 
## Odyssey Into Darkness

A Heimo Kapeller Novel

Book 2

## By

## Stephen McDaniel

Copyright 2019 Stephen K. McDaniel

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Author's Note

I am indebted to the men and women of the Carinthian Landeskriminalamt who were enormously obliging and accommodating in helping me understand the Austrian Police and Judicial systems. Any and all errors of procedure and function are solely mine.

The Landeskriminalamt (LKA) in each Austrian Province is responsible for investigating all serious crimes. It is the equivalent of the British C.I.D. or the Bureaus of Investigation in U.S. states.

EKO Cobra is the designation for Police Special Forces units who deal with major incidents such as acts of terrorism.

Carinthia is one of the nine Provinces (states) of Austria. Some of the place names in this story are real, some are fictitious. All the people are fictitious, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended.

This is for _inkywaller_ – the first fan,

and

The officers of the Landeskriminalamt of Carinthia
Table of 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

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

About the Author

# Chapter 1

They rolled in a gentle morning swell, yoked by the neck, eyeless in the sun but escaped from agony.

The trawler, chugging home after a night of fruitless fishing, was a few meters away before Paolo Abbeddi spotted the two dark shapes. He knew instantly what they were and throttled the ancient engine to idle.

"Ahmed!" he shouted through the open half of the pilot-house window.

The slim youngster heaving at the forward derrick straightened and looked aft.

"Off the port bow." Paolo stuck his arm through the gap and pointed.

Ahmed turned the derrick handle to the bottom and locked it in place. He climbed over the dripping nets piled on the deck and stared at the greasy, green water, head scanning as he searched. He sighted the bodies after a moment and raised his arm, signaling Paolo to sail the boat forward and a little to port.

The engine stuttered as the captain eased it ahead, turning the wheel to miss the shapes by meters but knowing the current set in toward the shore. After a minute he retarded the throttle again.

Ahmed grabbed a grappling hook from the forward locker, checked that the line was securely attached, and waited. As the current arced the trawler inshore, he held the line in one hand with a few meters of slack and heaved the four-pronged steel across the bodies. It splashed into the crest of a swell on the opposite side and sank. Ahmed pulled the line in hand over hand. He felt the hooks catch and stopped for a moment, offering a silent prayer to Allah.

Paolo took his hand off the throttle and echoed the Muslim's reaction with an automatic genuflection to his own deity.

The shapes floated toward the gunwale under the boy's steady pull. When they were near enough, he secured the line around a cleat and picked up a boathook. He captured a loop of the fluorescent orange marine cable that tethered the bodies, then paused and looked back at the captain.

"I can't lift both in, Paolo."

The old seaman waved, throttled up to the lowest speed and sailed away from the rocky shore which drew the boat like a siren. Once he'd balanced the push of the current against the shove of the engine, he removed his phone from his overalls and thumbed a number.

Although the police station on Pantelleria was open, no one except the local islanders would have known it. The door was closed, there were no police cars, and the building was silent. But in an office to the left of the main counter, Primo Capitano Fedele Vaccaro leafed through administrative documents and crime reports from the mainland. He'd finished his first coffee and was halfway through the second as he settled his ample bulk in the leather office chair.

Junk mail from the Italian bureaucracy floated through his hands and into an open desk drawer leaving no impression on his mind. Most of the reports were unenlightening save for the occasional sex scandal. The only part of his brain that was awake checked each item for any mention of the island and disregarded everything else.

When the phone rang, he glanced up, then checked the clock on the wall. Only half-past eight. Frowning, he heaved himself out of the chair and trudged over to the phone.

"Polizia."

Paolo Abbeddi growled, "Good morning, Fedele. We've caught two migrants. Dead ones."

"Where are you?"

"A hundred meters off the old lighthouse at Punto Spadillo."

"Bring them to the police dock and I'll meet you there."

"Can't. The bodies are tied together, and I can't leave the wheel to help Ahmed get them aboard."

"Wonderful. I'll tell Lorenzo to meet you with the launch. Twenty minutes."

Paolo heard the police boat before he saw it. It was modern and powerful, a new design introduced to cope with the flood of North Africans fleeing their own continent. And it had special equipment including a small dive ramp.

The San Marco cut through the low swell, cleaving the waves without effort. Lorenzo Di Mauro, the launch's one and only crewman, throttled back as he neared the trawler and steered to pass on the leeward side. He cut to idle when just a few meters short of the older boat's port side and the launch drifted to a stop.

Ahmed threw a line across and Lorenzo grabbed it and lashed it to a cleat. He went aft to the helm and pressed a green button on the control console. The dive platform, rigged to the launch's port side, slanted out on hydraulic pistons, flattened and sank into the water. It stopped fifty centimeters under the wave crests.

Lorenzo worked the wheel and throttles to sidle the launch toward the trawler. When he judged the position was correct, he tapped the green button again and the dive platform rose to the surface bearing the two sodden shapes.

Skirting around the auxiliary motor that operated the platform, he looked over the gunwale, then reared back. "Mother of God!" he muttered and crossed himself with a reverence he seldom showed at mass.

The docks, almost deserted, glistened in the morning sun as the launch rounded the harbor wall. One old fisherman sat on a piling and watched with sleepy interest as the sleek craft nosed its way through the channel to a mooring with the word 'Polizia' outlined in white on the sea-wet stone quay.

Vaccaro stood by the gangway with thumbs hooked under his paunch, staring into the boat. He couldn't see anything because Di Mauro had covered the bodies with a tarp. An officer on the jetty grabbed the line the helmsman heaved over and secured it to a bollard, then trotted to the aft of the boat and did the same with another line. Di Mauro stepped nimbly over the gunwale and walked up the gangway.

Vaccaro watched, eyes unreadable through his sunglasses. When the launch officer reached him, he searched the weather-beaten face for a moment. "Bad?"

Di Mauro nodded. "Worst I've seen."

They heard the ambulance rumbling down the quay and watched as it stopped a few feet away. The driver, a paramedic in a Red Cross jacket, opened the rear doors to extract a gurney. His passenger, casually dressed in chinos, hoodie and deck shoes, stopped in front of the policemen, surprised by their uneasiness.

"Fedele, Lorenzo, good morning. What's wrong?"

Di Mauro took a long whistling breath. "It's a kid, doc, a boy. Black. He's tied by the neck to a white man. They...they've been tortured." He gulped. "No eyes."

The physician stared. He'd examined a hundred migrants in the last two months, most of them black, all of them emaciated. They'd drowned in the dancing waves of the sunlit Mediterranean. "Are you sure?"

Di Mauro nodded. "And it wasn't the fish that did it."

The paramedic waited with the gurney, and the launch officer helped him bump it over the gangplank to the edge of the boat. He muttered something to the medic who paled, and both stepped onto the launch. Di Mauro pulled the tarp away.

The medic put his hand to his mouth. The doctor joined them, his single expletive puncturing the morning calm.

Together they loaded both corpses onto the gurney and trundled it up to the jetty.

Vaccaro watched the operation without offering help or comment, but when the gurney reached the ambulance, he said, "I must check them, doctor."

He ran his hands over the sparse clothing worn by the white man. The damaged face looked more Arab than anything else, but immersion in seawater had not made his features clearer. Vaccaro found nothing in the clothing. One foot still wore a laced-up shoe. The policeman pulled it off. A small silver case was wedged between the first and second toes. Vaccaro borrowed a latex glove from the paramedic and carefully pulled the object free. They stared at it, but it revealed no secrets to their anxious eyes. He slid it into a plastic bag.

There was nothing to be found on the boy. He was coal black, perhaps ten years old, naked, and someone with a yen for sadism had worked on him for some time.

Vaccaro waved the gurney into the ambulance and turned away. He stared out to sea for a time, silent but raging inside. Just before he turned back, he saw Abbeddi's trawler chugging up to the breakwater.
Chapter 2

Heimo Kapeller scratched the bristly white hair covering a scar over his ear. He balanced a half-full mug of coffee on his stomach and stared at his feet which were propped on the desk in a space specially cleared for them. Inspector Josef Felsbach, newly transferred to Homicide from Fraud, tended to drone when he got well into his subject, and, although Heimo tried to focus, the monotone made it difficult.

"I studied the postmortem report thoroughly," Felsbach said, "and I talked to Doctor Wassnig three times. Unfortunately, he cannot supply a definitive differentiator that would classify the death as either suicide, homicide or accident."

What the hell was a 'definitive differentiator'? Heimo opened his eyes and sipped coffee. "And the keys?"

Josef nodded. "The one unusual feature of the case. We have not been able to find them, although four searches of the car, the parking area and Traunig's home have been completed. There are no fingerprints or other indicators to be found, and Hallegger says they have been thorough."

"What's your next step?"

"Well...I'm not sure. We have accomplished the usual items, but there seems to be no answer."

Heimo grunted. Cristina, his partner, had reserved a table at a new Italian restaurant in St. Veit. The thought of food and wine and her lovely self only highlighted the banality of Siegfried Traunig's death. "Take me through his background."

The victim, a well-known and well-connected industrialist, had been found in his car on the top floor of a parking garage. A hose attached to the car's tailpipe and running to a rear window made the conclusion of suicide by CO2 poisoning obvious, and the autopsy had confirmed that cause of death. But the car's engine was off, and the keys were missing. Had he therefore been murdered, and it made to look like suicide, or had someone discovered him, turned off the engine with the idea of resuscitating him, then walked away with the keys?

It was Felsbach's first real case since joining the Homicide team, and Heimo wasn't sure if he was going to succeed. The rotund detective had been in the LKA for ten years in the Fraud and Commercial crime units, but he lacked the lurid imagination needed to put himself into the mind of a killer.

"Traunig," Josef said, "was wealthy and acquainted with many of the important people in the province. I have looked through all the records I can find, but there is no suspicious information."

Traunig had no large debts, scandalous associations, shady dealings or questionable enterprises. Heimo was sure his new detective would have discovered anything in those categories worthy of note. But years of experience told him no one got to such a position without cutting the odd corner. That there was no documentation only confirmed his intuition.

"What were his politics?"

"He was a member of the OCP and had been for eighteen years. He served as the party's provincial treasurer for seven years."

A tiny bell pinged in the back of Heimo's skull. Mehringer's party - wouldn't that be lovely? The provincial Vice Governor was an ancient enemy and never far from his thoughts. But he closed his eyes for a moment, drew a shallow breath, and moved away from it.

"Any dicey campaign contributions or undue influence with his businesses?"

Josef shook his head, thinning strands of black hair floating out of their carefully placed comb-over. "I investigated, but I could not find anything out of the ordinary."

Heimo rubbed his nose. The corrupt learned caution and found myriad ways to hide their nefarious activities.

"Family?"

"Married with two children, a boy of nineteen and a daughter of twenty-three. She's at university. The wife is well known for giving large parties."

"What kind of parties?"

"Expensive ones. She held a fashion show last year at the Schloss Hotel in Velden and apparently spent over ten thousand euros on it."

Heimo finished his coffee, swung his feet off the desk, and stretched. "You have, of course, considered the possibility of a domestic dispute."

"Yes, but the wife and children have excellent alibis."

"Contract killer?"

Josef's eyes opened wide. "But I've found no motive."

Heimo sighed. "And no answer. We'll have to do more digging. Tomorrow morning, the three of us will go through everything and see if we can find the end of another thread that hasn't been followed."

His phone, buried under a mound of paperwork, clamored for attention. After shoving things around for a moment, he located it and was pleased to see the caller ID: Veronique.

"Hello, daughter, how are you?"

Although it had been more than a year since Heimo discovered he had a child, he felt the same frisson of pleasure every time he talked to her. She was French, the product of a long-ago liaison during his youthful walkabout through Europe. And, as she worked at Interpol in Lyon, they often had interesting professional discussions.

"Hello, papa. I am OK, but something has happened, and I don't know what to do."

Without being aware of it, Heimo gripped the phone and leaned forward. "What is it?"

"Mama has had two letters, anonymous letters. They are strange. The writer does not actually threaten anything, but the...I suppose you would say the tone, is making me worry. Mama says it is nothing, but I am not sure."

"What did they say?"

"I have not seen them, and I cannot go home for a few days. But according to Mama, the letter says a great wrong has been committed and must be put right. I asked what this wrong is, but Mama does not know, and the writer does not say. What should we do?"

"Take the letters to the Gendarmerie. They will trace them to wherever they were mailed. If Paulette knows the place, she may be able to figure out who the writer is."

Veronique was silent for a minute. "I will suggest it Papa, but I have the feeling she will not listen. You know how strong she is."

"We can only try. Would it be a good idea for Cristina to talk to her?"

His daughter's voice brightened. "Oh, yes, I did not think of that. Mama would feel much better talking to her. Maybe there are legal things Cristina could tell her." His partner had recently been promoted to a senior position in the Prosecution Service.

"As soon as I get home, I'll ask her to call."

"Thank you, Papa." Her voice went shy. "It is very nice to have a papa to talk to."

"Don't think you can twist me around your finger, my girl."

She laughed, her voice again light and silvery.

But when the call finished, his face hardened. In the space of a few months, Heimo had acquired a large, diverse family. And, without realizing it, he'd grown over-protective. Cristina and Paulette Florian, his long-ago lover, had somehow become friends, and both mothered Veronique. The ease with which they all fitted together, as though they had known one another for years, still amazed him.

He analyzed what Veronique had told him, and it was razor-thin as evidence. The rational detective part of his mind counseled caution. There could be a dozen harmless explanations for the letters. But the atavistic patriarch in him wanted to shred somebody with a rusty tin opener.

Felsbach's voice cut into his turmoil. "Is everything OK, Heimo?"

He jerked himself out of France and back to his job. "A few family troubles, you know how that goes." And immediately regretted it.

Felsbach had been divorced for six months. He had no children or siblings, only an elderly mother who was in a Senior's home. Heimo knew from his own experience that the bachelor life didn't suit most middle-aged men.

Felsbach only muttered, "Ah," and turned away to pick up the beeping office phone. After a moment, he said, "Yes, of course, I'll tell him."

"Colonel Greiml wishes to see you in his office."

Heimo glanced at his watch and grimaced. It was 1630, and he didn't want to get involved in administrative discussions. But he had little choice.

As he started down the hall, he had to smile at the changes the new head of the LKA had wrought. His predecessor, Walter Meierhofer, seldom called the staff on the phone, preferring to bellow down the hallways. He'd run a loose and comfortable police agency without formality. Max Greiml was at the other end of the spectrum.

When Heimo got to the office, he waited. The secretary called the boss and said, "You may go in, Chief Inspector." Meierhofer's secretary used to simply jerk her head in the direction of the door.

The Colonel stood perusing a large, color-coded organizational chart dominating one wall, hands behind his back. Impeccably dressed in an expensive suit, he contrived to look as fresh and relaxed at the end of the workday as he did at the beginning.

"Ah, Heimo. How are you coming along with the Traunig case?"

"We're not. Everything still points to suicide except for the car keys. We can't find anything questionable in his background, his businesses or his personal life. There is no reason to suspect homicide, and nothing to suggest why he'd want to kill himself. We'll dig a bit more tomorrow, but I doubt if we'll find anything worthwhile."

Greiml nodded. "A shame, he was quite well thought of." An unsubtle allusion to Greiml's connections to the provincial power structure. "However, you won't be able to work on it tomorrow. We've had a suspicious shooting death near Hermagor." He handed Heimo a sheaf of printouts.

Terrific. A night investigation to ruin his evening with Cristina. He was slightly ashamed of the thought, but there it was.

He sat down on Greiml's new leather sofa to read the report. A sixty-six-year-old male named Kurt Schuster had been found shot to death on his farm. It had been reported by the man's son who apparently did not live there himself. The wound was described as low on the abdomen, and the local police speculated the gunshot had not been instantly fatal. They'd sealed the area and called the LKA.

Heimo looked up. "Has Forensics left yet?" They usually got the initial call to make sure the crime scene was maintained.

Greiml shook his head. "I haven't notified Hallegger. You can tell him and coordinate your activities." He glanced at his watch. "I'm due at a function shortly. Call me if you need to, otherwise I'll get the details tomorrow morning at briefing."

Heimo nodded. A 'function'. He reckoned if he did call, he'd find Greiml's mobile phone was off.

On the way back to the office, he stopped at the Forensic lab. Karl Hallegger, as usual, was peering through a scope.

"Don't you ever get eye strain?" Heimo asked.

Hallegger leaned back and adjusted his glasses. "My eyes are so bad, I'm not sure. I need a new prescription every year. What brings you to the abode of science?"

Heimo passed him the printouts and waited as he scanned them. After a moment Karl looked up. "Not much to go on. Sounds like the locals think he was shot elsewhere and bled out." He glanced at his watch. "And a wonderful time start looking for evidence. Dark, in the snow, and probably up in the bloody mountains."

"It's what we signed up for, Karl. Adventure, fighting crime in the wilderness, righting wrongs."

Hallegger stuck his tongue out. "I am not a boy scout. And I'll have to recall my troops since they've already gone home. You go ahead. I'll call you with an ETA as soon as I get things together."

He scribbled a few details from the printouts and handed them back.

When Heimo walked into his office, Felsbach was typing something into the computer. "We've got a new case, Josef."

Felsbach turned, surprised. "Really?" And looked at his watch.

Heimo grinned. "Yep. Murderers are terrifically unpunctual. I can't remember the last time one happened during business hours. Get the gear together and we'll take my car. The location is a farm near Hermagor."

He called Cristina. When she answered, she said, "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"You'll be thrilled - we won the lottery."

"Who gets to spend the ten euros, you or me?" She sounded annoyed or irritated, or something Heimo couldn't quite identify. "What's happening?"

"I'm sorry, but I've been handed a case. It's way the hell up by Hermagor, so I probably won't be back until late."

"Bugger. I had my mouth all set for linguine vongole and a liter of Chianti."

"Me too. Are you OK?"

"More or less. There's something odd going on and I can't figure out what it is. Annoying more than anything else." In her new position as Senior Prosecutor, Cristina was involved in administrative matters she loathed, but couldn't escape.

He told her about Veronique's call. "Would you mind talking to Paulette and see if you can offer any advice?"

"Of course. We'll drink wine and it will be almost like a party."

He shrugged into his heavy coat and wondered what could have ruffled the calm atmosphere of the Prosecutor's office.
Chapter 3

When Heimo told Josef to check the printout for the local police contact, he learned Johann Thurner still held the position of Chief of Station. He'd worked with Thurner five years previously on a domestic axe murder and remembered him as slow-moving but sharp witted.

He set the car's GPS for the location where the crime had been reported and pushed the speed up once they were on the autobahn. Traffic this far out of the city was light except for the interminable trucks heading for the borders of Slovenia and Italy. It was already close to freezing and there had been two snow showers in the past three days. The old-timers predicted a hard winter, but Heimo reckoned they said the same thing every year.

They turned off short of the Italian border and headed west, climbing somewhat and noticing more snow stacked in the medians by the plows. Although it had been awhile since Heimo had been to Hermagor, he remembered most of the landmarks. Several kilometers outside the town the GPS told him to turn south onto a smaller road headed up to the mountains. Ten minutes later they spotted the blue flashers of a police vehicle and pulled up.

Heimo lowered his window and showed the officer his ID.

"Evening, sir. If you turn left at the speed limit sign, it'll take you straight up to the farm. It's only about twelve hundred meters but watch the black ice."

"Thanks. Is Inspector Thurner there?"

"He is. We've already taped off the area."

The lane was asphalt, but it hadn't been plowed recently. A two-centimeter skim of snow on top of a thin layer of ice made driving interesting. But Heimo's car, equipped with computer-controlled four-wheel drive, was equal to it. Ahead they could see another set of flashers on the side of the road. Heimo stopped in the center but left the engine running.

By the time he and Josef were out of the car, the driver of the police car had also gotten out and leaned against his door. Johann Thurner was as bulky as Heimo remembered and looked even bigger in his heavy coat. He stuck out a mittened paw.

"Hello, Heimo, I wondered if it'd be you."

"Still me, Johann. How are you?"

"Freezing. We've just come back to thaw out. Temperature's dropping fast, so it's going to be fun trying to collect evidence."

"How far is it?"

"Only a hundred meters. We need to get the vehicles up there, but I didn't want to mess up any tracks."

"See anything on the road that might be helpful?"

Thurner shook his head. "Just the tracks of Schuster's son's car. He was the one who found the old man. My people stopped here and walked up."

Heimo peered ahead as far as the headlights from the cars would let him and decided there was unlikely to be anything helpful on the track itself. The light covering of snow was too thin to provide good tread indications, and anything that might have been there had probably been obliterated by the son.

"What's the parking like at the farm?" he asked.

"No problem," Thurner said. "The house is on the left and the barn where the body is, is on the right. You follow me."

Heimo noticed that Josef, who listened intently to the exchange, started to dance about trying to keep warm. It was a little unfair, but Heimo couldn't resist. "Another thing about murderers. They pick the most god-awful places to shoot people." Josef nodded vigorously as though he appreciated the information, and Heimo resolved to back off on the sarcasm.

When Thurner pulled up to the farm, they could see more tape strung between various points, so all the buildings were enclosed. They parked a short distance away from the house on what appeared to be a concrete base. Josef opened the car's boot and extracted the cold weather coats and boots, and a bag containing sterile coveralls.

Before Heimo left the car, he called Karl Hallegger and explained the layout. The Forensic chief told him they were still ten minutes away, and that he had picked up Otto Wassnig, the pathologist.

Heimo shrugged into a thick blue winter coat with police insignia sewn on it, pulled a wool cap over his head, and immediately felt warmer. He struggled into snow boots, pulled out the bag with the sterile gear, then looked at Thurner.

The big man shook his head. "Don't reckon I'd bother. Everything we've found is outside and we're not likely to muck anything up. The doc and the science boys might want to suit up though."

Heimo nodded and looked at his colleague who'd finally managed to get his cold weather gear on. He was puffing and red in the face. Too many years detecting behind a desk had not improved Felsbach's fitness.

Following Thurner, who trundled off like a cruise ship leaving port, they skirted the edge of the crime tape until they reached an old gate post. A bright light illuminated the barn area in some detail. "One of my people rigged a construction lamp. No lights on the outside, but there'll probably be some on the inside we can use after Forensics looks at the switches."

They ducked under the tape, and Thurner walked toward what appeared to be an open passage in the middle of the barn between a hay storage area and the pens where the pigs were kept. There was no doubt about the latter. The animals squealed with hunger, and the stink was like no other in the world.

Heimo flashed his torch around but saw nothing of interest, just a typical farmyard. "When did the son discover the body?"

"About three o'clock, he says."

"Did he call you immediately?"

"No, he drove down to the station. I called one of my patrols and told her to come up straight away."

Why not simply call the police and stay at the farm, Heimo wondered?

Thurner stopped. He aimed his torch at the passageway and spotlighted a shapeless lump lying there.

"The report says he was shot in the lower abdomen. Who looked?" Heimo asked."

"Inspector Poluk. She's the one who got here first. Checked the old man for any sign of life. She says there's a lot of blood on the lower torso."

"But she could tell he'd been shot."

For the first time, Thurner look unsure. "That's what she said."

Heimo's phone buzzed. Karl Hallegger said, "We're at the checkpoint. Can we come ahead?"

"I'll send Felsbach back to bring you up."

Heimo turned back to the Station Chief, and they contemplated the body. "Know anything about him?"

Thurner thought for a moment. "A bit of a Tartar was old Kurt. A loner and didn't suffer fools, which he took to mean almost everybody else. Ran the place by himself. His wife died a long time ago, and the son, Helmut, never took to farming. Kurt used to come into town every two weeks or so and tie one on. But he always slept it off in the gasthaus, and we weren't bothered."

"Did he make a living out of the place? A lot of these mountain farms are pretty marginal."

"Don't know for sure. He sold some of his timber from time to time, and I think he rented one or two of the rooms in the house to skiers during the season."

Josef led Otto Wassnig, Karl Hallegger and two technicians up to the tape and around the post. Wassnig looked up at Heimo, his round face puckered by the cold. "I've asked you before to arrange these somewhere close to a main road and preferably in summer."

Heimo nodded. "It's these rural killers, doc. Never read the circulars from the government."

Wassnig snorted and the party started toward the body in single file. When they got there, everyone stood back while the pathologist examined the corpse. He rolled Schuster onto his back after looking him over, and it was obvious that either rigor was fully developed, or the body had frozen. The corpse was as stiff as a one of the victims in Pompei. The doctor's skilled fingers poked and prodded and manipulated. When he finished, he checked his watch and straightened up.

"Time of death is impossible to ascertain with any accuracy. He's in full rigor, and the outer extremities are almost frozen. When was he found?"

"About three," said Heimo.

Thurner joined in. "My officer got here about three-forty. He was already cold by then."

Wassnig shook his head. "Doesn't tell us much. Looks like a bullet hole about six centimeters below the liver. The angle seems a bit odd, but I can't tell much through the clothing. If that's the only wound, and it appears to be, it did not kill him immediately. He would have lived for some time and finally bled out."

"How long?" Heimo asked.

"No way I can tell at the moment. The PM will give me more."

"Is the bullet still in there?"

"It is, or at least there's no exit through the clothing."

"OK, doc, thanks. Can Karl start?"

Wassnig nodded and stepped back as Hallegger and one of his men began to assemble their kit. They erected a small shelter over the body and started a portable generator.

Heimo told Josef to stay with the Forensics team until they finished, and he and Thurner headed for the cars. The temperature seemed to have stabilized, but a raw breeze cut through their clothing. The Station Chief pulled a large Thermos out of his car with two metal cups. He poured generous measures of steaming liquid in each and handed one to Heimo - hot sweet tea laced with pear schnapps.

They stood for a moment, sipping and watching the activity by the body. "Any ideas?" Heimo asked.

Thurner nodded after a moment. "A couple, but only speculation."

"Go ahead."

"When Poluk told me where she thought the wound was, I wondered. A killer will normally aim for the chest or head. Gut-shooting is odd. And why not shoot again if the intent is murder and the victim is obviously still alive? Or, if it's an accident, why not call the emergency services?"

"Good points."

"Poluk had good daylight when she arrived. She says she didn't notice any signs of the ground being particularly disturbed, so it doesn't appear to be the result of a fight. But I can't get much farther than that."

"Any chance the son did it?" asked Heimo. "It's odd that he drove all the way to the station to report it rather than calling it in and staying with his father."

"They didn't get on," Thurner replied. "Helmut went off to live in Salzburg and the old man never forgave him. Thought he should have stayed and farmed. But Helmut didn't come back often, as far as I know, and we haven't had any reports of him and Kurt having a row or anything."

"Any other people working here?"

Thurner shook his head. "Not permanently. The butcher from the village came up to help whenever Kurt slaughtered, and a couple of local lads helped with the harvest, but that's about it."

"Enemies or disputes?"

The big man finished his tea and shrugged. "Nothing major. Like I said, he wasn't the easiest chap to get on with, but nothing serious enough to lead to murder."

"Anyone been in the house yet?"

Thurner shook his head. "I told 'em to stay out until Forensics got here."

Heimo slurped the last of his tea and handed the cup back. "I need to see what Hallegger's doing. You can bring your man up here. I don't think we'll need to block the road anymore. Not likely anyone's going to come up this time of night."

While Thurner got on his radio, Heimo walked back to the crime scene and met Wassnig on the way. The cold started to penetrate the thick clothing, and his nose suggested snow might be on the way. When he got to the circle of light cast by the Forensic arcs, Josef was vigorously slapping his arms around his sides and shifting from foot to foot.

"Anything?" Heimo asked.

Josef turned. He'd wrapped a scarf around the lower part of his face, and it muffled his voice. "They haven't said."

Heimo moved forward to within a few feet of the shelter. "Karl, got anything for us?"

Hallegger stuck his head out of the shelter. "Not a nibble. He had his wallet and it's got forty-five euros in it, so it doesn't look like a robbery. No obvious marks on the clothes or body, but he's well wrapped up. Judging by the way he's dressed, he must have been outside doing something rather than being called out by someone. No weapon anywhere close. Near as we can tell, they shot him and walked away. Most of the blood is on him rather than the ground, but I think that's because of the way he fell, so I'm guessing this is where he was shot. We've looked for a blood trail, but the snow has blown over most of the ground, and we haven't found anything. I think we'll have to wait for morning and better light. Wassnig says he wouldn't have got far with the amount of blood loss."

Heimo gave him a half salute, beckoned to Josef, and they started back to the cars. Thurner was talking on his phone. "Got it, thanks." He turned to the pair of detectives. "Hubner, one of my guys, and the techs found something in the house you should see."

He led the way toward the old-fashioned two-story dwelling built a long time ago in the style of a Tyrolean chalet. The lights were on and Thurner pulled the front door open and gestured them through. The place was almost as cold inside as outside, the fire in the ancient iron stove having gone out hours previously.

Inspector Hubner and a technician named Pleschnig stood in a large room which looked to be both living area and kitchen. Surprisingly neat and well organized, it smelled strongly of old wood smoke and tobacco. Thurner gestured toward the table. A rifle had been placed on it, the barrel pointing away.

Hubner said, "It's his all right. I checked the serial number, and it matches the one in our firearms registry."

"Schuster's?" Heimo asked.

Hubner nodded. "And it's been fired recently."

# Chapter 4

They reached the office by 1930. Although re-warmed by the Audi's excellent heater, they knew little more than when they'd arrived at Schuster's farm.

Forensics bagged the rifle, combed through the house, and took at least a hundred pictures. But none of the information pointed to anything the detectives could use to form a theory or profile a suspect.

Josef professed himself puzzled by the gun. "Why leave it on the table?"

No imagination, Heimo thought. "Put yourself in the killer's boots," he said. "He's shot someone, either accidently or with intent, and he's used the victim's own rifle. If he takes it away, he's got to hide it. It's awkward to carry, and if we find it in his possession, he's had the course. But if he leaves it in the house and wipes off any fingerprints, we have nothing."

"Then we should assume he did not go to the farm intending to shoot Mr. Schuster."

"Logical, but you have to allow for someone who might be clever. Suppose Schuster knows him and doesn't suspect he's there for any nefarious reason. This killer knows the farm, knows where Schuster keeps the rifle, and uses it rather than one of his own. If that's the case, it's probably someone the old boy wasn't surprised to see."

Josef shook his head, mystified. But no more so than his boss.

Heimo went in search of Greiml. As he expected, the Colonel was not in. Offices were usually deserted at night except for people who were scheduled for an operation.

When he walked into his own office, he found his other detective, Kat Unger, sitting on the edge of her desk and interrogating Josef. There was no other word for it. She looked up when Heimo came in.

"Hi, boss. Just heard about the case."

"Solved it yet?"

She grinned and shook her head, causing her long dark ponytail to whip back and forth. "Not quite."

"Too bad. I was looking forward to a leisurely weekend. Suppose you put your little gray cells to work, and we'll try to clear it up in the morning."

He left a short message on Greiml's answerphone and headed home.

Cristina sat on the sofa with her feet on a low table and her eyes closed, a large wine glass waving gently in one hand, butterscotch blonde hair swaying. An orchestra playing 'Ode to Joy' lilted in the background. Heimo stamped the snow off his boots and dropped his jacket over a hook.

"I told myself she'll be in the kitchen finishing up a hot four-course dinner and the table will be laid and the wine chilled and I'll pull up a chair and..."

Cristina blew a raspberry in his general direction. "The cook is off tonight. However, I decided not to let you starve."

She put the wine down, stood and jumped into his arms like a schoolgirl. After planting a noisy kiss on his nose, she said, "And who have you been entertaining tonight?"

"Older chap, gray-haired, and stiff as a board. Not your type." He reciprocated the nose kiss and stood her on her feet.

"Sit yourself down, my lad, and tell me all about it."

She poured him a glass of local red and began to unload cartons from a plastic bag. "Since the Italians do not deliver, we move smartly to the east and allow our Chinese friends to feed us."

It was a small feast, and they stuffed themselves. "Phenomenal," Heimo belched. "Perfect end to an otherwise yuck day."

Cristina tipped the last of the wine into his glass. "I called Paulette. She says she's not worried and thinks Veronique is being dramatic."

"But?"

"I'm not sure. She read me the letter and it's certainly weird. No direct threat, but the writer sounds like he or she is off with the birds. Paulette was translating, but that's the sense I got. I suggested going to the police, but she says she won't. Thinks they'd just laugh at her. So, there's very little we can do."

They moved to the sofa. Heimo sank into the cushions with a theatrical sigh. "I was thinking about this while I was standing in the cold on that bloody farm. I'll talk to Veronique tomorrow, and we'll hope that's the end of it. What's happening at work?"

"The usual, but I'm getting odd vibrations from His Highness."

"Old Doc Aubock?"

"The same. He's normally as animated as a brick, but at a meeting today, he was totally distracted. We had to go over the same notes three times. Then Heilbron, the new youngster who joined us last month, brought me an instruction letter Aubock had given him. It concerns a case of possible fraud, and Aubock is basically telling him to back away."

"Any idea why?"

"None. The letter is semi-coherent, but the instruction is certainly unethical and well against the canons. I told Heilbron to carry on, but to check with me if he had anything further of the kind. Something is bothering the old boy, but I have no idea what."

"Bees in the bonnet. Very common in old lawyers. I've been watching you for any signs."

She dug an elbow into his ribs. "Less of the old, fat one. Tell me about your murder."

"Not much to tell. A farmer found shot to death with his own rifle. So far, no motive, no forensic and no suspects with the possible exception of the victim's son. The farm is up in the mountains south of Hermagor, and colder than an iceberg, so I doubt if Wassnig will be able to get anywhere close to an accurate TOD. It's quite a three-bottle problem."

She snorted. "Holmes was a coke-head, not an alky. And you'll fall asleep in approximately ten minutes unless I exert myself."

"Well?"

Morning briefing was notable only for its lack of anything interesting. Winter weather tended to reduce outdoor crimes to single digits. Heimo's murder case was the highlight, but still banal in the minds of the detective force. Greiml asked a few questions and received non-committal grunts from most of the department heads. He was the only officer in the room happy about the low crime rate. It made the statistics look good and reduced the chances of someone making a mistake. For the rest, it meant boredom.

At the end of the briefing, Greiml handed Heimo a folder. "The assigned Prosecutor is a man named Heigl, Jurgen Heigl. Know him?"

"Slightly. He's been around a long time."

"I passed all the details. The protocol forms are in the file. Touch base with him this morning."

Heimo didn't salute, but he reckoned that was what Greiml was hoping for.

Heimo, Kat and Josef paid a visit to Hallegger's lab. "Does the DNA point directly to the killer, Karl?" Heimo asked mock seriously.

"Not unless he lives in the barn," the scientist snickered. "The only organic stuff on the body other than his own blood pointed directly to pigs."

"Anything worthwhile?" asked Kat.

"Not so far. We're processing his clothes, but I don't expect much. My working theory is the killer shot him from at least three meters away and probably more, then left. Schuster managed to walk only a few steps before he collapsed, most likely from shock, then bled out where we found him. Nothing to indicate the shooter ever touched him or even approached him."

Kat said, "Would the killer have known the shot might not kill?"

"Hard to tell. If the shooter was a hunter, he or she might know gut shots are seldom immediately fatal, but that's as far as I can go."

Heimo said, "Presumably no tracks."

Hallegger shook his head. "None. Some mud on the floor in the house, but no tread patterns."

"There is nothing to help us?" Josef sounded disappointed.

Hallegger held up a finger. "I didn't say that. Have a look at this." He pulled a large color photo out of a plastic evidence folder and put it under one of the high intensity lights on his drafting table. It was a close-up of a patch of snow with a long, narrow ellipse indented into it.

Josef pushed his glasses up on his forehead and peered at it. After a moment he looked up, bewildered. "What is it?"

Heimo grinned at Kat and nodded. "Rifle butt," she said. "Where did you find it?"

"If you remember, the front step is three meters wide. This print was about a meter to the left of the door. Didn't see it until we put a bright light on the step. I think the rifle was there before the shooting."

"When did the snow start?" Heimo asked.

"Around eleven in the morning. But it was patchy, starting and stopping several times. The impression is about two and half centimeters deep, but it doesn't help much with the timing. My guess is the homicide occurred sometime from twelve o'clock onwards. Therefore, a possible sequence of events is someone, maybe even Schuster himself, leans the rifle against the wall, the killer arrives, uses it to shoot the old man, then puts it in the kitchen and leaves."

"Has Wassnig done the PM yet?"

"As we speak. Should have the results in an hour or so."

They trooped back to the office and a final cup of coffee. Heimo said, "Josef, you finish up with Traunig, but don't turn the report in until I get a chance to look at it. Kat, you and I will go up to Hermagor and start digging. I called the station chief this morning and asked him to give us a hand."

They used Kat's car, a big four-wheel drive able to carry her sporting gear. At the moment, it was full of skiing equipment. But the slopes were not on her mind. "What's your intuition, Heimo. Where's this going?"

He laughed. "What am I, psychic? I have no idea. Besides, I'm the wise old experienced detective and you're the junior novice. What do you think?"

Unger snorted. She'd been in the LKA for seven years, the last two months on special assignment in the Tyrolean province working with their Homicide team on the trail of a serial murderer. "It feels like someone shot this guy accidently and panicked."

"Possible. Continue."

"He, because nothing has ever looked less like a female killer, goes up to see Schuster who's a mate. They talk, check the pigs, have a couple of belts of schnapps, and start jacking around with the rifle. It goes off, kills the old man, the other guy panics and runs."

"And an arrest is imminent. There are flaws in that scenario, however. No schnapps around. Schuster drank but always in a gasthaus. Second, why was the rifle by the door in the first place? Third, if it's an accident why not call the emergency services? He didn't know the old man was dead because we don't think he checked. No, I'm inclined to believe something a little more aggressive is going on."

Kat turned off the autobahn and headed to Hermagor. "How about the local cops?"

"Thurner, the station chief, is a good guy. He's had investigator training, although I don't suppose he's used it much. As for the others, I couldn't say. One of them, Hubner, found the rifle. Another named Poluk was the first on scene."

"Lydia Poluk?" Kat asked.

"Might be. Why?"

"I went through basic training with a Lydia Poluk, but I don't know what became of her."

"Well, you can find out soon enough. The cop shop is right in the middle of town."

# Chapter 5

The reception desk at the police station was on the ground floor. The duty officer checked their IDs and told them the chief was upstairs. They found Thurner digging through an overstuffed filing cabinet.

"Morning, Heimo." He cocked an eye at Kat.

"Kat Unger, Johann Thurner" Heimo said, and the two shook hands, Kat's disappearing in Thurner's massive paw.

"Anything new?" Heimo asked.

Thurner shook his head. "Want coffee?" When they nodded, he yelled down the stairs and Heimo was reminded of Meierhofer.

Thurner went behind his desk and gestured at two chairs. "We made a list of people who might have had dealings with Schuster. Just those we know about, but it's reasonably comprehensive."

"Must be quite a list," Kat said.

"Not so many as you might think. The old fellow didn't get on with people and he stayed on the farm most of the time. We concentrated on those known to be friends or business acquaintances and identified seventeen bodies."

Heimo said, "Any relatives other than the son?"

"None in the district. Kurt lived here all his life, and there's no record of any brothers or sisters. But we haven't looked beyond the local area."

"We better start with the son. I'd like to talk to him somewhere other than here. He might open up in a less threatening environment."

Thurner grinned. "Do we look threatening? There's a place out on the highway west of here. Usually full of truckers and skiers. You can talk there without being noticed."

He told them he'd instruct Poluk to pick up Schuster since she wasn't in uniform. Kat suggested she also join the interrogation and Thurner agreed.

As they drove to the roadhouse, Heimo said, "Why include Poluk?"

"Two women are less threatening than one. And if he makes any mistakes about places or times or distances, she's more likely to catch it than us."

"I'll just go home and put my feet up. Call me when the killer is in the jug and I'll sign the paperwork."

"No way. What if this guy turns out to be built like Thurner? You'd have to save us."

But Helmut Schuster didn't look like a threat to anyone. When Inspector Poluk drove into the car park, a slightly built man got out of the passenger side and pulled a fur hood over his head. He was dressed for the Arctic although by Austrian standards, it wasn't cold.

When he and the officer walked toward them, Heimo heard Kat mutter, "It's Lydia Poluk all right." Tall and fair-haired with something of the Valkyrie about her carriage, she dwarfed her companion.

She stuck her hand out. "Morning sir, I'm Inspector Poluk and this is Mr. Helmut Schuster." She smiled. "Hello Kat, been a long time."

"It sure has, Lydia. We must catch up."

Poluk led the way into the café and they picked a table as far away from the other diners as possible. As Thurner said, it was busy even in the middle of the morning, and the noise was considerable.

They ordered coffee, but Schuster, who had taken off his coat and lost about half his apparent bulk, declined. The officers, had they been able to discuss him, would have agreed on 'nondescript' as an apt characterization. Although he was in his mid-thirties, he appeared older with graying hair, a slight stoop and a bedraggled mustache.

They expressed commiserations at his loss. He mumbled something but seemed embarrassed. After the waiter showed up with the coffee, Kat, by pre-arrangement, started the parade.

"We hope to find whoever committed this crime as soon as possible," she said. "It would help us to know about anyone your father was having problems with, anyone who might hate him, that sort of thing.

Schuster removed his rimless glasses and polished them with a napkin. He glanced at Poluk. "You've possibly heard the stories. My father was not a...a pleasant man. He could be quite hard and difficult. As a result, he didn't have many friends. But I know no one who...who hated him or would want to kill him."

"We understand you no longer live in the area."

"No, I...I moved away shortly after I finished school. I live in Salzburg now."

"Not interested in farming, I take it."

Schuster shuddered. "Absolutely not. I worked on it all the time I was growing up, but I loathed it. Couldn't wait to get away."

"And how was your relationship with your father?"

Schuster seemed to shrink into himself. When he answered, his voice flattened to a monotone. "We did not...get on."

They looked at him, waiting.

His face reddened, and misery pinched his eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

Heimo took the hot seat. "Nothing specific, Mr. Schuster. We're trying to find out who killed your father. You've said most people, you included, didn't get along with him. But that doesn't help us much. We need concrete information. For example, how often did you see your father?"

"Not...often, once or twice a year. We usually had a fight about something, and I left."

"What did you fight about?"

"He wanted me to come back and help with the farm. I...I refused. And that would set him off."

"And why were you here this time?"

Schuster removed his glasses and polished them again. "He left a message on my phone. He wanted to do something with his bank account, and he wasn't sure how to go about it."

"Why would he ask you about that?"

"I work in the tax office, so he thinks...thought I knew about money."

"And what did he want to do?"

Schuster shook his head. "He didn't say, that's why I came down."

Kat said, "We need a description, as specific as possible, of what you did when you found your father. I understand it's painful, but we have to ask."

Schuster nodded, and for some reason his confidence returned. "Well, I got off work at lunch time and drove down. I got to the farm around three o'clock. My father wasn't in sight, so I looked in the house, but he wasn't there. I assumed he was in the barn and I walked over. Then I saw him lying on the ground in the middle walk. I checked, and he was dead. There was a lot of blood. I drove to Hermagor, went to the police station and reported it."

