And Dr Neumann.’

  ‘You drove the hearse right up to the beach chair and transferred the body into the vehicle?’

  ‘Yes, of course. That’s my job!’ Lars Meiners checked his watch. ‘Is this going to take much longer? I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘What did you do next?’ asked Lena, ignoring his question.

  ‘I drove back here and shifted Herr Bohlen into the refrigerated storage cabinet. And before you ask, after that I finally went to bed.’

  ‘It must have been a long day for you,’ Johann Grasmann said. ‘Tell us, please, about the following day. Did Frau Bohlen come to see her husband one last time?’

  ‘No, I went to see her the following morning to discuss the funeral arrangements. You know – date, coffin and all the rest.’

  ‘How did Frau Bohlen seem to you? Sergeant Reimers had informed her of her husband’s death the night before. How was she coping?’

  Lars Meiners took his time. Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and said, ‘They’re always difficult, those visits right after a family member passes. You don’t want to come at them like a salesman, but it has to be done. Sometimes the family finds it reassuring to do something practical: pick a nice coffin, discuss dates, organise the service.’ Lena noticed that the funeral director was in his element now. ‘You’re asking about Frau Bohlen. She was still in shock, of course, but quite composed, given the circumstances – her husband had died unexpectedly in the night, after all. It’s not like he was very old or very sick. Like I said, it was a good visit. We went over everything. That usually takes around an hour.’

  ‘So you’d say Frau Bohlen’s reaction was as per normal?’ asked Johann.

  ‘Yes, I would. She reacted like anyone else in such a difficult situation would. What more is there to add?’ Lars Meiners flashed an irritated look at Johann as he said this.

  ‘What did you do after your visit to Frau Bohlen?’ asked Lena, drawing his attention back to herself.

  ‘I washed and prepared Herr Bohlen that afternoon. The usual. Two days later, the police came to get him. But you already know that.’

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual about the body?’

  ‘No, and that’s not my job. I’m a funeral director, not a coroner.’

  ‘What did you do with his clothes?’

  ‘Again, the usual. If the next of kin don’t want them back – and generally, they don’t – the clothes go to the Red Cross. They do regular pick-ups.’

  ‘And how was it in this case?’ asked Lena, struggling to remain calm.

  ‘No idea. I’d have to check.’

  ‘Then please go ahead and do so, Herr Meiners. It’s important.’

  The funeral director got up and went to his desk. He leafed through a folder and returned to the table. ‘Just as I thought. Frau Bohlen didn’t want the clothes.’

  ‘And where are they now?’ Johann couldn’t sit still any longer. He jumped to his feet and leaned over Lars Meiners.

  The funeral director shrank back and muttered, ‘Picked up, I guess.’

  Lena also stood up, and exchanged a look with her colleague. ‘Perhaps we could take a look together, Herr Meiners,’ she said calmly.

  The three of them walked through the showroom. Lars Meiners opened a door at the back which led to a hallway with more doors leading off it. They entered a small room with four blue plastic sacks on the floor.

  Johann pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapped them on. Opening the first sack, he reached in carefully and pulled out a lady’s shoe, which he put back in immediately. He opened the next sack and pulled out a man’s dark-coloured cardigan, which he held out to Lars Meiners. The funeral director nodded. Johann Grasmann closed the bag again and lifted it out over the others.

  ‘We need to take these,’ Lena Lorenzen said. ‘We’ll give you a receipt.’

  Lars Meiners had followed the search, his expression tense, and stammered, ‘That . . . that won’t be necessary.’

  ‘It is for us,’ Johann said, filling out the form and handing it to the funeral director. ‘There you go.’

  Slowly, Lars Meiners reached for the docket. ‘And what happens now?’

  Johann produced a cotton bud from a plastic container in his bag. ‘We need a sample from you so we can identify your DNA on the clothes.’ He handed the man the cotton bud. ‘Run it along the inside of your cheek, please.’

  Meiners took the cotton bud and did as Johann had asked.

  ‘Right, that’s us all finished here for now,’ the young detective said. ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions. Here’s my card. Call us, please, if you think of anything else of interest.’

  The funeral director walked them to the door and nodded in farewell.

  Johann placed the blue sack in the boot then took his seat next to Lena and looked at his watch. ‘So far, so good. Can you explain to me why people are always so suspicious when we interview them?’

  ‘Must be you,’ Lena said with a grin. ‘Normally, I’m trustworthiness incarnate. The witnesses are putty in my hands.’

  Johann smirked. ‘Yeah, right.’

  During their drive back to Norddorf, they talked about Johann’s list of things to research and their plans for the next day. Lena dropped her colleague off at the house and drove back to Nebel. She’d rung her Aunt Beke over lunch and told her she’d be visiting later that afternoon.