Kat took her time replying. "I see. How did you check?"

"I don't understand. He was dead."

"Did you feel for a pulse, listen for a heartbeat, try CPR?"

"No...no. He was dead, I...could tell." Schuster's color had come up again and he scratched at his mustache.

"OK. You drove to Hermagor to tell the police. Why didn't you call them, or call the emergency services?"

"I didn't think about it. I was upset."

Heimo moved in. "As your father wanted to do something with his bank account, money problems may have a bearing on his death. Can you show us the message he left?"

Schuster's hand started for his coat pocket and stopped. "I...no, I deleted it after I read it."

Heimo smiled. "Of course. Do you know where your father kept his rifle?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In a gun cabinet in the hallway in the house."

"We're curious about that. Your father was killed with his own rifle, but we found the gun lying on the table in living room. The cabinet was locked."

Schuster was not exactly squirming but looked like he wanted to. "How...I mean why would anybody...?"

Once again, they waited.

Schuster took one deep breath, then another. "I don't know anything about the gun. I don't even know how to shoot it. My father kept it for small animals and vermin."

"And you didn't see it when you looked into the house?"

"No. I wasn't looking for the gun."

Heimo and Kat exchanged a glance, and Heimo nodded.

Kat said, "Alright Mr. Schuster, that's enough for now, but we will probably need to talk to you again. You can't stay at the house as it's still a crime scene. Is there somewhere else you can go?"

He nodded, eyes darting from one to the other. "There's a hotel on the east side of town. I'm staying there."

As they walked Schuster out to the parking area, Kat suggested Lydia Poluk meet them back at the station when she'd dropped her charge off.

Heimo looked at Kat before they pulled onto the road. "Thoughts?"

"Smells like three-day-old fish."

"Go ahead."

"Lots of small points. We've already talked about him not calling emergency services, and his being upset doesn't make it any likelier. Same with why he drove down here in the first place. He doesn't like his old man, hates coming here because they fight, but he drives three hours to answer what might have been a simple question."

Heimo nodded as they pulled into mid-day traffic. "I'm also having trouble believing he doesn't know how to shoot the rifle. Any idea about the bank account?"

Kat shook her head. "Not a one. But Schuster could have made that up."

"We'll have to look into Kurt's financial affairs in any case. Anything else?"

"The little recital about finding his father's body. Maria! I'll bet he wrote it down and memorized it. The guy sounds phony from start to finish."

"So, how did he do it?"

Kat thought for a minute. She pulled into a space in front of the police station and parked. "How about this? He comes down for one of his regular visits. The old man has already taken the rifle out of the cabinet, maybe to slaughter a pig or something. He and the son get into one of their usual rows. Helmut storms to the house, sees the rifle, snaps, and goes out and shoots his father."

Heimo considered it. "Possible, but it leaves a lot of holes. There are no fingerprints of any kind on the gun, so it had to have been wiped. Same for the weapons cabinet. I'm not sure I can see Helmut being so cool-headed. The timing is odd too. It looks like he would have had to shoot Kurt considerably earlier than three o'clock based on the amount of rigor and the fact the corpse was semi-frozen. If he does the deed at one o'clock, what's he doing for the next two hours?"

"No idea. What next?"

"Let's give Thurner an update, talk to your buddy Lydia to see if she picked up on anything, then we'll start working the list of known associates."

Over another coffee, this time accompanied by some local pastry, they discussed their impression of Helmut Schuster. Thurner took it in but had nothing to add. In the middle of the rundown, Poluk returned.

Kat said, "Lydia, what's your impression of young Schuster."

The inspector poured herself a cup of coffee. "He's a little weird, isn't he? Everything he says comes out artificial. When I got to the farm and found the body, I checked it straightaway. No pulse, no breath, nothing, and the skin was already turning from blue to white. I reckon he'd been dead for at least two hours, maybe more. What did the pathologist say?"

"We haven't had the PM results yet, and the doc couldn't even estimate TOD at the scene. But we think the same. The timing looks very dodgy. Ever had anything to do with the Schusters, professionally or otherwise?"

Both officers shook their heads. Thurner said, "I remember going up to the farm once, maybe seven, eight years ago. One of the ski crowd said she thought the pigs were being mistreated. And, in a way, they were. Schuster was slaughtering just as she came by, and the squealing was fierce. Other than that, they've never come our way."

Heimo said, "We'll get some lunch and start on your list of names. Can you detail someone to lead us around?"

Thurner nodded. "Peter Hubner comes on duty shortly. He knows everyone on the list, so he can be your scout."

Heimo hoped their afternoon's work would turn up something positive. What began as a conventional local crime was growing muddier by the hour.

# Chapter 6

Kat followed Inspector Hubner's patrol car to a small village a few kilometers from the Schuster farm. The first person on Thurner's list, a man named Heinrich Forstmann, owned a gasthaus where Kurt Schuster periodically got drunk. According to Hubner, the two had been friends since schooldays.

The establishment was closed, but Forstmann lived over the premises. Heimo and Kat waited as Hubner walked around the back. A few minutes later, the front door opened, and the officer beckoned them in.

Forstmann turned the lights on and gestured to the stammtisch, a table permanently reserved for regulars who showed up every night. The owner was barrel-chested with a shaved head, a gray mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He looked less than delighted to have three police officers in the place.

Heimo said. "We're investigating the death of Kurt Schuster. You're an old friend of his, correct?"

Forstmann nodded. "Known him forever, or it seems like it. I'll miss the old bugger, I have to say."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Forstmann squinted at the overhead light. "A few weeks ago, on a Friday. That was always his day."

"Anything unusual happen?"

"Well, I don't know about unusual. Kurt normally got blind whenever he came in. I'd put him up in the spare room if he was too far gone to go home. But that last time, he stayed relatively sober. I mean, he had about four beers and a few schnapps, but nowhere near his usual load."

"Did he mention having problems?"

"Nope. Long as I've known him, Kurt was closed-mouth about his business. We'd talk about the usual stuff, politics and what-not, but he never discussed anything personal."

"Know anyone who had a grudge against Mr. Schuster?"

Forstmann shook his head. "Kurt could be a little rough, but most people ignored it. Just the way he was."

Schuster's old friend had nothing else to offer, so the officers left. Outside, before they got in their cars, Hubner said, "I don't think you'll find anyone local involved in this. It's a small community. Anything like a killing, and the word would get around in no time."

Heimo said, "We can but try," and they headed for the next person on the list. But they got nothing useful from any of the next four acquaintances. Yes, they'd known Schuster for a long time, and he was rough, but not much more than a lot of the old mountain farmers. No, they didn't know anyone who'd do such a thing, but it was terrible.

"Not a lot of help, are they?" said Kat as they looked through the list.

"It's like I said, not likely to be a local." Hubner's smugness peeked through, and Kat prepared to tear him off a strip, but Heimo intervened.

"Next one is a man named Wolf Zalar. Know anything about him?"

Hubner nodded. "Runs a haulage firm with about fifteen trucks. Transports mostly between here and Italy, usually lumber for the furniture factories down there. But I believe he also does long-haul."

"How is he connected to Schuster?"

"When Zalar first started, he had a livestock transporter. He'd collect the pigs from places like Schuster's and take them to the abattoir just east of town. Stopped about eight years ago when a lot of the farmers started doing their own slaughtering."

They found the contractor in his office leafing through the day's mail. He stood up and came around the desk, hand out and a big smile for Hubner. "Peter, good to see you. What can I do for you?"

Hubner introduced Heimo and Kat. "We're investigating the death of Kurt Schuster."

Zalar's bushy eyebrows climbed. "Really? I heard it was an accident." As usual, the word had spread like a hot wind.

Heimo said, "Afraid not, Mr. Zalar, it looks like homicide."

"Well, I'll be. Who'd want to kill old Kurt?"

Kat, impatient with the trite expressions, said, "That's what we're trying to find out. When was the last time you saw Mr. Schuster?"

Zalar leaned against the desk and folded his arms. "It's been a while. Used to be every two weeks regular. Must be about three, maybe four weeks."

"Did you speak to him?"

"We passed a few words. It was over at Forstmann's and he was well away by the time I got there."

"Did he have any enemies, any disputes with anyone?"

Zalar waggled his mustache. "Well, I don't think so. Wait a minute, I did hear something a while back. There was a rumor about an argument Kurt was having with someone about an overdue bill. Kurt supposedly threatened whoever it was." He shrugged. "Pretty vague, I know. Sorry."

Heimo said, "I understand you do a lot of hauling to Italy. Do you use the border crossing to Pontebba?"

Zalar's eyes narrowed. "Occasionally. Why?"

"The road runs close to the Schuster farm. Were any of your drivers in the area from noon to three o'clock two days ago?"

"Absolutely not. We don't use that crossing in winter because the road's too dangerous for heavy vehicles."

"You go over to the autobahn?"

"Of course, much the best way and faster too."

"Anything else you can tell us about Mr. Schuster."

Zalar squinted out the office window for a while. "I'm not sure I should mention this, but Kurt and his son Helmut didn't get along well. Lots of arguments, even when Helmut was young. The boy hated farming and couldn't wait to get away."

"Have you seen Helmut recently?"

"Well, I'm not really sure. Unless I ran into him in town or something, I wouldn't normally see him. I can't remember the last time, but it was probably within the past few months. But, please, I'm not implying Helmut killed his father. Don't see that happening."

"Why not," Kat asked.

Zalar shrugged. "Helmut's not...well, not really the violent type. Him and Kurt had some pretty loud arguments and Helmut threw a pitchfork at the old man one time, but I don't think he'd do anything serious."

Heimo said, "OK, Mr. Zalar, thanks for your information."

Zalar grinned. "Only too happy to help. Hope you catch whoever did it."

Outside, they picked the next name on the list, and Hubner told them it was one of the few farmers Schuster had done business with, a specialist breeder of hybrid pigs.

On the way, with Hubner out of earshot, Heimo said, "Your assessment of Zalar?"

Kat wrinkled her nose as she dropped in behind Hubner's car. "Not sure. He seemed a little eager to drop Helmut into it, despite the protests. Might be trying to steer us. You?"

"The autobahn thing made me a little curious. There hasn't been enough snow on the south side of the mountains to stop using the secondary road yet. And the autobahn is a lot more expensive for trucks with the tolls and taxes. Small haulers are usually sensitive to any added costs. And he was a too adamant about none of his drivers being around Shuster's place. However, I am probably grasping at the proverbial straw."

Kat pondered a minute. "I hadn't considered that road. Might be the way the killer left if he didn't want anyone knowing he was in the area at the time."

"True, unless the border post was manned. With all the migrants coming over, it might have been. We'll have to check."

Hubner turned off the main road onto a single track which started out asphalt but turned to gravel after a few hundred meters. After a steep and twisting climb, they turned into a surprisingly large farmyard, enclosed on three sides by modern and well-kept barns. A small house peered out from behind the barn on the left.

As they parked, a short man in a Tyrolean hat and plaid coat came out of the middle barn. He walked over to Hubner's car and leaned in. After a moment, the two walked over to Heimo and Kat who shivered slightly as the icy wind hit them.

"Franz Torelli," Hubner said, and introduced the two detectives. Younger than most of the hill-men they'd met, Torelli somehow appeared modern and businesslike despite his rough clothes and the distinct smell of swine effluent.

"You here about old Kurt Schuster, eh?" Torelli shook his head. "Damnedest thing I ever heard."

Kat said, "We understand you did some business with Mr. Schuster. We're investigating his death as a probable homicide. How well you did you know him?"

"Oh, very well indeed. He's bought pigs from me for a good many years and from my dad before that. Always looking to improve his stock, and he did it. One of the better lots of animals around here."

Heimo, hoping they were going to be invited into either a barn or the house, said, "When was the last time you saw him?"

"The twenty-fourth of last month," Torelli said promptly.

"How do you remember it so exactly," Kat asked.

"Because he arranged to buy my best boar, Hercules. Surprised me. That's an expensive pig, and I didn't reckon Kurt had the money, but he paid up front in cash, no problem. Supposed to pick the boar up on the day he died."

"Did he call to arrange a time?"

Torelli shook his head. "No need. I'm always here unless it's market day. I called him when it started to get dark, but no reply. Reckoned he was out in his barn and would call me when he got a chance. Course, he never did."

"Do you know if he had any enemies or disputes with anyone?"

"None he ever mentioned. Kurt was hard on some people, but it never amounted to much. Don't think he had a lot of friends, but that suited him. He was a bit hot about the refugees for a while, I remember."

Kat leaned forward. "Why?"

"Well, there's been a lot of them coming over the border, flooding through a while back. Everyone's worried about what it'll mean for the country if they stop here. Most are trying to get to Germany or England according to the papers, but you never know what to believe."

"Did he have any trouble with them?"

"Never said anything," Torelli replied, "and he hadn't mentioned them for a long time."

"And you don't know of anyone who might have wanted to harm him," Kat pressed.

Torelli shook his head again. "Nope. Arguments maybe, but killing? No way."

They thanked him, and he headed back to his barn. Hubner pulled out the list. "We've got several who live here full time, and four who live here part time, but work elsewhere."

Kat looked at Heimo who said, "We'll knock it off today. We need to check a few things, and I need to eat. Tell your boss I'll give him a call later and we'll sort out what to do next."

They followed him back to the main road, then split off as the officer headed back to his station. "Find food," Heimo said, and Kat grinned.

They drove to the diner where they'd interviewed Helmut Schuster and tucked into a substantial lunch. This time there were a few knowing glances from the staff. "I think they made us," Heimo said.

"Small towns are all the same. What do you reckon so far?"

"There's nothing that exactly leaps out at you, is there? Other than some finger-pointing at young Helmut, we don't have a real suspect. And I'm guessing the remaining people on the list probably will not be any more helpful. So, we change tack. Torelli interested me when he said Schuster paid cash for the pig. Small farmers usually don't have much cash, so I'm wondering where it came from. Let's get his bank details and see what we can find out."

Kat finished her coffee. "Torelli reminded me about the phone. Karl didn't find a mobile, did he?"

"No, he didn't. There was a phone in the house, but almost everyone has a mobile, don't they?"

After lunch, Heimo called Josef and asked him dig out the bank information, then called Hallegger.

Karl said, "Got the PM results from Wassnig, and we've got the bullet that killed him. It was in good shape and we've done a comparison shoot. It matches his rifle exactly. Wassnig says...hang on a minute." Heimo could hear paper shuffling. "Got it. The bullet entered the lower left abdomen and penetrated the abdominal aorta. It ended up just under the skin of the back about four centimeters right of the spine. So, the angle is a little strange. It works out to about twenty-eight degrees off center."

"Maybe Schuster turned just before the gunman fired."

"Could be. The other oddity is the bullet entered on an almost level trajectory. That would not be the case if someone fired the rifle from the conventional shoulder position–the bullet would have had a downward trajectory. So, either someone fired from the hip or thereabouts, or Schuster was shot by a midget. You haven't run across any midgets, have you?"

Heimo could hear the grin in his voice. "Not a midget in sight, and we have looked. What else?"

"Schuster was in good health otherwise except for a little scarring of the liver. Too much booze as usual. Time of death is still general. Wassnig reckons he died anywhere from two to five hours before he was found. The temperature on the farm at the time is not precise enough for him to get any closer. And he reckons he bled out in about two or three minutes given the damage to the aorta."

"Did you come up with any better estimate of where he was standing when he was shot?"

"Slightly. We picked up a tiny trace of blood about two-and-a-half meters back into the barn. Wassnig confirms he wouldn't have gotten far due to shock."

Heimo tried to visualize the barn. "How far away would the shooter have been?"

"Eight point seven meters."

Heimo snorted. "I give up. How do you know?"

Hallegger cackled. "The rifle is a bolt action model, single shot. For some reason, the shooter ejected the brass, then slid the bolt forward. The gun was empty when we inspected it."

"You are a mine of information, young fellow. Any more rabbits in your hat?"

"Just one. There's an old hay barn on the farm about three hundred meters up the mountain in a top field. Several people have been sleeping in there recently."

# Chapter 7

As Heimo talked to Karl, Kat phoned Lydia Poluk and asked her to join them. "Why?" Heimo asked.

"Hubner got up my nose. He's a know-it-all. I want a better perspective on the victim, and I reckon Poluk can provide it."

He told her about Karl's discovery in the hay barn. "Likely to be migrants, but I don't see how they'd be connected with the murder."

"Why not? They might be refugees, but they might also be bad guys trying to change countries without anyone noticing. If Schuster was the type to fly off the handle, he'd go berserk if he found people sleeping in his barn."

"True, but it doesn't fit well with the crime scene. Someone walks down to the farm on fairy feet without leaving tracks, finds the rifle, shoots the old man, puts the gun in the house, then disappears leaving no trace. If he's got that much magic, we'd need Harry Potter to find him."

Kat grimaced. "Put that way, it presents a few problems. I need a coffee."

"Order two. I'll call Greiml."

He wandered around to the back of the diner. It was still cold, but the breeze had dropped.

"Good afternoon, Heimo. How are you getting on?"

"Eliminating possibilities, but nothing definite. So far, the only possible suspect we have is the victim's son. Several people mentioned bad blood between them which the son admits. But his explanation of times doesn't quite match what we got from the PM, so we'll keep an eye on him. We'll check the victim's financials this afternoon."

"Excellent. Sounds like you'll finish it up in a day or two."

Heimo knew he was thinking about the quarterly crime statistics. "I'll call if we get anything else."

His message service beeped. Josef had texted Schuster's bank details along with the name of the branch manager.

When Heimo walked back into the welcome warmth of the diner, the place had almost cleared out. Kat and Poluk were at a table in the corner. Poluk started to rise, but he waved her down and pulled out a chair.

"I was right," Kat said. "Lydia's has better info on Schuster. Tell him Lydia."

The inspector shook her head, her short blonde hair moving a half a beat behind her face. "It's only what I've heard, Kat. I can't verify it."

"Well, let's have it anyway," Heimo said.

She took her time, wanting to get it right. "About six months ago, I got sent out to a domestic. It was a house in a village about four kilometers east of here. I found Schuster and a man named Osternig having a ferocious argument. It was hot and Osternig had his windows open, so everybody could hear them. They calmed down when they saw the uniform. The argument was about money. Schuster claimed Osternig owed him some, it was overdue, and he needed it now. Osternig claimed it wasn't due for a month and he didn't have the cash anyway. Schuster wanted me to arrest Osternig, but I told him it wasn't a criminal matter. I suggested they cool it, or I'd be back to take them in. And I made Schuster leave the house."

"Anything come of it?"

"No, that was the end of it as far as I know."

"What do you know about Osternig?" Kat asked.

"Not a lot. He runs a sawmill and lumber company."

Heimo said, "Anything else on Schuster?"

Poluk shook her head again. "Nothing definite. Others described him as rough, but what I saw at Osternig's suggested he could be more than just rough. If he'd had a gun, I reckoned he'd have shot Osternig."

"Any idea what the money issue was about?"

"Not a one."

His phone buzzed. When he checked the caller ID, it was Paulette, and his heart jumped into his throat. "Have to take this," he said and left the table.

"Are you all right?" he blurted as he shot out the diner's front door.

"Yes, Heimo, I am fine. What do you think is wrong?"

"When Veronique worries, it worries me."

She chuckled. "I do not think the world will end so soon. I called because I received another letter. After I spoke to Cristina last night, I thought the matter was finished, but it now seems it is not. Should I contact the Gendarmerie?"

"The letters are from someone who is targeting you, and who perhaps has some mental problems. I'm not sure what the police can do, but they should at least open an investigation and trace the letters. Is the new letter any more specific about what the writer wants?"

"No, it speaks again of a great wrong but does not say what the wrong is. However, it mentions 'compensation'. This has given me an idea. My husband bought a vineyard about fifteen years ago. There was some question about the title to the land, but I do not know any details. I wondered if this could be the great wrong."

"It's possible. See if you can find the documents related to this purchase. It may give the police information they can use to trace the letter writer."

"I will. And Heimo, do not tell Veronique, please. She becomes upset and I worry she will have a problem with her job. But talk to her, she misses her papa."

And I her, he thought. "Call me or Cristina after you speak to the police and we will see what the next step is."

As he returned to the diner, he jammed the phone deep into a pocket. Not being there to handle the problem personally frustrated him more than he would have imagined. If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling helpless, although he'd had enough practice.

Kat and Lydia were laughing about something, but their faces straightened when they saw him. Kat searched his. "Everything all right?"

"Just family problems. Told Lydia about the people in the barn?"

"Nope. Reckoned you'd want to."

He turned to Poluk. "Forensics tells us there have been people sleeping in an old hay barn up on Schuster's top field. Given the proximity to the border, I would guess they're migrants or refugees. Have you had a problem with them?"

"A fair number of them came through during the last eight or nine months, but it's slowed to trickle. Almost all of them walked up the road from Pontebba and were stopped at the checkpoint. The border guys were constantly running buses taking them up to Salzburg and Germany."

"We considered whether Schuster found them on his property, got into a fight and ended up shot. But it doesn't fit. He was killed with his own gun, so he had to take it out of the gun cabinet. And it's not likely the shooter would come down to the main farm if they were migrants trying to avoid detection. Whoever shot him was on the valley side of the farm rather than from above and standing a good distance away. So whoever was sleeping up there looks like a dead end as far as the homicide goes."

Lydia nodded. "The weather is too cold now for them to try the mountain routes, and the Italians are watching their side of the border as much as we are."

They parted in the car park after Kat told Poluk they would resume interviewing the people on the list once they'd had a look at Schuster's financial affairs. The bank was almost in the town's center, and as she parked, Kat mentioned the argument between the victim and Osternig.

"Anything there?"

"Not sure. A few months ago, Shuster seems to need money seriously enough to have a fight with someone. But more recently he's got enough cash to splash out on an expensive pig. Could just be the farming cycle–broke in the spring, flush in the fall after harvest. I hope the bank can give us an answer."

The bank, a local branch of one of Austria's bigger institutions, had recently been renovated. Everything sparkled with polished wood and bright chrome fittings. The cashier took their names and walked them down a wide hall to an office in the rear. A tall woman wearing glasses and an expensive suit waited in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, I'm Inge Rieder, please come in."

The office was nicely appointed but not ostentatious. Kat and Heimo sat while she returned to her desk. She steepled her hands and said, "I'm afraid I must ask for some identification."

They placed their identity cards on the desk. She leaned forward, and without touching them, checked the information and looked back and forth between faces and photos several times. Finally, she leaned back, satisfied.

"Sorry, but we've had several instances in Vienna of people purporting to be police asking for confidential client account details, so we've been warned to be careful. Now, how can I help you?"

Kat couldn't resist. "We need some confidential client account details. However, this client is dead, and we don't think he'll object."

Rieder's smile was small and unamused. "I presume you're talking about Kurt Schuster?"

Heimo nodded. "Do you have his records available?"

She pulled out a folder from a tray behind her desk. "I assumed that was the reason for the call, so I printed out his transactions for the last two years. Is that enough?"

"Won't know until we look," said Kat. "Have you reviewed them? It would save us some time if you can give us a summary."

"I glanced through them. There did not seem to be anything untoward, at least regarding banking regulations. Our systems are designed to search for anything resembling money laundering like abnormal debts or deposits, and nothing like that has been flagged."

Heimo said, "Did you know Mr. Schuster?"

"Slightly. He's been with us for over twenty years, so I met him once or twice."

"Did he have any loans or debts with the bank?"

"We loaned him money on two occasions in the past nine years, once for a tractor and the second, about two years ago, for farm equipment. Both were settled, the second one just over two months ago."

"How much were the loans?"

The manager opened the folder, leafed through the printouts and found one. She ran her finger down a column of figures. "The tractor loan was for thirty-two thousand euros and that was completed in seven years. The equipment loan was twelve thousand euros. He paid that in seventeen months."

Heimo and Kat glanced at each other. Kat said, "Were you surprised by the early pay off?"

Rieder laid the folder on her desk. "No reason I should be. Although Mr. Schuster ran one of the smaller farms in the area, he might have done any number of things which resulted in spare cash being available. When our customers pay us back early, it improves their credit rating, and we're happy to have our money, so it all seemed in order. Wasn't it?"

Heimo shook his head. "It's just one avenue we have to look at. We'll need a copy of those accounts. If the two-year look back isn't sufficient, we'll request more, but I think they'll be enough."

Rieder passed Kat the folder. "You can take those. Can I help you with anything else?"

They stood and Heimo said, "Not at the moment, thanks."

When they got out to the car, Heimo heard Kat mutter 'bitch' under her breath.

"What's eating you?" he asked.

"She reckons she's several cuts above us peasant cops. It's an attitude that never fails to piss me off."

"Maybe you should get some new uniforms made. Dior or one of those French designer outfits. You could look like a much more upmarket peasant."

She stuck out her tongue at him.

# Chapter 8

"What's next boss man?"

"I need a review. This case feels like it's sailing off into the sunset. Find a coffee shop and we'll see if we can come up with a few answers."

Kat stopped at a small café on the main street. It was deserted this late the afternoon, so they could talk without interruption.

"You first," Heimo said.

"Well, I can't see a good, sharp motive anywhere. The rifle could have been out of the cabinet for any number of reasons such as Schuster shooting a fox or something. Leaving it propped by the door probably means he wasn't expecting anyone. And that farm is far enough off the main road that anybody could have gone up there without being seen. The only two leads we have are the son and the old man's money."

"Good summary. Got a theory that covers it?"

"Maybe. Suppose Helmut's problems with the old man have been getting worse, but he can't bring himself to completely cut loose. He decides to have a final try and comes down here to tell papa he won't be coming home. They get into a fight straight away. Kurt's had the gun out for some reason, Helmut snaps and shoots him, maybe not intending to hit him at all which would account for the odd bullet angle. Everything goes quiet and Helmut realizes he's committed murder. But there are no witnesses, so he thinks things out and decides he might get away with it. He wipes the gun and waits for an hour or two. Then he goes into town and starts his tale."

Heimo nodded. "It works, and I've thought the same thing. Problem is we can't prove any of it. If we really dig into him and find some discrepancies, we may be able to leverage a confession. Without it, we'd have a tough time getting a conviction."

"Your turn." Kat gulped her coffee and signaled for another.

After the waiter left, Heimo said, "The money intrigues me. Suppose Osternig is engaged in something shady or criminal. He either enlists Schuster's help, or uses his farm, maybe to hide stolen goods or something like that. But he's late with the money he owes his partner, so they have a row. But things get better, and the cash starts to flow, and old Kurt starts to think big. Then, the same thing happens again. Osternig goes to the farm, they argue, and Kurt threatens to pull out or talk to us. The gun is there, and Osternig shoots him. No witnesses, so he wipes the gun and leaves."

"Which leaves us with the same problem – trying to prove it."

"True, but we're just playing games. Any fantasies involving the migrants or refugees?"

Kat shook her head. "That looks like pure coincidence to me. Those folks are trying to hide. They'd run like hell if there was any kind of a confrontation. But it's curious all the same. Schuster must have known they were using the barn. Was he actively helping them, or ripping them off? Based on what we've heard, I'd suspect the latter."

Heimo shook his head. "We'll pass the bank account stuff to Josef tonight. In the meantime, let's go see Osternig and get his story."

Kat called Lydia Poluk for an address, and Heimo called Josef. "We won't be back until late. In the morning, I want you to go through Schuster's bank account and see if there are any odd patterns. We think he may have been receiving illicit money at intervals over the past eight or ten months."

"Colonel Greiml instructed me to wrap up the Traunig case as a suicide."

"I'm not wild about the idea, but as we don't have any solid evidence that says otherwise, we'll have to go along with it."

Heimo had an aversion to closing any case without knowing all the answers. If he didn't, he left it open until he did. But that didn't look tidy in the reports, and Greiml was nothing if not well organized.

Kat tapped Osternig's address into the car's GPS, and they headed towards one of the numerous villages that dotted the area. The house, when they spotted it, was modern, painted bright orange, and sat on a spacious corner. There was a two-car garage on the left with a beat-up truck parked in the driveway.

Kat parked on the street and they walked through a green gate up to the front door. It opened before they got there, and a large man in a stained check shirt stared belligerently at them. "What do you want?" His voice was more a growl than speech.

Kat loved confrontation. She pulled her identity card out, walked up to the man so she was right in his face and "Police. We need to talk to you."

His face registered surprise and he leaned back on his heels. "What about?"

Kat followed his lean by thrusting her face forward, and growled, "Murder."

He stood for a moment, eyes wide with astonishment. Finally, he said, "Schuster, right?"

Heimo, much as he'd enjoyed the show, decided it was time to intervene. "Are you Bruno Osternig?"

Osternig nodded.

"We understand you were an associate of Mr. Schuster. We have some questions. And it might be better to ask them inside rather than on your doorstep."

Osternig shook his head once, his eyes calculating, but stepped back into the house. He turned and walked away leaving the door open in reluctant invitation. Heimo and Kat followed him into the kitchen.

Papers and folders littered the table. Osternig resumed his chair and waved toward two others on the opposite side. He gathered up the paperwork, shuffled it into a semblance of a pile and shoved it into a box.

"Why do you want to talk to me?" he asked.

Heimo said, "We're investigating Schuster's death as a homicide. Can you tell us your movements yesterday up until three o'clock?"

Osternig scratched a hand through two days of beard stubble. "More or less. Went over to a farm about fifteen kilometers from here to check on a barn we're tearing down. That was around eight. Then I went to the bank. Came back here to fetch something I forgot, then went to the mill. Stayed there the rest of the day until just after four. That good enough?"

Heimo nodded. "It is, but we'll check it." He stared at Osternig for a moment.

Osternig stared back for a few seconds but said nothing.

Kat said, "What was your relationship with Mr. Schuster?"

'Just someone I know...knew. Nothing special."

"According to a police report, you two had a big argument over money six months ago. What happened?"

Osternig leaned back in his chair and looked from Kat to Heimo and back again. "Is that what this is about? It wasn't nothing, just a misunderstanding."

"Tell us anyway," Heimo said.

Osternig tried a sigh of resignation but couldn't carry it off. "Kurt reckoned I owed him money. I'd bought some timber off him a few months before on consignment. Sold about two-thirds of it straight away, but the rest was still at the mill. Deal was I'd pay him as and when we shifted it, but he reckoned I said he'd get it all immediately. So he came over here all hot and mad and we had a sort-out until them next door called the cops. That was it. Paid him a couple weeks later."

Kat said, "You own a sawmill and a construction business, is that right?"

Osternig nodded, some of the belligerence gone.

"You cut, haul and mill the timber."

This time he shook his head. "We don't usually cut it unless it's a big job. Farmers arrange to cut what they want to sell, then I haul the logs to the mill."

"Do you also haul the lumber?"

"No." He stopped. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Heimo smiled. "Just one of the things we check."

Osternig was silent for a while. "There's several companies around here that move the lumber."

"Name them."

"Kleinfelter, TKG, Zalar, Jaeger Wald."

Kat made a note, then asked, "Which one of your drivers collected Shuster's timber?"

"Can't remember, I'd have to look it up. But this don't make any sense. All that was finished months ago. I haven't seen Schuster in two-three months."

Heimo leaned his elbows on the table and glanced around the kitchen. When his eyes wandered back to Osternig, he flattened his voice. "You can see where this is going. We're interested in anyone who has been to the Schuster farm recently. And we're particularly interested in anyone who had problems with Schuster. We'll check your story Mr. Osternig. If it's correct, you'll probably never see us again. If it isn't..."

All three rose, Osternig looking belligerent again, and Kat matching him scowl for scowl. They saw themselves out and Kat slammed the door harder than she needed to.

Once in the car, Heimo said, "Kat you're going to have to stop scaring the hell out of witnesses. That poor sod was about wet himself."

She snickered. "It was the whimpering that got to me – can't stand a man who whimpers. So, what's going on? You jumped straight into him."

He shrugged. "Just a thing I do with guys like him. They have a habit of trying to intimidate everyone they meet. I don't think they're even aware of it, but it makes me want to rock them back a little to see what happens. And I think Osternig is covering up."

"Lying?"

"More like dancing around something. I doubt if we'll find any big discrepancies in what he said he was doing when Schuster was killed. But there's something going on, and he didn't want us anywhere near it. Let's go back to the station and see if we can get better information on who might have been on Schuster's property doing normal business."

Poluk was out on a call when they trooped up the stairs, but Thurner and Hubner were both there. Heimo decided to hold some of his suspicions back from the two local officers. He had no concrete reason for doing so, just vague instinct and experience.

"We need to talk to people who visited the Schuster farm regularly who might know something or have seen something. The postman, baker, oil delivery, that sort of thing. We can probably figure it out from his paperwork, but we hoped you could give us a short cut."

Both Hubner and Thurner nodded. Thurner said, "Postman's easy, although I think there are two of them on different days. Chimney cleaner twice a year. The bakery doesn't deliver anymore unfortunately. Oil I'm not sure about. Peter?"

Hubner shook his head. "Didn't use it. Everything was heated with wood. Might have had someone service the boiler, but I don't know about that. Meter reader only goes up once a year."

Kat asked, "How about slaughtering, health inspections, that kind of thing?"

Thurner said, "Kurt did most of his own slaughtering since the abattoir closed, but about once a year he shipped a dozen or so animals into Klagenfurt, usually in the fall. Off hand, I'm not sure who did the hauling. Health inspection is annual as well, but I don't know when."

"Can either of you think of anyone, aside from the postman, who might have been at the farm around the relevant time?"

Both officers got far-away looks as they considered possibilities. But they came up empty.

Heimo said, "How about things like selling timber or hay and straw?"

Hubner said, "Don't think he sold or bought any hay or straw, but he might have sold some timber. They usually cut anything they want to sell after the first frost, then get it collected by one of the haulers."

"We know that Osternig bought some timber from Schuster a few months ago and milled it. He says that another company would have taken the finished lumber. Do you know who he uses?"

Thurner rubbed his hand through his brush-cut. "Zalar probably," he said looking at his colleague for confirmation.

Hubner nodded vigorously. "Definitely Zalar, they've worked together for a long time. I mean Zalar wouldn't go himself, of course, but one of his men."

"Any names?"

Hubner shrugged. "Werner Ressmann maybe. He's worked for Zalar forever. Takes a lot of the finished lumber to Italy."

"If you can get us the info on the postmen and Ressmann, we'll ask if they saw anything that would help."

Later as they sat in her car collating information so it could be put onto the police computers the next day, Kat said. "Wouldn't anyone who saw anything already have come forward?"

"Probably, but that's not what I'm after." He shuffled the last pieces of paper and put them into a plastic sleeve. "I'm coming around to the idea that this is a little more complicated than it first appeared. If I put all the players into a framework and timeline, it might give me a better idea of motives and opportunities."

Kat frowned. "I understand that, but we still have only two possibilities, the son and Osternig. Are you thinking there was a conspiracy to kill Schuster?"

"Not necessarily, although I wouldn't rule it out entirely. What I'm trying to tease out is a motive that makes sense, and that fits with the physical facts. The forensic data implies the killing was not premeditated. Helmut sort of fits that scenario, but Osternig doesn't. If he decided to kill Schuster, he'd have taken a gun. I'm betting that his alibi checks out. And for the son to snap his tether just when there happened to be a rifle handy stretches it a bit."

She thought about it. "If you're right, we're going to need a new approach."

# Chapter 9

Cristina picked up on the first ring. "Everything OK?" Heimo asked.

"More or less. Where are you?"

"Just leaving Hermagor. What's up?"

"I did a little digging into Aubock's background, and came across a name I recognized, a man I heard lecture at university. I called him and asked a couple of questions. He suggested we meet after work and he'd give me some details about Aubock's past. As much as I like meeting strange men, I figured it might be wiser to have a big, ugly cop accompany me. Your name came up."

"Do I have to be the bad cop again?"

"We'll see. He might be a sweetie. The bistro OK?"

Heimo told her he'd meet them there and got in the car. As Kat headed for the highway, he said, "You believe young Helmut's story?"

She scowled for a moment, her face silhouetted in the dashboard lights. "I don't want to, but it sounds like what I'd expect him to do. He's seems to be one of those people who are just barely effective, that can never quite get it all together."

"Not exactly Mr. Dynamic, is he? I'm always leery of betting on anyone's personality type, but Schuster doesn't seem the kind to become suddenly enraged enough to shoot his father."

"The timing seems wrong."

"That struck me too. I'll tell Josef to check on him, employer, finances, that sort of thing. If nothing adverse turns up, we'll cut him loose, at least for the moment."

Kat speeded up down the autobahn ramp and pulled out to pass a truck. "Which brings up an interesting question. What was the old man doing letting people sleep in his barn? And how the hell did they get there in the first place?"

"Don't know, but the obvious answer is he was charging them for it. Bit of cash, untraceable, little risk if they move on quickly. Also, highly illegal, but he must have figured it was so far from the main roads, we'd never catch on. As to how they got there, I can only see two possibilities. Either someone brought them across the border, or they walked across and managed to avoid the border post. The first is far more likely. If they walked, how would they find the barn in the first place?"

"Smugglers?" Kat said. "How would that work? They're refugees so they've only got the clothes they stand up in. Not likely to be much profit in that."

"True, so there must be some other explanation."

"But they're still not likely to have anything to do with the murder," Kat mused.

"Maybe, maybe not. Suppose Kurt got greedy. Most of the migrants, at least the ones from the Middle East, have a little money. If Schuster got aggressive, they might have decided he was a threat. They go down to the farm, see him with the rifle, and somehow shoot him. A lot of difficulties, I grant you, but not impossible."

Heimo tried Greiml's number but got no reply so he left a 'nothing to report' message. When Kat dropped him off at the LKA, he picked up his own car and drove over to the Rondell Café. It was the first place he'd ever taken Cristina and they still used it for quasi-business meetings when other people were involved.

Marco Ranelli, the owner, had increased his girth over the years, but still poured some of the best Italian wines, and the food was authentic and superb. "You two never eat any more," he grumbled when Heimo walked in, "only drink. I have some of the tastiest mussels ever produced in the Mediterranean, and you only want to get sloshed."

Heimo held his hands up. "Give me a break, papa, I just got here. We finish our business, we'll eat and get sloshed, how's that?"

Marco winked. "Better. Back room," as he jerked his head to the rear.

When he separated the cord curtain in the doorway, he could see Cristina sitting with her back to the wall. Across from her was a suit enveloping a broad back surmounted by a large bald head. She looked up when he came through and smiled.

The suit stood up and turned. "Stefan Scholz," he said extending his hand.

Scholz looked to be in his fifties, rotund with a broad shiny face upon which perched incongruous blue eyeglasses.

Heimo shook the hand, walked around the table dodging the wine bucket and slid into the booth next to Cristina.

No one said anything for a moment. Heimo poured himself a glass, topped up the other two and waited.

Cristina sipped hers, then said, "I've told Stefan a little of what's going on, but I wanted to wait until you got here for the rest. Stefan, Heimo is a police officer."

The other man nodded slowly and grinned. "We will have to take care to be legally correct, won't we? Unless we can't." He swirled the wine in his glass. "What do you want to know?"

Heimo stayed out of it. This was Cristina's bailiwick, and he was not inclined to contribute unless she invited him in.

She stared over Scholz's head for a moment. "The matter is delicate. I am trying to gather information to help me understand some problems. At this stage, I have no intention of using the information for or against anyone. Can we agree this is confidential and only for my use?"

Scholz nodded. "Reasonable under the circumstances If it goes beyond, we will adjust."

"Michael Aubock became the Chief Prosecutor a few months ago. He has the reputation of being highly ethical and very traditional in his view of the law, and I've found those views justified. Recently he began to act rather, shall we say, out of character. I'm concerned, and I would like to know more about his background to assess whether the Prosecutor Service has a problem."

Scholtz steepled his fingers and stared at the rear wall, considering. "I understand. I'm not sure I can help you as my association with Michael is some years in the past, but I will tell you what I can."

He paused, then said, "Michael was dedicated, bright and capable. He proved himself on several difficult cases early in his career, and his star was in the ascendant. If he had a flaw, it was an overly rigid view of legal matters. He was one of those men who believed in certainty, and he saw the law as a set of rules to be applied without consideration of the human beings involved. Most of the time that worked."

Scholtz sipped his wine. "But not always. He experienced some of the setbacks which will happen to any lawyer. None were his fault, and his superiors were happy with his performance. But those errors, as he defined them, dented his confidence in the law's absolutes. However, nothing dramatic happened except his rigid application of law and procedure increased. Does that help?"

Heimo topped up glasses again. Although he was not contributing anything to the conversation, it hadn't stopped his brain from working. Prosecutors were both colleagues and adversaries as far as the police were concerned and knowing your opponent was the first rule of the game.

Cristina said, "It confirms what I already know, but it doesn't give me any insight into why he seems to be acting out of character. I considered illness and personal problems, and they may play a part, but they don't seem to cover his behavior."

Scholz nodded and drained his glass. He put a hand over the top when Heimo indicated a refill. "I cannot offer you a definite answer, but I will tell you about the only incident I know of where his behavior altered. About eighteen years ago, Michael and I were on opposite sides in a case involving a large business fraud. My clients were probably guilty at some level, but it was complicated. We were pushing for agreement on a level of culpability without excessive penalty. Michael, on behalf of the state, was adamant that only the full penalties of fine and prison would be acceptable. As you know, this is the normal situation in most cases at the beginning. We had only opened the negotiations when Michael suddenly agreed to our position. I was caught completely off guard, but, after conferring with my clients, we agreed, and the matter was settled with little damage to our side."

Scholtz shook his head. "At the last few meetings, Michael's behavior was out of character. He seemed distracted, not in command of himself, and we had to go over some items several times." He stopped, his face grave. "This is the confidential part, which I will deny should it ever become necessary. About a month after the settlement, I received a letter from an old acquaintance. He implied that one of his clients was an old friend of Aubock from childhood, and that he had brought pressure on Aubock to act leniently. I did not pursue the matter, and I don't know if there was any truth to the allegation."

Heimo had to restrain himself from going into interrogation mode He sipped his wine and held his peace.

Cristina was silent for quite a long time. Finally she said, "Thank you. I appreciate the background, but it seems unlikely that incident has any bearing on what I'm seeing now. There aren't any parallels to the situations, and Aubock appears to have a spotless record for ethical behavior. Nevertheless, I'm grateful for your information."

Scholtz was smiling once again. "I am happy to have been of service. And I agree, the cause of your dilemma seemingly lies elsewhere. And now, I must take my leave. My daughter will be wondering what has kept me."

All of them rose and shook hands, and the lawyer made his way out of the bistro.

Marco strode through the curtain with a fresh bottle of wine, poured two glasses and said, "Now, you eat before you faint and I have to call the medics. A Tuscan bean soup, then the mussels in a Greek wine." He bowed and headed for the kitchen.

Cristina leaned over on Heimo's shoulder. "Does that mean I don't have to be in charge for a while?"

Heimo inclined his head on hers. "Looks like we're relieved from duty."

Few words passed as they ate, there being insufficient time between mouthfuls. After tiramisu, Marco brought two espressos and two grappas. He patted Heimo on the shoulder. "I think you'll live."

Heimo slid down in the booth and stretched his legs out. "Why don't we do this every day?"

Cristina poured half the grappa into her espresso. "Because I'd weigh five hundred kilos. Speaking of days, how was yours?"

"Meh. The victim's son is an unlikely suspect, and we don't have any other real possibilities. You?"

She grimaced. "Not good. I tried to talk to Aubock about that instruction letter and he went off the deep end. Like unhinged. I managed to calm him down, but he's losing it. One of the senior judges called me and asked me if he was ill, and I had to dance around that too."

"Anything Scholtz said of any use?"

She finished her espresso. "Might be. I didn't want him to think so, but that business about a possible bribe or undue influence started me wondering. What if that letter to the junior prosecutor is another instance of someone putting pressure on him?" She shook her head. "Listen to me. I've been hanging around you too long. I'm starting to think like a cop."

He squeezed her knee. "Do you any amount of good. Let's go home. I'm about out of petrol."

They walked out of the bistro arm in arm. Marco Ranelli applauded softly and seemed satisfied.

By the time they got home, Heimo was out on his feet. The long day, lack of results, and a good dinner combined to put him almost into a coma until he saw the red light blinking on the answerphone. Paulette, he thought instantly.

Cristina beat him to it. She pressed the button and they leaned over to listen.

"Heimo, Cristina, it is Paulette. I am sorry to leave you only a message, but I have been busy. I went to the Gendarmerie and I took the letters and the papers from the vineyard. But they say they cannot help me because no threat has been made. They agree the letters are not good, but unless the writer says he will do something, it is not a police matter. Tomorrow I go to see the lawyer who acted for my husband and ask what he advises. I will call when I know more. Veronique is fine, but I have not told her everything. Please call her Heimo. Goodbye."

Heimo stared at the phone for a moment. "That's helpful."

Cristina said, "You'd tell her the same thing, wouldn't you?"

Heimo scrunched up his nose. "No, I would have said 'If you're a friend of Heimo's, we'll get the full force on the case at once'."

She turned out the lights and headed for the bedroom. "That would be two local cops and a bloodhound, I presume. You look like the bloodhound. Sleep now Fido and get on the scent in the morning."

# Chapter 10

Heimo slouched in Greiml's deep leather armchair after morning briefing. "We think Schuster's son is unlikely to be the killer, but we'll check his alibi, his finances and see what his employer has to say. The only other possible suspect is this man Osternig. Not much of a motive other than an argument a while back, but we'll look into his alibi too."

Greiml sat behind his immaculate desk, hands steepled and looking judicial. "Any other avenues of investigation?"

"Not specifically. We're tracking down people who might have been in the area at the time, and we'll try to trace the people who slept in the barn. But there's not a lot to go on."

The Colonel leaned back, a shadow crossing his face. An unsolved homicide would not look good. "Do you need extra manpower?"

Heimo was tempted to smile. "Nothing for anyone to do. Unger and I should complete the interviews today or tomorrow. We need a motive to give us a direction and we haven't found even a sniff of one. If nothing else turns up, we'll dig into backgrounds, but I'm not convinced it will help."

Greiml decided to be decisive. He leaned forward, placed both hands flat on his desk, and said, "Sounds like a good plan. I'm in meetings most of today but leave me a message if anything breaks."

Heimo stood up and thought about saying "Yes Sir!' but reckoned even Greiml would hear the sarcasm. He made do with, "Have fun."

Kat and Josef were in the office, she with an ancient cracked mug full of black coffee, and he with an ornate beer stein and green tea. Heimo filled his own cup, a present from his daughter, and said, "Here's the plan, guys, blessed by the big boss himself."

Kat almost choked in mid-swallow, while Josef looked serious.

"Josef, check everything you can find about Helmut Schuster, background, employment, financial circumstances, the usual. If you get something relevant, call me, otherwise we'll call you around lunchtime. Kat, you and I will go back to Hermagor. We'll have another go at Schuster, then continue with the rest of the folks on Thurner's list. If we split them up, it'll go faster."

Schuster, looking sour, stuck his head out of the hotel room door. "What now? I've answered your questions," he said.

Heimo said, "True, but we told you we'd have more questions. Do you want to do it here, the police station or somewhere more comfortable?"

"Not here," Schuster winced. "The walls are like paper. There's a cafe behind the hotel."

It was open but empty of customers. They ordered three coffees and sat at a small table as far from the counter as possible.

Heimo took an appreciative sip and leaned back. "To be brutally frank, Mr. Schuster, you are squarely in the middle of the frame." He held his hand up as Schuster started to protest. "Let me finish. You're in the frame because you are the only person we can put at the scene, you are the only one likely to know the combination to the weapons safe, and you admit you and your father didn't get along. And your explanation of what happened has major holes in it. Either we get this sorted out now, or I'm inclined to arrest you for murder."

The silence was complete and oppressive. Schuster stared at Heimo with wide, unblinking eyes as his head started to shake. Before he could explode with either indignation or lies, Heimo cut into him again.

"Let's go back to your story. One of the holes is the timing. Your description of how you found your father, what we know about the probable time of death, and what the first police officer on the scene found doesn't jibe. So, tell me what really happened." He was pushing, but he wanted to see if he could lever Schuster off his implausible tale.

Schuster's head dipped, and he stared at his barely tasted latte. After a moment he looked up. "I got to the farm a little before twelve o'clock, not three."

Kat snorted but said nothing.

Heimo nodded and said, "We guessed that. What did you see?"

Schuster breathed out and shuddered. "Nothing at first. I expected him to be in the house because he always ate at twelve. Everything looked normal, but the rifle was laying across the table. I didn't think much about it. I assumed he hadn't come in from the barn, so I sat at the table to wait. And I could smell the gun had been fired."

He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and took another labored breath. "After a few minutes, I heard the pigs squealing, and I thought he was feeding. I went out expecting to see him in the barn. When I got close, I saw something on the floor, but I didn't connect it to him. I...I just..."

Kat couldn't hold herself in anymore. "Just what?"

Schuster closed his eyes, his hands gripped in front of him. Finally, he said, "I walked over and realized it was him. He was on his side and not moving. I thought he'd fallen or had a heart attack or something, so I rolled him over. That...that's when I saw the blood. I couldn't take it in, I didn't understand what had happened. But when I looked at his face, I knew he was dead."

Heimo drained his cup. "And?"

Schuster leaned back, seemingly exhausted by his effort. He picked up his coffee with both hands and drank. "I...I didn't know what to do at first, shock I guess. I started back to the house with some idea of calling you. When I saw the rifle again, it suddenly hit me–he'd been shot. But I couldn't get my head around it. Who would shoot him? I just stood there trying to come up with an explanation."

"And then you saw your predicament." It wasn't a question.

Schuster nodded, the confession once started now rushing out. "I didn't think he'd been dead for long. When I turned him over, he was limp, not stiff. And I figured if I called you immediately, it would look exactly like it does–that I killed him." He leaned forward. "But I didn't...I didn't. He was already dead."

"So, you waited," Kat said. "Waited until you could make it look like you'd arrived much later."

Schuster nodded again. "There was no one around, no one had seen me come up. I was afraid the rifle might still have my fingerprints on it from years ago, so I wiped it off. And I felt...liberated, if that's the word. No more fights and arguments with him. No more telling me I needed to come back and be a pig farmer. For a while, I felt good."

"Why didn't you call us rather than going to the station?"

"I was afraid I would...I don't know, loose control maybe, if you started to question me while he was out there. If I was at the police station, I thought I could handle it."

"Did it occur to you whoever killed him might still be around?" Heimo said.

"It was only last night when I thought of that. But there was no sign of anyone, and why would they stay there?"

Heimo's message service beeped–Cristina: 'Call when you have time'.

Kat asked, "Did you see anything that would give us some idea who this mysterious person is?"

Schuster shook his head. "Not really. I sat in the house trying to think. There was nothing out of place except the gun." He shrugged. "Part of the time I was...enjoying my freedom, I guess. And I wondered who killed him, but I couldn't think of anyone."

"Did you know there were people sleeping in the old barn on the top field?"

His eyes widened. "Sleeping? Up there? In this weather? They'd freeze, wouldn't they?"

Kat looked disgusted. "Obviously not or we'd have found more bodies. Did you know about it?"

"No. Why would he let people sleep in there?"

Heimo said, "You tell us. Did he go up there often?"

"Oh, yes. He kept straw up there as well as hay, in fact it's mostly straw. For the pigs. He was up there every day or two to bring a bale down."

"So, he would have been aware of anyone using the place."

Schuster nodded. "But I don't understand who..." Then a look of comprehension filled his face. "Refugees?"

"Possibly. Question is, why?"

The son's face sank back into befuddlement. "It doesn't make sense. He always hated it even when one of the skiers came across the land."

Heimo glanced as Kat, and she shook her head. "All right, Mr. Schuster, I'm not entirely convinced you've told us everything, but we'll let it go for the moment. You've wasted our time and lied to us during a homicide investigation, so you're on the edge of criminal charges. Stay in Hermagor until we're ready to release you."

"How long will that be?"

Heimo shrugged. "It would have been sooner if you hadn't pulled your little delaying trick. Now you'll have to pay the piper."

Back on the road, Heimo called the Hermagor station chief. "Are Hubner and Poluk available to help us?"

"Hubner is. Poluk had to go check on an old woman. She should be finished in an hour."

"I'll stop by the station and pick up Hubner, and Ungar can meet Poluk when she's ready. We're trying to complete the interviews today, so we're splitting up."

Kat and Heimo had each taken five names at random. Heimo's list consisted of four men and one woman, names only, but he knew Hubner would be full of gossip and opinion about them.

# Chapter 11

Hubner studied the list before they pulled out of the car park. "Let's take Rosa Planegger first. She runs a pastry shop in Einaltdorf. It's only a few minutes from here."

"What's her connection to Schuster?" Heimo asked as he pulled onto the main street.

"Up to about six years ago, she delivered to local farms and villages. Knew everyone. Then things got too expensive and her husband died, so she gave up the deliveries and just has the shop. There was a rumor she and Schuster had a thing for a while, but no one knows for sure."

The establishment looked popular. There were three women and an old man waiting their turns at the counter, and the smell of fresh bread and cream confections was overpowering. They waited fifteen minutes until Planegger, a fat woman with her black hair tied off in an enormous bun, finished dispensing her wares.

"What will it be, Peter? There are only nine doughnuts left, but plenty of apricot Danish."

"Thanks, Rosa, but we're here officially. This is Chief Inspector Kapeller. We need to talk to you about Kurt Schuster."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Maria! I've been so busy, I almost forgot about him. Just a moment, let me get Melinda out here to watch the counter." She scurried through a curtained opening and returned with a slender, blonde teenager sporting a vacant look. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said. "Make sure you count the change carefully."

She led the two officers to an office at the rear of the shop, closed the door and flopped into studded leather desk chair. "Been on my feet since four o'clock. Now, how can I help you?"

Heimo said, "I'm sorry to be so direct, but we think Mr. Schuster was murdered."

Planegger's eyes opened wide, and her hand was at her mouth again. "Terrible thing, terrible."

"We need information about his movements, any disputes he might have been involved in, anything to help us find who did it."

The baker nodded but claimed she hadn't seen much of the victim for several years and had no idea if he was having problems. After ten minutes of unproductive back and forth, they thanked her and left.

In the car, as Hubner looked again at the list, Heimo was about to call Kat when she rang him.

"I'm with Lydia Poluk at a farm owned by a woman named Claudia Tauber. She was found dead by her niece this morning. Lydia thought it looked like natural causes, but the doctor examined her and says her neck's broken. Better get up here."

"On the way." He turned to Hubner. "The Claudia Tauber farm - how do we get there?"

Hubner was bewildered. "She's not on the list."

"No, but she is dead."

Following Hubner's directions, Heimo turned south and they once again climbed up into the mountains. "The Tauber place is only about five kilometers from Schuster's," Hubner said.

"What do you know about her?"

"Not much. Older lady in her fifties, I'd guess, and a widow. Small farm which I don't think produces anything anymore."

"Did she know Schuster?"

"Probably. Her husband was also a farmer."

It took fifteen minutes to reach the place. Four cars were scattered in random positions in front of a quintessential Tyrolean farmhouse. Kat and Poluk sat in one of the new red, blue and silver patrol cars, and they got out to join Heimo and Hubner. At this altitude, the icy wind ripped through them.

Poluk said, "We got the call at 0815 this morning. The niece, Olga Auer, said she comes up every week to check on her aunt. When she went into the house, she found Mrs. Tauber lying on the sofa. She was fully dressed in her outdoor clothes and the niece thought she was asleep, but, when she couldn't wake her, realized she was dead. She called the ambulance and they notified us."

"Anyone else around when you got here?"

"No. I arrived first. Mrs. Auer was sitting in her car crying. I went in to check the body. Looked to me like maybe she hadn't felt well, went in to lie down and had a heart attack. No signs of violence, nothing out of place. When the medics showed up, I told them she was dead, they checked as well, then left. I called the doc to come up and certify it. He started poking around and said her neck was broken. We left the house, closed the door, and I called Kat."

Heimo looked at his partner. "Karl and Wassnig are on the way. I haven't been inside. Checked the area for tire tracks, but there's nothing obvious."

"The doctor give you an estimate of time of death."

Poluk shook her head. "Just as we came out of the house, he got a call and he's been on his phone since then." She pointed, and Heimo could just make out a man's profile in a fogged-up Peugeot.

"Do you know her?"

"No, she's never come our way."

"Kat, you and Lydia take Mrs. Auer somewhere and get her story and as much as she can tell you about her aunt. I'll wait for the forensic mob."

The two officers extracted the still-crying woman from her own car, bundled her into Kat's vehicle and departed down the mountain.

Hubner, in the meantime, had been on the phone to his boss. "Johann says I'm to stay with you until we get it sorted."

Heimo enjoyed the 'we' but let it go. He walked over to the doctor's car and tapped on the opaque window. After a moment, the door opened, and a long, thin face appeared with a mobile phone clamped to its ear. "And only one injection unless she has another convulsion. Get her to the ER quick as you can." He listened a moment and thumbed his phone off.

He extracted himself from the car which took some doing. The doctor was easily six feet four, and the rest of him was as long and angular as his face. "Sorry about that. Nurse is trying to cope with something a little outside her experience." He shoved out a hand. "Doctor Cerjak."

"Good morning, I'm Chief Inspector Kapeller, Homicide. What can you tell me about the dead woman?"

"Very little, I'm afraid, I'm not her regular doctor. He's away on a course and I'm filling in, but I've never treated Mrs. Tauber before. As to her death, that happened some time ago. Rigor is completely dissipated, but I'm not a pathologist, so I can't be more specific. Her neck's broken at the third cervical vertebrae."

"Any other obvious signs of trauma?"

The doctor shook his head. "Nothing I could see. She's fully clothed, but there were no marks on her face or hands. Your officer wanted the scene intact, so we left almost immediately."

"Thanks, doctor. I know you're busy, but can you wait until the pathologist gets here? Shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

Cerjak checked his watch. "Ten minutes, then I'll have to go."

Heimo could already hear vehicles coming up the lane. Karl Hallegger's big van was first followed by a white VW estate. Both pulled up next to Poluk's car, and four people piled out. Heimo gave them the details as they suited up. He pointed Cerjak out to Otto Wassnig and left them to it.

Hubner had been standing around with his phone in his hand, for once unable to command the center of attention.

"How far are we from the border crossing point?" Heimo asked.

Hubner pointed east. 'About two and a half kilometers that way, at least by road. A bit less in a straight line. Why?"

But Heimo was thinking, calculating. He called Kat. "Got anything?"

"Background, but nothing specific."

"Ask her if her aunt ever had any trouble with the authorities. Any kind of authorities."

"Hang on." He could hear the question and Auer's muffled, half-sobbed response. "She says once a few years ago. Taxes, not long after her husband died."

"If you're finished, come on back. The cavalry's here, and we need to poke around."

He gathered up Hubner and said, "Let's check the other buildings." He strode toward the barn, a huge ramshackle affair featuring peeling paint and worm-eaten doors, while Hubner went around one side. The main door at the top of a tractor ramp hung slightly open. The inside was cavernous, but the floor was virtually empty except for dust and cobwebs. After a quick scan, he doused the lights and walked down the ramp.

To one side, a rusty grain silo leaned drunkenly against the remains of an iron derrick. Heimo started for the other side when he heard Hubner yell. He broke into a run and rounded the corner of the barn.

Hubner stood in the doorway of a wooden shed, the only building that looked to be still in use. When he saw Heimo, he waved. "In here!"

He ducked back into the building. Heimo pulled the door fully open and followed him. It was dark with only the light from numerous cracks in the walls providing illumination. Hubner's torch clicked on and picked out two very young black faces with rolling white eyeballs.

Heimo squatted on his haunches. Two boys were almost buried in old burlap sacking. Their terror radiated outward like the heat from a furnace. "Move the light up so it's not on their faces."

Hubner dutifully raised his torch beam.

Knowing it was probably useless, Heimo said as gently as he could, "It's all right, we won't hurt you." No response except the huge staring eyes. He tried English and still got nothing. Then French. They didn't answer, but both sets of eyes blinked. West Africa, Heimo reckoned. He put a hand behind him. "Give me your torch and go find the doctor and either Poluk or Unger and bring them up here fast."

Hubner headed out the door with commendable speed while Heimo began to talk to the boys in halting and ungrammatical French. He kept his voice low, trying to be reassuring without worrying about real communication.

A moment later he felt the door open behind him.

Kat said in an equally low voice, "What do you want us to do?"

"Come in so they can see you, but take it slow, they're scared to death. They seem to understand French but haven't said anything. Wassnig with you?"

"Right here, Heimo."

"I don't know how long they've been here, doc, but they're probably hypothermic."

Kat squatted beside him and murmured a few words in French, surprising Heimo considerably as he wasn't aware she knew any. They began peeling the sacking away despite the children's efforts to hold onto it. Both were dressed in light jackets and ragged trousers, and they clung together with stick-thin shivering arms.

Wassnig had moved up behind the officers. "Get them into Karl's van now. They're on the edge!"

Heimo and Kat each picked up a boy and hugged their light, frozen bodies. Kat was first out the door breaking into a dead run. Heimo followed with less grace but longer strides. Hubner reached the van first and opened the back. Despite the clutter, there was more space there than anywhere else, and it was heated and lighted. The put the boys on the floor and Kat held them while Heimo pulled out thermal blankets.

Wassnig stopped by his car and retrieved a large medical bag that opened like a tool chest. He pulled syringes and bottles out of it while the officers wrapped the two waifs. Kat had taken the advanced first aid course, so Heimo backed out of the cramped aisle and closed the van doors. He was about to tell Hubner to call the ambulance, but the inspector was already doing it.

"Fifteen minutes," he said when he finished the call.

"I hope they've got that long." A nasty mix of compassion and anger settled over Heimo, one of those rare moments when he could easily have killed whoever was responsible for this. But he moved away from it, parking the emotion in a side compartment until he had time to take it out and feel with it.

"Get some tape around that shed. Are there any other buildings?"

"Didn't see any, but she might have a hay barn like Schuster's."

"Good point. Find Poluk and tell her what's happened, then we'll have a look."

# Chapter 12

The wind picked up as they ascended an ancient, overgrown track, tearing at their hats and piercing clothing, and the temperature dropped steadily. All the fields had lain fallow for some years and bore the ragged, grass-waving look of wild steppes.

By the time they arrived at the top of the escarpment, they were chilled through. Hubner pointed to a line of granite chunks protruding like weathered teeth above a mountain meadow. "Italian border," he said. "You can't see it from here, but the border crossing is just behind that hill."

Despite the seeming remoteness, the area was popular with skiers and there were lift pylons and huts visible in several places, all deserted before the season's start. Heimo judged that it would not be difficult for migrants trying to avoid detection to leave the highway and climb over the escarpment, then descend into the valleys on the Austrian side. But how would they know that? And, although it was possible to hike it in good weather, it was close to suicide in winter without adequate equipment. So, how did those boys end up in Mrs. Trauber's shed?

There was no barn on the pastures. There seemed only one explanation for the children's presence - the old woman was hiding them, or otherwise helping them evade the authorities. Without knowing her, Heimo couldn't fathom her reasons for doing so.

They headed downhill, out of the worst of the wind, and back to the farm. The ambulance had arrived, and the two boys, unrecognizable after having been swaddled in blankets, were placed on the cots inside. Without fanfare, the driver bolted out of the farmyard and disappeared in seconds.

Kat kneeled on the floor of the forensics van cleaning up debris while Wassnig returned equipment to his case. "How are they doing?" Heimo asked.

The pathologist turned, showing a small smile. "I think they'll make it. A bit malnourished and badly handled, but they're young and that helps. Much better condition than most of my patients."

"We had a look around, but there's no one else here. Did you have time to examine Mrs. Trauber?"

The pathologist nodded. "Briefly. Neck broken at the third vertebrae as my colleague said. No other obvious marks. I think she was hit from behind, but it's difficult to tell because of the scarf she had around her neck. The house was still warm, so rigor development was normal. I'm guessing she died sometime yesterday and probably around midday. As usual, I'll know more when I get her on the table."

Kat shoved some detritus into an empty drawer, and said, "Would the blow to the neck have to be horizontal?"

"Not precisely, but it is unlikely to have been vertical."

"So, if someone whacked her from behind with something like a shovel handle, that would do it?"

Wassnig nodded. "It would. I need to get back to the house and finish up. PM probably not until tomorrow morning. I'll let you know."

Kat scrambled out of the van, and Heimo helped her shut the doors. Hubner and Poluk were sitting in the police car. Heimo thanked them and told them to return to their normal duties for the time being, then he and Kat headed for her car. As soon as they got in, she started the engine and put the heat on full.

"There's a flask of tea in the back. You want some?"

Heimo shook his head. "Tell me what Auer had to say."

Kat sat back and pulled her hat off. "Not much that was helpful. Her aunt was widowed some years ago. There was insurance, her husband's pension and her state benefit, so she was OK financially. Got rid of the farm equipment and basically let the place go to seed except around the house. She was diabetic, so Auer came up to check on her at least twice a week. Tauber had a few friends down in the village and she was an ardent church-goer. But, apparently, very few visitors other than the postman. She pottered around in her garden and kept herself to herself."

"Except for two black kids. What did Wassnig mean–badly handled?"

Kat jammed her hat on and her face darkened. "Quite a few old scars and some not so old. If I had to guess, I'd say they'd been abused for a long time."

Heimo stared at the windscreen for a while. "This is making less and less sense. No connection between the two victims except both had migrants using their property. It's barely possible that...no, that won't wash either. I was thinking that a few people might be able to hide overnight, then move on, but how would they know where to go? There's got to be some sort of organization. Thoughts?"

Kat gripped the wheel. "Both killings look spontaneous. Other than that, not much matches. Possible Tauber was killed outside and taken in the house because, according to Lydia, it's cramped in there. Not much room to swing a club which is why I asked about the shovel. But why not leave her where she fell?"

"Good question to which I have no answer. Since the migrants are the only common element, let's work that first. We need to talk to the border control people and get a better idea of what's going on."

Kat called Thurner while Heimo went to the house to check on the progress of the forensic examination. He met Hallegger in front of the house pulling his mask off. "Just coming to find you," Karl said.

To get out of the cold, they went over to the van and climbed in the back. Hallegger started removing his sterile suit. "Not a lot to go on. Best we can figure is she was hit in the neck with something like an iron bar. Wassnig thinks it would have been from someone standing on her right side. She was probably close to the sofa when struck, but we haven't found any indications as to exactly where that was."

He wadded up the suit and mask and stuffed them in a bin. "No murder weapon that we can find, in fact nothing that even looks close, so the murderer might have taken it with him."

"Him?"

"Almost certainly. The victim is stout, probably eight-five kilos or so, and I doubt if a woman could have lifted her. And the blow that killed her took some force. She had a thick scarf around her neck which would have cushioned the impact. As it was, she died almost instantly according to the doc. Lividity indicates she was placed on the sofa within minutes."

"You haven't been watching CSI, have you?" Heimo complained. "You're supposed to give me the name, rank and serial number of the murderer."

Karl grinned. "My apologies. However, we did find some things related to those boys. Her pantry was full and recently stocked, and so was the fridge. There's way more than she would have needed, so I think she'd been feeding migrants on a regular basis and was expecting more."

"Mobile phone?"

Hallegger shook his head. 'No, and there should be one. We found a circular from A1 and it had her account number on it.

"Robbery a possibility?"

"Shouldn't think so. Her purse was in the kitchen with a bank card and four hundred and eighty euros in it."

Heimo whistled.

"I thought you'd like that. Unfortunately, there ends the revelations. We've taken a lot of prints throughout the house, but I think they'll all be hers. We've bagged various things to check, and I'll give you the info from them tomorrow."

When he got back to Kat's car, she was dictating notes into her phone. "Thurner gave me the name and number of the Station Chief for the Border Patrol in this area, a guy named Klaus Benetik. I've spoken to him and said we need a briefing on the migrant situation. Their station is down the road toward the autobahn."

It took them twenty minutes to reach the Border Control Headquarters for the Gailtal area. The officer on reception called his chief who came out of a door behind the counter.

Departmental Inspector Benetik was a lantern-jawed swarthy man of middle height with a scowl that seemed etched into his face. But he managed a smile as he greeted the two detectives. "Come on back, the coffee's fresh."

He drew them each a cup and they settled around a small conference table in the spacious office.

"How can we help you?"

Heimo said, "We've got two homicides on farms south of Hermagor, both of which are close to the border. You've probably heard about the first, Kurt Schuster. We've just discovered a second, a woman named Claudia Tauber. There was evidence that people had been sleeping in a remote barn on Schuster's place, and we actually found two black kids hiding at Tauber's. For a variety of reasons we need to understand what the refugee situation is to make a better call."

Benetik nodded. "It's changed a good deal in the past eight months. Up to then, they were flooding through and we had a hell of a job managing them. Then it started to dry up. We've processed maybe eight hundred since March, most of those prior to October. Last six weeks, maybe fifty or sixty. It's too cold for most of them to try the mountains although there are still some going towards the autobahn crossings."

Kat said, "Where are they from?"

"Up through last year, the Middle East, Syria mostly. Now they're Africans. The majority are from Nigeria and sub-Sahara, but we get a few from farther away."

"How do they work it, just walk?"

Benetik finished his coffee. "The Syrians did, walked all the way from Greece. The Africans are usually smuggled."

'Who's doing the smuggling?" Heimo asked.

"It varies. The Mafia is involved moving people already in Italy. Some are handled by gangs from Libya and Tunisia, and most of the rest by nasty people from the Balkans."

"Presumably they use trucks and vans disguised as something legitimate. How do you know which ones to check?"

"We've a very good relationship with the Carabinieri in Treviso. Virtually all the Africans are coming through Italy, so the police and port authorities keep a close watch on the potential transport routes. But the smugglers are pretty adaptable. Sometimes they use small boats and land on unwatched beaches, transfer the cargo to a cheap van, and head for here. Most of the people being smuggled want to get to Germany or the UK because they've heard they'll get free everything."

Kat said, "Then it doesn't seem to make any sense that they'd be sleeping in someone's barn."

Benetik shrugged. "No, it doesn't."

"Do you reckon you're catching most of them?" Heimo asked.

The scowl on Benetik's face deepened. "No question about it. Those crossings are manned 24 hours a day, and we've been supplemented by the Army. We're checking everything."

Heimo noticed the resistance but couldn't account for it. Probably politics, as usual. Before Kat could jump in the middle of it, he said, "Thanks for the info. Can you check your logs for Tuesday around midday? It's possible the killer might have decided to cross over to Italy."

"No need. The Italians closed the road down by Pontebba due to high winds. They called us about 0800. Didn't reopen for twelve hours."

Kat's mouth opened but Heimo looked a warning. "We'll get back to work, and thanks again."

The left Benetik looking after them with no great pleasure.

As soon as they reached the carpark out of earshot, Kat burst. "If they're doing such a great job, where did those two kids come from?"

Heimo stared at the mountains and waited.

A minute later, her voice now back to normal, Kat said, "Either they aren't doing their job, or someone's paying someone off."

"Give the lady a cigar. Which one, do you reckon?"

"A payoff. But I can't figure how they do it. If the Army's got people there, that would make it difficult to let anyone through."

"Don't think so. The soldiers are not Military Police, or anyone trained for this sort of duty. Most of 'em are just kids on their mandatory enlistment, and they work for the border cops. The cop says, 'This one is OK', and the private isn't to know any different. A more difficult question is whether the Italian Police are in on the scam. With the Mafia, that's always a possibility."

Kat frowned. "This is getting murkier by the second. Whatever happened to nice clean little murders?"

"Disappeared along with fairies and gnomes."

# Chapter 13

He knocked on Greiml's office door as the secretary had already gone home. The Colonel looked as fresh as ever, although he'd taken his jacket off while he dealt with a mound of paperwork.

"Ah Heimo, how goes it?"

"Not particularly well." Which caused an immediate frown on the boss's face. "All we have are a lot of unrelated facts, and nothing common to the crime scenes except migrants."

Greiml leaned back in his chair and tapped his teeth with the end of a pen. "Are you saying the migrants killed these people?"

Heimo shook his head. "We have theories, but no evidence to support them. The Head of Station for border control in the area gave us an overview of the refugee situation. The info was worthwhile, but it doesn't get me any closer to a murderer."

"What do you propose?"

"I'll talk to whoever in the Carabinieri is working it from the Italian side, and we need more data on migrant movements through Austria. Probably some department from the Interior Ministry."

"Ummm." Greiml stared at the ceiling for a while.

Heimo could almost see his wheels turning. Getting involved with authorities from another country as well as departments in another ministry increased possibilities for unforeseen complications, interference and potential criticism. Was the risk worth it for two minor homicides in a remote area that wouldn't attract a lot of attention?

So Heimo prodded. "If there are refugees killing locals, there might be international implications since we could be accused of allowing dangerous people to transit." Heimo reckoned that would stop any attempt to slow or call off the investigation.

Greiml sat up. "A serious issue. I'd better let the Brigadier know."

"Good idea. Of course, she may want to pass it to Vienna if it's getting too big for us."

It was pure politics and made Heimo gag, but he knew how the game was played. Greiml was not the only new senior officer in the system. Brigadier Augustin had died two months previously and a permanent replacement had yet to be named. But the frontrunner was a woman named Hannalore Valtiner. She'd been put in temporary charge until the Minister made his final choice. Heimo figured the last thing she wanted was any suggestion her investigators weren't capable of solving a couple of homicides. And Greiml would run a kilometer before even hinting at the possibility.

It worked, although Heimo suspected Greiml understood what had happened and wouldn't forget it. There'd be some blowback down the road, but there always was if you did your job.

"Do you have a name on the Italian side?"

"Not yet, Kat's working on it."

"Tell me when you've found out, and I'll call the Ministry to get their contact for refugees." He returned to his paperwork. The dismissal was clear and Heimo reckoned he'd burned at least one bridge.

Kat was on the phone when he walked in, and Josef was buried in his computer terminal. He sank into his chair, stared at his in tray, and wished he was home. Then he remembered Cristina's message.

Before he could step out to make the call, Kat dropped the phone in its cradle and spun around. "Got it. Man named Arturo Moretti with the Carabinieri at Treviso is our guy. He runs a task force dealing with refugees and migrants. Want to talk to him now?"

"Let's drop back for a minute. Josef, have you come up with anything on Helmut Schuster?"

Felsbach wriggled in his chair. "Very little, I'm afraid. His employment checks out, and he doesn't have a police record. I've asked the district offices to forward their records for taxes and so forth, but it will take a day or two to get them."

"Did his employer confirm the time he left the office?"

Josef looked confused. "The time? He left at closing time I suppose."

Now Heimo was confused, but only for a moment. "You mean he didn't go into work the morning his father was killed."

"Not according to his boss. On Monday, Schuster asked for Tuesday off to see his doctor."

Kat said, "Wonderful. This guy's as slippery as they come."

"Let me think about this." Heimo swiveled around and stared at the wall, eyes half closed, calculating, moving the pieces about. After a few minutes he turned back.

"We'll split this into two strands. Josef, you follow up on Schuster, Kat and I will talk to Moretti. Greiml is contacting the Interior Ministry to find out about the migrant and refugee situation. We'll make a fresh start in the morning if no more bodies turn up. But we have one obvious problem."

Kat nodded, "The times of death."

Josef, confused once again, turned to Heimo who said, "Based on the preliminary findings, it seems Kurt Schuster was killed around midday on Tuesday and Tauber at midday on Wednesday. Schuster Junior is a reasonable fit for his father's death, but unlikely for Tauber's. Do we have two killers, or is Schuster the wrong guy?"

"What about Osternig?" Kat asked.

"If we find a link to him, or everything else dries up, then we'll chase him. But we've got to have a better handle on the whole situation, or we'll flounder. By the way, have you heard anything about those boys?"

Two doleful head shakes answered him.

Before he drove home, Heimo made his way to the Vice department. When he pushed open the door, he saw a familiar form crouched over a desk. "Caught your quota this week?" he barked.

Gunther Schalk turned around and grinned. "Only the first fifty. How're you doing, Heimo?"

They shook hands, a more than perfunctory gesture. Gunther had saved his life in the not so distant past. "Up to my ass in killers as usual. You?"

Schalk, his former number two, had been promoted to Chief Inspector and put in charge of his own division. "A little slow. We're going to bust a small gambling operation, but that's about it."

"We turned up another dead body today close to where the first one was found. When we searched the place, we found two black kids, boys, who were almost dead from hypothermia. Got them to the hospital and there's a chance they'll put through. They are obviously migrants or refugees, but the border control people tell me most of Africans they discover are being smuggled. Have you run across anything like that?"

Gunther leaned back. "Not directly. We don't have much to do with them because they're either turned back at the border or bussed up to Germany as soon as they hit the checkpoints. What do you have in mind?"

"Not sure. Smugglers are in it for the money. Most of the Africans are poor, but if they're being smuggled, the money has to come from somewhere. They only explanation I could think of is slavery."

Gunther's mouth turned down in disgust. "Given some of the filth we run across, it's a possibility, but I don't have anything specific. Might be a sex racket."

"Ten-year-old black kids?" Heimo tried to get his head around that, and it wasn't easy.

"Not the kids necessarily," said Gunther. "But it might be a sort of package deal. Say there are women who are being trafficked, and they have kids. The women won't go unless the kids come along. The smugglers take them all across the border, dump the kids and take the women on to wherever the receiver is."

"Makes sense, and it fits what we know. But I've got two dead people. It doesn't seem likely smugglers would dust off any of the locals who were helping them, because that would almost certainly close productive routes." He shook his head. "My brain is full of cement. I'm going home."

They both stood up and stretched. "How's Cristina?"

"Good, all things considered. Her boss has gotten a little strange recently, but maybe that's just lawyers. We're at your place for dinner next weekend, aren't we?"

Gunther confirmed it, and Heimo took his leave. He also took a small guilt trip on the way home because he hadn't thought about Paulette or Veronique all day. And he hadn't returned Cristina's call. The apartment was dark when he walked in. Surprised, he checked his watch. Only six o'clock so she was probably still at work.

He turned on the lights and checked the fridge for wine. It didn't feel like a night for cooking. The cards next to the telephone listed almost every fast food place in Klagenfurt, and he grinned as he riffled through the deck. Not precisely what either of them anticipated when they became a couple.

But nothing appealed to him. He decided to call Cristina when the door opened. One look at her face and he reached her in three strides. She clutched him like an angry bear for a moment, then went limp in his arms. After a minute, she straightened up and looked into his eyes.

"Sometimes the world really sucks, have you noticed that?"

He held her hands and said, "Every week. What's happened?"

Calmer now, she put her coat on the rack and stepped out of her shoes. "Wine first."

He reckoned it was a night for red and pulled the cork on a Burgundy. Two large glasses drained half the bottle, which he placed on the coffee table, then he flopped down beside her and handed her one of the glasses. She took a long swallow and stared at the kitchen counter for a few minutes.

She drank again. "Aubock has gone completely off his trolley. Short of shooting him, I'm not sure what I can do about it. But I won't put up with it much longer."

Heimo held his peace knowing it would all come out when she was ready.

Despite her furious emotions, Cristina marshaled her statement like a first-class prosecutor. "He is still acting oddly, missing the point of conversations, late for meetings, not telling us what's going on. Grete and I worked a deal. She feeds me anything she thinks is suspect and we decide what to do. We've kept things on a more or less even keel, and we're managing to prevent any major catastrophes. But it's only working because our case load is light."

She finished her glass and picked up the wine bottle. He noticed she only poured a small amount and knew she was back in control.

"He seems content to let us run things because he really can't keep track of what's going on. He was out today when Grete brought me a letter of instruction from your old buddy, Mehringer. It was addressed to Aubock and marked Confidential. Grete hadn't opened it, but it was accompanied by a memo telling Aubock to attend a meeting in Mehringer's office tomorrow. And it told him to 'under no circumstances tell anyone about the meeting or discuss the contents of the letter'.

Heimo smelled an old smell. The stink of corruption seeped out of everything Mehringer touched.

"Grete and I talked about it. I didn't know what to do. Opening a letter with that sort of power behind it was not an alluring prospect. Then Grete remembered something. There have been a few calls over the past three days between Aubock and Mehringer's office as well as some memos and notes. One of the memos mentioned a case that's been sitting around for two months. Wasn't mine, so I asked Grete to fetch the file."

She finished the second glass and set it down. "It's a lawsuit between a company in the Netherlands and one here called Heilind Chemicals. Normally it would not involve us, but the lawsuit alleges Heilind has been supplying adulterated chemicals, and that violates EU regulations. The Dutch company also says they've been defrauded, and they've filed a criminal complaint."

"Where does Mehringer come in?"

"I don't know precisely, but I decided to probe. I went to see Aubock and told him I was going through the backlog and asked who he wanted to handle the case. He almost screwed himself into the ceiling. Grabbed the file, yelled at me for even looking at it, and told me to go back to my office. I intended to write my resignation, but I chickened out."

Heimo pulled her head over onto his shoulder and held her for a while, but for once he wasn't thinking about how well she fitted against him. He'd never heard of Heilind Chemicals, but it was easy enough to find out about them. Once he had names, he could check connections to Mehringer. And if there was anything remotely suspect, he'd start digging.

"What do you want to do?"

"About Aubock or this shit job?"

"Both." He kissed the top of her head.

"No idea, and I'm too tired to think about it. Why don't you do the knight-in-shining-armor bit and carry me off to bed."

There was only one appropriate answer.

# Chapter 14

"Did you hear anything from Paulette?" Cristina asked while Heimo mopped up egg from his plate the next morning.

"No. I should have called her, but I just didn't get to it. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"All you can do is the best you can do, as someone around here said recently."

"A platitude for every occasion, that's me. If you get a chance, look up Heilind Chemicals and I'll do the same. I don't know what time I'll be back, but whatever time it is, we eat, OK?"

She mock saluted. "OK, boss."

At morning briefing, Heimo described the homicides and the progress of the investigation. "Anyone gets a sniff of anything to do with migrants or refugees, I'd appreciate a heads up. We still can't prove a connection, but it's the best lead we have."

Kat was on the phone as soon as they returned to the office. "Moretti says he's running late, and can we meet him in Tarvisio?"

"Sure, where?"

She relayed the message, and he named a coffee bar.

"Where's Josef?" he asked when she'd finished.

"Already on his way up to Hermagor. Dead keen to break things wide open."

"Excellent. We'll hide out and drink coffee until he brings the killer in."

Heimo drove. The small town of Tarvisio straddles the main autobahn and lies just over the border in Italy. It possesses no distinguishing characteristics other than having changed national ownership many times during the savage wars of the twentieth century. Forty-five minutes later they were in a modern but rustically furnished establishment on the town's main square with an elderly couple as the only other customers. The waiter, without missing a beat, addressed them in flawless Austrian German and took their order for two coffees. Before they arrived the door opened, and a man walked in who might have stepped off the cover of an Armani brochure. He spotted them and came straight over.

Primo Capitano Arturo Moretti was so classically Italian, it was almost painful to look at him. Swarthy, black haired and square jawed, all he needed was a trench coat draped across his shoulders, and he could have floated out of any Fellini movie.

They both stood, and Heimo noticed Kat made a deliberate attempt to close her mouth.

Moretti stuck his hand out to her first and said, "Moretti." He shook Heimo's hand and pulled out a chair. The waiter turned up with three coffees and a plateful of pastries.

Moretti grinned at their bemused looks. "I called ahead," he said in barely accented English.

They agreed to stay with English rather than cope with Moretti's rudimentary German or Kat and Heimo's almost non-existent Italian. "I have heard about your case, but more details would help."

Heimo laid it out, holding little back. "We have no obvious suspects. The only thing connecting the victims is the presence of migrants on both farms. Our border control people insist they are checking everything coming across, but obviously some are getting through. We hope you can give us a better picture."

Moretti nodded and signaled for another espresso. "Italy is the main initial destination for people coming from North Africa. Your colleague is correct, we are seeing more and more migrants from west and central Africa. Most of them are found by the Navy floating on those cheap boats in the Med, but some make it to our coast, usually in the south. Four months ago, we discovered smugglers using larger boats to bring people all the way north to Liguria. They escaped the Naval patrols by going first to the west, then coming in north of Sardinia."

"Sounds expensive for migrants," Kat said.

"It is. We think this route is only for people with some wealth, not the poorest ones. But we are almost certain there are people in Europe supplying the smugglers with money to run the operation."

The three were quiet for a moment. "Slave trade?" Heimo asked.

Moretti nodded. "Yes, or worse."

"What's worse?" Kat demanded, eyes wide.

Moretti frowned. "Sex trafficking, pedophile rings, people with very strange tastes who are looking for disposable humans to...play with."

"Any idea where these people arriving in Liguria are going?"

"Not yet. The coast over there is honey-combed with little inlets and villages, which is probably why the smugglers use it. The Navy is too busy to do more than send a patrol vessel along the coast once a week. But there are only three general routes they can use. One is along the coast over into France. We don't consider that likely because it's too heavily traveled and policed, and the French have reported no increase in numbers. The second is north up through the Mont Blanc tunnel and into France or Switzerland. A little more likely than the first, but still difficult because of all the control points checking trucks for contraband. The last is through our area. There are many routes to get across northern Italy and places to hide their cargo for a while. Once they are ready to cross the border to your country, there are fewer options. There are only four usable roads, and each has a control post. But they can vary their routes from day to day which means we are likely to miss many of them."

"Any captures yet?" Kat asked.

Moretti shook his head. "I oversee a task force trying to figure out who they are, where they're landing and where they go. We had a break a month ago. Two bodies were fished out of the sea off the island of Pantellaria. One of them had a locket with one of the main routes listed in it. Three weeks ago, we intercepted a van after it made a pickup at the beach. One driver, an Algerian, and eight Nigerian women. Girls, really. None of them will talk. The girls were in good physical condition and well dressed. One said they were going to good jobs. The driver had no ID, just a bag of cash. The only way we know he's Algerian is because one of our officers recognized the accent."