  Beke beamed when she opened the door. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here, deern.’ They embraced warmly and Beke Althusen kissed her niece on both cheeks before leading her through into the large kitchen.

  ‘Gosh, that smells good,’ Lena said, suspecting that Beke had baked her favourite teatime treat. ‘Let me guess – rhubarb cake?’

  ‘It’s a surprise!’
Her aunt went to the stove and shifted a kettle on to the hotplate. ‘I hope you’ll have a cup of proper Amrum-style tea with me? Or are you addicted to coffee, like all the rest of them?’

  Lena laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking for coffee in this house.’

  ‘That’s good. Our ancestors would turn in their graves.’

  Lena loved her aunt’s old Frisian house. Since she had taken the property over, more than thirty years ago, she’d undone many of the ‘modernisations’, as Beke called them. She’d removed the lino from over the flagstones, exchanged the cheap plastic windows for high-quality wooden ones, removed the post-war wallpaper and whitewashed the walls instead. The ancient tiled stove had also been restored, even though Beke no longer used it. Bit by bit, she had returned the charm to the old house.

  Beke placed the bowl of rock sugar on the table – an indispensable part of Frisian tea culture. Lena put one of the large crystals into her typical Frisian teacup and watched as Beke poured the hot tea. The cracking of the dissolving sugar stirred pleasant feelings of home and warmth in Lena’s heart.

  ‘It’s been far too long,’ she said and gave her aunt another hug.

  ‘Easy, deern,’ Beke said with a laugh, but Lena could tell how happy she was.

  Beke served her niece a slice of rhubarb cake. ‘Remember when the three of us used to sit here?’ said Lena’s aunt wistfully. Lena knew she was thinking of her sister. Lena’s mother had died in one of the rare traffic accidents on Amrum. A car had hit her bicycle and Dorthe Lorenzen had run head-first into a tree. The driver had fled the scene and, by the time Dorthe was found, it had been too late. Lena was about to start her final year of high school, and her world collapsed. She had moved in with her Aunt Beke for several months following the accident.

  ‘Now, tell me,’ Beke said, ‘where are you staying?’

  ‘In the house of the old woman by the beach. That’s what we used to call it as children.’

  ‘Old Frau Schulte, you mean. Yes, she passed away about four years ago and left her house to the community. I heard it’s been beautifully renovated.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not as beautiful as your house. But yes, it looks like the council spared no expense.’

  ‘I read about it in the paper. An author stayed there for several months. The island’s “writer-in-residence”, they called him – apparently, he set one of his novels on the island. Bizarre, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why? If the book’s a hit, what better publicity could there be for Amrum?’

  ‘Do we really need more people here? In summer, I barely want to leave the house as it is.’

  ‘You should visit Sylt some time – then you’d see real mass tourism. Amrum’s still nice and quiet by comparison.’

  ‘Still, I don’t need all those people,’ Beke said stubbornly.

  ‘Maybe you don’t, but what about all the other islanders who’d have had to move years ago without the tourists?’ Lena laughed. ‘You’d soon be the last resident on Amrum. And then how’d I get here without the ferry? I guess I could walk across the mudflats from Föhr at low tide.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, deern. You know what I mean. And if anyone tries to build any large hotels, I’ll start up a – what do you call it? – local campaign.’

  Lena couldn’t help but smile. She had no trouble imagining her feisty aunt marching through Nebel waving a placard. ‘I don’t think you’ll have to. The council has always wanted Amrum to keep its peaceful, quiet character. It’s the island’s main attraction.’

  Beke Althusen sighed. ‘Let’s hope you’re right. Peace and quiet is exactly what I want in my last few remaining years.’

  ‘Last few remaining years?’ said Lena indignantly. ‘Don’t even think about it. I need you for at least another twenty years.’ She leaned over and kissed Beke’s cheek. ‘Not to mention your rhubarb cake.’

  Beke laughed heartily. ‘But especially the cake, hey?’

  Lena turned serious. ‘No, Beke. Just you.’

  The old woman nodded and looked down at her teacup, her cheeks slightly flushed. Hesitantly, she said, ‘Are you sure you don’t want—?’

  ‘No!’ Lena said, cutting her off. ‘Why would I want to see him? And I certainly don’t want to meet that woman.’

  ‘You could meet here.’

  Lena looked at her aunt. How many times had she told Beke over the years that she wanted nothing to do with her father? And yet her aunt mentioned him every time they met. In Lena’s eyes, her father was partially to blame for her mother’s death. A few months before the accident, her mother had found out that her father had been cheating on her with the same woman for years. On the day she died, they had had a big argument and Lena’s mother had stormed out of the house. The accident had happened a few minutes later. One year down the line, the other woman had moved in with her father.