Heimo was silent a moment. "It sounds like a big operation. Any chance the Mafia is behind it?"

"They're probably involved, they always are if there's money to be made, but our informants tell us they're not running it. We're looking at Balkan gangs, Russian mafia, and anybody else we can think of, but we have nothing solid yet."

Kat said, "Are you working with our border control people?"

"Of course, but other than telling them about the smuggling, we can't supply definite information. As far as I am aware, they are checking all suspect vehicles."

"But migrants are crossing the border anyway," said Heimo, "so the smugglers have either figured out another method, or somebody's being paid off." He stopped for a moment, letting that thought marinate in his colleagues' heads, and made a few estimates of probabilities. Something had been germinating in his head for the last two days. "I have an idea, but it is...delicate." And he looked straight at the Italian officer.

Who looked straight back and smiled. "Maybe I can guess your idea." He glanced at Kat who looked bewildered for a moment, then her eyes widened.

"There is only us here. Maybe time to put the cards on the table, yes?" Moretti asked.

Heimo nodded. The card metaphor was apt as he was proposing to gamble for high stakes.

Moretti continued. "We do not know each other, so we try an experiment to see if we can trust each other." And waited.

Heimo and Kat both nodded.

Moretti said. "The experiment would be to track some smugglers without letting the border police or the bureaucrats know. Is that the idea?"

Heimo put a hand flat on the table. "Exactly. If there is a leak, or if someone is being paid to look the other way, we would find out."

Kat shoved in with the obvious problem. "If it doesn't work, we are for the high jump. We know we cannot rely on some of our people." She looked at Moretti. "Do you trust your team?"

Moretti smiled again. "Not everyone. But I personally selected all my officers with two exceptions. Those two are the ones who report to the bosses, so they are the only ones I must evade. It is not a problem."

"There is another thing we might do," Heimo said. "The road from Pontebba up to the border is the only route close to the area of our homicides. Can you get a surveillance camera mounted there?"

Moretti nodded. "A good idea. We can install one quickly using one of the road maintenance cameras. And if we see anything, I call you, yes?"

They spent ten minutes discussing practical details, noting names and numbers, and setting up contingency plans.

When they finished, Heimo stuck his hand across the table. "Nice to do business with you."

Kat also shook his hand and didn't let it go until Moretti gently pulled back.

On the way to Hermagor, Kat asked Heimo what he was up to. "We've already decided it's unlikely the migrants would kill two people helping them."

"True, and the same applies to the smugglers. However, there must be some sort of organization to make all this happen. That means a network operating across the border without being noticed. The Austrian side might have good reasons to kill Schuster and Tauber. Suppose they demanded more money or told the smugglers they wanted out? Might've made them expendable. I'm hoping if we track one of the smuggler's consignments, it will expose the ring and how it works. And maybe we'll find our killer."

"Can we trust Moretti? I'm always hearing how corrupt Italian cops are."

Heimo shrugged. "Hard to tell. Gut instinct says yes. But we've rigged it so it's difficult for anyone to cheat without exposing themselves." He glanced over at her. "What does feminine intuition say?"

She blushed, the first time Heimo had ever seen her react that way. "Am I being obvious?"

"You are."

"Maria! I feel like an idiot."

"He seems like a nice guy. Besides, you're almost certain to be a better skier and shooter, so that evens things up." Kat had been an Olympic hopeful in the pentathlon.

"But I'm supposed to be a cop, not a schoolgirl."

"You'll handle it. Call Josef and see how he's getting on."

Heimo's phone buzzed. He pulled over and thumbed it on. Doctor Wassnig said, "Morning Heimo, can you talk?"

"Yes. Wait a second while I switch to loudspeaker."

Even with the distortion caused by the tiny speaker, both officers could hear the anger in the pathologist's voice. "It's the boys. They are physically much better and will be up and around in a few days. Mostly dehydration and malnutrition made worse by hypothermia. But they've been abused, Heimo, both sexually and physically. Repeatedly. I don't see very much of this, and it makes me want to violate my oath by strangling someone. However. The boys speak French and we think they are from Senegal. I won't give you the full story now, but they've talked to a translator, so the report should be on your desk tomorrow."

"Thanks, doc. Anything else on either Schuster or Trauber?"

"Just one. Trauber was hit with something like a round iron bar about two centimeters thick by a right-handed person who stood at her side. That's the first time I've ever been able to say that. Anyway, I told Karl what to look for, but I don't know if he's found anything."

Heimo called Forensics, but Hallegger had nothing to report. He'd sent one of his technicians back to the Trauber farm to search again.

Kat had talked with Josef. "He's been through the list on Schuster, but there's nothing new. He started on Trauber's known associates and got something. A woman from the village who's known Trauber all her life says she was a devout Catholic. Trauber told her she'd found a secret way to help people who needed her. Maybe that's how she got involved with the migrants."

"And it makes it even less likely one of them would kill her."

# Chapter 15

"Let's go see this friend," Heimo said. "We could use some background on Trauber."

Olga Kloschnig lived fifty meters from the church in Pfarrdorf in a tiny bungalow painted dark yellow. It had a miniscule front garden surrounded by an iron railing replete with rust and last summer's vines. Kat knocked on the door.

The woman who greeted them filled the frame. She looked to be in her seventies, silver hair pulled back in a tight bun and her corpulence enveloped in a loud flower-print dress.

She held her hands together in prayerful simulation. "Police?" she enquired.

Kat and Heimo showed their identification cards. "We'd like to ask you some questions about Claudia Trauber," Kat said.

"Of course, of course. Come in." She backed into the house and it was only then they saw a small blonde girl hiding behind the voluminous skirts. "This is Nicole, my granddaughter. Say 'hello' Nicole."

But the child only giggled and ground a small fist into her mouth.

Kloschnig ushered them into a cramped kitchen smelling strongly of smoked meat and pulled out chairs from the scarred wooden table.

Heimo said, "Our colleague passed on your information about Frau Trauber. But we would like to find out more about her life and friends. It helps to know as much as possible."

The woman wore small rimless glasses so dirty she could see through them only with difficulty. She tended to drop her head and peer over the top of them. "I understand. Well, as I told the other officer, I have known Claudia almost since we moved here thirty years ago. She was active in the church and a very devout woman."

"Do you know about her daily life and who her friends were?" asked Kat.

Olga wrinkled her nose. "She didn't work if that's what you mean. When her husband died, there was insurance, and of course she had her pension, so she had enough to live on. And she sold most of the farm to the neighbors."

"Did she come into the village often?"

"Almost every day. She went to the shop for groceries and she frequently stopped to see the priest. But now I think about it, she did not have many close friends. Oh, she knew everyone in the village, and spoke if she saw them, but they didn't visit her as far as I know. Only her niece went regularly."

"Did she meet anyone new recently?"

"She never mentioned it."

"Our colleague said Frau Tauber had found a way to help people. Do you know what that was about?"

Kloschnig shook her head. "It was odd. Six or seven weeks ago, we had just come out of the church after mass and I could see she was unusually happy. I asked her why and she said she had found a way to help poor people. But she put her finger to her lips and winked at me, so I thought it was a secret. That was the only time she said anything."

"You know about the boys we found at the farm?" Heimo asked.

Kloschnig bobbed up and down. "Yes, extraordinary, isn't it? Are those the poor people she was helping?"

Heimo shrugged. "Possible, but we aren't sure. Can you think of any reason anyone would...do this to her?"

Olga shook her head violently. "No, it's horrible. She was a good woman who never hurt a soul. It is pure wickedness."

They were no further forward. On the way back to town, Kat said, "Tauber doesn't fit the profile of a mafia people trafficker, does she?"

"More like a nun without a convent. But she works very well as someone who can be conned into thinking she is helping the helpless. Algerian smugglers are unlikely to have such a skill, but people on our side? We've got to find a way to break into this organization because it's the only link to both murders."

Josef was at the hotel where they'd interviewed Helmut Schuster. He was seated at the largest table with paperwork spread over the entire surface. Heimo smiled. Only Josef would bring case information out on a field investigation. "I'm glad to see you're being thorough," he said with as straight a face as he could manage.

Josef grinned. "I know it's not...well, the usual way. But I need to catch up and I thought this was the best way to do it."

Kat and Heimo pulled out chairs. "What have you found?"

"Nothing. Not a single interesting or pertinent fact. I've seen five people who knew Trauber well, and not one of them had the slightest doubt she was as pure as new snow. No enemies, no bad associations, no record on any of our systems. I called the tax people. Seven years ago, she sold some land and didn't pay the correct tax. They called her, and she paid immediately. One hundred forty-two euros. That's it."

"The bishop probably nominated her for sainthood," Kat muttered.

"Doesn't change my concept, though," Heimo said. "Traffickers love somebody like her. Not money-hungry, a do-gooder, farm is off the main roads, few visitors. It's perfect."

"So why kill her?" Josef asked.

"The abuse of the two boys might have set her off. If she threatened to expose them, they wouldn't hesitate to eliminate her."

Before they could explore the theory, Heimo's phone buzzed. It was Klaus Benetik from Border Control. "We've stopped a truck at the autobahn crossing. Driver is named Werner Ressmann. He works for a local hauler, Wolf Zalar, and he's carrying a mixed load of timber. But his paperwork and manifest are not in order. Normally we'd just give him a citation and let him go, but you wanted to know about anything like this."

"Is he still at the border post?"

"Yes."

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

The checkpoint is one of two major crossings on the Austrian/Italian border, funneling much of the commercial traffic between northeastern Europe and the Mediterranean. It is frequently manned by both Austrian and Italian border control police despite the nominal free flow of traffic under the EU's Schengen agreement. A vast parking area, a relic of the days before national borders were opened, is still used to check vehicles for contraband.

In the Control Office Benetik crouched over another officer who was typing something into a computer terminal. When he finished, he pointed at the screen and said, "It's the same one."

Benetik said, "Print it out," and turned to Kat and Heimo. "Good morning. We know Ressmann well. He's through here once every week or two and there are seldom any problems."

"But?" Heimo prompted.

"We put him on the weighing scale this time. He's four tons over what he should be."

"Mean anything?"

"Not sure. Could be a typo on the manifest, but it doesn't look like it. We checked the supplier, a lumber finisher in Bologna, to see if he's had other problems. The company's been cited four times in the last two years for the same thing."

"With Zalar as the hauler?"

Benetik shook his head. "Only twice with Zalar. According to our records, Ressmann was the driver both times. The report from the Italians said the company claimed their own scales were malfunctioning and the error was inadvertent. They paid a fine and that was it."

Heimo considered. On the face of things, it didn't look like it had anything to do with murder. But Zalar and Ressmann seemed to keep popping into the foreground. "We'd like to talk to him."

Benetik nodded and handed them the printout. "Figured you would. He's in the room over there," pointing to a doorway.

When Kat opened the door, Werner Ressmann was seated on a bench running the length of one wall and staring out at the truck-filled parking area. He stood when the officers walked in, smoothing both hands over his balding head.

The driver was medium height with a classic beer belly hanging over his jeans. He'd taken his coat off in the over-heated room and wore a greasy, too-short sweater which was not improving the atmosphere.

Heimo showed the man his ID and introduced himself and Kat. "We understand your load is overweight."

Ressmann nodded. "Guess so. Ain't my fault."

Heimo waved him back to the bench and sat down in the only chair while Kat remained standing. "You work for Wolf Zalar, correct?"

"Yuh."

"This is the third time you've been overweight carrying lumber from the same company."

Ressmann wriggled and rubbed his knuckles along chinstrap whiskers but said nothing.

"You only haul timber?"

"Nah. Haul anythin' Mister Wolf tells me to haul."

"Do you always use this route?"

"Most times."

"What other routes do you use?"

Ressmann was silent for a moment. "Just this one. Faster."

Heimo stared at the man. "Are you trying to hide something?"

The driver's eyes widened. "Nuh...no. I didn't do nothin'."

"Do you use the Pontebba road."

Ressmann's eyes shifted down, then up to Kat who was staring at him. "Last year, once or twice."

Kat said. "How long have you known Claudia Tauber?"

This time his mouth fell open, but nothing came out. They waited, leaning forward.

Ressmann scrubbed the back of one hand across his mouth. "Don't know her, not really. Heard she's dead."

"Ever been to her farm?"

"Maybe. Can't remember."

"Where we you on Wednesday?"

Ressmann's lips moved several times. "Had to drive a rig to the garage for safety inspection."

Heimo sneered. "Take all day, did it?"

Ressmann managed to look wounded. "No, but I had to wait, lots of other guys there. Didn't finish 'till lunch."

This was getting them nowhere. "We'll check on you, Mr. Ressmann," said Heimo. "I hope you're telling the truth, otherwise you can expect another visit."

Kat opened the door and signaled to Benetik. "He's all yours. And thanks for the heads up."

Back in the car, she said, "Three possibilities. Lying, stupid, or lying and stupid."

"I'll go for door number three. But it's clear Zalar pulls his strings. What that information is worth, I have no idea."

As they turned off the autobahn towards Hermagor, Heimo passed Ressmann's details to Josef for a background check. When he finished, Josef reported on his conversations with people who knew Trauber. No one had a bad or interesting word to say about her. He'd elicited the same information as they'd had from Olga Kloschnig.

"What now?" Kat asked.

"Let's go up to the checkpoint on the Pontebba road. I want to get a better idea of the terrain."

But as they turned off the main road, his phone buzzed - Cristina. "I talked to Paulette. The lawyer had another look at the documents from the vineyard purchase. He thinks there may be a problem."

"What kind and how big?" Heimo asked.

"He won't say. Stupid bugger is being cagey just for the hell of it."

"Doesn't sound very charitable. Has your friend been acting up again?"

"Yes, he bloody well has, and I'm fed up with it. Have you got somebody with you?"

"I do."

"I got another call from a judge today. She wanted to know if Aubock was on medication. How can I answer that? Anyway, are you coming home tonight or staying up in the mountains with the yetis?"

"I'll be home, but we need schnitzel and beer. Can you book somewhere?"

"We should really be healthy and drink water and eat salad, don't you think? Don't answer that. Call me when you get close."

Kat, having heard only one side of the conversation, tactfully refrained from asking about the other side. She knew Cristina professionally, but Heimo never volunteered any information about their relationship. He couldn't have said why, but he blocked it off from his working life.

The border post on the road to Pontebba sat on a two-lane road fifty meters from a hotel and gasthaus. Although the area was popular in the summer with hikers and cyclists and skiers in the winter, in the seasonal interval it was deserted. The wind, as usual, whistled across the tops of the peaks.

A bored-looking officer at the post shrugged into his heavy coat when Heimo stuck his head into the miniscule office. Heimo identified himself and waved the man back to his seat.

"What's the traffic been in the last few days?"

"Minimal," the officer grunted. "I've been here since eight this morning, and there've been exactly three cars come through from the south and two from the north."

"Any trucks or vans the last two or three days?"

Fishing around in a desk drawer, the officer withdrew a clipboard stuffed with paper. He leafed through a few pages. "One van from Naples with a family two days ago. One truck, Austrian, coming from Mestre yesterday at noon. Nothing else."

"Do you manually record the traffic?"

"Nope." He pointed at a monitor on the desk. "Camera picks up all the vehicles. We only log the ones we stop. But we can go back through the video to get the registration numbers and so forth."

It occurred to Heimo they wouldn't stop vehicles they were familiar with, so there might not be a record of people like Ressmann using the route unless somebody went through months of tape.

"Is the road closed in winter?"

The man nodded. "If the snow's bad, the Italians'll close it sometimes, but it varies. They've got a check point just outside Pontebba. Sometimes they'll close the road to trucks, but let four-wheel drive stuff through, and sometimes they close it to everything."

"Thanks for the info," Heimo said. "We'll drive down a way, then come back up in thirty minutes."

The policeman threw a mock salute. "I probably won't need to stop you," he grinned.

# Chapter 16

The road from the border to the small Italian town of Pontebba is officially the Strada Provinciale 110. It winds down the southern side of the Julian Alps through numerous hair-pin turns and exposed granite outcrops for a distance of thirteen kilometers. In good weather, it takes thirty minutes to drive it. In winter, it can take an hour or more.

Pontebba is a village rather than a town, but it possesses one desirable quality if you are a smuggler–it is the last useful exit from the autostrada before the main border check point into Austria.

Although Heimo had long known of the road, he'd never driven it. Weather in late November was marginal at best. The snow, which had threatened for several days, still refused to fall, but temperatures were sinking. They took the curves at crawling speed, alive to the possibility of black ice on the worn tarmac, and conscious of having little room for oncoming vehicles.

After passing a cheap hostel near the border and a small bar two kilometers further on, they saw no other habitations. And at this season, there were no bikers or hikers. The terrain appeared lifeless, the leaves long since off the trees and the undergrowth brown and bedraggled.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Kat said, "If they wanted to keep things quiet, they couldn't find a better road for it."

Heimo nodded. "I thought it would probably be like this, but I needed to be sure. Anybody smuggling would have to use a small vehicle like a van. But I wonder about Ressmann coming this way in a truck. There are a few passing places, but you couldn't get a full-sized rig up here. That fits with the idea that only high value shipments would come this way."

Halfway to Pontebba they found a suitable place to turn around. When they returned to the border, the same police officer waved them through. Kat said, "Did you notice the track on the right just before the crossing?"

"I did. It joins one of the mountain roads running east and west on the Austrian side of the ridgeline. Twelve hundred meters from Schuster's farm and eighteen hundred from Trauber's."

Kat glanced at him.

"I checked a map," Heimo grinned.

"That's the route the smugglers used?"

"Maybe, but it's rough. You'd have trouble getting most vehicles over it. It's more likely they drove through the border crossing like normal folks. Between you and me, I'm not convinced our colleagues are doing a great job of checking everyone, particularly if they look harmless or are familiar. They're watching for migrants, but they take that to mean herds of Syrians on foot rather than people being trafficked."

"What do we do?"

"You're in charge, Inspector. What do you recommend?"

Kat thought about it as they headed down to Hermagor. After a few minutes, she said, "I'd start digging into Ressmann because he's definitely not on the level. And Zalar. He runs a transport company, has links to people in Italy, and he's lived here all his life. He fits the profile of someone who might get involved in smuggling. And finally, I'd find a list of companies Zalar hauls for regularly, both here and in Italy, and investigate them for suspicious activities."

"You have the makings of a detective. Have you thought about joining the police?"

Heimo texted Josef and told him to meet them at the office, then he called Greiml. He was taking a chance because Kat would overhear the conversation and be aware of his evasions and omissions. But sometimes you had to trust people. Although it hadn't occurred to him, he'd started to take more risks with the system since he and Cristina became a couple. It was as though, with her at his back, he was less inclined to worry about his career.

"How is it going, Heimo?" Greiml asked.

"No big breakthroughs, but we're getting a better idea of what we're dealing with." He gave the Colonel an overview of their meeting with the Carabinieri officer while failing to mention the plan to set up their own surveillance operation. "We looked at the area where the smugglers are probably operating, but we can't make a definite connection between them and the homicides, so we keep digging."

Greiml sounded content when he wished Heimo a good evening.

Heimo glanced at Kat, but she kept her eyes on the road and said not a word.

The corridors and offices were sparsely populated by the time they entered the LKA building. Only the night duty officers were around, most of them crouched over computer terminals catching up on the endless record-keeping.

Josef was at his desk when they walked in. Before Heimo could sit down, his phone beeped. A text message–the letter 'A' and nothing else-but he knew who it was. He answered with 'H' and put his phone back in his pocket.

"Josef, what have you come up with?"

Felsbach leaned forward. "Very little of any use. I found only three people who knew both Schuster and Tauber. None could say for sure if the two knew each other, and they could not make any meaningful connection that would account for murder."

"Anyone have ideas about the migrants they were sheltering?"

"Not directly. I was curious to see how much people knew about the two boys on Tauber's place. Everyone had heard the story, and there was a lot of speculation, most of it rude, about what they were doing there. But no one specifically mentioned migrants or refugees."

Kat said, "It's odd in such a small community no one knew about it. Not only did the smugglers have to get their cargo in, someone had to pick them up and deliver them to the next stop. That means strange vehicles going up and down those farm tracks, presumably at night, and no one seeing or hearing anything."

"Unless they weren't."

"Weren't what?"

"Weren't unusual or unknown and weren't going at night."

Kat's eyes widened. "Of course. If it was the postman or someone familiar, no one would think anything of it."

"The collection is one aspect we need to figure out. The easiest and least obvious would be delivery vans. Couriers are everywhere now, and no one pays any attention to them, particularly if they're carrying one of the common logos. Josef, check with the delivery and courier companies and see if you can turn up any stolen vehicles, unscheduled deliveries or anything that looks abnormal. Also might be good to know if the local companies deliver packages across the border. Kat, we'll look into Ressmann and Zalar tomorrow."

He cut the meeting short before anything else came up because he needed to get out of the office and call Andrea Foscari. For it was she who had sent the cryptic message, something she would never do unless urgency trumped caution.

In his car, he carried a cheap, untraceable mobile phone only used to talk to Andrea, the madam of the biggest brothel in Carinthia. She'd been a clandestine source for several years, and no one else knew of their relationship, not even Cristina.

They seldom spoke and met even less often. Many of the brothel's clients were from the Mafia and other crime organizations. They were prone to letting their guard down in the friendly company of expensive whores and free-flowing alcohol, so the information coming to Andrea's ears was often interesting. It was also dangerous and any hint the madam was passing those titbits to the police could have fatal consequences.

Heimo drove out of the parking lot, down the street, and parked in front of an apartment block. He punched in her number. She answered at once and he heard rapid breathing, but no voice. After a moment, Andrea said, "I need to talk to you. Now."

He'd never heard tension in her normally sultry voice, but it was there now, tight and barely under control. "Klinikum. Underground car park. Fifteen minutes."

"OK," and the connection broke.

The city's largest hospital had a huge parking facility under the main building catering for patients and visitors twenty-four hours a day. Because of the constant coming and going, no one would pay any attention to two people sitting in a car talking.

He thought about calling Cristina and telling her he might be late, but that was the default position for a policeman. Once he understood Andrea's problem, he'd know what he needed to do.

There was a considerable amount of traffic into and out of the hospital area, and one ambulance passed him with blue lights flashing. He turned down into the park and worked his way to an area where there were only two other vehicles. A few minutes later, he spotted her cruising up and down the lanes and flashed his lights. She pulled in next to him.

He pushed open the passenger door, and she climbed in. For the first time, he saw her in ordinary clothes with no makeup and her hair tied back in a knot. Her face sagged with fatigue and the skin around her eyes was pinched. Twisting in the seat, she searched his eyes for a moment.

"You don't really know anything about me, do you?"

Where was this coming from? "Not your background if that's what you mean. But I know what I need to know."

She rubbed her temples. "Thank you. You're the only man I know who would say that."

"What's happened?"

She pulled open her huge handbag and extracted a small bottle of clear liquid. Removing the cap, she took a deep, slow drink, then glanced at him with a small grin. "Gin and tonic," she said, holding the bottle up. "Want one?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know how much to tell you, so you ask if it's not clear. Three days ago, one of the owners called and told me someone was bringing two new girls. Supposed to stay with us for a few days, then move on. Didn't sound like a problem. Yesterday, a gorilla shows up with two pretty young black girls. He looks like Middle East or North Africa, speaks no German or Italian, but has a sheet of paper that tells me what to do. The girls don't speak any language I know, but I take them to a room and get them settled. Last night one of my girls who is from Rwanda spots them and manages to talk with them a little."

Andrea stopped, took out the bottle and drained it. "The girls are from some place in West Africa. One is twelve and the other is thirteen."

Heimo scowled but said nothing.

"I don't know why this is so damned difficult, but it is. These kids were trying to escape from the Boko Haram when they were kidnapped by someone else. They were gang raped, then sold several times. Someone cleaned them up and brought them up here. I don't think they know any more than that."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "I've been a whore most of my life, and I've seen a lot. Most of it doesn't bother me too much, but these girls are basically being sold as sex slaves."

"And they're not the only ones," Heimo replied.

# Chapter 17

Andrea's story tied in with what he already knew, but it didn't explain why she was overwrought. "We're working on something tied into Africans being trafficked. It's ugly as hell, but we don't know much yet. Why are these kids a problem for you?"

"I'm not sure. If I wait a day or two, they'll be gone. But seeing them twisted something inside of me, and I can't make it disappear."

He waited as she struggled.

She rubbed her already red eyes. "For years I couldn't trust anyone because it was the only way to stay alive. I called you because I feel like I have to trust someone now."

Andrea went quiet, staring blindly at the gray concrete and arc lights which had eliminated any noticeable difference between day and night. Heimo ran his fingers over his scar, wishing her could reassure her, but knowing she'd have to make the decision on her own.

Finally, she let her breath out with a shuddering sigh. In the flattest monotone Heimo had ever heard, Andrea delivered her story. "When I was eleven, my uncle sold me. Foscari is a made-up name. I was born in Macedonia on a tiny farm that couldn't feed us. My parents gave me to my father's brother, because he said he'd look after me. After he took what he wanted, he sold me to a man who drove me to Rome–a mob brothel. They trained me to be a good whore and that's all I've ever done. But I never forgot what it was like to be handed to a total stranger like a piece of meat and have no idea if you were going to live or die."

Heimo sensed she was not yet at the end of her confession.

"I want out. I'm tired of being on the edge of something foul all the time. And I'm sick of men who want to use children like they were dolls. But I can't just quit. They know I've seen and heard too much. Even if I never said anything, I'd be a threat they couldn't ignore. I need help, and I've come to you for it."

Heimo was off his guard. Mentally, he'd prepared for some sort of crisis, but Andrea's desire to escape was well beyond what he'd anticipated. He, in his turn, stared through the windscreen for a while. "Anything we can do for the African girls?"

She shook her head sharply. "Not unless you raid the place." She paused and her face tightened in anguish. "It would put me at risk. I am perhaps a coward, but I don't want to be butchered."

Her fear was palpable, and he instinctively started to put his hand out but hesitated. Maybe a step too far.

Instead he told her about the murders and his suspicions that smugglers were involved. "We don't have any solid evidence, and we've no idea who's behind it, but it looks like organized trafficking of people who are going to be sold across Europe. Are these the first kids to come through your place?"

"No. These last two were the final straw, but I've had six in the last six months although the others were older."

Heimo twisted in his seat and looked at her. He tried to gauge where she was, and where she wanted to be, but it was too complex for a simple answer.

"You know I'll help if I can, but you have to tell me what you want."

"I want you to make it better, the whole bloody lot." She glanced at him, her old taunting grin flashing for a moment. "Since you're not a superman, that's probably asking too much. I haven't thought it through, I just reacted to those kids. But if I get out, it has to be in such a way they can never find me. And I won't give them any reason to look very hard."

He understood she was closing the door on any further information. "We'll have to come up with a plan, and, at the moment, I'm out of ideas. Can you hang on for a few days?"

"I can hang on forever if I have to. They trust me, as much as they trust anyone, and they have no reason to think anything has changed. But I'm not sure I can handle many more of these kids without losing it."

"Call me in a day or two when I've had a chance to think. One thing–can you tell me who this owner is?"

"No, because I don't know. Two men run the operation, but they are, at least on the surface, legitimate. The money comes from somewhere else. The guy who called about the girls is a voice I know, and he calls himself Giuseppe, but he's Austrian by the accent. Other than that, I have no idea."

"Still got his number on your phone?"

He copied it. "If the shit hits the fan, call me straight away."

She squeezed his hand, then got out of the car.

All the way home, he ran through scenarios, each more impossible than the last. Andrea deserved his help and he would deliver, but fatigue turned his brain into an unresponsive lump of neurons. He couldn't come up with one idea that would work.

And that led to another problem. No one had ever known about his relationship with the madam because it was the only way to protect her. The risk was too great even to let people like Gunther in on it. But that rule no longer applied. Should he tell Cristina and if so, how?

When he walked in the door, lovely food smells hit his nose. The table was laid, there was a bottle in the ice bucket, and Cristina was humming as she pulled a large casserole out of the oven.

"Chicken cacciatore," she announced, "and your timing is impeccable."

"What I've been striving for all my life–impeccable. How the hell do you do this after working your lovely ass off in that pit of misery?"

"Sorry, professional secrets which you are not cleared for. You may, however, sit and eat this excellent meal which I have prepared at great expense over many hours."

And it was excellent. He hadn't even realized he was hungry when he left the office, but he had two helpings, and they polished off the wine. He pulled the cork on a second bottle and considered belching like a pig. "All right, enough of the secret stuff. How did you do it?"

She swirled her refreshed glass and grinned. "Made it last week and put it in the freezer. You look like you've been dragged through a knothole backwards. Case not going well?"

He gave her the highlights, then made his decision. "I need to tell you something, but it's a little off the wall. Do you want to hear it now, or wait until morning?"

"Not a great question. How would I sleep with that little hint roaming around in my head?"

"True. All right, brace yourself. There's another woman and she's a whore."

Cristina almost choked on her wine, then started to laugh. "I haven't heard anything that droll in a month. Does this mean you don't actually work, just hang around a brothel all day like the Sopranos?"

"Why do you think I'm always tired? No, it's a little more complicated than that. I need to do something that will quite possibly be illegal and might end up getting a few people killed."

She stared at him, blank-faced, for a minute. "You're serious, aren't you? OK, as your lawyer, this is privileged communication. Proceed."

There was no need to go into every detail, but he sketched the background. "At first, she was just another informant and she didn't know much, so I saw very little of her. But she moved up to management and things got more interesting. Several times she's given me critical information that broke cases open."

He stared into his wineglass. "Standard procedure is to put your snitches on record, but virtually no one does because it's too easy for them to be compromised. In Andrea's case it could have been fatal, so our arrangement was based on no one knowing, and until now I've held to that."

Cristina watched him closely. "But something changed?"

He nodded. "I don't know all of it yet, but it involves a pedophile ring and migrant smuggling. Youngsters are being funneled through Andrea's place. She asked me to meet her tonight and, for the first time, told me some of her story. Complicated, as you can imagine, but she was trafficked as a child, and it's gotten to her. She wants out, and she wants me to help her."

"How?"

"No idea. She wants to disappear completely, off any mob radar. Presumably, it means a new identity, a new country, a new life. And I haven't the tiniest clue how to do any of that."

"Where do the dead people come in?"

He scratched his stubble. "Just possibilities. The mob doesn't like its profitable little businesses disrupted, so they might try to upset the applecart. Smugglers are also not humanitarians, so migrants might get caught in the crossfire. I don't really know, but it's a bad mix of combustibles, and I have very little control."

"How fast does this have to happen?"

He shrugged and grinned. "Is this what you do to witnesses?"

"You ain't seen nothing yet." Cristina got up and they cleared the table. When the dishwasher was full, they retired to the sofa with the remains of the wine.

'It's just a guess," Heimo said, "but I feel like things are coming to a head. The two murders put a spotlight on the smuggling, so we're stirring things up. And the Carabinieri have a new task force dealing with migrants, so they're nosing about. Whoever is behind this is bound to notice all the activity."

She snuggled into his chest. "Would they shut things down to get the heat off?"

"Possible, but unlikely. They probably feel they're too well shielded to give up a good thing."

"You're getting well out of your jurisdiction, Inspector. How's Greiml taking it?"

"Nervous as a fox in a forest fire. He wants the kudos for solving a double homicide, but he's scared I'll step in something ugly and make him look bad. He would like to hand it off now that the Italians and the border control folks are involved, but I've stalled him."

"I don't know how you stay awake. A couple of local murders, a few smugglers and a cry for help. Shouldn't even stretch you–much."

"I've been cautioned about the yawning. Anything new with Aubock?"

She shook her head. "All quiet for a change. He went to that meeting with Mehringer but didn't come back. Maybe Mehringer murdered him. That'd be great. You'd get your old enemy, and I'd get rid of the pain in my neck."

"I knew you'd come up with the solution."

# Chapter 18

Music drifted into the office. Someone down the corridor had turned on a radio tuned to a local station specializing in traditional alpine songs. They grated on Heimo's ear like the clang of cowbells, but most of his colleagues loved them. Kat Unger felt as he did and wasn't shy about expressing her irritation.

"If they have to listen to that crap, they could at least close the door."

"Or we could close ours."

Kat swiveled her chair, got up and tried to slam their office door forgetting it had a damper mounted at the top to prevent such an action. But it reluctantly shut under her persistent pressure.

Saturday was not a normal duty day. But there were always ongoing operations, and some people needed the weekend to catch up on the endless paperwork generated by a bureaucracy that took a backseat to none in its efforts swamp the system.

Heimo and Kat waded through stuff that had collected since the first homicide. Josef, one of the few who enjoyed administration, had the day off. There was nothing to do on either of the investigations. Until the smugglers made a move or something broke open, they had no leads and no one to talk to.

Heimo extracted another file from his tray and opened it. A new form for logging...something. His eyes glazed and his mind drifted back to the case. He'd built several theories to account for the deaths of Schuster and Tauber, but they all rested on insubstantial fairy dust. Smugglers and people trafficking seemed to make sense, but they had not a single piece of concrete evidence. The murders could have been committed just as plausibly by someone who was deranged or hated the deceased for reasons they had yet to discover.

He leaned back and cradled his coffee mug. Although he'd not spoken to Paulette, he was less worried about the letters. She hadn't received any more of them, and if the writer had any connection to the vineyard transaction, the lawyer's researches should expose them. And that, hopefully, would end the mystery.

The phone rang and Kat picked it up. "Homicide." Her voice changed and Heimo guessed she was talking to Moretti. He smiled, wondering if the two of them would get together. Of course, it was possible the Italian cop had a wife and six kids. They knew remarkably little about him, given they were embarking on a professionally fraught experiment.

Kat scribbled on her notepad, the phone tucked between ear and shoulder. "I understand. Has anyone else been notified?"

She listened for another few minutes. "I have all that. We'll wait for your call. Ciao." She dropped the instrument back in its cradle.

Heimo snorted. "Ciao?"

She stuck her tongue out. "Everybody says 'ciao' except old farts. Anyway, Arturo has some good stuff. The camera on the Pontebba road is up and running. They pull the tapes manually, but he's arranged for a new model to be installed Monday, and they'll be able to monitor it at Treviso. He'll call us every day or so for an update. Second piece of news is even better. They stopped a small truck outside of Milano. Twenty-two people stuffed in the back. Most of them are Libyans, but a couple are from Chad and Mali. The driver and his mate are Albanians." She ran her finger down her notes. "Both have tattoos connecting them to a gang. The Carabinieri in Milano are still processing it, so they don't know if these guys are involved in what we're looking for."

"Long way from Milano to Hermagor. They could be headed anywhere. But it's good the camera's up. Any more ideas about the murders?"

She shook her head. "Not a one. The only people who seem to have a motive are the smugglers. And the isolated locations mean everybody in the province had plenty of opportunity. One murder weapon belongs to the victim, and the other could be any piece of metal anywhere. So, nothing."

"Ressmann?"

"He's probably running a bit of contraband for his boss, but other than that? No one has connected him with either victim, no reports of him being at the farms, and he's not bright enough to think up an elaborate crime. He really doesn't fit."

Heimo finished his coffee and set the mug on the desk. "And Obernig and young Schuster are dodgy characters, but otherwise off the screens as well so far as any obvious motive is concerned. Maybe the aliens landed and are testing our intelligence. Since I can no longer absorb any paperwork, I will take my leave."

Kat nodded and turned back to her own tray.

They'd made no arrangements about lunch because Cristina decided Saturday was an ideal time for some snooping in her own bailiwick. Heimo headed home, stopping along the way to collect more wine and whatever goodies caught his fancy. But her car was in its slot when he parked.

She sat at the dining table with papers and files spread out, and a notebook into which she was making rapid notes with a long yellow pencil. Glancing up as he put the groceries in the kitchen, she said, "Be finished in a moment."

He changed into sloppy Saturday stay-at-home clothes and stowed his purchases.

By the time he was done, she was putting documents back into folders and stacking them on one corner of the table. She came around the counter and inspected the wine. "South America and South Africa, huh? Are you feeling the need for sunshine?"

"You are the sunshine of my life," he warbled, and she elbowed him in the ribs. "No, I wanted a change, and these looked good as well as cheap."

She held a bottle of Argentinian Malbec up to the light. "I can see that. This one is full of red liquid, so it must be good, especially at four ninety-nine. I'll have to learn this unusual skill."

"What's with the paperwork?"

"I wanted look into some recent cases to see if anything unusual is going on I hadn't heard about. And I wanted to find out if Heilind Chemical had come to our notice."

"Any lights flash or bells ring?"

"Oh, yes."

He looked at her for a moment noticing her eyelid had dropped into a half wink, and her lip was quivering with amusement. "I'm gonna have to guess, right?"

"Nope. You have to make lunch, and if I like it, I'll tell you what I found."

It wasn't up to her culinary standards, but Heimo produced something tasty and filling.

She grinned at him after they finished. "You'll enjoy this. Heilind Chemical is a nasty little nest of all the corrupt practices you could ever want. And the chairman of the board is a relative of your best friend, Andreas Mehringer."

"Wow, I must be a better cook than I realized. Pray elucidate."

"Elucidate–you've been reading books again, haven't you? Heilind has been involved in four lawsuits in the last seven years, has been suspended by EU regulators once, and come close to bankruptcy twice. And that's only what I could find with a few quick searches of our files and the internet. The company's history is not entirely clear, but they apparently started in the early 1950s manufacturing industrial ammonia. Some years later they converted to something having to do with petrochemicals. Up to then, it appears they were just another small company. But twelve years ago, they got into processing toxic waste and their troubles started."

Heimo began to clear away the debris from the meal, then topped up their glasses. "I have an idea where this is going."

Cristina nodded. "Not hard, is it? Like most, they found it difficult to find anywhere to dump the residues. And the mob got involved, and illegal transport and secret landfills and all the rest started. The lawsuits came from local governments here and in Italy who were affected by the waste, or at least thought they would be. The EU authority shut Heilind down for four months about three years ago for violations of several regulations. But here's the fun part. They were close to shutting down permanently twice. But, by the end of the next financial quarter, they're back in the black."

Heimo swirled his glass. "Manna, or in this case money, from heaven. Any trace of where these windfalls came from?"

"Not yet, there wasn't time this morning. Can you get your Economic Crime people to check? There must be some official dirt given the number of scrapes they've been in."

"I'll talk to them on Monday. Tell me about this relative of Mehringer."

"The chairman of the board is a man named Gottlieb Vogt. Again, I didn't have much time, but he's a big donor to Mehringer's party. Following that trail, I ran across a photo taken a few years ago at a birthday party. Vogt was identified as a cousin of Mehringer."

Heimo looked up at the ceiling for a long, quiet moment, his brain leaping across connections and integrating isolated facts. He finally let his breath out. "That might be it. Vogt's name is vaguely familiar. I don't know how it fits together, but I'm willing to bet it does."

# Chapter 19

Heimo spent half of Sunday afternoon letting his mind toy with the case, not trying to reach any solid conclusions, letting his subconscious off its lead to roam at will. Cristina said it was a fancy way to take a nap, but sometimes it helped.

Greiml called him in when Monday morning briefing finished. "I'm becoming concerned, Heimo. This investigation does not seem to be going anywhere, nor does it have any shape. Alleviate my worries."

Alleviate? "We've done the standard things, collected all the evidence, and interviewed everyone who has any connection to the victims, the area and the time. And we have nothing–no unexplored leads, no viable suspects, and no definite direction. Sometimes that happens with a homicide."

Greiml waved a hand impatiently. "I'm aware of that. Are you saying we should stop the investigation unless or until we get new information, or do you have something useful to move things forward?"

Time for fancy footwork. "By eliminating everyone else, we think the murders are tied to the migrants and smugglers in some, as yet undefined, way. The Carabinieri task force picked up a van on Friday near Milano. It was full of people being smuggled, but we don't yet know if they're connected to our homicides. We should have answers today. Second, we told the border control people they need to check every commercial vehicle and every van that might hold migrants. They do spot checks, but they're not frequent enough to catch everything. They've agreed to try to do more, but it's the old story about budget and manpower constraints."

He stopped for a moment and chose his next words carefully. "We believe someone on this side of the border collects the migrants after they're dropped off. No reports from the French or the Germans that anything is going straight through, so people are being transshipped at least once and possibly two or three times. The best thing we can do now is try to find the connections. If we fill in the blanks, we'll have a better understanding of the whole operation."

Greiml followed him closely, nodding occasionally in agreement. "Good. I agree that is most likely to be productive. What's your method?"

"Several companies in the area move goods back and forth across the border almost weekly. We start with them. Anyone looks suspicious, we run background checks, financial checks, taxes, anything we can think of until they are cleared or move up the list. If we get no hits, we expand."

Greiml leaned back in his executive chair. "Sound approach. Let me know how you get on."

Heimo breathed out as he walked down the hall. Making it sound like an exercise in management theory pressed the right buttons. More than anything else, Greiml wanted reassurance that his position and reputation were not in danger.

Before returning to the office, he made a detour to the Economic Crime Unit. Franz Petschnig, the number two officer, was perusing three huge monitors displaying multi-colored spreadsheets. "The football's on Channel 3," Heimo said.

"And Barcelona is losing," Petschnig replied without turning. He pressed a button on a remote and the screens went black. "What's happening, Heimo?"

"Ever heard of a company called Heilind Chemical?"

"Rings a bell. What do you need to know?"

"The name came up in connection with our homicides. I had a quick look and discovered they've been in trouble a few times. Have you had any dealings with them?"

"I think so, but not recently. I'll have to dig it out and get back to you."

"Fair enough. Thanks."

In the office, Josef was on the phone. "Yes, I understand. I don't think it means anything, but I will tell him. Thank you for the call."

Heimo drew a coffee and sat down, watching Felsbach scribbling in his notebook. After a moment, Josef said, "That was Inspector Thurner. He received a call this morning from a man in a village outside of Hermagor." He consulted his notes. "The man's name is Otto Kampfner and he's a gunsmith. He told Thurner he had repaired Kurt Schuster's rifle some time ago and wanted to make sure the gun had not malfunctioned and caused Schuster's death. It doesn't seem important, but Thurner wanted to pass it on."

"When was this repair done?"

"Thurner didn't say, just 'some time ago'. Why?"

The right question but asked of the wrong person. "Let's suppose, for the sake of argument, the gun was repaired the day before Schuster was killed. Would that make any difference?"

"Well, of course, but...oh, I see. Some time ago could be recently, couldn't it?"

"It could. And since it's a murder weapon, the more we know, the better. Have you got a phone number?"

Felsbach, red in the face, flipped a page of his notebook and read off a number.

Heimo punched it and waited. And waited.

The voicemail message came on and Heimo was about to leave his name when someone answered. An out-of-breath, gravelly voice said, "Kampfner here."

"Good morning, Mr. Kampfner, I'm Chief Inspector Kapeller from the LKA in Klagenfurt. I'm investigating the death of Kurt Schuster. I understand from my colleague in Hermagor that you repaired Mr. Schuster's rifle. Can you tell me when that was?"

"Oh, hello. I called because the paper said Kurt was shot with his own gun, and I was concerned something had gone wrong. It was working perfectly when I finished with it."

"And when was that?"

"Kurt gave me the gun on, let's see...would have been two weeks ago."

"Did he bring it to you?"

"He did. He'd called me on Saturday, said he'd bring it on Monday, and he did."

"And what was wrong with it?"

"A damaged cartridge had jammed in the breech. When Kurt tried to get it out, he caused a burr. I had to remove the barrel and smooth it off. But I tested the gun with five rounds after the repair and it was working slick as anything."

"I'm sure it was, Mr. Kampfner. When did Mr. Schuster pick up the gun?"

"He didn't. Called me last Monday and asked me to give it to Werner Ressmann. Said Ressmann could bring it when he came up to help with a pig delivery. So that's what I did."

Heimo took a few deep breaths. "And when did you give it to Mr. Ressmann?"

"Tuesday morning. Werner came in around nine and I handed it over."

"Thanks very much. We'll come up and see you to get a formal statement. And don't worry about the condition of the rifle – it worked. Are you available this morning?"

"Yes, I'm in the shop all day. Do you have the address?"

Heimo's coffee had gone cold, so he drew another just as Kat walked in.

"Do I detect excitement?" she asked. "You're kind of sparkly around the eyes."

"I am a Chief Inspector," Heimo said with dignity. "I do not go 'sparkly'. But I have a nice little piece of information."

Heimo pointed Kat to her chair. "Just talked to a man named Kampfner who is a gunsmith near Hermagor. He repaired Schuster's rifle the week before last. And he gave it to Ressmann, on Schuster's instructions, to return it to its owner."

Kat clapped her hands. "Bingo! When was this?"

"Tuesday morning."

"And Tuesday around noon Schuster is shot with his own gun. It's almost too perfect."

Felsbach finally had enough. "What is perfect? What's going on, please?"

Heimo said, "We've been looking at Ressmann for a few days. He's a truck driver who works for a man named Wolf Zalar. We think Ressmann has been running contraband and dodgy loads across the border. He claimed not to know Schuster other than by name."

Kat chimed in. "And because Ressmann goes back and forth to Italy all the time, he could be a tie-in to the migrant smuggling operation. If he is, that could be the motive for killing Schuster and maybe even Tauber."

Josef was now nodding. "I see, I see. Should we arrest him now?"

Heimo settled back in his chair. "Not just yet. Let's figure out where the holes in this fine theory might be. First, Ressmann must know the gunsmith can identify him. He's not the sharpest tool in the box, but that would seem to be an obvious drawback if he was going to shoot Schuster."

"Unless," Kat said, "he hadn't planned on shooting him and it happened spontaneously. Maybe they argued and Ressmann plugged him."

"One hurdle we have to get over. Any others?"

"Why was Ressmann going to see Schuster?" Josef asked.

Heimo explained about Schuster's purchase of Hercules. "We didn't find a stock trailer on Schuster's farm, so presumably he was hiring Ressmann to transport the pig. Ressmann has to talk to Schuster to make the arrangements, and Schuster, knowing he's coming, has him bring the rifle. Question is, what would they argue about or fight about that was serious enough for Ressmann to kill him? If it was accidental, why didn't Ressmann call emergency services? And it doesn't account for Tauber either."

"Zalar didn't mention this pig delivery," Kat said.

"Nope," Heimo replied. "Ressmann's worked for him for a long time. Maybe Ressmann's got his own truck or trailer, and Zalar knew nothing about it. Before we pull Ressmann in, let's talk to the gunsmith and see what else he can tell us. And we need to find out what Ressmann's schedule was on Tuesday. Josef, you take Zalar, but make him think it's a routine enquiry and we're just filling in the squares. Kat and I will talk to Kampfner."

Kat drove and Heimo thought. He tried to picture Ressmann shooting Schuster, calmly wiping his prints off the rifle, putting it in the kitchen, then going about his business. It didn't fit well. Ressmann did not strike Heimo as either a straight-ahead hit man, or someone who had the nerve to kill and simply walk away. And he would almost certainly have told Zalar. If Zalar took fright because of Josef's questions, it would follow that the owner was involved.

When Kat cut into his thoughts, they were in sync. "Why don't we pull Ressmann in?"

"A good question for which I have no answer. If we suppose Ressmann shot Schuster, it was done either deliberately or accidently. If it was deliberate, why? We haven't come across anything like a motive. If it was an accident, why not call the emergency services? It somehow doesn't fit, so I hope the gunsmith can fill in the picture. And I'm curious about Zalar's reaction when Josef talks to him."

"That's another thing," said Kat. "Why Josef? He's not up to speed with the whole investigation. What if he says the wrong thing and Zalar spooks?"

"Well, that's what I'm hoping for."

Kat pulled out to overtake a truck. "If Zalar runs, he must be guilty?"

"That's one result, but I don't expect it. I'm more interested to see if he tries to cover for Ressmann or throws him to the wolves, meaning us. But we have so many pieces missing, I'm just throwing darts at the board hoping for a break."

Twenty minutes later, Kat slowed as they drove down the village's main street, searching both sides for the gunsmith shop. Heimo spotted the sign and pointed. It was in the center of a block of shops. The window marketed a variety of guns, ammunition, hunting clothes and fishing tackle, and a small neon tube spelled 'Gunsmith' in discreet pink letters.

Inside, the place was warm and dark, most of the illumination coming from a partially open door in the rear. It opened as they walked in and a tall spare man with a salt-and-pepper beard emerged.

"You'll be the police then."

"We are," said Heimo. He held out his identification and Kampfner lifted his glasses to read it.

The gunsmith nodded. "Understand you need a statement."

Heimo nodded. "We do, but we also need to understand how Werner Ressmann came to collect the gun."

Kampfner shrugged. "Like I told you. Kurt told me to give it to him and I did."

"Do you know Ressmann?"

"Not well, he's not one of my customers, but well enough."

"And Schuster said Ressmann was helping him transport a pig. Did he say when this was to occur?"

Kampfner looked out the window for a moment. "I don't believe he did."

"We think Kurt Schuster was murdered a few hours after you gave the rifle to Ressmann." He waited for the inevitable widening of the eyes as the shock of the accusation hit the shop owner.

The gunsmith leaned on the counter, his breath coming out in a long whistling exhale. "Are you saying Werner shot Kurt?"

"We're asking, not stating. But you see how it looks. Ressmann picks up the rifle on Tuesday morning. On Tuesday afternoon, Schuster's son finds him dead, shot with his own gun."

Kampfner could only shake his head. "Well I'll be damned."

# Chapter 20

"That's good enough," Heimo said as they left the gunsmith's shop. "Let's pick up Ressmann. Go to the station and we'll see if Thurner knows where he is."

Josef's car was parked in front when they arrived, and Josef was waiting at the reception desk. The three climbed the stairs and invaded Inspector Thurner's small office once again. "I'll have to rent a hall if you keep bringing the whole division," Thurner grumbled.

"Sorry," Heimo said, "but it makes it easier with everyone here." He relayed the information from the gunsmith. "There might be an explanation, but it's not obvious. We're going to pull Ressmann in and take him to Klagenfurt. Any idea where he is?"

Before Thurner answered, Josef cut in. "I do. He's driving to Padua to pick up a consignment of washing machines. Zalar told me."

"Did he say when Ressmann's due to return?"

"Tomorrow about noon."

"That takes care of that. Johann, I'll give you a call when we've got him. Meanwhile, we'll try to stay out of your hair."

He herded his people out of the station before they discussed anything else. It wasn't paranoia exactly, and he trusted Thurner, but everything about this case made him antsy. He didn't want to air Moretti's involvement or suspicions about Zalar in front of people who might talk out of turn.

The headed for the café on the edge of town. As it was lunch time the place was busy, but they found a table away from the throng. The waitress took their order, delivered drinks and left them to it.

"Josef, any specifics on where Ressmann is picking up his load?"

Felsbach flipped open his notebook. "Zalar mentioned a company name, Rovello, but that's all."

"Might be enough. Kat, call Moretti, give him what we have, and ask him to pick up Ressmann as soon as possible. We'll sort out the paperwork later."

She pulled her phone out as she pushed her chair back. "Way ahead of you."

Heimo turned his attention to Josef. "What did Zalar have to say?"

"He gave me a copy of the haulage schedules for last week but said he couldn't remember specifically what Ressmann was doing every day. I haven't had a chance to check it yet."

"How did he act when you showed up?"

"Very friendly at first. He told me he was always happy to help the police, and asked me how we were getting on, but of course I didn't tell him anything."

"Of course. How did he react when you asked about Ressmann?"

"Well, it was odd. He seemed nervous. He fumbled with some files and paperwork, couldn't find what he was looking for, then opened a big ledger. He keeps a running tab of all pickups and deliveries, and he made a copy of the page covering last week. Then he settled down."

"How did you leave it?"

"I asked him if Ressmann was a good employee and he said, 'none better'. So I asked about traffic tickets or load manifest violations, and he got quite belligerent. Said he thought I was out of order implying his drivers weren't reliable, but he never answered the question. I decided not to upset him anymore."

But maybe that was enough, Heimo thought.

Kat returned, punching keys on her phone. She yanked her chair out and sat. "Arturo says OK. He'll pass the word to the units in Padua and call if they find Ressmann."

Lunch arrived, and they settled into it. After the waitress cleared away the debris, Kat asked the obvious question. "What do we do until Ressmann turns up?"

"We go to work on Zalar, but quietly. Start by pulling his business apart, the usual stuff, legal issues, taxes, financial status. Josef, that's you. Get on to Jurgen Heigl, he should be able to help. I'm also interested in customers and suppliers. If you don't come up with anything, we'll get a court order to examine his records. But I don't want to go that far until we have Ressmann."

"And us?" Kat said.

"We are going to do the same thing to Osternig, and just as quietly."

"Why? I mean other than the fact he's a jerk."

"He's a regular and frequent customer of Zalar, so they may be working this contraband scam together. That and because he's a jerk. I hope Ressmann cracks and gives us what we need, but the more background we have the better."

Felsbach looked skeptical. "Are you sure these two are the smugglers?"

Heimo shook his head. "Not at all, but we have to start turning over some rocks. The normal investigation isn't working. If we don't stir something up, we'll never find the killer."

Josef headed to the office. Kat, standing by her car, turned her collar to the rising wind. "Do we pull Osternig in, or what?"

"No, we ask around. We'll start with other companies in his area and work our way outward. I don't want to alarm him yet, so we'll keep our questions general. We ask people if they've heard anything about smuggling, then we move on to any companies or individuals they know that cross the border frequently. And we ask about any suspicious behavior they may have observed."

On the way, Heimo's phone buzzed–Cristina.

"Hi," he said.

"Are you with anyone?"

"Uh-huh. What is it?"

"Paulette called. The lawyer thinks he knows what's going on. She didn't have time to tell me everything, but I gather it involves the vineyard transaction. But that's not why I called. Try this for an idea. What about hiding your lady friend in France?"

Heimo was silent for a moment. "I don't know how we'd work it."

"I've got a plan. Tell you tonight. How's it going with the case?"

"Still flailing. Unless something breaks, I'll be home around six."

Ignoring Kat's inquisitive glance, he spent three minutes trying to see a way to get Andrea to France without anyone knowing. Maybe it wasn't so difficult. But hiding her there? And for how long? She was dangerous goods and he couldn't expose Paulette and Veronique to anything that jeopardized their safety. But it was certainly a solution.

Osternig ran his business from a small industrial estate outside Hermagor. The parking areas and streets were full of vans and trucks painted with logos and website addresses. Heimo often wondered if anyone ever wrote down the information posted on the mobile billboards. The police appreciated them because they made vehicles distinctive and recognizable, but as a marketing device, he reckoned the owners had wasted their money.

Kat cruised through congested lanes between warehouses. Obernig's premises were on one corner of the estate. Immense piles of logs in neat rows were sorted according to type of tree, accompanied by equally well-organized lumber stacks. The business name, Southern Forest, was outlined in red over a nondescript office, and three logging trucks equipped with greasy cranes lined the far edge of the lot.

"Let's start on the opposite side," said Heimo.

Kat drove back to a company called Gartner Furnishings near the estate's entrance and parked in front of a display of dilapidated garden chairs. The receptionist, a middle-aged blonde in blue glasses, looked up enquiringly when they entered.

Heimo showed his ID and said, "I'm Inspector Kapeller and this is Inspector Ungar. We'd like to talk to the owner or manager."

She nodded and punched a number on her console. After a moment she said, "Mr. Ottkar will be out in a moment."

A door in the rear opened and a short dark man came out. He was dressed in a check shirt and striped tie which made Kat wince, and jeans sporting a considerable amount of sawdust.

He stuck his hand out to Heimo. "Afternoon, I'm Ottkar, how can I help you?"

"We need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Ottkar, and it might be better if we did it in your office."

The man's eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he looked slightly alarmed. "Well, yes," he said and gestured to the left. He led them to a small room filled with files and cabinets. When Kat had closed the door behind her, Ottkar said, "What is this?"

Heimo held up a placating hand. "Sorry, but we need to ask about things we don't want discussed in public. We're investigating the murders of two people, Kurt Schuster and Claudia Tauber. You've probably heard about them."

Ottkar sank into his chair. "Ah, yes, of course. You had me worried there for a minute. But I'm afraid I can't help you. I didn't know either one of them."

"We didn't think you did. But you may also know we discovered migrant children on the Tauber farm. Have you seen or heard anything about migrants coming through the area? Perhaps something mentioned by friends or customers?"

"I see," said Ottkar, rubbing a bulbous nose. "Well I can't say I have. Everyone talked about it last year because they were flooding through, but it seems to have slowed down now. Nobody's mentioned them recently."

"Do you know the other owners on the estate?"

"Most of them, at least those who have been here for a few years. There are a couple of newcomers I haven't met."

"Are any of them engaged in business that takes them back and forth across the Italian border?"

"I think most of us are. We buy some of our products from Italian companies, and one of our suppliers in Verona makes custom built items with wood we supply."

"Any logistics firms here, ones who operate international trucking and warehousing?"

"Two," said Ottkar. "KGM owns the big warehouse just across from us, and they move stuff all over Europe. Southern Forest at the back of the estate hauls logs and lumber. I think most of their trade is with Italy and Slovenia, but you'd have to check with them."

Kat said, "Has there been any talk about the murders?"

Ottkar shrugged. "Hard to say. We don't socialize a lot–everyone's too busy. But there's a café in the middle of the estate. You could try there."

Heimo thanked him and they left. Once in the car, Kat said, "Not very productive."

"No, but I didn't expect a hit on the first outing. Ottkar's suggestion about the café was good. I should have guessed there'd be one. Let's see what they can tell us."

Kat cruised the lanes until they spotted a sign–Sephora's Sweet Spot. The café had been built onto the side of a concrete block warehouse. It featured bright pink and green colors, a closed-in terrace that could be opened in good weather, and a gaudy neon depiction of a cup of espresso. There were no vehicles parked in front.

Heimo pulled open the door and his nose was assaulted by powerful scents of coffee and sugary pastry. They walked up to the counter and he palmed the bell. A door on the right swung open and a very tall, slim black lady strode out. She stopped in front of the two officers and appraised them, blank faced.

"Police," she said. It was a flat statement, not a question.

Heimo flashed his ID as did Kat. "Are you Sephora?"

"Maybe. Why are you asking?"

Kat moved in. She had to tilt her head back to look at the woman. "Let's not make this any harder than necessary. We're investigating two homicides. We don't have any particular interest in you or your business unless you're running an assassination bureau, but we need to ask questions and we need two coffees. OK?"

Sephora smiled slowly. "OK. Pull up a stool."

There were two worn pink bar stools at either end of the counter. As they pulled them into the center, the woman turned to her coffee machine to prepare the order. Over her shoulder, she said, "This about those old farmers up in the hills?"

"It is," Heimo said. "Been any talk from your customers?"

"This is a café, not a church. That's why they come in here, to talk."

"What have you heard?"

She turned and set two coffees on the counter and glanced at the pastry, but Heimo and Kat both shook their heads. The woman braced her hands on the counter's edge and said, "The way it looks to me is, I talk to you, everyone on the estate knows you've been here, and I lose customers because they think they can't trust me. You got a different idea?"

Kat sipped her coffee. "Well, we could make it formal, take you into Klagenfurt, that sort of thing. Or you could meet us in a dark alley someplace and whisper in our ears. But the easiest way is just to tell us what you know or have heard. We're talking to everyone, so no one can be sure where anything came from. And maybe you have nothing of interest for us. This is a great cup of coffee, but by the time I'm finished with it, I want to hear some conversation from you." She looked straight at the café owner.

Heimo was impressed. She reminded him of Cristina in Prosecutor mode–no mistaking the force of the request.

Sephora shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

# Chapter 21

Heimo laid it down the same way he had for the owner of the furniture company. "We're interested in anything related to the murders other than casual speculation."

Sephora shook her head. "Can't help. Most everyone talked about it, but it was the usual stuff about 'what's the world coming to'. I didn't hear anyone say they'd known those poor souls."

Kat said, "You probably also heard about the migrants we discovered. People talking about that?"

"Oh, yes." She frowned. "They forget I'm here most of the time. Lots of racist crap, and a few of them reckoned it was black folk what did it. And the usual loose talk about how the country was being ruined by all these foreigners coming in."

"But nothing specific about the murders," Heimo said.

She shook her head.

Kat changed tack. "Anyone on the estate having problems?"

"What kind of problems?"

Kat's turn to shrug. "Losing business, financial difficulties, whatever. You're a businesswoman. What kind of problems would you have?"

"They moan all the time about how hard things are, and bad customers who don't pay, and government red tape and like that."

"We need specifics."

Sephora stared over their heads for a moment. "A small company on the east side sells fire extinguishers and alarms. I heard the owner is trying to sell the business but hasn't had any takers. I don't know if he's got problems or not, never comes in here, but that's the talk."

"Anyone else?"

"Company called Southern Forest laid off a few people recently. And I overheard the boss ask someone if he could recommend a good tax accountant." She stopped for a moment, squinting. "Oh, yes. They had a break-in about two months ago, least I think it was a break-in. The alarm went off one night and the security folks checked it out, then called you people. Don't know what they found though."

"That's helpful. Anyone else?"

"Not as I know of. Times ain't been too good around here. But I don't hear much except the usual complaining."

Heimo laid his card on the counter along with money for the coffees and a generous tip. "Thanks for the information. Call me if you think of anything we need to know. And we'll keep your name out of the conversation."

Her eyebrows went up, but she said nothing and watched them out the door.

When they got to the car, Heimo called Thurner. "Do you remember a break-in at Southern Forest a couple of months back?"

"Oh yeah, Osternig's place, right? Wasn't much of a break-in, more like a break-out."

"Out? How do you mean?"

"I checked this one myself after Hubner made the original report. There's a storage building on the site. They keep heavy equipment in there and it's usually locked. It's just a big padlock, but there's not much reason to break in because the keys to the equipment are kept elsewhere. Anyway, Hubner saw the busted padlock and figured it looked like a standard break-and-enter attempt. But someone had been working on the inside of the door with an ax. The pounding eventually broke the padlock."

"Someone locked in the building?"

"Looked that way. When I questioned Osternig, he said it happened a week before. A couple of his guys played a trick on a new boy and locked him in the shed. Kid panicked and tried to hack his way out. Obernig reckoned the padlock had been broken then, but his men hadn't checked it."

"Sounds pretty thin, Johann."

"It does. However, nothing had been stolen, there was no other physical evidence, and Osternig said we never should have been called in. So that was the end of it."

Heimo thanked him and clicked off. Kat look at him, eyebrows up, and he related the conversation.

Kat snorted. "Pure moonshine. He had someone locked up, and he didn't want anyone to know about it. Migrants?"

"Possibly. He was taking a hell of a risk if the story was a fabrication. Any of his workmen could have dropped the ball. If it was migrants, Osternig is involved in the smuggling. Maybe he's the conduit moving them out of country. He's got vehicles and he does business across borders. Let's head to the office. If necessary, we'll come back and visit some of the other firms."

Kat's phone buzzed just she exited the autobahn. She pulled over and thumbed it on. After a moment, she said, "You should talk to my chief. I will put him on." She handed the phone to Heimo. "Milano Carabinieri."

"Good afternoon. I'm Chief Inspector Kapeller."

An Italian voice, in heavily accented English, said, "Ah, Chief Inspector, I am Kapitano DeBlasio. My colleague Moretti ask me to call you. I am sorry the English is bad. You can understand?"

"No problem, Kapitano. What do you have for us?"

"You know we arrest a van with people, yes? Seven people with two women, two men and three childrens. All are African. There are two drivers who are men. One is Bosnian, one is Serb. We have interrogate them. They are giving us good information about smuggling and I send you a report when we have complete. I call you because Bosnian man says he takes the Africans to your country. He goes to Pontebba and calls someone. They tell him where to go. Is this good information?"

"Very good, thank you. Do you know who he calls?"

"We investigate now. This part is done by Moretti. I think he tells you if he knows something."

"Thank you, Kapitano. I look forward to reading your report."

Heimo handed Kat's phone back to her and pulled his own out. He called Moretti using the separate number they'd agreed on. The Italian picked up at once and said, "One moment please."

A few seconds later, "Hello Heimo, how is the investigation going?"

"Slow, Arturo, but we make some progress. I just talked to your colleague, Kapitano DeBlasio. Have you found the connection in Pontebba?"

"Unfortunately, no. We traced the number the Bosnian gave us, connected it to an address and raided an apartment above the town. But there was no one there. Our forensic people are still looking, but the occupant cleaned the place before he left. The phone number was last used two days ago, and we cannot trace it, so I think the user probably destroyed it. The telecoms company is forwarding the call list, so we may be able to trace those."

"A sophisticated gang," said Heimo.

Moretti agreed. "This looks like an operation run by someone who is not Mafiosi. The mob relies so much on threats and intimidation, they don't usually organize things this well."

"Anything unusual on the road camera?"

"No. The new unit has been installed and we are monitoring from here, but nothing suspicious. Only three or four cars, but they are private citizens with no records."

"We may have a lead on the people in Austria who collect the migrants from the smugglers and transport them to other parts of Europe. I'll call you when we know more."

Felsbach was in a trance at his computer when they walked into the office. His fingers caressed the mouse, scrolling the screen and occasionally clicking on something, but he seemed unaware of their entrance

Heimo noticed Kat looking mischievous and shook his head. Kat stuck her lip out, disappointed at not being able to startle her colleague. Josef finally looked up when Heimo drew a cup of coffee.

"Hello, I didn't hear you."

"Good thing we weren't murderers," Kat snorted.

"Find anything?" Heimo asked.

Josef nodded, his smile small and satisfied. "A few things. Mr. Zalar begins to fit into a pattern I've seen before. The tax people tell me he is two months late on his last payment. Not unusual, but they flagged it because the amount due is sixty percent larger than his previous payment. I asked if they know the reason, but they don't have enough information. Company records show no significant changes to income over the last five years until now."

"Why is that a pattern?" Kat asked.

Josef was in comfortable territory. "We often found that people getting into illegal activity start to make money quickly. They also spend a lot of it, so they try to create some camouflage. The idea is they declare some of this new income and pay taxes thinking it will look as though their business is doing better. Of course, they only declare a small portion of what they actually make, but this type of income spike can be revealing."

Heimo said, "What else?"

"This is the best part," Josef said. "Zalar bought a half interest in a new warehouse five months ago." He paused. "For two hundred and fifty thousand."

Heimo and Kat both whistled. Heimo said, "Did he borrow it?"

"I don't know yet. I requested the documentation from the local authority, but it may not get here for a day or two. The details are important because this is a new building, and it's not completed yet. To borrow that amount from a bank, he would need collateral. I don't think his business is big enough, and the income declarations to the tax people support that idea. So where does the money come from?"

"Where indeed?" Heimo mused.

He briefed Josef on their interest in Osternig and told him to check any connections to Zalar. Meanwhile, he and Kat began the laborious trawl through records and databases searching for anything and everything related to Osternig and his company. Kat dove into company records created and maintained by various agencies for all registered businesses, but it was a time-consuming process.

Heimo opened a computer link to a police database of news items from the past seven years. The software was rudimentary, however, and indexing of earlier stories had been done haphazardly. A small sigh escaped him, but he kept at it for an hour.

He and Kat wore out first and took a break for coffee. Josef was still welded to his terminal. "Anything?" Heimo asked.

Kat grimaced. "Maybe. Near as I can tell, Osternig went bust about five years ago. He had an operation converting woodchips into pellets for home boilers. For whatever reason, it went under and he was in the can for about seventy thousand. But he didn't declare bankruptcy. Instead, he started Southern Forrest about four months later. Somehow, he paid off his debts and found enough money to start another company. But I can't connect the dots yet. You?"

"A couple of stories about the pellet company, but there was no meat, just a bare statement of fact. However, I ran across a reference to a burglary six months before it failed. Osternig's premises were ransacked one night but not much was taken. But most of his equipment was vandalized, and the loss was estimated at twenty thousand. I'm trying to find out if he was insured, and if the insurers paid out."

As they had their backs to him, they hadn't noticed Josef listening until he said, "Interesting. Here's another interesting item. Osternig appears to have the same tax pattern as Zalar."

# Chapter 22

Kat snapped her fingers. "Knew it." But she looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or maybe it's because I don't like him."

"What have you got?" Heimo asked.

Josef was enjoying himself, feeling for the first time he was really contributing to the investigation. "Osternig also had tax problems. Twice in the past three years he's fallen behind, received warnings from the authorities, then made the payment. It points to spikes in income just like Zalar, and near enough to the same time."

Heimo leaned back and stretched. "OK, how does it play out? Kat?"

She scooted forward to the edge of her chair. "Both men had financial problems and started looking for a way out. I think the smugglers found them rather than the other way around. However it happened, one of them fell in with the gang and recruited the other. They used their knowledge of customs and controls to set everything up. But they had a problem. They couldn't always move the migrants straight away, so they needed a place to hide them. Osternig found out putting them in his machine shed was not ideal. They sounded out Schuster and Tauber because both were close to the border and isolated. Schuster took the bait because of money and Tauber saw an opportunity to help unfortunates."

Heimo nodded. "A good theory although it lacks even rudimentary proof. And it still doesn't tell us why they'd murder Schuster and Tauber."

Josef was back on uneven ground. "We can find a lot of information about finances, but none of it will connect directly to the victims who were almost certainly paid in cash. Except for the African boys, all the migrants have disappeared, and they probably couldn't tell us much anyway. Zalar and Osternig are unlikely to walk in and confess, are they? We've no forensic evidence, so what can we do?"

Heimo grinned. "A good summation. We have three choices. Continue what we're doing and hope something jumps out to make the critical connection. Approach the problem with a different slant which might yield new information. Or shove it in the Unsolved file."

"Why not a combination of the first two?" asked Kat.

"You have the floor."

Kat snorted. "I don't think we're wasting our time chasing Zalar and Osternig. Something is not kosher even if they aren't directly responsible for the murders. Maybe we find they're only involved in smuggling. Hardly a bad result. But I've been thinking about the victims and I had an idea. Small communities are usually composed of families who have been there for generations. Many are related in some way. We've never investigated that because we've had no indication it mattered. But if we connect families, we might find bad blood from a long time ago that just happened to blow up during the smuggling operation."

Heimo nodded during the last part of this speech. "I like it. Josef?"

Josef was grinning and waving a finger like a conductor. "Yes, yes, exactly what we did in the Economic unit. Try to find all the connections from everyone to everything until you could see the entire picture. It should be the same with homicide, right?"

"There are differences. We rarely need know everything to identify a killer because most of them leave a trail like a snowplow. And we try to catch them quickly to keep them from killing anyone else. But sometimes, and this is one, we have to look deeper. Here's the new plan."

They would stop digging into the businesses of Osternig and Zalar and concentrate instead on putting together connections between the principle players. The liaison with Moretti and the Border Control units to break the smuggling ring would continue. And when Ressmann was arrested, they'd grill him until they got the real story of the rifle.

"The first thing we need is a comprehensive list of everyone who has a connection to either victim. We make a list of families who live in the parish, then check birth, death and marriage records. Josef, how do we put it together so it makes sense?"

"Database," Felsbach replied. "I can create one in an hour, but I suggest we get a big whiteboard in here. Family connections are complicated even in one or two generations, and a picture is easier to understand."

Heimo nodded. "Good. We'll crank up first thing tomorrow after briefing."

The apartment was dark when he got home. He clicked the lights on and was about to call Cristina when she walked in.

They looked at each other trying to discover what kind of day the other had, then laughed at the same time. He swept her off her feet in the middle of the living room and turned slowly in a circle. The kiss lasted for some time.

Finally, she opened one eye. "I need alcohol before we do that again."

He gave her his wolf grin. "See what I can do."

Reluctantly releasing her, he went to the fridge and collected a bottle of chilled Prosecco and lifted two champagne flutes from the glassware cupboard. Cristina kicked off her shoes and scrunched up in the sofa's corner with her feet under her.

"Don't waste time uncorking it," she said, "just bite the neck off the bottle."

"Is this the first sign of incipient alcoholism, I ask myself."

"Oh, I'm way past 'incipient'."

He poured two glasses and sat down beside her. They finished those in silent companionship, and he refilled.

She ran a finger along his lips and said, "You first."

He gave her the minimized version. "We're digging a lot of holes but uncovering little of any value. You?"

"Great Leader Aubock was out all day, so things have been quiet. I've been buried in paperwork for a solid seven hours, hence the need for booze. But I also did some daydreaming, mostly on what to do about your buddy, Andrea."

"The main thing I worry about is putting Paulette and Veronique at risk. How do we get around that?"

"See what you think of this." She fetched a block of cheese from the fridge along with a cutting board and a knife. "Don't want to get too drunk too soon."

She refilled the glasses, emptying the bottle. "The basic idea is to get Andrea away from here in such a way she is essentially untraceable. My lawyer's brain says that's a two-part problem. The first is moving her, the second is destroying her current identity and creating a new one, yes?"

"You have a strong natural bent for kidnapping. Proceed."

"First part is the easiest. Suppose she says she's going shopping. Calls a taxi, takes nothing with her except her handbag, and the taxi drops her off downtown. She walks someplace not too busy, gets in a car we've provided, disguises herself a little and drives out of the country. We stock the car with food and drink, and she goes straight to Paulette's. Takes about fourteen hours."

Heimo had his feet on the coffee table and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Could work. We have cases where someone disappears. Most of the time we find them because they reconnected with their former life by using a credit card or sending a message to the family. But if you don't make a mistake, it's easy to get lost. There is an element of chance. If she's seen by someone who knows her, it might blow the cover."

"That's why we use the anonymous car. No one is likely to take the registration number, and once she's out of the country, it would be difficult to trace her, wouldn't it?"

"I'll buy it for the moment. Then what?"

"She goes straight to Paulette's being careful to avoid tripping any speed cameras. Maybe we even swap cars somewhere in the middle. When she gets there, she hides the car. She stays with Paulette and keeps out of sight until we can get her either a new ID or out of Europe."

He held the empty bottle up, but Cristina shook her head. He went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself two fingers of malt whiskey, splashed a little water in it and returned to the couch. "It's a good framework. If we play with the details and do a little 'what-iffing', we can probably make it work. Coming up with a new ID is tricky. But I might do that through the undercover program."

"How much time do we have?"

"Hard to say. She's worried, but she said she could stick it out forever if she had to, so I assume there's no immediate danger. But the sooner the better. I'll contact her, tell her what we have in mind, and see if she's got any other ideas. We can put the first part together in a few days. Then the pressure would be off."

"This'll be fun." Cristina stretched her legs out beside his. "I've never engaged in a conspiracy before. It'll look great on my record when I try for a judgeship."

# Chapter 23

"We have little to go on. These murders seem almost too simple. Neither one appears to have been planned, there is no known connection between Schuster and Tauber other than the proximity of their farms, and we haven't the ghost of a motive."

Heimo laid out the status of the investigation during morning briefing. "We're digging into relationships of people known to the victims and trying to get a better handle on the smuggling operation although it may be peripheral to the homicides."

When he finished, Greiml took his place at the podium. "We're all familiar with the fact that featureless crimes are often the most difficult to solve. If any of your current investigations involve people in the Hermagor area, let the homicide team know."

Heimo's phone buzzed as he walked into the office–Moretti.

"A bit of news. We found the Rovello Company in Padua. They say they shipped goods using Zalar's trucks in the past, but nothing scheduled for this week. And they haven't seen this man Ressmann for over a year."

"Thanks Arturo, we'll recheck the story."

"Ressmann wasn't scheduled to pick up a load in Padua," Heimo said. "Maybe he realized the gunsmith can identify him and decided to run for it. And Zalar is lying through his teeth. Kat, put out an arrest notification on Ressmann. I'll call Thurner and tell him to pick up Zalar."

Kat headed to the comm center. Heimo punched in the Hermagor chief's number.

"Morning, Johann. Things are moving. We're putting out an arrest warrant for Ressmann. He picked up Schuster's rifle from the gunsmith and was supposed to deliver it to Schuster's house on the day of the murder, so he's potentially the last person to see Schuster alive. Second, I need you to bring Wolf Zalar to Klagenfurt. He's been lying to us and I need to know why. If he comes voluntarily, good. If not, arrest him on my authority."

Thurner said nothing for a moment. "Wow, that blew up fast. How sure are you about Ressmann?"

"Maybe seventy percent, but he's the best lead we've got. And if you can manage it, I would prefer you be the one to talk to Zalar."

"Not a problem. Call you when we're on the way."

When he finished, Josef said, "Zalar must have known he was taking a big risk by telling me where Ressmann was going. Why would he do that when it's so easy to check?"

"I suspect he panicked. If anything illegal is going on, he's bound to worry about us poking around and asking awkward questions. He probably pulled something out of his ear hoping to buy time. We'll ask him."

But it wasn't going to be that simple. Thurner called twenty minutes later. "Not here, Heimo. The foreman tells me Zalar called him yesterday and said he was going to Germany on business."

"Do you know when he left?"

"No. He called the foreman about four o'clock."

"Can you get his mobile number and call him? Give him some excuse to come back?"

"Tried that. No answer–the call goes to voicemail. I left a message about a problem with one of his trucks and said he should call me."

"OK, please check his residence. I'll put out an arrest warrant and notify the German police. One of my team will come up to search Zalar's paperwork, and I need the foreman to stay there and assist."

Thurner said, "Got it," and rang off.

Kat walked in and saw Josef staring at Heimo. "What?" she asked.

"Zalar isn't there. Supposed to have gone to Germany on business, but I think it's a con. First Ressmann goes walkabout, then his boss disappears. Kat, go back to comms and put out a warrant on Zalar and tell the Germans. This is starting to stink."

Kat executed a parade-ground about-face and stalked out the door.

Heimo handed Josef a sheet of notepaper. "Zalar's mobile number. Call it a few times over the next several minutes. If he doesn't answer, get on to the telecoms people and see if they can ping it to get a location."

As Josef wheeled back to his desk, Heimo walked to Greiml's office. The secretary took one look at his face and jerked her head toward the Colonel's door. Heimo tapped once and went in.

Greiml had his granny spectacles perched on the end of his nose as he peered at a file at least five centimeters thick. He glanced up and said, "What's happened?"

Heimo told him. "The obvious conclusion is they've run. Whether because of the smuggling or the murders, I can't say, but we need to bring them in. We're notifying the Italian and German police because I assume they'll try to leave the country. Given the time, they're probably already gone. I'll notify Interpol if we don't have them in twenty-four hours."

Greiml slapped his hand on the desk. "Good. It looks like your persistence paid off. Keep me informed."

Kat joined him as they reached the office. "All done," she said. "The Germans asked for a photo, so I'll see if I can dig one up."

"Give Arturo a bell and let him know what's happened. I'll call the Slovenian liaison office."

Josef had his mobile nailed to his ear as they walked in. "As soon as you can," he said, and thumbed the instrument off. He turned to Heimo. "No answer, and I tried five times. I also sent him a text message, but it came back 'undeliverable'. I've told the phone company to do what they can."

"If they're out of the country already, we'll expand, but it's enough for now."

Heimo called liaison desk where officers from Italy, Austria and Slovenia coordinated operations crossing their mutual borders. He explained his problem and asked them to issue international warrants for both men. Part of their response would be to notify the respective border control points and motorway patrols.

Settling into the search for connections between victims and suspects was slow, unrewarding and no one could focus for long. When Heimo's phone buzzed, they all stopped.

It was Thurner. "No one here, Heimo, and his car is gone. What do you want us to do?"

"I'm wondering if we've got enough to justify breaking in."

"It's a bit thin, I'd say. He may have lied about Ressmann, but you don't have anything else, do you?"

"No, but we need to break this open. I'll authorize it and take the flak if it goes wrong. Call me back as soon as you can."

When he told Kat and Josef about the instruction, Josef said, "It could be trouble if he doesn't find anything incriminating."

Heimo shrugged. It wasn't the first time he'd stuck his neck out. The prosecutor would jump all over him unless Zalar was implicated in either the murders or the smuggling. "Zalar wouldn't be stupid enough to leave stuff lying around his own house, so I'm not expecting anything. I'm more interested in whether he's run."

But that expectation would not fly either. Thurner called fifteen minutes later. "Nothing obvious, Heimo. Place is clean and neat, everything seems in order. But..."

"But what?"

"He's supposed to be away on business, right? But there's a full set of suitcases on the top of the wardrobe, there are no gaps in the wardrobe like there might be if he'd pulled stuff out to pack, and his shaving kit and toothbrush are still in the bathroom. It's possible he has a travel kit in his car, but it doesn't feel like someone who's away on business."

"Zalar's not married, is he?"

"Not anymore. Divorced about six years ago."

"Any signs of anyone else living there, either permanently or occasionally?"

"Nope, it's a typical bachelor house. Two other bedrooms, but very little in them and they haven't been used recently."

"OK, thanks Johann. Button it up and send me the paperwork, and I'll arrange for the repairs. We've issued international arrest warrants on both him and Ressmann, so with any luck we'll pick him up before he comes home."

Kat said, "Assuming he hasn't gone on a business trip, what's he doing? I mean, if he's running, either he'll get as far away as he can, or hide someplace where he figures we can't find him. The first is more likely, isn't it?"

Heimo considered for a minute. "Logically, yes. If he's nervous because of the murders and our poking around, maybe he's been preparing to escape for a while. When he thinks we're getting too close, he jumps in his car and goes. Hiding is OK for a few days, but it won't work for long."

"I've got an idea," said Kat. "What if I call Osternig and ask him if he's got a number for Zalar or knows an address where he might be?"

Josef was dubious. "He'll see right through it, won't he? Why should we call him? He'll be very suspicious."

Kat grinned and nodded. "That's the idea."

Josef's eyes widened for a moment, then he said, "Ah." Subterfuge was not a game he was used to playing.

Heimo said, "Give it a go."

Kat pulled her mobile out and punched in a number. "Could I speak to Mr. Osternig please. It's Inspector Unger from Klagenfurt." She listened for a moment. "You're sure?" Then, "No there's no message, just tell him I called. We'll come over the next time we're in Hermagor."

She turned around. "Foreman says he's up in the mountains seeing to a broken truck. Been there since yesterday afternoon, but there's no phone cover in the area, and the foreman's not sure when he'll be back."

Heimo wrinkled his nose. "Rather coincidental, isn't it? They both leave suddenly yesterday, and neither is contactable. Just for fun, ring his mobile."

Kat did so, listened for a moment, but shook her head. "Rings out and then the 'no service' message."

Heimo stared at the ceiling, eyes half closed. "Somewhere, something has hit the fan."

# Chapter 24

"What the hell do we do now?" Kat growled.

"Not much we can do about Zalar or Ressmann. Either the system finds them, or it doesn't. But we can check on Osternig."

He pulled his phone out and punched in Thurner's number. "Johann, sorry to bother you again, but there's something else we need to check." He filled in enough background so the station chief would understand their interest. "This story about him being up in the mountains and out of contact is unbelievable. Can you get the location from his foreman and send someone up there?"

"Sure. You want us to bring him in?"

"No. If he's there and everything is legitimate, tell him we need to talk to him later today and leave it at that."

After he terminated the call, he turned to Kat and Josef. "Anything else you can think of?"

Kat asked, "Motorway surveillance cameras?"

"Not yet. That's a last resort and it takes forever. Do we have any information on where any of them hangs out except that gasthaus?"

Two head shakes. "Give it an hour. No answers, we'll go back and beat the bushes again."

They returned to their researches, but Josef was the only one who could concentrate. Heimo and Kat checked their phones every three minutes. When Heimo's pinged, he almost dropped it on the floor. It was a text from Andrea, 'Call when able'.

He shook his head–the timing was not great.

"Nothing," he told his colleagues. "I better talk to Greiml."

But Greiml was not in. "Policy meeting," his secretary said, winking.

It was a good excuse to go outside. An icy wind ripped through him as soon as he opened the door, and he'd left his coat in the office. He loped around the corner and over to his car. Inside, he was out of the wind, but it was still freezing.

He started the engine and heater, pulled his throwaway phone out of its compartment under the instrument panel and punched Andrea's speed dial. It rang six times before she picked up. "Three minutes," she said and clicked off.

It was more like five and he was getting antsy. "I don't have much time," she said, her voice breathy, "but something is happening. The guy I told you about has been asking questions about what I'm hearing from my girls and the johns. I told him the usual, but he's nervous. He also asked about moving those kids to another location. Are you hearing anything about shutting us down?"

"Nothing, but I wouldn't necessarily know."

"Last night I overheard one of the clients on his phone. He said the word 'highland' several times. Does that mean anything?"

"Could it have been 'Heilind'?

"Maybe. What is it?"

"It's connected to a case. I've come up with a plan for you, but we have to talk it through. When can we meet?"

"I don't know, I'll message you. Have to go."

He shoved the phone back in its hole and returned to the office, unsettled. Too much happening at once, and the margins for error were decreasing by the minute. When he walked in the door, Kat was on her feet, phone in one ear and writing something on her notepad. "Understood, Arturo, I'll tell Heimo."

"Tell Heimo what?" he asked.

"A truck overturned on the Italian autostrada between the toll booths and the border. Driver was injured and is in a hospital in Udine. When the motorway cops checked the truck, which was carrying logs, they found four cases of machine tools hidden in the middle. The truck is registered to Southern Forest."

"Wonderful, everything at once. The driver wasn't Ressmann. was it?"

She shook her head.

Heimo leaned against his desk. "Zalar and Osternig must be involved in the smuggling. We've spooked them, and they've absconded, probably late yesterday. They may have gone together or separately and Ressmann may be with them, although it looks like he bugged out early. If Osternig is not up in the mountains, then we put out an arrest warrant on him as well."

He looked at both of his teammates, and they nodded. Kat said, "But we can't just sit here and wait for someone to find them."

"Nope. We'll hit the road as soon as I brief Greiml."

He started toward the Colonel's office once again when his phone pinged.

"Heimo, Johann. Hubner just called. He got Osternig's location and went up there. There's a logging crew working but they haven't seen Osternig and know nothing about a truck."