  ‘Please leave it, Beke. You know how I feel about this.’

  ‘My dear child, your father may have made mistakes, but he’s still your father.’

  ‘You must give me the recipe for the rhubarb cake sometime. I might even have a go on my next day off. What do you think – would I manage?’

  ‘You can do anything if you put your mind to it,’ Beke replied with a smile.

  ‘Great, perhaps I’ll surprise Joe. He won’t believe his eyes. Though maybe I should do a trial run first.’

  ‘How is Joe?’ asked Beke.

  ‘Great! Yep, he’s doing just fine.’

  ‘Do you two have plans for the future?’

  Lena grinned. ‘I’m going to be chief constable and Joe’s going to be my PA.’ Beke said nothing and refilled their cups. ‘Joe wants us to move in together,’ Lena said eventually.

  ‘And you don’t?’

  There was a pause while Lena considered her reply. ‘I like things the way they are. If we move in together, next thing you know he’ll want to get married, and then . . .’ Lena faltered.

  ‘He wants children?’

  ‘I think so. Three or four, I’m guessing.’

  ‘Did he tell you that?’

  ‘Not in so many words. And to be honest, I’m not ready to talk about it. Neither about the one thing nor the other. Especially not about children.’

  Beke nodded slowly. Lena knew how much her aunt had wanted children. After four miscarriages, her doctor had advised her to go on the pill.

  ‘Not right now, anyway,’ Lena added. ‘My job is more important right now.’

  Beke placed her hands on top of Lena’s. ‘Deern, you still have time. If you’re not ready yet, you shouldn’t do it.’

  9

  Lena linked arms with Beke. They were walking towards the shore of the Wadden Sea after talking at the kitchen table for another hour.

  ‘Tell me, Beke, what do people say about the children’s home in Norddorf?’

  ‘Getting down to business now, are we?’ Beke said with a smile. ‘Things have been rather quiet in that direction lately. But I’m an old woman and don’t hear much gossip any more. There may be more going on there than I know about.’

  Lena pricked up her ears. ‘And what have you heard about in the past?’

  ‘People talk a lot – doesn’t mean it’s all true.’

  ‘Go on, tell,’ Lena demanded.

  ‘All right, all right. Well, in the beginning, when the house was being converted, folk worried about the problem kids who’d be coming to the island. And the police did in fact have to chase after some of the older boys a few times, though apparently they never got any further than the ferry, or Dagebüll at most. Probably nothing that doesn’t happen at other children’s care homes. People soon calmed down.’

  ‘But something else happened?’ asked Lena.

  ‘Well . . . according to some, one summer – the home had been open for a few years by then – a young holidaymaker was raped in Norddorf, not far from the home. You can imagine what people were saying – that it could only have been one of the older boys from the home. But the police
never found anyone, not least because the girl had nothing to say about her alleged rapist.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find in the records.’

  ‘That was years ago, and you know how busy this place gets over the holiday season.’

  Lena nodded. She sensed that Beke had something else to tell her. ‘But that wasn’t the only piece of gossip you picked up?’

  By now they’d reached the track that ran along the eastern shore of the island. Beke stopped and looked out at the Wadden Sea. ‘I love it just here.’ She said nothing for a while. Two seagulls flew out over the mudflats, screeching. ‘Maybe we should let those old rumours lie. Folk talk too much.’ After one look at Lena, however, she continued. ‘Apparently, there weren’t many children at the home during the first year – not all of the places were taken up. The big house and the renovations must have cost a fortune – anyone could work that out. Gossip started up again and people wondered where all the money was coming from, especially since the home wasn’t running to capacity. Folk were saying that big black limousines visited the home at night. A load of nonsense, if you ask me. Where were they supposed to have come from? Flown in by helicopter at night? We’re still on an island, after all.’ Beke shook her head scornfully. ‘Once the future Frau Bohlen came to the home, the tittle-tattle soon stopped, and it also helped that Herr Bohlen became active in one or two clubs. That’s what folk are like. You know – anyone new to the island gets viewed with suspicion and the wildest tales go round.’

  ‘And now that Hein Bohlen is dead – what are people saying now?’

  ‘Nothing at first, but once word got out that his body had been taken to the mainland for a post-mortem, the rumours started flying again. I haven’t been listening, I’m afraid. The poor man is dead and we shouldn’t be speaking ill of him.’

  Lena nodded in agreement and changed the subject. They walked on for a little while, only turning back when dark clouds began to gather on the horizon.

  ‘How long are you staying on Amrum, deern?’ asked Beke when they said their goodbyes.

  ‘Not sure yet. A few days or a week, perhaps. I’ll drop by again soon.’ Lena grinned. ‘And then you simply have to teach me how to bake that rhubarb cake, OK?’