"As it happens, we do." He told Thurner about the machine tools. "We're putting out an arrest warrant on him. We'll be on the way to Hermagor in ten minutes. Can you send Poluk over to Osternig's house? She doesn't need to go in, but I want her to detain Osternig's wife if she tries to leave."

"More excitement than we've had in years. See you later."

Greiml was in the outer office talking to his secretary when Heimo came in. "You look like a man with important news." He led the way into his office, and Heimo closed the door.

"Everything is coming to a head." He brought Greiml up to speed on the recent developments. "We're going to Hermagor now. Can you call the Prosecutor and get search warrants for Zalar, Osternig and Ressmann? They should cover both residences and business locations."

Greiml made notes with his gold fountain pen. "Of course. Call me as soon as you've finished the searches. I've got meetings all afternoon, but I'll keep my phone with me."

Heimo nodded and headed for the car park. Kat and Josef were waiting, and he told them Thurner's information. "Let's take all the cars. We'll cover more ground if we split up. And the warrants should be at the station when we arrive."

Although it wasn't strictly necessary, Heimo slapped his blue light on the roof of the car and used it liberally to get out of Klagenfurt. The others fell in behind him. Once out on the autobahn, he switched it off unless the traffic thickened. They made it to the outskirts of Hermagor in thirty minutes. He pulled into the car park of the restaurant they'd been using.

When Kat and Josef joined him, he said, "I'll take Osternig. Poluk should already be there. Josef, get Ressmann's home address and go over there. Take it steady and don't go in unless you're sure he's not there."

Josef's eyes widened. "But..."

Heimo shook his head. "We've no idea where he is. Everything Zalar told you is smoke. And Ressmann is still the number one suspect for the Schuster shooting. If you think he's in there, get back up from Thurner and call me before you do anything else."

"Kat, pick up the warrants at the station. Rather than do Zalar's house, which Thurner reckons is too clean to give us anything, take his office and go through the paperwork. Specifically, I am interested in two things. One is a company called Heilind Chemical, and the other is any reference to a man named Vogt."

It was Kat's turn for the astonished look.

Heimo shook his head. "I don't have time to go into it now. Just look for those two names."

He let the other two leave first. Then he pulled onto the main road and headed for Osternig's house. As soon as he turned down the street, he spotted Poluk's police car parked in front. She was leaning against it talking into her radio.

"Good morning," Heimo said. "Is she in?"

Poluk nodded. "I could see her through the window, so I drove to the end of the street and turned around. Didn't want to scare her into running. The boss told me you were on the way."

"Let's see what she has to say."

The two officers strode up the path, their bearing indicating that this was no casual enquiry. Poluk pushed the doorbell and the door opened at once. A woman with brassy blonde hair and faded pink lipstick stood in the doorway, not at all cowed by authority. Her hands were on her hips, jaw thrust forward.

"Well?"

Heimo showed his identification. "I'm Chief Inspector Kapeller, Homicide. I need to talk to Mr. Osternig."

That deflated her sails. "Homicide? What are you talking about?"

"Are you Mrs. Osternig?"

She nodded, nervous eyes switching from one officer to the other.

"Where's your husband?"

"He's not here."

"I don't have time to play games, I'm investigating two murders. Either tell me where he is, or you're under arrest for interfering with police officers in the course of their duties."

Mrs. Osternig lost all color and her mouth dropped open. "I...but...," and she stopped. But she saw the fire in Heimo's eye and blurted, "Switzerland, he said he was going to Switzerland. On business. He said."

"When did he leave?"

"I...I'm not sure. I was out shopping. He called me on my mobile and said he had to see this guy in Switzerland about some big deal."

"When did he call you?"

"About four or four-thirty yesterday, I think. What's this about? Bruno didn't kill anybody."

"How do you know?"

"He's my husband," she ground out. "We been married twenty years. If he'd killed anyone, I'd know."

Heimo had heard this one so many times, he'd lost count. "Where in Switzerland?" he countered, not about to get into a debate.

"He never said."

"Did he pack a bag?"

"Of course he did. Took his best suit too."

Heimo turned to Poluk. "Get the details including car description and registration please."

Ignoring the angry flush on the wife's face, he wheeled around and went back to his car. He slid into the seat leaving the door open and called Kat.

"The warrants get there?"

"Coming through now. Find Osternig?"

"His wife says he called yesterday and told her he was going to Switzerland on some big business deal. We'll add his details to the arrest warrant, but I don't think he's in Switzerland. Call me when you get to Zalar's place."

His phone signaled as he finished. Josef, and his voice was just above a whisper. "I'm here, but I can't tell if anyone's home. There aren't any neighbors to ask, and the place looks deserted. What do you want me to do?"

"Kat's got the warrants in hand, so we're legal. Stay put–I'm on my way."

# Chapter 25

He told Poluk what he was doing, slapped the blue light onto the car's roof and sped away. He worried Josef might take it into his head to play macho man.

The route led into the hills north of Hermagor. The country was sparsely settled and he passed only a few farms at lengthy intervals. Ressmann's address was in a village, but like many in the region, a village could be a cluster of two or three dwellings. Heimo turned the light off as he slowed for a right-angle bend and saw a police vehicle ahead of him, flashers on but no siren. Josef had at least called for backup.

The police car stopped on the side of the road well away from any houses. Heimo pulled up alongside, and an officer he hadn't met before leaned down as he opened his window.

"Inspector Kapeller?"

Heimo nodded.

"I'm Probasnig. Boss told me to back you up. What's going on?"

"We're looking for a man named Ressmann. He's been missing for a few days. One of my men has his house under surveillance, but we're not sure if he's in there. Follow me but turn the lights off."

Probasnig nodded and got back in his car. Heimo led off and in three hundred meters saw the cluster of houses containing Ressmann's place. Josef had parked on a dirt lane, and he stood on the opposite side of the car peering across the road.

He waved at Heimo who thought it rather an inappropriate gesture given the circumstances. He and Probasnig parked, and the three held a war council.

"Hasn't been any activity," Josef reported.

Heimo surveyed the house. It was a single-story bungalow perched on a small mound and at least a hundred meters from the three other homes he could see. There was a small fenced lawn, but no trees. "Did you go around the back?"

"Yes, but not too close. There's a rear door with a small porch. No garage and no sign of a car."

"Probasnig, you wait here. If Ressmann tries to run, chase him down. We don't think he's armed but take no chances. Josef, you and I go in and see what's what. Ready?"

Felsbach gulped but nodded and pulled out his sidearm. Heimo led the way up a path worn into the straggly grass. Before they got to the fence, he stopped. "We do this just like the tactical exercise in training. I'll go in first and to the left, you follow and go right. If we don't see anything, we'll clear the place room by room. Got it?"

Josef could only nod. Heimo wished momentarily he had Gunther Schalk with him. He opened the gate, pulled his own pistol out and signaled Josef to approach the front door from the right. He was aware Ressmann might have a rifle, but it was one of the risks you took to get the job done. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes on the windows.

They made it to the house without seeing or hearing anything. The door itself was white PVC and frosted glass over a single concrete step. Josef leaned against the side of the house, panting, while Heimo pounded on the door. "Mr. Ressmann, police. Open up."

Nothing. The place felt lifeless. Not for the first time, Heimo wondered if you could detect the presence of life through some sixth sense. He tried the handle and it moved down smoothly opening the door a crack. Nodding at Josef, he pushed the door full open and went through in a crouch swiveling his Glock. No one in sight.

Josef followed, stumbling over the doorsill, but keeping his feet. He too swung his weapon, then crouched when he noticed Heimo's posture.

The house had no vestibule or foyer. The front door led directly into the living room. There was enough daylight from the windows to see clearly. The room was small, untidy, and equipped with shabby furniture that hadn't been cleaned in some time. In the left rear corner, a doorway led to a small kitchen. A table with two chairs appeared to be where Ressmann ate judging by the number of dirty dishes stacked on it.

Heimo motioned for Josef to check the kitchen. He looked to his right and saw a hallway running down the back of the house. Considering the size of the bungalow, Heimo thought it unlikely there were more than two bedrooms. Moving slowly and staying close to the walls, he approached the hallway.

It occurred to him Ressmann might be dead, another victim rather than being the killer. If so, he'd been killed somewhere else. You could always smell blood in these small spaces, but Heimo's nose detected nothing.

He peeped around the corner and saw a bare passage. Then he heard Josef's loud whisper, "Clear", meaning no one in the kitchen. Or so he hoped.

He started down the hallway. There were two closed doors on one side and another partially open at the end where Heimo could just see the front of a toilet. He pushed the door handle on the first room, and it swung open halfway and stopped, caught by something on the floor. He reckoned this was Ressmann's bedroom. The bed was an unmade mess, but it had obviously been slept in often. Dirty clothes were strewn about, and a scarred dresser crouched under the only window. He edged around the door and saw a huge old-fashioned wardrobe against the back wall.

There was a key in one of the doors, He stood to one side and let it swing open. Nothing.

He looked up for a hatch to the attic, but the ceiling was clear. He went out into the hallway. Josef stood at the end, a question on his face. Heimo shook his head. He pointed at the bathroom and Felsbach made his way toward it, pistol at the ready.

The second room held no furniture but was a repository for boxes and assorted junk, all covered in thick dust. It too was empty of people, dead or alive.

Again, he heard Josef's soft call of 'Clear' from the hallway. Glancing up he saw a hatch to the house's tiny attic. But it had a hasp and padlock that had been painted over in the past and bore no traces of having been disturbed.

Back in the hallway, he asked, "Anyplace you couldn't check?"

Josef shook his head. "The bathroom has a shower cubicle, a basin and a toilet. And the kitchen's just a kitchen. Nowhere for anyone to hide."

"Either of them have a hatch to the attic?"

Josef's grimaced. He pulled his weapon and turned back to the bathroom. Heimo cautioned, "Slowly," and headed for the kitchen.

But there was no hatch and no other rooms. He opened the rear door. Other than a rubbish bin and a small garden of dead weeds, the landscape was empty. Ressmann lived as simple a life as could be imagined.

Josef appeared in the kitchen. "No hatch in the bathroom. Sorry."

"Let Probasnig know but tell him to stay here until we figure out where Ressmann is." He shut the door and went back to the living room.

Absentmindedly holstering his pistol, he had another look around. No computer and no house phone, so Ressmann did everything on his mobile. He wondered again if the driver could be a victim. But he was morally certain that, if Ressmann had been murdered, it hadn't happened here.

The trucker had no known motive for killing either Schuster or Tauber. Therefore, he must have done it on someone else's orders, and Zalar was the most likely candidate for that role. There wouldn't be anything in writing, and if Zalar had paid Ressmann extra, it would have been in cash. They could check his bank account, but it was a long shot.

Heimo didn't fancy digging through the detritus on the table hoping for a bank statement. The forensic people could handle that. But he had no reason to call them in yet. For all he knew Ressmann was on holiday in the Rivera sun.

He turned over a few ancient men's magazines. Underneath were more of the same and what appeared to be old receipts. Using his pen, he moved a few of them around, but found nothing worthwhile. At the bottom of the pile he saw the scalloped edges of some old photos and uncovered them. Most were of Ressmann and obviously taken a long while ago when he had more hair and less belly.

But one showed him with another man and a boy standing in front of a small stock trailer with its ramp down. Stooping, Heimo peered at the photo. The man and boy didn't look familiar, but the barn in the background did. Schuster's place. So there was obviously some history that Ressmann didn't want to talk about, but he already knew that.

Felsbach came in as he wandered. "Find anything?"

Heimo shook his head. "Too much junk, and probably nothing worthwhile to find. Let's get out of here."

Probasnig was on his phone. "The boss wants to know how long I should stay."

Heimo held out his hand for the mobile. "Johann, there's no indication of anything wrong at Ressmann's place. I'd like you to leave the Inspector here for the afternoon. If Ressmann shows up, I need him brought into the station. If we find him first and make the arrest, I'll let you know straightaway."

Thurner was agreeable. Probasnig listened to the conversation and smiled when Heimo handed his phone back. "I happen to have a new novel with me. Is it likely this Ressmann will be armed and dangerous or just the usual variety of idiot?"

"Can't say. He's a suspect in a double homicide, but we don't think he's running around with a gun. I suggest you park as far away as you can and still see the house. If he shows up, call for back up, then nick him."

Heimo gave him a brief description, Probasnig nodded and got in his car.

Josef asked, "What now?"

"Let's see if Kat found anything." He punched her number and she answered at once.

"Have you got him?"

"Nope, we've drawn a blank. You?"

"Not sure. I'm trying to get a sense of where Zalar keeps everything. And I've found a few items that are a little out of the common. Come over and take a look."

# Chapter 26

When they walked into Wolf Zalar's office, Kat was bent over a long table leafing through a large folder. She looked up. "Still no sign of Ressmann?"

Heimo shook his head. "What have you found?"

"I'm not sure. I spent half an hour trying to figure out how he keeps his books and where everything is. And I looked for the ledger Josef mentioned where he keeps a running list of deliveries. Finally found it, and I started checking for Heilind Chemical. Sure enough, two deliveries in the last three months. But I can't find any invoices matched to those deliveries. The other stuff seems to match."

Heimo cocked an eye at the expert.

Josef looked wise and said, "There could be several explanations. The invoices may have been misfiled, or maybe they haven't been filed yet. It's also possible they are a subset of a bigger transaction and filed under a different name."

Heimo considered for a moment. "We're on shaky ground if we take anything out of here. Josef, do your trick with the books. Anything out of kilter, call me. Kat and I will go to Heilind Chemical and ask a few innocent questions."

Josef settled into the owner's chair and started to open file folders, giving every appearance of a man working on a congenial task. Kat copied the delivery address out of the ledger.

Before they left, Heimo had a thought. "Hang on a minute, I want to talk to the foreman."

Kat said, "Follow me."

A high chain-link fence surrounded the entire property. At the main gate, Kat pointed to a small building made from a disused container. "He hangs out in there."

Heimo went through the gate and saw a door standing open in the side of the container. A man with bushy gray hair and a handlebar mustache poked his head out. "Help you?"

Heimo shoved his ID forward. "Inspector Kapeller. I wanted to let you know one of my men will be in the office for a while. You still haven't heard from Mr. Zalar?"

The foreman shook his head. "Not a word."

"Is that normal?"

"Well, he don't always tell me where he's going, because I run the trucks and drivers every day anyway. But it ain't usual for him to just go off, at least for this long."

"And you've no idea where he might have gone?"

"Nope. Tried callin' him, but no answer. That ain't normal either."

"Why were you calling him?"

"Got a delivery scheduled out tonight and I can't get hold of the driver."

Heimo took a shot. "Is the driver Werner Ressmann?"

The foreman's mouth dropped open. "How d'you know that?"

"Educated guess," Heimo said. "You'd better find another driver. I don't think Ressmann will be in tonight."

Kat was quizzical. "What's that all about?"

"I wanted to know if Zalar was dodging us but keeping an eye on his business. Doesn't look like he is."

They took Heimo's car, and he plugged in the address of Heilind Chemical. The GPS told him it was north of Hermagor in a mountainous area with few main roads or railways. It seemed an odd location for an industrial plant. Before they'd gone a kilometer, his phone buzzed.

He pulled over and thumbed it on–Greiml. "The Immigration station at the airport called. They checked the airline passenger lists on your suspects and found Osternig's name. He departed yesterday on the commuter to Vienna at 1900, changed planes and caught a flight to Johannesburg at 2330 last night. The flight landed at 1005 this morning. What do you want to do?"

Fugitive procedures were standard. "Notify Interpol, ask them to issue a red notice and make sure the South African police are on the Urgent Distribution list. And call Joburg if you would. Osternig should be easy to find if he's only been in the country a few hours."

"Will do. Do you have any contacts in the police there?"

"Only one, Rance Mbanefo, Senior Inspector, or he was when I last saw him. But it's been five years, and I don't know if he's still around." He spelled the name, then punched off.

Kat's eyebrows rose. "South Africa?"

Heimo nodded. "It looks as though both Zalar and Osternig were prepared to leave quickly if things got sticky. Osternig took the commuter to Vienna then got on a flight to Johannesburg. He would need a visa, so he's been thinking ahead. But Zalar wasn't on any of the passenger lists, so he hasn't flown. If he's driving, he could be anywhere."

He sat for a minute, staring at spits of snow blowing across the windscreen. "We'll hold off on Heilind for the moment. We don't have anything solid to go in with, and no warrant to justify a search, so we need a wedge."

"Like what?"

"No idea. Let's visit Osternig's wife. Be interesting to find out if she knows about this little jaunt her husband is on. If it's news to her, she might be more willing to talk to us."

When Heimo knocked on the door, Genna Osternig opened it immediately. "Well, come in before all the heat leaks out." Her mood hadn't improved since their last conversation.

In the living room, she sat on the couch and curled her legs under her. 'What now?" she glowered.

"Had a bit of news about your husband, and we thought you'd like to hear it. He arrived in Johannesburg, South Africa a few hours ago, all safe and sound."

Heimo and Kat watched the woman like entomologists looking at a new bug. Her eyes went big, then narrowed. "What are you talking about? I told you, he's in Switzerland."

Kat said, "Afraid not. Swiss police checked their control points. There's no record of your husband's car passing through any of them." That was a stretch as the Swiss hadn't confirmed it. "But his name is on the passenger manifest of a flight from Vienna to Johannesburg last night."

She froze, glaring at them, the fingers of one hand twitching. "You're lying," she whispered.

Neither officer bothered to reply.

The tears began to leak down her face. Heimo and Kat glanced at each other.

Heimo said, "Why didn't you tell us this earlier? Lying to the police during a murder investigation is a serious business. Both of you are officially suspects."

The color washed out of her like a cheap painting in the rain. "What are you saying? I don't know anything about murder." She buried her face in her hands and the tears turned to sobs.

Heimo glanced again at Kat, but she shrugged. Genna Osternig could be crying because she'd been caught, or because her husband had legged it leaving her to face the music, or because she was overwhelmed by repeated blows of a reality she knew nothing about. Whatever it was, Heimo was fed up. He wanted straight answers, and he wanted them now.

Pulling one of the chairs forward until it was directly in front of the distraught woman, he sat down, leaning forward. "We don't have a lot of time. Tell me what the hell is going on, and I mean all of it. Otherwise, I'm arresting you as a suspect in two murders. We'll take you into Klagenfurt, put you in a cell and get you a lawyer. Your choice but decide now."

She raised her head. He scrutinized her streaked face, but still couldn't discern the precise cause of her distress. She gulped and snuffled a few times. "What...what do you want me to say?"

"What's your husband involved in? He's on the run, he's been planning this for some time, and he's going to be arrested by the South African Police in a few hours. Nobody risks that unless they have a compelling reason. What is it?"

"I don't know. No, really," when she saw Heimo's face darken. "Something's been going on, but he wouldn't tell me about it. Six months ago, he bought me a beautiful emerald ring. Money's been tight the last few years and I was...shocked, I guess. I asked him how we could afford it. He just smiled and said business had picked up."

"And?"

"We had a couple of holidays and he bought some other stuff. Bought a new logging truck too. But he's been distracted, staring off into space, not hearing me. Sometimes he goes out at night and doesn't come back for hours. When I asked what he was doing, he told me not to worry about it. But nothing about murders. Bruno's rough but he would never kill anyone."

Heimo's opinion didn't match hers. "Did he tell you he was going to Switzerland, or did you make it up?"

Her eyes fell. "Just the Switzerland part," she mumbled. "He said he had to leave for a few days, then he'd call me. I thought if I told you somewhere specific, you wouldn't bother us. But I don't understand why he'd go to South Africa. We don't know anyone there."

"Because extradition between Austria and South Africa is difficult. You may as well face it–he wasn't coming back."

That was too much, and the sobbing started again.

Heimo got up and motioned to Kat. They went out the front door and stood in the meager shelter of the porch. "I'm not sure she's giving us all of it," he said. "But I don't think arresting her will help. Any ideas?"

Kat nodded. "Just one. Why don't we get Lydia Poluk to babysit her for the rest of the day? If Osternig calls, she'll be here to eavesdrop. And if Lydia's not in uniform, she might get Genna to open up, sort of all girls together."

"Sounds like a plan. Call Thurner and make the arrangements. I'll tell Osternig she's not off the hook yet."

When Poluk showed up twenty minutes later, Genna Osternig's tears had dried, but she was still blotchy-faced and inclined to gulp back her emotions every few minutes. Kat briefed Poluk, then they left to pick up Kat's car. "Nothing we can do here, so we go back to the office and do some more digging."

Kat drove out of the parking lot. Heimo called Cristina, but her phone went to message. He left one to tell her he was on the way back to Klagenfurt and would talk to her later.

He started the car and his phone buzzed. Arturo Moretti said, "Hi, Heimo. We have one fish in the net."

"Great–who?"

"Werner Ressmann. He was stopped on the autostrada for dangerous driving. The officers said when they opened his door, he almost fell out. His alcohol level is two times over the limit."

Moretti said Ressmann had been heading north back into Austria. He was currently in the drunk tank at the police station in Ossoppo. When they checked his identification, they realized he was on the 'Detain' list.

"I talked to the station chief. Ressmann is still drunk. Do you want us to ship him to Klagenfurt now, or wait until tomorrow?"

"Today, Arturo. I need to talk to him even if he's hammered. Do you want me to send a van to pick him up?"

Moretti agreed that would be quickest and said he would text the details to Kat which made Heimo smile. He called Kat, told her about Ressmann and asked her to arrange for a wagon to pick up the errant trucker. Taking his time returning to the office and trying to process the day's information, he was still uncomfortable with all the holes in the case.

# Chapter 27

The investigation felt ragged, without coherence. Although he could imagine plausible scenarios, only by stretching facts and filling holes with surmise could he make a complete picture. Osternig had obviously fled. All he really had on Zalar was that he may or may not have misled Josef about Ressmann's whereabouts. That he was out of contact was suspicious but no more.

Osternig might have left because of financial trouble. It had happened before. Businessman gets in over his head, absconds and his partner joins him later. There was still no proof he was involved in smuggling migrants or murdering farmers.

Ressmann was another. He goes to Italy, gets drunk, and is stopped on the autostrada. By itself, it means nothing. Even if he took the rifle up to Schuster's place, there was no evidence he shot the man.

The whole thing was quicksand. Unless they could get corroboration from Ressmann, or something broke open, he'd have to stop the investigation. In previous difficult cases, his instinct always assured him he was on the right track. With this mess, each fresh bit of information became a dead end.

Kat was on the phone when he got to the office. "Better come back, and we'll follow it tomorrow."

She turned and said, "Josef made some progress. It looks like Zalar used the same trick more than once - goods delivered but no complete paper trail. Josef says it's a common dodge when people are evading taxes. But they forget there are multiple documents involved in any transaction, and most of them are still around if you dig hard enough."

Heimo nodded. His new detective might produce something worthwhile, but he couldn't get excited about it. "Someone fetching Ressmann?"

"I called Border Control. They sent two guys to Ossoppo, but it'll take a couple of hours. Want to work him then, or wait until he sobers up?"

"My first thought was he might cooperate if he's still woozy, but by the time he gets here he'll be over the worst of it. Let's leave it until tomorrow. Won't hurt him to spend a night in our clean cells. They're nicer than that hovel he lives in."

He was tired of the whole business and wanted away from it. When he balanced hanging around the office for two hours waiting to interrogate a drunk versus going home and having a snug evening with Cristina and a bottle, there was no contest.

He told Kat to button things up and tell Josef to go home. By the time he got into his car, fatigue settled over him like a wet rug. Halfway home his phone buzzed.

"Where are you?" Cristina asked. "I'm still at work."

"Almost home. How long will you be?"

"About fifteen minutes. I'd like to go out unless you're too tired."

"More pissed off than tired. Where?"

She named a gasthaus north of town they hadn't visited for some months. It was small, very cozy, and would probably have a blaze going in the huge stone fireplace.

Rather than go home, he drove straight there. The car park was empty. When he walked in, he felt the fire before he saw it.

A couple in their sixties ran the place with help from a middle-aged daughter. The wife handled front-of-house and her husband tended to the cooking. As it was a tolerably miserable Tuesday night, Heimo expected to find only a few local customers.

Pausing in front of the fireplace, he stared into the crackling logs for a long moment, caught in something so ancient he was unaware of it. The huge chunks of seasoned wood were fully alight, and heat poured into the dining area. When he finally turned, he found the wife standing behind him in her dirndl and fancy apron, a beatific smile on her face.

"Inspector, we have not seen you for a long time. Are you alone or is your wife joining you?"

For almost the first time that day, Heimo smiled. The world of the gasthaus was far removed from the grisly business of murder, and the warmth he felt came not just from the fire. "She's on the way, Frau Hannauer."

"Excellent. The table in the corner would be best." She led the way to an alcove on the far side of the dining room that was screened off by a projecting buttress. He shed his jacket and slid into the booth.

"What would you like to drink?"

"I'll start with a beer and I imagine Cristina will want a white wine."

Frau Hannauer almost curtsied, then strode off to the bar. A loud clang from the kitchen and a muffled curse confirmed that her husband was cranking things up in his domain.

He didn't see the door open, but Cristina appeared in front of the fireplace. She wore an ankle-length white coat he'd brought her for Christmas and a knitted white bobble hat. She pulled the hat off and shook her blonde hair out. As ever, he was impressed such a remarkable woman had chosen him as a companion. Catching sight of him, she pointed a finger like a gun and walked over, unbuttoning her coat as she came.

He took it from her and put it on the hook. She glanced toward the bar, and seeing no one, kissed him noisily on the ear. "Hiya, cop."

"Hiya shyster. I've ordered white wine."

"Perfect."

As they settled, Frau Hannauer appeared with a tray. "Hello Mrs. Kapeller, it is good to see you." Neither Heimo nor Cristina had ever bothered to correct her mistaken impression they were married as she was of a generation who expected the formalities to be observed.

"I hope your husband has something good on the menu tonight, I'm starving."

The woman poured a dram of wine in Cristina's glass and said, "Oh yes, something a bit special."

Cristina, not bothering to taste the wine, downed the dram and held out the glass. "Wonderful. I'm also very thirsty as you can see."

They left it to the proprietor to sort out the menu. Heimo wrapped his arm around Cristina and asked what she'd been up to.

"Legal gunk mostly, such as the ever-wonderful deposition. As soon as people go in front of a lawyer, they forget everything."

"Aubock?"

"Quieted down. He still looks haunted around the eyes, but at least he's not going off like a firecracker every five minutes. And he stayed in the office all day. I thought he might jump on me about the stuff Grete and I have been doing, but not a word. Anyway, I had time to look at Heilind Chemical. Interesting organization."

Frau Hannauer showed up with the starter course, so they dived in and conversation gave way to crunching and gulping for a few minutes.

Cristina resumed, "They started about ten years ago. There was considerable demand for industrial quantities of alcohol and ammonia, and that's what they did. They got a few contracts for other processes and began to add plant. But it was small-time until four years ago when they hit it big. The province needed a lot more capacity to process toxic waste, and Heilind got the business."

"Any connections to my case?"

She scrunched up her nose. "Sort of. Mehringer awarded the contract, and he also cut the ribbon when they opened the new facility."

Heimo grimaced. "You can count on him to turn up if there's anything toxic going on. Was this a legitimate contract, or the usual crooked kind?"

"The contract itself looks OK. But I'm not sure about the principal owner."

"More than one?"

"It looks more like a limited partnership than a true corporation. The principal controls just over sixty percent of the voting shares. A bank and another company own fifteen percent each and the government owns the rest."

"The government because of the environment laws?"

"Correct," she said.

"Who's the principal owner?"

"A man named Norbert Vogt."

Heimo's face got an 'Aha!' look as Frau Hannauer hove into sight carrying a tray laden with the evening special.

She grinned. "I thought you would like this," she said, completely misinterpreting his expression. It was a large pork roast done in traditional Tyrolean style with all the trimmings. It took some time to rearrange everything on the table, help themselves and open a bottle of red wine.

After twenty minutes, Cristina wiped her mouth and said, "If I do this again before Christmas, I'll weigh two hundred kilos. But god, it's good."

Heimo belched discreetly behind his hand. "I feel like I swallowed a watermelon. No matter what the desert is, don't let me have any."

The proprietress showed up again and looked delightedly at her stuffed customers. She cleared away the debris, then returned and cocked an eye at them. Both shook their heads violently. Chuckling, she topped up their glasses and went back to the kitchen.

"So, this guy Vogt. Know him?" asked Cristina.

Heimo loosened his belt a notch. "Know of him. We've run across his name connected to one of the suspects, and with Heilind, but I didn't know he was the head honcho." He told her about the day's activities. "We can't find Zalar, but we've got Ressmann and I expect the South Africans will pick up Osternig shortly."

"Can you put it all together once you get them?"

He stared at the fire for a moment. "No. At least not for the murders unless someone confesses. We can do them for the smuggling, I think, but we still don't have a direct connection on the murders."

She linked her arm through his. "But if you get them off the streets for the smuggling, you're a benefactor of the human race, right?"

He snickered. "Me and Albert Schweitzer. Yes, it would be a result, but not what I'm paid to do. Anyway, it'll sort itself out in the morning."

Or not. His phone buzzed–never a good sign at this time of night.

He glanced at the screen and showed it to Cristina–Andrea Foscari. He thumbed it on and said, "Go ahead."

"Can you talk?"

"Yes."

"I'm in the forest behind the house, but I have to get back. Have you found out anything?

"Nothing that affects you directly. Can we meet tomorrow?"

"Yes, I don't know when, but I'll call you. My instinct is telling me something bad is going down. I don't think I have much time." and she broke the connection.

Cristina raised her eyebrows. "Trouble?"

"Maybe. She's scared."

"What do we do?"

"Call Paulette tomorrow. If she approves, I think I've figured a way to get Andrea out of here without leaving a trail, and we can do it fast. We can't leave her in France for long, but it gives us some breathing room."

"I'll take care of Paulette. Are you sure Veronique doesn't know?"

Heimo could only shrug.

# Chapter 28

Heimo stopped by the cells before morning briefing. The custody officer said Ressmann had been quiet through the night other than asking for more water. Heimo had a look at him through the surveillance camera. The driver sat on the bunk staring at the floor and rubbing his temples. "Move him to the small interrogation room in thirty minutes. I'll be down after briefing."

Despite the activity around his three suspects, there wasn't much he could tell his colleagues, and he kept his update short. Greiml, who knew little more than the rest, looked like he was about to ask a question but subsided when Heimo went back to his seat without a glance.

When he and Kat walked into the interrogation room, Ressmann made no move to rise, staring at them with dull eyes. He'd not cleaned himself up or even run fingers through his sparse graying hair, and a sour smell clung to him like an aura.

Heimo was not interested in cajoling Ressmann into providing information. With some suspects, the softly-softly approach worked well, but today he hadn't any patience. He sat down on the opposite side of the table, leaving Kat to watch.

Saying nothing for a moment, he stared at Ressmann until the man started to fidget. "Let's make a few things clear. You're up to your neck in a murder investigation and I have grounds to charge you for withholding vital information. That's worth three years in prison. You also look like a good candidate for killing Mr. Schuster, and that'll get you twenty-five minimum. If you do anything but give me what I want, we'll get the lawyer in, file the charges, and away you go. Understood?"

Ressmann must have taken on an enormous quantity of alcohol because, despite the passage of twenty-four hours, he still looked like he was have having trouble grasping his situation. But his breathing deepened, his mouth dropped open, and Heimo's threat finally penetrated. He tried to speak but nothing came out. He reached for the water bottle and took a long pull. "I don't know nothing," he gargled.

Heimo shook his head. "You picked up Schuster's rifle from the gunsmith, took it to Schuster's farm and shot him. Pre-meditated murder."

Ressmann's head wobbled like a wounded buffalo. "No...no, you got it wrong. Never shot no one."

"Gunsmith says he gave you the rifle on instructions from Schuster, and you were to take the gun up to the farm when you went to transport a pig."

Ressmann nodded. "Yeah...yeah, that part's right. Gonna move a big pig. But I never went."

"Never went where?"

"Up to Schusters. I couldn't go 'cause the boss had a job for me."

"But you had the rifle, and the rifle was used to kill Schuster."

"But I didn't have it - that's what I'm tellin' you. I told the boss about takin' the gun up there. He said, 'Give it to me and I'll take it', so I did. Give it to him, I mean."

Heimo stared at him. "You gave the rifle to Wolf Zalar."

Ressmann bobbed. "That's it."

"So Zalar killed Schuster."

Ressmann reared back and went wide-eyed. "No...no, hey, never said that. He wouldn't kill no one, Mr. Zalar wouldn't. I just give him the gun, that's all."

Kat, pacing in agitation, couldn't hold it anymore. "Where was this job he sent you on? Where did you go?"

Ressmann, who had forgotten her, look surprised. "Italy, down in Italy. Had to pick up a container from Mestre."

"When?" she barked.

Confusion crawled down the driver's face. "I...I'm not sure what day it was. But it was when I told him about the gun. He said I had to pick up the container soon as I could get there. Truck wasn't ready, so I filled it up and left."

Heimo saw where Kat was going. "You went straight to Mestre? When did you get there?"

"Don't know exactly, maybe four o'clock, it was almost dark. Took me a long time 'cause of the road works."

"And you loaded the container and came straight back."

"Nope, wasn't ready, was it? Bloody Eyetalians never get it right. Guy at the port told me it wouldn't be in until next morning. Had to sleep in the truck."

Heimo leaned back, staring at the now completely awake Ressmann. The driver's story worked up to a point. They'd uncovered nothing in the way of a motive for him, and he had no criminal history. But Zalar, if he was involved in the smuggling, certainly had motive, and now it looked like he'd had means and opportunity.

"Did you tell Schuster you weren't coming?"

"No, I didn't think about it. I reckoned Mr. Wolf must've explained when he give him the rifle."

"What did Zalar say when you got back?"

"Said he'd had a word with the shipping company about bad information. Give me a hundred euros on account of havin' to sleep in the truck. Mr. Zalar's always real generous like that."

I'll bet he is, thought Heimo, particularly if he's setting someone up to be the fall guy. "You told us last time you didn't know Schuster. How is it you were helping him transport a pig?"

"Oh, the boss asked me to do it. Said Mr. Schuster was an old friend who'd come into money. Always wanted a prime boar, he said, and now he'd bought one, but didn't have no way to get it home. I got an animal trailer I keep at the yard, so I was OK to do it."

"And did you?"

"Well...no. I heard he was dead when I got back the next day, so..."

"I found an old photo at your house of you and Kurt Schuster taken a long time ago."

Ressmann gaped again, his mouth hanging open.

Heimo waited him out.

Finally Ressmann said, "Was it one by the stock trailer? With Schuster's kid?"

Heimo nodded and Kat looked surprised.

Ressmann's head bobbed up and down. "Got a lot of those from different farms. Before I went to work for Mr. Zalar, I had my own business movin' animals. Did the pictures so I could show the farmers that I was workin' with everybody."

"Do you know Bruno Osternig?"

"Sure, him and Mister Wolf do business."

"Where's Zalar now?" Heimo shot that one hard, hoping to catch a relaxing Ressmann off guard.

But Ressmann remained confused. "In the office, I guess."

"How is it you weren't at work? The dispatcher told me yesterday you were scheduled for a delivery, and he couldn't find you."

Ressmann mumbled something.

"Can't hear you," Heimo barked.

Ressmann looked up. "I was on the way back when the cops pulled me over. I ran into a couple guys, and they talked about this bar near Tarvisio, and we had a few drinks and...you know how it is."

"You were two times over the limit. That's more than a couple of drinks. And you were going to take a loaded truck on the road in that condition. You've had a few problems with the border control authorities for false load manifests as well. All in all, you're not looking too pure, Ressmann."

The driver slumped in his seat. "I...sorry. Sometimes I drink too much."

Heimo stood up. "Stay where you are. We'll be back."

He led Kat out the door, closing it behind him, then walked to the end of the corridor. "What do you think?"

She shook her head. "He's not fitting the killer role, is he? We're still not seeing a motive. I wondered if Zalar sent him up there to kill Schuster and told him to clean the rifle and leave it. But it doesn't make much sense, and he'd have been taking a hell of a risk. I'm coming around to the idea Ressmann's just a patsy."

Heimo nodded. "I'm not clear how well he and Schuster knew each other. But Schuster knew him well enough to tell the gunsmith to give him the rifle. I saved one thing for last. We haven't mentioned the people smuggling. Ressmann figures we don't have anything on him, so he's relaxing. I'll ambush him."

When they reentered the interrogation room, Ressmann had slumped over the table, still rubbing his head.

Heimo sat down. His tone was less strident and more man-to-man. "OK, Werner, you haven't exactly been a good boy, but your troubles are now with the Italian police and your boss. My job is homicide and I have nothing to connect you directly to Schuster's death. We're interested in your involvement in the smuggling scheme, but again that's not my department. I'll have a word with my colleague, and he'll be here shortly to talk to you. Want paper and pencils so you can list the trips you made?"

Ressmann turned pale, sweat glistened on his unshaven face, and he reached for the now-empty water bottle. He set it back on the table and tried to clear his throat. But he didn't say anything.

Heimo probed again. "How many trips a month were you making?"

"I...I dunno. Didn't count them."

"Tell me how it worked, and don't lie. We'll check everything and if you've lied, you're back in the soup."

Ressmann drew a deep shuddering breath. "Mr. Wolf would call me into the office. He'd tell me which truck to take, where to go and who to talk to. And he'd give me a manifest. First couple of times, I didn't think much about it. Three months ago, he sent me to a place way the hell over near Milano. When I got there it wasn't no normal freight warehouse. It was a small company in a village. They took me into town, bought me a meal, then took me back. The truck was already loaded and sealed."

"You ever check the loads?"

Ressmann nodded, looking guilty. "Once I had to stop in a truck park overnight. I got curious, so around three in the morning, I opened her up. The cartons in back was just boxes of paper forms. But the front of the trailer had maybe ten wooden crates. I jimmied one open, and it was full of electronic stuff. Manifest said office supplies and flat-pack furniture."

"Where did you drop the loads?"

"Back in the yard same as always."

"Who unloaded?

"Me and the warehouse guys. Mr. Wolf, he'd take the manifest and check everything off like it was normal."

"Where did the contraband go after that?"

"Dunno, I only do long-haul stuff."

"Did Zalar know you knew what was going on?"

Ressmann nodded. "Reckon he did. He always give me a bonus when I made one of those trips, and once he said he appreciated a man who could keep his mouth shut."

Heimo sat back and gazed up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he said, "You were also smuggling migrants and refugees across into Austria."

Ressmann's eyes bulged. "Whaaat?? No, I weren't. Never did that. Didn't."

"Did you check every load?"

"No...no, course I didn't. But there weren't no people on there. I'd a seen 'em when we unloaded."

"How about the one you picked up in the village? You help unload that?"

Ressmann's eyes narrowed as he struggled to figure out what was going on. "I don't remember exactly. Don't think so."

"There could have been anything in there. One way or the other Werner, I think you're in this business up to your eyebrows. My colleague will come down and go through the formalities, get your statement and file charges. You give him everything you told me because I'll check it later. If you tell the full story, the judge might go easy on you, but don't hold back or you'll get buried."

# Chapter 29

Heimo told Kat to let the relevant departments know about Ressmann. He stopped by Greiml's office, but, as usual, the secretary said the boss was in a meeting.

Ressmann hadn't moved the homicide investigation any farther forward. There seemed no reason why he would arbitrarily kill either Schuster or Tauber. Even if Zalar ordered the murders, Ressmann wouldn't be able to cover himself well enough to fool both investigators. They'd have to confirm the driver's whereabouts for Tauber's time of death, but it wasn't an immediate priority while he was being held on the smuggling charges.

Although Heilind Chemical didn't top the investigation list, Heimo had grown increasingly curious about its connection to smuggling. He and Kat took her car and headed for the plant.

The weather had worsened. Temperatures dropped well below freezing, and the forecast warned of a snow-filled front moving in from the west. Sleet smeared the windscreen as Kat maneuvered up into the mountains.

Heilind was located on a small plateau that jutted out into a valley. A freshly tarmacked road led from the main highway, down through a patch of forest, then up again to the plant.

Leaden skies made the factory look as though it was in the twilight zone, and security lights added to the science-fiction atmosphere. A three-meter high chain-link fence surrounded the property. Inside they saw several normal buildings which probably housed administrative staff, and behind them, the usual other-worldly confection of pipes, tubes, tanks and electricity pylons. The gate in front was closed, and there was no guard on duty.

Kat shrugged into her heavy coat and got out to push the button on the call box. Heimo, hunching his shoulders against the rising wind, squinted at the factory. There was not a single car in sight. After a moment, she said, "No answer."

"And all the windows are dark. Should be some lights if anyone was home. You go that way," gesturing to the left, "and I'll take this side." He handed her a radio and turned his own on.

Kat's side of the enclosure skirted a forest which came within a few meters of the fence while Heimo's side was open to the valley below. A railway spur entered one corner of the enclosure, ran through the center of the works and out the other side. Several tank wagons squatted by a loading dock.

The fence made a rectangle eighty meters by one hundred, and it allowed Heimo no closer than twenty meters from anything inside. By the time he reached the corner, he was no wiser than when he started. The buildings presented no unusual features, there were no personal vehicles, and no signs of activity. His radio crackled.

"Checkmate, Checkmate One."

"Go ahead, One."

"Got something interesting about thirty meters from the rear corner."

"Roger, I'll meet you there."

Rather than re-trace his steps, he decided to continue all the way around. Although there were two places where he had to squeeze through foliage, he made it to the opposite corner without difficulty. When he looked up the line, he could see Kat staring though the steel fence links.

She pointed. "See those barrels? Something's leaking out of them."

Ten white drums stacked five-on-five stood on pallets. Two of them on the top right had sprung their lids, releasing a viscous greenish liquid which had run down the sides and onto the ground. Each drum featured a stencil in black, but the officers were too far away to read them clearly.

Heimo handed Kat his radio and pulled out his mobile phone. He swiped through the applications until he found the camera, then aimed it at the barrels. Clicking the shutter twice, he then switched to the photos app. By spreading the photo with his fingers, the stencil became readable.

Kat, peering over his shoulder, said, "Toxic waste symbol. Doesn't say what it is, though."

"No, but it's enough," replied Heimo. "Dangerous chemical spill. We'll have to get the Hazardous Material people over here."

Even though the leakage appeared to be no more than a few liters, Kat said, "I'll call it in. We might be saving the planet."

Heimo grinned. "Can't be too careful."

"Should be here in about twenty minutes," she said after finishing her call. "There's a HazMat unit this side of autobahn. I told them to make sure they have lighting."

Heimo glanced at the sky. The clouds were thickening although the spits of snow had not intensified. "Let's pop the lock on the front gate."

They inspected the security system. Although modern and in working order, it had a flaw they knew how to exploit. While Kat fetched bolt cutters from her car, Heimo called Josef. Felsbach was plowing through records and databases, happy as a kid at the beach. Heimo shivered in the icy wind and reflected that sometimes the office was not a bad place to be.

Kat used the cutters to crack open a small box at the base of the right-hand gate. She reached through the bars and felt around inside, her eyes unfocused. After a moment she pulled a small screwdriver from her pocket and slipped it into the box. There was a small flash and a clank. She stood up and pulled on the gate and it slid noiselessly to the side.

Kat replaced her bolt cutters. "Go in and take a look?"

"No, let's wait for HazMat. We'll stay in the car and warm up."

Kat cranked the engine and turned the heater on full. A thermos of coffee would have been welcome, but they hadn't thought to bring one. She said, "This is a bit creepy. The place looks in good working order, but it's like a ghost operation. And no security guard. It's not exactly the right weather for burglary, but anyone could get in without half trying."

Heimo nodded. "I'm wondering if it's the same situation as Zalar and Obernig. They believe the smuggling operation has blown, and they run for the hills - or somewhere. If this plant has been operational, someone has to shut everything down, dismiss the workforce, turn off the lights and lock up. Can't do that without a plan and it would take some time. And it will cause talk immediately. I get the feeling the entire scam is being wrapped up."

Kat hunkered into her coat and considered.

The HazMat team, good as their word, showed up twenty minutes later in two vehicles. The first man out was half dressed in his protective covers, but still wore a heavy parka.

He shoved a meaty paw at Heimo and said, "Volcker. Any idea what the material is?"

"No. It's in white drums with the toxic waste symbol stenciled on them. The stuff has forced the tops open and leaked down the sides. It's sort of a greenish goo if that helps. The drums are about seventy meters from here on the left side of the plant."

"The more we know the better," the man boomed cheerfully.

"You should also know this may be a crime scene. The factory appears to be functional, but there's no one here and it looks like it's been abandoned at short notice. We need to look around, but we'll wait for you to give us the word."

"Fair enough." Volcker turned to his men as they unloaded equipment and dressed in protective suits. Ten minutes later they were ready to go. One of the vehicles drove into the compound stopping every few feet as though testing the ground. It halted a few meters in front of the administration building which was surmounted by a blue and gray sign with the word 'Heilind' blazoned across it.

The remaining men fanned out behind the van staying well back. Each carried a different piece of equipment, and Heimo supposed they were sampling the air for toxic fumes, but he was guessing.

After watching for a few minutes, he and Kat retreated to the car to thaw out. "Remind me to issue thermos bottles to everyone. We need coffee."

Kat grunted.

His phone buzzed a few minutes later. Greiml said, "What's happening, Heimo?"

"We interviewed Werner Ressmann. He's not looking good for the homicides, but he's confessed to being involved in smuggling. It's not clear if it was normal contraband or if he was also bringing migrants in. We turned him over to Klaus's people to take his statement and do the paperwork. He claims not to have taken the rifle up to Schuster."

"Anything further on Zalar?"

"Still missing, but Ressmann says he gave the gun to him, and was then sent to Italy to pick up a load. We'll check it later. Kat and I are at Heilind Chemical because there seemed to be several suspect deliveries from Zalar. The plant looks like it was abandoned at short notice, but we saw what looks like a toxic spill, so we called the HazMat people. We'll go in when they've cleared the site."

Greiml said, "The South Africans confirmed Obernig got off the plane at Johannesburg. His visa was in order, so he went straight through. They have no idea where he is now but will start looking. They are amenable to sending him back based on the Interpol notice, but if he objects, they'll have to go through the courts."

"He'll fight it–that's why he picked the place. I'll let you know when we've searched the plant."

Within ten minutes, Volcker returned, walking up to the car with his protective hood thrown back. He said, "Found the drums. The gunk in them is definitely toxic with ammonia and some other stuff in it. But it appears the spill is only fifty or sixty liters. The rest of the plant looks clear, so you can do your thing anytime you're ready."

Heimo thanked him and they got out as Volcker returned to his team. "Man must eat garlic by the clove," grumbled Kat.

"Probably why he understands toxic waste. Let's start with the admin offices."

The building was locked, though they could see through the windows using torches. It appeared to be a normal setup with desks, computers and filing cabinets in soulless cubicles. Heimo decided it wasn't worth breaking in. "If we need to dig into paperwork, we'll get Josef up here, but I don't think anything we're looking for is documented."

The chemical operations were separated by the rail line and a paved strip down the middle for vehicles. The rest was a maze of steelwork, pipes and metal walkways.

They strolled down the center seeing nothing of interest. As they neared the rear of the plant, Kat spotted a long low building. "Cafeteria?" she said.

"Could be."

They walked over until they could see around the corner. A small sign over the single door read, 'Break Area - Remove Work Boots and Coveralls'. There were four windows on the front, but they'd all been shuttered.

Heimo had noticed on his first inspection that a section of the fence had been turned into a gate about the width of a car. He went to look at it. There was a heavy double chain holding it in place with two padlocks. He could see one set of tire tracks leading from it and around the outside of the fence, but none on the inside. He shook his head. This was turning into a bust.

He started back. Kat had stopped next to the door of the break room. She looked alert and held up her hand as got closer. Heimo froze, his hand involuntarily seeking his holster.

She listened intently, then shook her head. She walked over to him, saying nothing until she was close. Then, just above a whisper, "Heard something inside, a noise like a scraping sound, then quiet again."

"What kind of lock on the door?" Heimo asked.

"Simple hasp and padlock."

"Follow me and be noisy about it." He started back into the plant area and said in a normal voice, "Looks like we wasted our time. Let's go out front and wait for the HazMat boys to finish."

"Yeah, too bad there's no one here."

When they reached the center of the plant Heimo stopped. "Borrow a crowbar from Volcker. We'll jimmy the lock and have a look inside."

Kat nodded and headed off at a quiet trot.

# Chapter 30

Heimo made his way back to the building taking small noiseless steps. He listened, closing his eyes to concentrate, but heard nothing. Kat returned with a short burglar's crowbar and the torch from the car.

He opened his coat to expose his holster and took a position to the left of the door. Kat drew her own weapon. When she nodded, Heimo inserted the wedged end of the bar under the hasp and gave it a strong outward jerk. Hasp and padlock came loose with a ripping noise along with the screws holding them. He dropped the crowbar and turned the handle, then pushed the door inwards.

Kat aimed the torch inside and swung it back and forth. "Bloody hell," she muttered. "Migrants, fifteen or twenty of them."

Heimo reached around the doorjamb and found a light switch. He thumbed it on, and harsh fluorescent illumination flooded the room. Peering around the corner, he saw a cluster of black faces grouped on benches.

Kat lowered her pistol and stepped in. She put the torch on a table, took a swift look around, then strolled toward the frozen faces holding her hand palm outward in what she hoped was a universal gesture of peace. If it made any impact, she couldn't tell.

Heimo followed, trying to look nonthreatening. "We will not hurt you," he said in careful German. That elicited no response. "Anyone speak German?" Nothing. "English?" Not even a slight nod.

"Parlez vous Francaise?" This time a small hand rose in the middle of the group followed by a young black girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen. She was obviously terrified, but she whispered, "Oui, monsieur."

"Bon, bon," Heimo said with as wide a smile as he could muster. "Please tell the others we will not hurt you."

The girl muttered something in a language unfamiliar to Heimo, followed by more muttering in other tongues as the translation flowed through the group.

The assembly comprised twelve men who looked to be in their late teens or early twenties, four women of approximately the same age and six children ranging down to toddlers. Although their clothing was old and shabby, they appeared clean and in good health.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "Thirsty?"

The girl nodded. "Water please, monsieur."

Heimo glanced at Kat. "They're thirsty. See if you can find any water."

Kat nodded and headed for a serving hatch in the room's rear, her sidearm up just in case. After a moment she stuck her head back through the hatch and said, "Water's turned off, but there's two crates of bottled water. I'll pass them through." As the bottles appeared on the counter, Heimo pointed. For a moment, no one moved, then they surged. For the next few minutes the only sounds were twisting caps, tortured plastic and gurgles.

Heimo waited until everyone had their fill and returned to the benches. They relaxed, but the faces held no discernable expression. The girl who spoke French had been pushed unwillingly to the front. Heimo sat at a bench a few meters away and asked, "How long have you been here?"

She held up two fingers.

"Two days?" Heimo said. The girl nodded.

"Did you travel together?" This time she nodded without reference to the others.

"And where are you going?"

This she did not know. Again, she turned to the group. There was a burst of conversation. She turned back to Heimo and said, "Different places, some do not know where. I go to a cold town in the north. The people have white hair like an old person, but they are good. My friend," she pointed to one of the older girls, "also goes there."

"Are there any other people here?"

The girl, her young face troubled, said, "Three boys went away yesterday. We do not know where."

Heimo nodded. "I understand." He stretched his neck and noticed Kat stationed on the side of the room taking it in. He gave her a synopsis. "Call social services and tell them to bring enough transport and someone who can speak French."

Kat nodded and went back to the kitchen.

Heimo turned to the girl. "My friend is calling people to help you. They will take you to a city and give you a place to live, and new clothes and good food. But I cannot say if they will allow you to go to the other places. Please tell the others."

It was painful to watch. Like a slow wave of despair, the news spread. Heimo knew what they'd risked, how much they paid physically and emotionally to get this far. To be told it was all in vain heaped cruelty upon cruelty. But he believed it was better than the hell of potential servitude.

He could not give them the one thing everyone deserved–hope. Instead he had to sit there and watch it die.

There were a few questions, but they were variations on 'Why can we not go on? We will not stop in your country'.

It was hopeless to explain the vagaries of European politics, even if he'd understood it.. He fell back on 'It is the law' and hated himself for it.

Kat returned. "Take them an hour to get here. They've got a big bus, and I told them to bring warm clothes. How are they taking it?"

Heimo's face twisted, telling her everything she needed to know. "Call Thurner, please. We need a couple of officers to help with the transfer. Did social services have a French linguist?"

"Two if you can believe that." She pulled out her phone once again.

Heimo, amid his anger over the nauseating and casual brutality of the smuggling organization, looked at the young girl. "Does your friend speak French?"

She nodded, the fear back in her face. "But she has not so much. She had to leave school when the baby came."

"Is her man here?"

"No. Dead in the sea."

He noticed the eyes of the group swivel to somewhere behind him. He turned to see Volcker standing in the doorway removing his hood. There was a relieved sigh from the group when they realized the apparition was a man.

Volcker said, "Bloody hell. Where'd they come from?"

"Africa." Heimo's voice was dry. "How's it going with the spill?"

"OK. We need our digger up here. The soil under the pallets will have to be removed and treated, but we've stopped the leaks and I don't think there's much danger. We'll block off the section and post the usual signs. Any idea where the plant operators are?"

"Next on my list. Let me know when you're ready to pack up."

Volcker nodded and left.

Kat finished her conversation and said, "Thurner says he's running short of people, but he'll get someone here as soon as he can."

Heimo looked at the girl again. The others were talking among themselves, but they quieted when he asked, "What county do you come from?"

"Cote d'Ivoire. Ivory Coast."

"How long have you been traveling?"

"I am not sure–a long time, maybe eight months."

"Do you know the people who brought you here?"

The girl's eyes grew big. She shook her head once. Heimo suspected they'd been threatened if they revealed anything.

He stood. "Keep an eye on them. I'm going to do a little breaking and entering."

Kat grinned. "You get all the fun jobs."

"One of the perks of my great age." He hitched up his belt and strode out the door.

What had caused the plant to close suddenly? The best place to find out had to be the administrative offices. Given the toxic spill and the illegal migrants on site, he had more than enough cause to break into the building and search it.

The windows were standard double glazing and difficult to crack unless one was willing to use considerable violence. Heimo was of a mind to do just that. He'd brought the short crowbar with him and selected a window near the ground so he wouldn't have to climb much.

Standing to one side, he rammed the bar into the pane and punched a hole through both sheets of glass. He listened for a moment, but there was no alarm, so he repeated the punches until there was a large enough hole for him to get his hand in. Then he turned the handle on the inside and the frame swung open..

The room, by now in semi-darkness, was filled with cubicles and abundant office equipment. Everything was neat and clean, so the abandonment had not been hasty. It looked like what he would expect to see on Friday evening at the close of a normal week.

The light switches were on a master panel next to the main door and he flipped them all on. The door itself would not open short of a major assault, so he left it and looked for a supervisor's office. A staircase, well lighted and featuring modern art prints on the walls, led to the upper floor. At the top, the executive suite announced itself with oak-paneled walls, paintings that were definitely not prints, and carpet that felt ten centimeters thick. The bosses, as usual, did well for themselves.

A boardroom was on the right, twelve chairs grouped around a huge mahogany table polished to a mirror finish with a video conference unit in its center. On the left were two office doors, neither of which bore any label.

Heimo tried to visualize the building's layout. The left-hand office would have the best view across the mountain landscape. He tried the handle, but it was locked, and when he applied pressure, the door felt solid and firmly seated. The crowbar would not solve this problem, but the lock was a standard Yale. Three of the keys he kept in his uniform coat were masters. The second turned the lock smoothly and he opened the door.

The office proclaimed Chief Executive in no uncertain terms. Cream carpet, a desk the size of a small aircraft carrier with nothing on it except a gold pen set, and gold brocade curtains bordering each high window.

He flipped the lighting on and headed for the desk. There was no guarantee this was the abode of Mr. Vogt, but he sincerely hoped it was. None of the drawers were locked. He sat in the massive leather chair and rifled through the contents.

It was Vogt's desk. Correspondence addressed to him, personal stationery with his name and title emblazoned on it, business cards, the standard CEO kit. And all of it was bland and correct and unhelpful. But he hadn't expected a confession signed in blood.

He wanted something showing the personality of the man. But as he searched through drawer after drawer, nothing turned up to give him a hint. He pulled out the bottom left drawer and found it empty. Out of habit he shoved his hand toward the back but found nothing. But as he withdrew, he noticed the top of the drawer felt lower than it should have been. Secret compartment, of course.

He pulled out the one above it. It stopped before it came all the way out, but there was a small lever on the back. When he tipped it to one side, the drawer slid out. And under it the secret compartment, stuffed with–what else? - secrets.

# Chapter 31

Heimo removed the documents hoping for something juicy. The first was a letter from Mehringer thanking Vogt for a sizable campaign contribution. Why should that be a secret? Many rich men funneled money to politicians hoping for influence, rewards, protection or whatever they could afford to buy. But as he read on, it became obvious.

Mehringer said he'd keep the contribution quiet, and the funds would only be used for his personal expenses. Unethical, but Heimo wasn't sure it was out-and-out illegal. The final paragraph confirmed Vogt was Mehringer's cousin.

He sat for a moment wondering if he could use it. But it was too thin. Politicians usually tried to mask their sources of funds because donors didn't like publicity. The fact Mehringer and Vogt were related was not material, but he would hang onto it because you never knew. The odd part was why Vogt would hide the letter.

Another letter, also from Mehringer and dated a year previously, was couched in the same language.

Two of the documents were photocopies of invoices dated two months ago, one from a company in Italy and another from an institute in Croatia. The amounts were large. That set him thinking again. He'd never heard of either organization, but two aspects disturbed him. Why were they copies rather than originals, and why was Vogt keeping them secret? The obvious explanation: Vogt had paid for something illegal using company funds.

If Vogt was the sole owner of the company, he could spend his money any way he liked. But he wasn't, as Cristina's research had shown. If the payments were for illegal activities, the organizations on the invoices would be phonies, set up to launder money.

The last sheet of paper was torn from a spiral notebook. Two handwritten lists side by side, one of single-word names, and another of sets of numbers that varied in length. Different inks showed the list had been supplemented from time to time. Could be a code or a list of customers and phone numbers, or almost anything. Whatever it was, Vogt wanted no one else to see it.

That was it. No smoking gun, no confession, nothing he could use. They had to find the man himself and prize him open. And the factory's sudden closure coupled with the presence of the migrants suggested Vogt had run just like Osternig and Zalar.

He stood and stretched, noticing headlights coming into the plant. Two buses, a van and a car. Social services most likely. He went down the stairs and climbed out the window leaving the lights on.

Lydia Poluk had arrived before the convoy and was directing them through the plant's central runway. A police van followed. With luck he could turn the migrants over to them and began searching for Vogt.

Volcker came from the other end of the passage and headed Heimo's way. "Done everything we can for the moment," he said. "The spill is roped off with warning signs. Digger will be up tomorrow morning and we'll finish clearing. I'd like to move those barrels, but they're too big. We've taken samples of the stuff inside and we'll get them analyzed tomorrow. Anything else we can do for you?"

Heimo shook his head. "Any idea what they produce here?"

"Not off the top of my head, but we have a database tracking all industrial sites that might pose a hazard. I'll check it when we get back. Got a phone number?"

Heimo passed over a card, thanked him, and continued toward the break area. Two uniformed officers got out of the police van and Heimo briefed them. As they headed for the building, he saw Kat coming toward him.

"I passed the baton to Lydia. Should be enough people here to look after those poor buggers. Did you have fun?"

He told her what he'd found. "We need Vogt or Zalar to get anywhere close to the bottom of this. See if you can dig up a home address for Vogt. I need to talk to the little girl who speaks French before they load up."

Kat thumbed her phone and Heimo continued toward the break room. It was full. Social services people and the migrants milled about, some getting fitted with warm coats, others curled up in misery. Among the latter he found his contact.

Surprisingly, the girl smiled. "Bon soir, monsieur," she said.

Heimo smiled back. "Hello. Are you all right?"

She shrugged. In eight months, she had been shoved from pillar to post by who knows how many strangers. At least these seemed friendlier.

Heimo nodded. "I understand. I need to know your name and the name of your sister. Once you are settled, I will talk to you again. Also, I want to know if you are being treated well."

"My sister is Léonie. I am Lucie."

Heimo had pulled out his phone and made a few entries. "And your family name?"

"Okonwa." She spelled it for him when he raised his eyebrows.

"And the baby?"

"Veronique."

He couldn't help the grin. "I have a daughter named Veronique. She is a little older than you. Maybe one day you will meet her. Now I must go, but I will find out where you are and come to see you, OK?"

She looked as though she might cry, but she held up and said, in a whisper, "Merci, monsieur."

It took more effort than he expected to turn away without hugging the little waif.

Kat met him in the runway. Something must have showed in his face because she said, "You alright?"

Heimo just nodded. "Got an address?"

"Yes, it's not far from here, up the valley."

Kat programmed Vogt's address into her GPS, and it directed them to turn off at a small village. It led down a single lane, out the other side of the hamlet, and up a mountain. Although narrow, the road had been repaved.

They had driven only a kilometer when the GPS announced they'd arrived. For a moment, in the afternoon darkness, neither could see anything. Then Heimo glimpsed a driveway entrance hidden by two squat fir trees. He pointed, and Kat turned in.

Fifty yard up the graveled surface, they saw the house. They'd expected the usual old manor house, renovated and repainted to look new, but Vogt's place was ultra-modern. An architect with a flair for sweeping curves had created something outlandish in a quiet forest setting, but there was no doubt it struck the eye.

No lights showed, and no cars were visible. As they walked up the ornate steps to the front door, security sensors turned on several lamps. Heimo found a button and pushed it. Faint and seemingly far away, they heard chimes.

But no house lights came on and the door remained closed. "Let's walk around," Heimo said.

The cold was intense, although they were sheltered from the wind, and the spits of snow had stopped. They circled to the left of the house, sweeping their torches in every direction, but seeing nothing of interest. By the time they reached the other side, it was obvious the place was deserted.

On the way, they'd noticed an outbuilding thirty meters behind the house. "See if it has any cars in it," Heimo said. "I'll look in the house windows. Much as I'd like to break in, we don't have enough to justify it."

A large patio in the rear was partially covered by an elaborate steepled canopy made of glass and wood. Two sets of French windows allowed a good view of an exercise room filled with special equipment. He flashed the torch around but could see nothing of interest. He tried the windows, but both were locked.

He turned and saw Kat's torch coming toward him. "Anything?" he asked.

"There's a BMW in there, and the doors are locked. But I found something else."

Heimo followed her back to the garage. On the far side of the building a gravel path led into the forest. It ended at what looked like an old-fashioned cellar, dug into the hill with four steps leading down to a door.

But this was no ordinary cellar. The door was metal-clad oak, windowless, and set into a frame of stone and ironwork. There was an iron gothic handle over a double Chubb lock to keep casual visitors at bay.

"Damned odd place to build a root cellar," Kat said.

"Unless the roots are made of gold. What the hell would he put out here that required a door like that?"

"We're not going to break in, that's for sure."

"We need a locksmith." He checked his watch. "Might still be time." He pulled his phone out and called Johann Thurner.

The station commander answered with "No, I do not have any more people."

"I suspected as much," Heimo chuckled. "Is there a locksmith in town? We're at Vogt's house and I need someone who can open a double Chubb."

"Now?"

"If possible."

"There's a woman who can probably do it, but I don't know if she'll come out this late. I'll text the number and you can tell her how urgent it is. By the way, they've collected your refugees or whatever they are. Poluk buttoned up the plant and put tape across the gate."

"Good. Know anyone who works at the plant?"

"Can't say I do. Don't think they employ more than twenty people, but I've never had occasion to go up there."

Heimo thanked him and punched the locksmith's number. A man's voice answered, and he could hear children in the background. He asked to speak to the locksmith, the man grunted something, and, in a moment, a tired voice said, "Ilse Trello."

Heimo identified himself. "I'm up the valley about ten kilometers from Hermagor. I need someone who can open a double Chubb lock. This is in connection with a police investigation."

"Now? I'm just getting my children's dinner."

"Sorry to ask, but it's a matter of urgency."

"Oh, all right," she said. "Give me the address. It's a double Chubb, you say?"

In less than fifteen minutes, a car slid past the driveway, reversed and came up to the house. The figure that got out of the car was bundled up so thickly it could have been male or female. Heimo walked over, his ID thrust in front.

The woman pulled back her hood exposing a round face with improbable apple cheeks and a scowl. She peered at the ID briefly and said, "Fine, fine, where's the lock?"

He pointed and said, "This way."

When they got to the cellar, the woman whistled. "Odd place to put a door."

Heimo held his torch while the locksmith bent over and inspected the Chubb. She squatted and opened a small case. Extracting two delicate tools, she held them up to the light, nodded, and set to work. In four minutes, there was a noticeable click and she started to push the door open.

"Don't!" barked Heimo.

She jerked her hand away as though the door was red hot and stared up at him.

But he wasn't going to satisfy her curiosity. "Thank you. An excellent job and very quick. Tell your kids we appreciate you coming out and I hope their dinner isn't spoiled."

Her scowl returned, but she picked up her case and Kat took her back to the car. While they were gone, Heimo listened intently but heard nothing.

Kat returned unzipping her coat, pulling out her pistol and gripping her torch in the other hand. Heimo mimicked her and said, "Ready?"

She took the right-hand side of the doorway and nodded.

Heimo used his torch to shove the door open. It swung smoothly inward making no sound. The interior was dark. He flashed his torch but all he could see was a short passage.

Kat reached around the door frame and felt for a light switch. She didn't find one, but the movement activated a sensor and a dim interior light came on.

She raised her voice. "Anybody home? It's the police." Not even an echo answered.

She glanced at Heimo who nodded and said, "In we go."

# Chapter 32

Heimo went first. The passage was featureless, about five meters long and led slightly downwards. It was narrow, and Kat had no choice but to bring up the rear.

As they approached the end of the passage, Heimo could see that it turned sharply left. There was an elaborate control panel built into the wall on the right and above it, another sensor. When he got within a meter of it, lights in the interior blazed on.

Heimo put his back against the wall and cautiously peeked around the corner. For a moment he didn't move. Then he turned his torch off and holstered his pistol. Kat watched him, wide-eyed.

He stepped around the corner, allowing her to see what he had seen.

The passage widened into a room approximately five meters on a side. It was furnished with several chairs, an amazing variety of sex toys, bondage gear, racks of videos and DVDs, and cameras. But he hadn't taken that in at first.

The ceiling was roofed with old reclaimed wooden beams. The grotesquely stretched figure of a small man hung from the central one. He'd been dead for some hours. Kat grunted as she caught sight of the body and said, "Jesus," in a low voice.

Without moving or disturbing anything they surveyed the room. Despite its bizarre accouterments, it was neat and clean, the racks of films labeled and stored, and the chairs draped with colorful antimacassars. The body was a different matter.

Kat said, "Suicide."

Heimo nodded. "Looks like it."

The man had apparently stood on a stool, fixed a rope around his neck, then kicked the stool away. It was not obvious whether he died of a broken neck or strangulation. The body's weight had caused it to stretch and settle so it now appeared more like a bag than a man. And the stench told them he'd urinated and defecated soon after death slackened the muscles.

Heimo said, "Let's call it in." They backed out of the room leaving the lights on and returned to the outside.

Kat pulled her phone out and punched a number. After a moment she said, "Karl, Kat Unger. We've got a corpse. Can you call Wassnig and then bring your guys along?" She listened a moment. "It's part of the homicides we're working on. I'll text the address. Take it slow when you come up–the driveway's easy to miss."

Heimo walked a few meters further on to call Greiml. As usual, there was no answer, and the phone went to voicemail. Heimo related what they'd found and what they were doing about it. He debated calling Johann Thurner since it was his patch but decided to wait as there was nothing the station commander could do that wasn't already being done. Besides, he wanted to process the scene before getting anyone else involved.

When Kat joined him, he said, "Let's go back to the car and warm up." He pulled the cellar door closed enough to keep any animals from investigating the smells, then they walked down the path and climbed into Kat's vehicle.

Once again he regretted having no coffee. "Thoughts?" he enquired.

She sank into her coat. "Assuming it's Vogt, it looks like he figured the game was up, so he came home and finished it."

"Why would he think that? He closed the plant either late yesterday or early this morning at which time we had nothing. Even if he thought we were getting too close, why not run? He had money if he could afford this place, so he could have done what Osternig did. Coming back here and topping himself doesn't make sense."

"Did you ask that migrant girl how long it had been since they'd seen anyone?"

"Nope, never thought about it, which is a major screw-up. But, given the fact they weren't hungry, just thirsty, it couldn't have been too long."

Kat shivered despite the heat blasting from the vents. "Let's assume Vogt is the money behind the smuggling operation. Why? Maybe because he had a thing for young blacks if that nasty little den is anything to go by. Then he figures if he's bringing in a few kids, maybe there's a bigger market. One thing leads to another, and after a while he's a big-time people trafficker."

Heimo grimaced. "You're probably on the right track."

He sneezed, wondering if he was coming down with a cold. "And that room looks like a pedophile palace. But it begs the question of why he would close up shop, run home, and top himself."

Kat was silent for a while. "Still think it was suicide?"

Heimo tapped the side of his nose. "Great minds think alike. Could have been staged, couldn't it? Smugglers are not averse to a spot of violence. Maybe Vogt gets scared, wants out, and they decide to eliminate a potential problem. And if all this wild surmise is correct, they might have killed Schuster and Tauber. With the network destroyed, we have nothing to go on, and they can start over some other place."

"That would explain Zalar and Osternig running."

"And Zalar might also be dead. The only real lead we have is Osternig. If we can't get him back soon, one of us might have to go to Joburg and have a chat with him."

Something niggled at the back of his mind and it suddenly popped to the front–Andrea. If their scenario was correct, the smuggling ring was eliminating anyone who might be a threat. Andrea, who was not directly involved, wasn't in immediate danger. But the fact that young migrants had been run through her brothel could lead someone to believe that silencing her was good policy.

He opened the car door. "I need to walk."

Kat glanced at him but said nothing.

He meandered down the drive. Maybe it was time to act rather than be cautious. Thinking hard, trying to imagine all the possibilities, trying, like a chess master, to see ten moves ahead, he calculated outcomes. And made a decision.

He thumbed Cristina's speed dial, but it went to voicemail. He snarled and brought up Grete's number. "Chief Prosecutor's Office."

"Grete, Heimo. I need to talk to Cristina right now."

"She's taking a deposition, Heimo. Can I help?"

"No, this is an emergency. Tell her to call me immediately."

He cut her off before there were any more questions he couldn't answer. And began to pace.

Grete, despite her bulk, could move when she had to because Cristina called three minutes later. Her voice was high and tight. "Are you all right?" There was a tinge of panic.

"I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. The case is moving. We've discovered Vogt dead. Not sure if it was suicide or murder, but things are happening. I'm worried about Andrea. If the smuggling gang is eliminating potential problems, she might be in the line of fire. I want to get her out of there. Can you leave?"

By this time Cristina's breathing had returned to normal. "I think so. Is fifteen minutes quick enough?"

"Perfect. I'll tell her to leave as soon as possible, then call me. I'll tell you, and you meet her in the airport parking area. There are no planes due in or out for a few hours, so there shouldn't be anybody around. Dump her car and take her to our place. Call me when you're home, and we'll work it from there." He described Andrea's car.

"Got it." There was a pause, then she said "You watch your ass, cop."

"I will, and I expect to watch yours when I get home."

He decided he'd better call Thurner. "Johann, Heimo. Found another body whom we think is Norbert Vogt, the head of Heilind Chemical. We're not sure if it's self-inflicted or homicide. The cavalry is on its way from Klagenfurt, so we'll hang around here until they get things rolling. Anything new from your people?"

"You're like the bloody harbinger of doom. Won't be anybody left to police by the time you're done. Only thing we've found out is the factory workers were told last night at five o'clock they'd be off for the rest of the week, but to report for work on Monday as usual. No explanation given. And no one knew anything about the Africans."

"That checks with what we know. I'm not sure what's going on, but it's possible the smugglers decided to close this route by killing off everyone involved. Put as many of your people on the street as you can and tell them to keep their eyes open."

"Won't take long to do that–everyone available is already working. But I'll pass the word."

The cold had set in while he paced, and his feet were becoming numb. He started for the car keeping an eye out for Kat and punched in Andrea's number from memory. It rang seven times before she picked up. "Yes?"

"Go somewhere you can't be overheard."

"I'm in my car."

"We've found another body. I think you'd better get out of there as soon as possible. Can you leave without causing too much suspicion?"

"I told everyone I've got a medical problem and I have to go to the hospital for tests. I'll tell the girls they've told me to come in now."

"That should do it. Call me after you've left. Go to the airport parking area and park your car in the middle of as many others as you can find. Stay in it. My partner will meet you. Take all your stuff with you and lock the car. She'll look after you until I get back."

"I'm ready. Thank you." Her voice had a flat quality to it as though she were holding herself together by force of will and the words had to squeeze through.

When he reached the car, Kat, without looking at him, said, "Everything all right?"

"So far. I had to call Cristina and let her know what's happening. No telling how long we'll be here."

"Karl called. They should be here in about thirty minutes."

"Wassnig with them?"

"No, he was in the middle of chopping someone up, but he'll come when he's finished."

"No reason for us to hang around once Forensics starts, so we'll head back to the office. But I'm hoping Karl can make an educated guess about whether or not Vogt was murdered. And I need to tell Josef what's happened."

"Did that already. He's still putting together families and looking at databases and fun stuff like that."

"Better him than me. Any other thoughts about Vogt?"

"Just one. I wonder if he or the smugglers or whoever told the migrants how long they'd have to wait before someone collected them."

"Another question I should have asked. I think I'm getting too old for this job, or my brain is going soft." Unconsciously he scratched his scar.

Kat snorted. "Not bloody likely."

They sat, not speaking and trying to stay warm until Kat's phone buzzed. "Hi Karl, where are you?"

And after a moment, "I'll come out and direct you." She disconnected and told Heimo, "He's a minute out."

Heimo hoped he would hear from Andrea before they had to show Hallegger and his people where the crime scene was. Kat was already suspicious, and he didn't want to make things more awkward than they were.

His phone beeped for a text message. It said, 'Gone', but he knew what it meant. He texted Cristina 'Go'. Sometimes new technology was quite useful.

Multiple headlights flashed behind him. When he got out of the car, it felt like the temperature was still dropping. Winter was accelerating from a slow trot to a brisk canter.

Forensics brought both vans. One pulled up next to Kat's car and parked. Hallegger got out with his usual grin and said, "Can't you arrange to find these people at ten in the morning?"

"I'll put the word out to the criminal fraternity. Kat tell you what we've got?"

"Nope, just that some chap hung himself."

"It's a little more involved than that." As the other officers parked and suited up, Heimo described the room and gave his colleague a brief update on the background. "We're guessing the guy's a pedophile, and he's using the African kids before selling them on. You won't believe his room. Looks like a pervert's palace."

"Lead us to it."

Together, he and Kat took the officers down the path to the door. "I had a locksmith come out and open it, but other than that no one's touched anything. I understand the doc won't be here for a while, but I need to know whether he committed suicide or was murdered. The rest I'll leave to you."

"I'll try but it may not be possible, you know that."

Heimo just nodded and pushed the door open with a gloved hand.

# Chapter 33

Hallegger whistled softly when he saw the corpse hanging like an obscene sack of meat. He didn't move for some time, surveying the interior of the room and planning his examination. Heimo, standing behind him with one of the techs looking over his shoulder, made no comment. After he was satisfied, Hallegger said, "I'll take a few photos first."

He extracted a 35-millimeter camera from his bag. After ten flashes, he switched to video and panned the camera from one side of the entrance all the way around the room to the other.

Walking slowly around the body and stopping occasionally to view it from various angles, Hallegger took it all in without comment. Finally, he stooped to examine the footstool. He didn't touch it but peered at it, then at the victim's feet and then back. Heimo noticed a tiny frown, but the scientist said nothing.

Hallegger stood and examined the cable around the neck. He shook his head. "Can't be absolutely sure Heimo, but I don't reckon this chap did himself in. For one thing the footstool doesn't look right. When someone hangs themselves, they step off the platform and, as they suffocate, the feet jerk around and tip the chair or whatever. This looks more like someone pulled it out from underneath him. And there's a bruise under the left ear which may have come from a blow."

Heimo said, "Thanks. We couldn't figure out why he would kill himself, but he was involved with people who'd waste him in a minute. Would you ask Wassnig to call me when he's had a look?"

"Will do." Hallegger started toward the door to unload his kit.

Heimo retraced his steps. The cold hit him as soon as he cleared the door, and he found Kat bouncing from foot to foot as she tried to stay warm.

"Let's go," he said. "Hallegger reckons Vogt was hit on the head, and the hanging was staged. Have to wait for Wassnig to figure out if the blow killed him or strangulation, but it doesn't make much difference. Let's go back to Hermagor and try to put some pieces together."

On the way, his phone pinged. Arturo Moretti said, "Hello Heimo. Our Navy saw a suspicious landing south of Genoa about eight hours ago. They gave us a good description, and the vehicle is now under surveillance near Verona. We hope they lead us to others in the network, but we will arrest them as soon as we can."

"Great, keep me posted and thanks."

Once again he tried to reach Greiml. This time he got an answer. "Heimo, I gather you had a development."

"More or less. We discovered a body at the home of the owner of the chemical plant, a man named Norbert Vogt, and we're assuming the corpse is him. Hallegger thinks he was murdered, but it was staged as a suicide. We also found twenty migrants at the plant, and they've been turned over to social services. Unfortunately, we're no closer to the murderer or murderers, and there is still no sign of Zalar. Have you heard anything about getting Osternig back?"

"No, I've been in meetings all day so I'm a bit behind, but I'll check as soon as I can. Where are you now?"

"On the way to Hermagor. We've turned the crime scene over to Hallegger. There's not much more we can do today. I'll talk to the station chief, and we'll head for the office."

"See you in the morning if nothing else breaks."

Heimo withheld the fact that Vogt was related to Mehringer. He wondered if the politician would raise a stink about him being in charge of the investigation and try to have him removed. It was also a small test for Greiml. Could he stand up to pressure?

Kat, who had listened to the half-conversations, said, "Meetings all day, right?"

Heimo grinned. "He's a busy man. But Arturo's guys are following a migrant transport. He wants to see where they go, but he'll pick them up as soon as they've got enough information."

"Is this usual, I mean killing everyone you've ever met just in case? Seems like they'd realize it'll bring in every police force in Europe."

"I don't know, we don't run across operations like this often. But I think we're dealing with people who believe killing someone solves all problems. They're psychopaths. No rules, no connection with people, just a single-minded determination to do what they want and the hell with everything else."

"What's the plan?"

"Check in with Thurner, and, unless there's anything new, head for the barn and call it a day. Greiml doesn't know if we're making any progress on getting Osternig back, so, with Zalar among the disappeared, there's no one to talk to."

His phone peeped. A one-word message–Home.

"Cristina's home and that's where I want to be. What are you doing tonight?"

"Laundry," Kat said, her voice sour. "I don't get involved in the mad social whirl like some I could mention."

Heimo didn't laugh. Kat was between partners and not happy about it. She'd perked up around Moretti, and something might eventually come of it, but the logistics were not ideal. From a purely professional point, he wasn't happy about it either. Officers with personal problems didn't perform at the highest levels, a fact he'd realized only too well during his own career. But there was nothing he could say. Kat had to find her own way.

Despite the late hour, the police station at Hermagor was lit up and buzzing. Johann Thurner was standing in the middle of the floor carrying on three conversations at once.

Heimo smiled. "Sorry to cause a ruckus. Getting anything?"

Thurner shook his head. "Not a lot. We've talked to twelve people who worked at Heilind. All tell the same story–they were told to leave yesterday and come back to work on Monday. No explanations, but some speculation mainly about the company having financial troubles. And no one knows anything about migrants."

"We found a small toxic waste spill," said Heimo, "that's why we decided to break in. Anyone mention it?"

"Not that I've heard. We have the name of the plant foreman, but he's not home. It's possible he decided to take a vacation since they're off work, but we're still looking."

Heimo related the findings at Vogt's house. "We're guessing he was a hardcore pedophile by the looks of the room. He may have gotten involved in smuggling because of financial difficulties, then decided there were fringe benefits. Or the other way around. In any event, it looks like he was murdered. If all three of these killings are linked, the smugglers are trying to dispose of anyone who might have information on them. Wolf Zalar is still missing and Bruno Osternig is in South Africa."

"Anyone else at risk?"

"Possible, but unlikely. The only other potential victim is Werner Ressmann, and he's in a cell."

Thurner looked at his watch. "In about an hour we'll be finished unless you've got anything else."

"Nothing I can think of. Anything hot, you've got my number, otherwise send a report to Klagenfurt and I'll pick it up in the morning. The Forensics team will be at Vogt's house for another hour, then they'll button it up. I'm afraid you'll have to put someone on it overnight."

"Already assigned and moaning about it. Have a nice evening." He stumped upstairs.

On the way home, the two officers said little, having ground the case details to powder. Heimo tried to work through Andrea's escape, but his tired brain spun in circles and he gave it up as a bad job. Kat turned the radio on, and quiet music lulled them into a relaxation they hadn't felt all day. The news was uninteresting except for a report about a campaign rally in which Mehringer featured prominently. The weatherman promised snow with strong winds over the mountains in the next twelve hours and temperatures well below freezing.

The LKA offices were quiet when they arrived, the normal shift officers having gone home leaving only the night duty section. Felsbach had also left for the evening. A report on Heimo's desk listed the results of his research, but Heimo was too tired to read it, much less understand it.

When he turned around, Kat was staring at him, her face slackened with fatigue. "What the hell do we do tomorrow?"

Heimo shook his head. "Search me. Tie up loose ends, call people, check things, catch murderers - the usual. Ask me in the morning and I might have a better answer."

She nodded and said, "G'night."

As he drove home, Heimo dropped the window for a minute hoping the freezing air would revive him. They'd have to make decisions about Andrea, but what he wanted was ten hours of sleep.

He parked in his slot, but Cristina's car was not in hers. That woke him up. He scanned the area but saw nothing suspicious and no people at all. The flat was dark. He got back in the car and punched her number.

"It's alright," she said. "We're inside. I stashed the car across the street. I'm peeking through the window like a kid. Did I do good?"

"You did good at scaring the crap out of me. Be there in a minute."

She opened the door without exposing herself. She let him close it, then jumped him. "I don't think I like cops and robbers very much," she whispered.

He lowered her gently to the floor. "It's not nearly as much fun as sex. Were you followed?"

"Don't think so. There was no one in the airport parking area. Andrea jumped in as soon as I stopped, and we left. Didn't appear to be anyone behind us, and I did watch."

"Let's turn on the lights and act normal. I rather hope someone tries to get in because I feel like shooting some bastard in the face. Where's Andrea?"

Cristina palmed the light switches. The madam sat on the sofa, braced into a corner and her feet curled under her. "Hello, Heimo." Her voice was monotoned, under control but only just.

"Hi. Any trouble getting out?"

She shook her head. "I told them the medical thing. Said they might do a biopsy and keep me in overnight. What's going on?" The last part came out like steam, a hiss of pressure relieving itself.

"I'm not sure. Let's get a drink and something to eat, and I'll tell you what I know."

Cristina was already in the kitchen breaking out wine and whatever they had to snack on. Heimo doffed his jacket and went to help. He popped the corks on two bottles of Italian red, then set them on the dining table. Cristina put a laden tray in the middle and turned the glasses right side up.

Heimo filled all three glasses, raised his own silently, and took half of it in one go. The ladies were not far behind.

# Chapter 34

Heimo unobtrusively eyed Andrea while they ate. Dressed casually in jeans and a high-necked pullover, she looked, for a brothel madam, non-descript. Which was good as she was unlikely to be noticed by passersby, but for some reason he hadn't expected it.

When he looked up from another slug of wine, he found Cristina watching him, her expression unreadable. He knew better than to let it slide. "Andrea, any questions when you left?"

She shook her head. "I've been ready for days. I'd just finished dressing for the evening when I got your call, and I slipped out to the car. The medical cover story was already in place, so I told the girls the hospital had called with a late cancelation and I was to go in for the tests."

"Who runs the place if you're gone?" Cristina asked. "Sorry, I'm not very up on brothel management."

Andrea looked at her for a moment through half-lidded eyes. "One of the older girls takes over and there's security staff."

Cristina stared back at her and something took place which Heimo could not quite grasp. But the atmosphere changed subtly, and the tension slackened perceptibly. "Like most women, I've wondered what it would be like."

"Being a whore, you mean? It's like any other job. A lot of boredom, dealing with people you don't like, doing things you'd rather not do. Because it's sex doesn't make it much different."

"There's one difference, at least in this case," Heimo said. "It can get bloody dangerous."

Andrea and Cristina said, "What happened?" at the same time.

"It looks like the smuggling ring is terminating this route and killing off anyone who might be a future problem. Whether that includes you, I can't say because I'm guessing about a lot of this. But the risk was too great given that you were already getting bad vibes."

He gave them the short version of what he'd discovered during the day. "We keep running across migrants, and the people we think are involved go missing, leave the country or end up dead."

Andrea finished her wine and held her glass out. Heimo refilled it, then topped up his and Cristina's as well. Andrea said, "I'm not sorry to be out of it. The kid thing..."

Cristina's eyebrows went up.

Heimo answered her unspoken question. "More and more of the illegal sex traffic is kids. The migrants are completely helpless, so the smugglers, who make a profit transporting them to Europe, realized they had another little goldmine. The kids get passed around for a while until they're used up or too old, then sold as virtual slaves, or killed and dumped in a ditch."

"Some of them were stashed in the brothel for a day or two." Andrea said. "I can't even look at them anymore."

There was nothing to say.

Heimo leaned back after a few minutes. "Cristina and I have been trying to figure out a way of getting you out of the country, hiding you for a while, then changing your identity. We've got a few ideas, but nothing solid. I know it's been on your mind. Any thoughts?"

Andrea grimaced. "I bounce back and forth between fantasy and depression. I think how wonderful it would be to live in some other county where nobody knows me, knows my background, where I could start a new life. Then I realize I wouldn't know anyone, I probably can't speak the language, don't understand the customs, and have no skills except in a bedroom. And I won't go back to that unless I'm starving."

"Maybe the best way is to do what we can safely do now, then figure out the rest as we go along. Getting you away from Austria makes it much harder for anyone to find you. One of the reasons for leaving your car at the airport is to suggest you caught a flight. They can waste a lot of time trying to trace you that way."

"Where would I go?"

Heimo and Cristina exchanged glances. Cristina nodded almost imperceptibly. Heimo said, "We have a connection in the west of Europe. The connection is willing to hide you for a reasonable length of time until we can make other arrangements. We trust this connection totally, and the physical situation is such that, if you arrive at night, no one will know you're there."

"But you can't tell me who this is or where it is? You don't trust me, even now?"

He rubbed his eyes. "It's not a question of trust. If something goes wrong, you can't reveal what you don't know. Ugly, but there it is."

Andrea was silent for some moments. Then she nodded. "I understand. You're the only man who's ever treated me fairly, and you're taking a chance, so I'll go with it."

Cristina watched the exchange. "I have some information which may help. I've discovered two government programs which operate mostly under the radar. They're designed to help people who need to stay hidden. The details are vague, but I'll find out more if they're likely to be useful."

Heimo followed. "And I have contacts in other police forces. Some of them might help without knowing all the details. Have you got a passport?"

Andrea nodded. "It's in this name, not my own."

"Any other official documents? Birth certificate, anything like that?"

"Nothing that would do any good. I've got a marriage certificate, but since I was thirteen, I don't think it will stand up to any scrutiny."

Cristina flinched. She didn't say anything, but her hand crept over to Andrea's.

"That might make it easier. There's less of a paper trail for anyone to follow, and if we need to change your identity, we start from scratch rather than trying to match anything in your past. But that's down the road. I suggest we make the arrangements tomorrow and move you tomorrow night. Any longer increases the risk."

Andrea nodded. "In my head, I've already left."

Cristina had made up a bed in their spare room. Andrea retreated there, now more like a waif than a brothel madam.

Before they went to bed, Heimo and Cristina hashed over the plan. "Have you talked to Paulette?" he asked.

"Yes, but no details. She's a little bewildered, but she's willing to do it if we think it's necessary. Is it?"

He shrugged. "I can't think of another way, can you?"

"Not really. No one else we could trust with something like this. But it's scary."

"It is that. Tomorrow is going to be tough. We need a car that's disposable, and we need to plan a route that will keep her out of trouble. The weather's setting in around here, so she'll have to go south. She'll also need cash–no credit cards. If she stays on normal roads, she shouldn't need to show her passport. We have a chance of getting her to France without too many difficulties, but then we're stumped."

"Can you do all that by tomorrow night? The case is taking most of your time."

"I'll have to. What's your day like?"

"Busy in the morning, but not much in the afternoon."

"Play it by ear I guess and hope for the best. If I don't go to bed now, I'll be a basket case by morning. Leave this stuff and let's crash."

# Chapter 35

He stared at the mirror trying to decide if his eyes were bleary or the glass was fogged. The hangover feeling scratched his brain, but it was from a night of tossing and thrashing rather than wine. Shaving with a dull razor and scrubbing film off his teeth did little to improve his mood, but a blazing hot shower followed by a cold dousing returned him to a semblance of humanity.

Cristina had risen earlier, and a full breakfast was on the table. Andrea looked as though her night hadn't been much better than his if the black circles under her eyes were anything to go by. Everyone mumbled a bleak-sounding 'Good morning'. By the second coffee, however, energy began to flow.

"Andrea, you'll have to hide in here for the day. It's a pain, but we can't take a chance on you being spotted. We're not expecting any deliveries, are we?"

"Nor any visitors," Cristina said. "We'll leave the flat like we normally do. The shutters on your bedroom window are closed, and you can turn the light on. The neighbors are at work."

"Don't worry about me," Andrea replied. "And...I didn't say it last night, but...thank you. I don't think I realized what I was asking until we started talking. If it's too much, please tell me."

They both shook their heads. Cristina said, "It might be a bit hairy, but we'll get there somehow. Imagine the cool stories we can tell in forty years."

The temperature stayed low and scudding clouds had deposited ten centimeters of fluffy snow on the ground. Heimo put on his heavy gear and crammed a goose down coat in the back of the car. Snow continued to drift down in patches but at least it wasn't getting any worse.

Everyone in the LKA was kitted out in either winter uniforms or colorful ski clothing. All except Greiml who showed up in a sharp charcoal suit and flame-red tie. If he was aware of the odd looks from his subordinates, he didn't show it.

Heimo huddled with Kat and Josef before briefing and tried to figure out what to do next. Kat said, "I saw Hallegger a minute ago. They confirmed the body was Vogt and he was definitely murdered, but they don't have much else."

"We'll turn the smuggling business over to border control. It's not our bailiwick anyway. Josef, have you got anything we can use?"

He shook his head dolefully. "I'm afraid not. There is some evidence to show Zalar was cheating on his taxes by masking deliveries and creating false invoices. But I found no connection to the homicides. I am trying to put together the relationships between all the people in the case, but it's slow work. Many of the records were lost or misfiled, and the old ones are all paper of course, so someone has to find a box and go through it by hand. I don't know if this is going to be productive."

"Unfortunately, it's all we have left, so keep at it for today."

Briefing was brief and not enlightening. Bad weather put criminals off their stride, and little had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. Hallegger was the focus of interest because everyone had heard about the latest homicide.

The Forensics chief said, "The pathologist confirmed Vogt had been hit before he was hung. We haven't found a compatible weapon on the premises, so the killer or killers probably took it with them. The autopsy results will be in later today, but petechial hemorrhaging confirms he died from strangulation rather than the blow. Time of death currently estimated to have been twelve to twenty-four hours before he was found–roughly Tuesday night."

Hallegger checked his notes. "He was a major-league pedophile. That little den was crammed with films and pictures and DVDs of all kinds of crap, a lot of it taken by him of his own activities. We haven't found anything to tell us where his victims came from or where they went. You're all aware of the smuggling operation Heimo uncovered, and that is a probable source of the victims, but there's no forensic evidence to prove it. The place is full of fingerprints, semen stains, blood–you name it–but most of it is probably from the victims. We're still collecting, and we might get a match on a prospective killer, but it doesn't look good."

Heimo, in his turn, was no more encouraging. "We have one of the suspects in custody, although he is by no means the most likely. The others are dead, missing or overseas. We hope to catch some smugglers and find out more about their operation, and the Italians are currently tracking one such group. But we'll have to wait to see if they can tell us anything. Our best guess is they're closing this route and eliminating anyone who might be a threat. Other than that, we've nothing solid."

Greiml, unusually, appeared strained. "Good, good, well we're doing all we can. The South Africans may or may not turn over this man Osternig, but the ministry is working on it. So, keep hitting it. If we can't find the killers, well, we can't find them." Which caused some surprised looks from the assembly.

The briefing broke up and Greiml signaled Heimo to go to his office. Once there, he said, "I've had a conversation with Vice Governor Mehringer. He is not happy with the investigation. Says you're once again moving into areas outside your remit and wants it stopped."

The perfect top off to the morning. "Are you saying he doesn't want me to investigate homicides?"

"Oh, I don't think he's going that far. It's the migrants and the smuggling. Those are, of course, not our area of responsibility. I tried to explain they were germane to the homicide investigations."

Heimo grunted. "He and I have history."

"Yes, of course, I've seen the records, but it doesn't explain why he would object to what you're doing now."

"He objects to my existence on this planet. Does he know about Vogt?"

Greiml's eyebrows headed for the ceiling. "We didn't get confirmation until last night that it actually was Vogt, and I didn't mention it. Why?"

"Mehringer and Vogt are connected. Vogt made large campaign contributions to Mehringer, and the two are related by blood. But if Mehringer doesn't know about him yet, it's down to personal dislike. What do you want me to do?"

By the look on his face, Greiml wanted it to all go away. "I suppose we keep investigating. Do you have anything to follow up?"

Heimo shook his head. "Either we find Zalar, we get Osternig back here, or we catch some of the smugglers and get them to talk. None of those is looking likely."

"Well, just carry on, I suppose. I'll call the ministry about Osternig."

On his way to the office, Heimo wondered if this was Greiml's first time in the political bearpit. He seemed to have been caught off guard by Mehringer's interjection and had no idea how to respond. Must have lived a sheltered existence.

Kat was pacing, clutching an empty coffee mug in one hand, when he walked in. "There must be something we can do, someone we can talk to, to get things moving.

Heimo drew a coffee. "You have the floor."

She gave him a frustrated look. "I don't know, do I? If I did, I be doing it. What about finding out about Vogt's known associates, people he worked with, organizations he was involved with, and talking to them?"

"Are any of them likely to say, 'Oh yes, good old Vogt. Great pedophile, but the people smuggling was a bit off, and I don't approve of killing local citizens.'? He kept that part of his life in a watertight compartment, and even if someone suspected things were not on the level, it's not evidence. And we already know the darkest parts, so I don't envisage any of his cronies helping much."

Josef ventured, "We are quite convinced, are we not, that all three homicides are related, and someone involved in the smuggling is responsible?"

Heimo nodded. "Nicely summed up."

"And we have no further leads or bits of information which would indicate the murderer is a local person other than Osternig, Ressmann or Zalar."

Kat squinted at him. "What are you getting at?"

Josef colored slightly. "I was thinking. We never established any connection between Schuster and Tauber. And the causes and methods of death are different. Schuster's appeared to be spontaneous, but Tauber's looked planned. And I thought, if the smugglers are killing people they believe are a threat, why would they start with Schuster and Tauber? Wouldn't they kill Osternig and Zalar first if they were running the operation? Schuster and Tauber were really small players."

"Possible," said Heimo, "but where does it get us?"

"I suppose back to the idea that someone who had nothing to do with the smuggling killed Shuster and Tauber."

"Who?" Kat demanded, her face belligerent. "We've checked everyone who seemed to have any connection to either of them and come up dry. They lived on tiny farms in the middle of nowhere. It's beyond belief that someone decided on the spur of the moment to drive up there and kill them for no reason. There hasn't been a homicide in that area for years other than a few domestics. Now we get two in a couple of days. Give me a theory to fits those facts."

Josef held his hands up. "I don't have one. I'm just saying the smuggler theory is open to question."

"Like a circle in a spiral, or a wheel within a wheel," Heimo quoted from an old song. "We won't solve this unless we get fresh information that leads directly to a suspect. Zalar and Osternig are our only possibilities."

"Ressmann?" Kat asked.

"Can't see it. Dumb as he is, I don't think he'd kill two people just because Zalar told him to. We can't hold him any longer on the homicides, so we'll charge him with what we've got and turn him over to the prosecutor. Josef, keep digging, and Kat, you do the paperwork on Ressmann and call Heigl. I need to make a few calls."

He'd been increasingly antsy as they discussed the case. Andrea's escape needed his attention. He shrugged on his coat and walked out to the car. It was snowing again although the temperature was holding steady. He pulled out his phone and selected a number from the contact list. Max Markovic was the sales manager of one of the largest car dealerships in the province. He was also a man who owed Heimo a favor.

When he answered, Heimo said, "Hello Max, remember me?"

"Is that Heimo? I'll be damned. It's been a few years, hasn't it? How are you doing?"

"Very well. I need a car and I thought of you straight away."

"Great. Are you still driving the Audi? We could give you a very good deal on a trade in."

"I'm after something different. I need a reliable used model as a gift for a young nephew of mine. His birthday is coming up, and I want to surprise him."

"What a great idea. Let me do some checking and I'll call you back tomorrow with a list."

"That's the problem, I'm not going to be available. I've got to do it today or it won't happen. Can you dig up some possibilities within an hour or two?"

"Sure, but you may not get the best deal. What sort of price are you looking at?"

Heimo provided a number and told Markovic to call as soon as he had a few candidates. He pondered for a few minutes, walking through the plan and trying to find reasons why it wouldn't work. But it looked simple enough to succeed.

Back in the office Josef was once again welded to his computer terminal, and Kat was on the phone and scribbling on a notepad. "Got it," she said, "and your name again?"

She thanked whoever it was and dropped the phone in the cradle, then swung around in her chair. "German police inspector from Stuttgart. They think they've found Zalar. Dead."

# Chapter 36

Heimo stared at her. He'd expected that Zalar would either disappear or turn up dead, but a tiny part of him hoped for something else.

Kat continued, "A gasthaus owner twenty kilometers outside the city found him last night. She hadn't seen him since breakfast and wondered if he'd run out on the bill. Stuttgart police picked it up because they weren't certain at first if it was suicide or homicide. They now think it was the latter. When they ID'd him, they matched him against the Interpol notice."

"Homicide how?"

She shook her head. "The PM hasn't been completed, but the guy I talked to reckons it was poison, forcibly administered. They questioned the owner and all the guests, and they've got a suspect. A man with a Serbian passport checked in yesterday afternoon, and paid cash for a room for one night. He went upstairs and was never seen again. The car registration and passport were fake, and he apparently never used the room."

"And they have no idea who he is or where he went."

"That's it."

Heimo thought about it for a while. "That removes any doubt about the smugglers clearing up their operation, and it confirms why Osternig took off. He knew he'd be next. It also means he will fight any attempt to bring him back although he won't be any safer where he is. And we are still stumped."

Heimo's phone buzzed. Greiml said, "The ministry called. The local authorities say Mr. Osternig refuses to be repatriated. However, as he's a suspect in a murder case, they will look favorably on an official request to extradite him. The ministry says it should only take about a week."

"Super. We'll go skiing while we're waiting. The German police notified us that they found Zalar's body last night in a gasthaus outside Stuttgart. Appears to be homicide."

Greiml sounded as if he was in pain. "And you still have no other leads?"

"Not a one. I'm charging Ressmann for the other offenses, but we can't make a case for him as the killer. We're out of business unless the Italians come up with something from the smugglers they're following."

"Unfortunate. Well, you and the team have done your best. Will you have to go to Germany to assist their investigation?"

"Doubt it. Their suspect disappeared into the ether and they have no idea who he was, so we're not going to be much help."

"All right, keep me posted."

Kat put on her jacket. "I got to walk." She pulled her collar up and slouched out the door.

Josef had followed everything without contributing. "Should I continue with the research?"

"I don't see why not. The government is still paying our salaries." His phone beeped. A message from Markovic.

'Five fit your spec. Let me know.' Attached were photos of cars, each with a brief description and a price. He scrolled through them. Two were over five years old and therefore suspect. The other three, a Mercedes, a Toyota and a Volkswagen, looked reasonable.

He headed out to his car. The snow was now fifteen centimeters deep and the falling flakes were huge, floating butterflies. He called Markovic and they discussed the choices. The VW looked the best bet, so Heimo told him to make the arrangements, then he texted Cristina.

Staring at the snow-covered windscreen for a few moments, he decided he needed to think for a while. And there was nothing else to do.

Three blocks from the LKA building, down a side street, there was a small café that formerly had excellent pastry. Time to see if it was as good as he remembered. He zipped up his coat and walked out of the parking area.

It took him ten minutes because snow was piling up fast on the city pavements, but the café was open. When he walked through the door, his nose told him nothing had changed. Smells of confectionary and fresh bread were laced through the overriding atmosphere of coffee.

He selected two of the pastries and ordered a large coffee. The girl behind the counter smiled and told him she'd bring it over. The only other customer was a young man with unruly black hair and four days of patchy beard staring into a laptop screen.

Heimo settled onto a chair, letting his mind roam without any attempt to focus. The coffee and pastry arrived, and he took his time savoring all of it. Then he went to work.

His subconscious occasionally solved problems beneath his awareness. When he consulted it this time, it didn't give him any blinding flashes, but something in there teased him. He worked his way through the case trying to spot anything they'd missed or overlooked or discounted. For the past two days, a sensation of unease had nagged him. He'd ignored it, but Josef's questions this morning brought it to the surface.

They'd concluded that the smugglers killed Schuster and Tauber. Rationally it fitted, and the deaths of Vogt and Zalar supported the idea.

But maybe not.

Experience said two homicides in such an isolated area and so close in time had to be related. And their investigations turned up no connection between the victims except the migrant smuggling. But that didn't mean there was no other connection.

The murders of Vogt and Zalar showed exactly what he'd expect from an organized gang of killers–planning, method, controlled violence. Schuster and Tauber, in comparison, looked like amateur hour. Schuster shot inaccurately with his own gun which had been placed neatly in the kitchen instead of dropped on the ground. Tauber hit with a blunt object, then placed on her sofa like she was napping. The MO's were so different, he couldn't make them fit together. And if the victims had no other connection, who would have a motive to kill both?

If he erased the smugglers from the equation and instead posited someone with a personal grudge against both victims, then the murders, spontaneous and unprofessional, made more sense. But he shook his head. They'd found no one who fit that profile even remotely.

The only approach that came to mind was to re-interview everyone who knew the victims or had any association with them, no matter how slight. Start with the idea the smuggling had nothing to do with the murders and try to dig out one of the standard motives–money, jealousy, revenge, love or hate.

He tried to estimate what it would take in time and manpower. If all three of them worked at it, they might finish in two or three days because neither victim had many friends or acquaintances. Even if they tracked down maintenance people and delivery drivers, it shouldn't take long. By the time he left the café, he felt like he'd returned to solid ground.

The snow had ceased, but the sky was still an unbroken leaden gray and he knew the respite was brief.

Kat met him in the foyer, searching his face for a second. "Come up with anything?"

He smiled. "Maybe. You?"

She shook her head. "I cannot think of one thing we missed, or one person we've overlooked."

"Let's see if Josef's had any luck."

Felsbach sat at his desk, empty coffee cup in hand, staring into space and lost to the world. Kat tiptoed behind him and snapped her fingers in his ear. The officer started violently and almost dropped the mug. "Damn it!" It came out in a roar, the first time the others had seen anything like an emotional response from him.

But it didn't last. As soon as he saw who it was, he became contrite. "Sorry. I...I was thinking."

"And did the little gray cells tell you the name of the murderer, Monsieur Poirot?"

"No, of course not. It was just..." He trailed off.

"Take a pew, Kat," Heimo said. "Let's discuss a few ideas."

He walked them through his analysis. "Does that make sense?"

Josef slapped his knee, his second unexpected response in five minutes. "Yes. Yes, it does. That's what has been bothering me."

Kat shook her head. "I agree with what you're saying, but it's exactly what we did when we started, before we even knew about the migrants. And we came up dry. Schuster's kid was in the frame for a while, but we couldn't make that work because he had no motive for Tauber. We talked to everyone we could find who had any contact with them and got nothing. I don't see how doing it again gets us anywhere."

Heimo responded, "It's about timing and pre-conceived notions. We discovered the migrant presence at Schuster's place quite early in the investigation, and because they immediately provided motive and suspects, we changed direction. Then Tauber and the African kids confirmed it. And that's where we stayed. Ressmann, Zalar and Osternig came into view, and we were cooking. Vogt capped it and we had a result. But, to my mind, there are so many anomalies and problems fitting that scenario onto the Schuster and Tauber murders, that I can't buy it."

"So what do we do, start over?"

"In a way. Let's assume there are no migrants, no smugglers, just the usual local people. What we should have done is dig into those folks and uncovered their evasions, their half-truths, those little things they don't like to talk about, particularly to us. We'd have made assumptions about what they said and cross-checked their stories. And we would have built up a much more detailed picture of everyone involved, and of the disconnects between stories."

"Will Greiml go for it? We've been on this more than a week."

"I think so. He's not happy about having two unsolved homicides on his ticket right after he takes over. And I think we can do this in a couple of days if we get organized."

Josef hauled out a big whiteboard from behind a desk and they spent the next hour figuring out a plan to re-interview everyone in the shortest time. "Kat, you and I will go up this afternoon and get started. If we hustle, we can finish this weekend. Call Thurner and give him a general idea of what we're doing, but don't go into detail. Explain that we need signed statements, yadda, yadda. I don't want the word to spread and spook someone else into running away."

He picked up a text on his phone. Max was ready to do the business.

"I'm going to take an early lunch and run some errands. Back around two."

Markovic told him where the car was located, a second-hand dealer who had a better reputation than most, and who had an arrangement with the local Volkswagen dealerships to take their trade-ins and sell them.

The snow had been cleared from most of the main thoroughfares and he headed east through light traffic. He spotted the dealer's lot fifteen minutes later and pulled in. Markovic was standing outside the man's nondescript office with his phone pressed to his ear.

They shook hands after Max peeled back his parka hood. He glanced at Heimo for a moment and said, "I haven't told him anything other than I have a customer. That OK?"

"Sure, Max. It's only a secret from the birthday boy. Let's take a look."

Markovic led him to the center of a row of vehicles facing the road. The car was a white VW Golf, and it was as anonymous a vehicle as you could find. Volkswagen had made a million of them over the last few years, so no one was likely to take any notice of it.

The dealer, a small man with a considerable paunch and a sleepy look, knew his business. The haggling took ten minutes and Heimo came out one hundred euros better off, or, as he was aware, only a few hundred worse off than he might have been. They completed the paperwork, Heimo called his insurance company and told them to get the registration plates made and notified his bank to transfer the money.

It was quick and dirty, but it meant they might get Andrea away tonight.

# Chapter 37

He went up to the office to find Kat finishing a phone call.

"Arturo. He has more information but is not clear what it means. The van stopped at a company in Mestre. This place has been under surveillance by the Guardia di Finanza for three weeks. They didn't want Moretti queering their operation, so he pulled his people off. The Finanza guys will tell him when and if the van leaves and the Carabinieri will pick up surveillance again. Problem is the Finanza knows nothing about smuggling. They're after the company for tax fraud, and they haven't seen anything related to trafficking."

"And the obvious question, what's the van doing there? Did you give him the news from our end?"

She nodded. "And I told him we needed to talk to the smugglers sooner rather than later. He understands, but they won't move as long as there's a possibility of busting the whole ring."

It was two-thirty when they reached the Hermagor police station. Thurner arrived at the same time, belching after a large lunch and waving them up to his office.

Heimo gave him the latest information but steered the conversation away from the smugglers. "Until we catch them, we're at a stop. We'll talk to the people we've already interviewed, get written statements, clear up anything unexplained, and put the rest on the shelf for a while."

Thurner nodded. "Doesn't always work out like the movies, does it? Do you need our help?"

Heimo shook his head. "Not unless something unexpected pops up."

They took their leave and drove to the first interview, the gasthaus owner who'd been a long-time acquaintance of Schuster. He wasn't there, so they checked the list and headed for the next. By five o'clock, they'd tracked down three other acquaintances. Despite probing, asking pointed questions, and evincing outright disbelief, they got no further forward. The stories stayed consistent, usually a reliable indicator the witnesses were telling the truth. And the truth still seemed to be that few people knew either Schuster or Tauber well.

Back in the car, Heimo said, "It's a bust, but we've done a better job with the interviews. I'd bet none of that lot had anything to with the homicides."

"I agree, but I was hoping they'd be able to give us more leads."

They headed to Klagenfurt. The temperature had dropped once again, but the snow still held itself in reserve although the forecast said it would resume in the next twelve hours. But the snowplows and gritters were on full time winter operation and the roads would stay open.

He was impatient to go home and get Andrea on her way. Markovic had sent a text that the car was sorted, and it could be picked up at his apartment after six.

He dropped Kat off, then called Cristina. "Hi, I bought a car. Where are you?"

"Just leaving work. How do we do this?"

"Meet me at the Kika store. We'll leave your car and pick up the other."

The store, a large furniture retailer on the east side of town, was open until eight o'clock, and an extra car in the car park would not be out of place. It was only a few minutes from Markovic's building.

Cristina arrived first. They swapped seats, she driving his car so he could drive the Golf. He gave her directions, and they parked in a vacant space in front of a high-rise apartment building. The intercom in the stairwell spluttered and crackled, but Heimo gathered Max was on his way down.

He stepped out of the lift with a sheaf of papers in his hand. "It's all here," he said. "The insurance company was late getting the registration plates, and I only got home ten minutes ago. The tank is full and everything else is in order. Want to check it?"

Heimo shook his head. "I'll take your word."

Markovic handed him the documents and the keys which were now ringed on an enameled VW chain. "I hope your boy likes it, it's a sweet little car."

"I know he will, and I'll steer his friends in your direction. Thanks for the good work."

Markovic grinned and waved as he left the foyer. He pointed the VW out to Cristina. "I'll park in back of our building. You park in the normal slot, and we'll pick up your car later."

Cristina grinned. "Secret agent stuff is OK, but bloody cold."

Heimo went over to the Golf. He took five minutes to get home during which he checked brakes, lights, and steering. Everything worked as advertised. After parking, he walked around the building, scanning the streets and cars for anything abnormal. But there was nothing and he wondered if they were being melodramatic.

The lights were on in the apartment and Cristina had drawn the drapes. Andrea was in the kitchen helping her put together snacks and the inevitable wine. When it was ready, they gathered around the table.

"How have you been?" he asked.

"OK. You've got a lot of good books, and I read most of the day, at least when I wasn't worrying."

"Any calls from your girls?"

"Three, but I didn't answer them. I waited ten minutes then sent them a text saying tests were still going on and they were keeping me in for another night. I guess it was all right because I haven't heard anything else."

"Anyone likely to go to the hospital to visit you?"

"Possible. Two girls have been with me a long time, but I couldn't very well tell them not to come."

"Another reason to get you out of here. We've got a car. It's anonymous and should get you where you're going without a problem. And where you're going is France. I'll explain in a minute. I also checked the roads. The autobahn is clear all the way into Italy. Not much snow on the other side of the mountains."

He'd designed the route to get her to Paulette's house in fifteen hours if she made no stops. "But you should stop. That much driving will wear you out and you're more likely to have an accident. If you stop here," he pointed to a town on the map, "you're about halfway. There's a motorway hotel, and they're easy to get in and out of with no one taking much notice. Have you got any cash?"

Andrea nodded. "I've been taking some out for several weeks now in case I had to run. My bank account is almost drained."

"One less thing to worry about. I think we've covered your tracks well enough to prevent anyone from finding you easily. The smugglers don't know you, so I don't think the risk lies with them. It's more likely to be your own people. Are they going to get antsy when they realize you're gone for good?"

She grimaced. "I can't tell. As long as the house was running smoothly, I was just part of the furniture. It wasn't until these kids showed up that things changed. The owners are bound to connect them with my disappearance, and they would probably do something if they could find me. Whether they'll look is another question."

Cristina asked, "Heimo, can you do anything to throw them off?"

He leaned back and finished his glass, staring into the kitchen. "Maybe. If they thought you were dead, they'd stop looking. There might be a way to rig it without being too obvious. The best time for you to leave would be in about an hour, or early tomorrow morning around five. At both times, people are moving around, and no one will notice a car leaving. Tomorrow would be better as you'll be rested, but it's your call."

"Tomorrow is fine. What should I do about clothes? I don't have any except what I'm wearing."

Cristina said. "We're about the same size. I'll kit you out with at least one change and anything else you need. When you feel like it, stop somewhere in Italy and buy some new stuff."

They looked each other trying to think of some problem they had failed to recognize, some hole they hadn't filled, but nothing occurred to anyone.

Heimo said, "We need to tell you where you're going, about Paulette, and what happens after you get there."

For the next thirty minutes they worked on a plan to decrease Andrea's exposure, but also protect Paulette and Veronique. "Paulette doesn't know the details, but we'll call her tomorrow. The most important part is for you to stay hidden until we're sure no one is looking for you. That means no credit card use, no contacts with anyone you know, in fact no contact with the world. In the meantime, we'll work on setting up a new identity and figuring out where you should go."

He noticed a few tears leaking from her un-made-up eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I'm...just...no one has ever done anything like this for me. I don't deserve it and I don't really understand it."

Cristina and Heimo looked at each other. How do you explain compassion to someone who's never experienced it?

Cristina said, "It's a little like the feeling you had about those migrant kids. If you could get them out of that, you'd do it, wouldn't you? We're the same. The only difference is we have the resources and you didn't."

She rubbed her eyes. "You know I'll pay you back for everything, don't you? I could pay a lot of it now."

Heimo shook his head. "Hang onto your money. We have no idea how things will work out, how long it will take, or what it will cost. Call it a long-term loan. We'll ask for repayment when we retire."

Her head fell as the sobs racked her.

# Chapter 38

Cristina poured orange juice. "Any thoughts?"

Andrea drove away at five thirty. There had been a minor snowfall during the night, but Heimo checked the weather stations and the autobahn to Italy was still clear. She'd hugged them both, eyes now dry and determined. "I won't call unless it's an emergency." The little Golf settled into a steady purr, and she was gone.

"A few niggles," Heimo said. "Getting her car out of the airport before any of her customers or owners see it. And I've got to stash it someplace where it won't be noticed for a while."

"What about putting it at my sister-in-law's house? We can tell her we're storing it for a friend who's taken a job out of the country."

"Perfect. I also had a few thoughts about how to make it look like she's died. The problem is doing it without involving anyone else, and I don't have a good answer yet."

Cristina poured herself another coffee and held the pot up, but Heimo shook his head. "How does someone establish a new identity?" she asked.

"It can be quite easy. How effective it is depends on how hard they're is looking for you. But creating new documents, or getting them forged, is done everyday thanks to the internet and modern technology. In Andrea's case, the problem happens afterwards. Where can she go and what can she do that will give her a new life without risking exposure?"

"I'll talk to Paulette this morning. Is it time to tell Veronique?"

"Better let Paulette decide that."

They left for work knowing they'd worry for the next two days until Andrea arrived safely, but they'd done the best they could.

For a change, Heimo was first in the office. He reviewed the list of people they had decided to re-interview and crossed off those from yesterday who hadn't been any help. There were twelve remaining. If they didn't scare something up, the investigation was over.

Kat and Josef wandered in. They divided the names and headed for the briefing room. Just before they got there, Heimo's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, relieved to see it was Arturo Moretti rather than Andrea.

"Hello, Heimo. Bad news unfortunately. We've lost the smugglers."

"What happened?"

Moretti told him the Garda di Finanza team was supposed to have called his office when the smuggler's vehicle left the company premises. But someone dropped the ball. The van left at five o'clock, but Moretti had only just heard. His own surveillance team had remained out of sight so as not to jeopardize the Finanza operation. The van had now been on the road for over two hours, and they had no idea where it was headed. Moretti had notified the Italian control officers on the Austrian and Slovenian borders but heard nothing.

"Is the camera on the Pontebba road still operating?" Heimo asked.

"It is. I checked with the operators and they have seen nothing since midday yesterday. The snow is not deep, at least on this side, but there is a warning sign at Pontebba about bad conditions. You don't think they'd try that, do you?"

"Not if they have any sense, but who knows? Text me the van's details and I'll let our border people know."

"Better than that–we have pictures and video."

Kat and Josef were looking at him as he walked in, the last to arrive. Greiml also stared, ostentatiously glancing at his watch.

Heimo waited until a briefing about progress on two armed robberies was underway, then muttered to his colleagues that the Italians had lost their quarry. Neither said anything, but the looks on their faces were eloquent.

When it was Heimo's turn, he told the assembly they were running out of road. "We're going to re-interview several people today and hope to bring something new into the open. Our best hope was the smugglers the Italians were tracking, but they've lost them."

That elicited the usual chorus of groans and well-worn witticisms.

"If nothing turns up, we stop. The prosecutor will have to decide whether to make a case that Vogt and company were responsible, or let it go cold. My guess is it will be held until we find out something definite about our other suspect, Osternig."

Greiml stood and to turned to face the assembly. "The ministry is still working on the extradition request, but no news as of this morning."

The rest of the briefing was uninteresting and unenlightening. Between worrying about Andrea, resignation at the loss of the smugglers, and chagrin over the failure of the murder investigation, Heimo couldn't manufacture any enthusiasm for anyone else's activities. The team straggled back to the office.

They paused for one last coffee before driving to the remaining interviews. Josef had only two people on his list. "I'll come back and continue research on the locals unless I hear something interesting."

Heimo nodded. "We'll do the same. Probably finish by noon. I know it's trite, but don't walk into these interviews with the idea they'll be a waste of time, or they will be for sure."

They drove their own cars. Heimo sent a text to Cristina before he left: 'Anything?'

She replied: 'Nothing.'

The weather at lower elevations was clear, but as he climbed, he encountered a light snowfall. It wasn't sticking on the roads, but it would be worse higher up. By the time he reached Hermagor, the plows were out. As a courtesy, he checked in with Johann Thurner, then went on to his first interview. It was a woman named Olivia Backbauer who had known Claudia Tauber at school. Kat had talked to her but learned nothing.

The address was a small, neat white house trimmed with carved wood around the balcony and eaves. Mrs. Backbauer answered the door when he knocked. She was thin with black glasses and gray hair knotted on top of her head and dressed for morning chores in jeans and a pullover.

Heimo showed her his identification card and explained his errand. She smiled and asked him to come into the sitting room. It was stifling, even after the outside cold, so he shed his jacket and sat down.

She perched on an old tasseled stool next to the fireplace. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to talk more about Frau Tauber. You knew her well?"

"I did, and I didn't. That sounds odd, but what I mean is, we were close as school friends, but I did not see much of her as we grew older. We both married, she lived up the mountain, our men had different occupations, she only came into Hermagor occasionally, that kind of thing."

"Our information is her husband died some years ago. Has she lived alone since then?"

She stared out the window for a moment. "I would say yes."

Heimo frowned. "A strange answer."

Frau Backbauer stretched her neck and chuckled. "I suppose I am trying to be discreet, but it's stupid under the circumstances, isn't it? What I mean is, I think she lived alone, and she was a woman who would feel that, to be loyal to her late husband, she would have to remain a widow. But there were a few stories."

He took a long slow breath. "What stories?"

"As you would expect. She was only about thirty years old when her man died. So after a few years, when she did not find a new man, people made remarks. The men would talk about her in the gasthaus, and some old gossips suggested she must be crazy or doing something wicked. But I took no stock in it. She was still a good church woman."

"Did the stories mention any names?"

"Oh yes, every unattached man in the area was supposed to be carrying on with her. Quite a few of the married ones as well."

"Did you see her regularly?"

She shook her head. "No. In fact there were periods when I did not see her for a year. Not that it made any difference, we were still as friendly as always."

"You know about the migrants?"

"Yes. Very strange."

"Was it out of character?"

"Yes and no. Sorry, I'm not trying to be obscure but...it is not something I would ever expect her to do. She was a very Christian woman, so I can imagine she would feel it was her duty to help those in need. But I cannot understand how she got involved. Do you know?"

Heimo shook his head. "We have a few ideas but nothing firm. Did you also know Kurt Schuster?"

"Only to say hello."

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen–Moretti. "Thank you for your help. I must take this call."

She walked him to the door and shut it behind him. Back in the car, he punched Moretti's number. "Arturo, what have you got?"

"The idiots in that van are trying to make it over the mountains to Hermagor. The camera picked them up five minutes ago."

"What does the snow on the road look like?"

"Not too bad, but the camera is just outside Pontebba. Do you know what it's like at the top?"

"Not good. Can you intercept them?"

"We're trying. I sent one of the autostrada patrols after them in a four-wheel drive, but they're not likely to get there for another forty minutes."

"Let me see what we can do. I'll call you as soon as we work something out."

He shoved the phone in his jacket and started calculating. Stopping the van at the checkpoint on top of Sonnenalp should be easy, but the border controllers needed to be prepared. The smugglers were unlikely to surrender at the mere sight of a uniform. He pulled the phone out and ran through the contacts until he found the border control chief's number. It rang four times before a voice growled, "Benetik."

"Heimo Kapeller. There's a van headed up to Sonnenalp from Pontebba. We believe it's driven by the smugglers we're after and they have an unknown number of migrants on board. How many people do you have at the check point?"

"Zero. We closed the station forty hours ago. There's a meter and a half of snow up there."

"Is the road impassable?"

"Don't know. Depends on whether the plows went that far. The Austrian trucks may have been up to the top, but I doubt if anything from the Italian side has tried. They usually close the road at Pontebba when it gets bad."

"Wonderful." Heimo broke the connection without the usual pleasantries. Back to the calculations. If the road was still passable, the van would cross the border before the Italians could get there. Likewise, if the van got stuck in the snow somewhere or went off the road, the migrants were at risk. Or the smugglers might drop the migrants at Schuster's or Tauber's place thinking they were still operating. There was only one choice.

He punched in Kat's number.

# Chapter 39

Her phone rang an interminable seven times. "What is it, Heimo?"

He tried to be precise and cool. "Meet me at the barrier on the road up to Sonnenalp. Start now and put your flashers on." And he knew she would do exactly that.

Kat had a new car, a four-wheel-drive vehicle with all the bells and whistles necessary to climb the mountain with a reasonable chance of getting to the top. She was also a first-class officer with the skills for ugly situations.

He drove west from Hermagor, then turned off to the village at the foot of the mountains. The road to the top was blocked by a simple pole barrier to keep people from trying it in bad weather.

He parked his car and walked to the barrier. Although he couldn't see any great distance, it appeared reasonably clear. The snowplows must have been up recently as there were only a few centimeters of the white stuff. But the snow, while light and feathery, was still accumulating. He pushed on the wood balancing block and the pole rose smoothly.

Kat's siren sounded from the other side of the river which flowed through the valley and echoed from the hills as she raced through the village. She cut both flashers and siren as she skidded to a stop.

She was about to jump out, but Heimo got in before she could move. "What the hell's going on," she demanded.

Succinctly, he told her. "There's no one up there to stop them. Border control isn't manned, and the hotels are still closed. The weather is too bad to get a helicopter in, the Italians are too far away, and we don't have much time."

Kat said not a word. She checked her car and made sure the electronic sensors were operating and that the transmission had been selected for snow conditions, then put it into gear and started up. Heimo called an old friend, Rudolf Nasic, who ran the mountain training program for Austrian police special forces. They practiced this type of operation, and he hoped they might be available as back up.

Nasic picked up at once.

"Rudy, it's Heimo Kapeller."

"Heimo, how the hell are you? I've been wondering what happened to you. Listen..."

He cut through. "Sorry, Rudy, I've got a problem and I could use your help."

Nasic went professional in an instant. "Go."

"There's a smuggler transporting migrants up the Pontebba road toward Sonnenalp. The border is unmanned. We're heading there to intercept, but I need back up. Have you got anyone in the area who can assist?"

"Wait one." After a confused murmur of voices, "I can get three men there in forty-five minutes. Will that help?"

"Yes. Use my cellphone as primary contact." He passed Kat's number as an alternate and gave Nasic a general idea of what he expected.

"We know the area well. See you on top."

Kat navigated hairpin curves carefully but kept the speed up as far as she dared. She used the whole road as there wasn't likely to be anyone coming down. But the higher they climbed the thicker the snow became.

It felt like it was taking forever, but the car made steady progress until they got to the village of Traundorf on the border. Composed primarily of inns and ski shops, it was a sleepy place at this time of year. The last plow to clean the area had pushed snowbanks up two and three meters high on each side of the road, and only the tips of the snow markers were visible. Kat's car could no longer cope with the accumulation, so she parked in front of one of the shuttered establishments.

They walked toward the top of the pass, slogging through drifts. until they could see the Hotel Kronnenberg which sat on the border directly opposite the control post. They were still two hundred meters away when a dirty white van chugged up to the border post, turned sharp right by the hotel, and headed down the same track Heimo and Kat had noted on their earlier reconnaissance.

They stopped, too far away to do anything but watch. "The bastard's put chains on," Kat said in wonder. The smugglers were obviously more resourceful than they'd been given credit for. "Now what?"

Heimo had his phone out. "Rudy, we're at the top. We saw the van with the smugglers, and they're using tire chains. They turned by the Kronnenberg and they're taking the track that goes to the Schuster farm. Do you know it?"

"Very well. We've got two snowcats. One will be at your location in about four minutes. I'm in the second. We'll go back and take the first turn to Schuster's. Meet you there."

Kat was staring off to the east. She could still hear the van chugging through the snow.

"COBRA snowcat will be here in a few minutes. Another one is going up to Schuster's by the other road. We should have them boxed in."

It was more like five minutes before they saw the snowcat. The compact vehicle was not fast, but its tracks could tackle almost any snow conditions. It stopped next to them and a window opened. A head covered with a black knitted cap emblazoned with the Austrian eagle leaned out and shouted, "Inspector Kapeller?"

Heimo nodded and they went around to the opposite side and climbed in. This model had a cabin with room enough for three, but not much else.

The driver said, "I'm Hansi Glazner. Which way?"

"Through the Kronnenberg parking area and down the track toward the Schuster farm."

"Got it." Glazner accelerated and the snowcat's four independent tracks moved smoothly forward as though there was no snow. They turned left. The car park had been plowed sometime in the recent past although there was still twenty-five centimeters of snow on it. But the track leading out the back of it had double that amount and no plow had touched it. The van had carved two deep grooves in the pristine surface and the snowcat rode over the top of them, creating its own wide track.

Glazer said, "I doubt he'll make it much farther even if he can see the road."

Heimo, peering through the thick snowflakes, said, "Did Rudy tell you what we're chasing?"

"Smugglers is all I know," Glazer replied twisting the cat to avoid a huge stump projecting through the snow.

"These are bona fide bad guys. We think they killed several people, and the van they're driving has an unknown number of migrants in it. Got a rifle?"

The COBRA officer jerked his head to toward the back of the cabin. "In the bag."

Kat pulled it open and extracted a small compact weapon with a large scope attached. She checked the magazine and safety, then nodded at Heimo.

"There it is," Glazer barked, allowing the cat to stop of its own accord.

The van had lost the track entirely in the deep snow. It had slewed around trying to make a turn to the left and now lay canted over twenty degrees, its upper side facing the officers.

Glazer grabbed a pair of field glasses from a pouch and focused on the van. After a moment he said, "Motor's still running, but I can't see any people. The windows are too frosted." He handed the glasses to Heimo.

He swept the glasses over and around the van, but nothing moved except exhaust plumes rising slowly from the rear. There were probably two drivers, and he reckoned they were trying to phone someone for instructions. They may or may not have been aware of the snowcat given the poor visibility. "Move forward dead slow."

The COBRA officer shifted into the lowest gear and allowed the cat to crawl forward. Three sets of eyes were pinned to the van.

Nothing happened as they closed the range. Then the driver's door opened, and a black-bearded figure swung its legs out and stood up. He reached back into the van and pulled something out. Glazer stopped

Kat watched through the binoculars. "Heckler & Koch MP7 I think," naming one of the more formidable compact automatic weapons.

The man did not aim the weapon but carried it at port arms. He made no move to come toward them but stared at the cat.

"Glazer, have you got a flare pistol?"

"Sure, hand me the bag." He reached inside and felt around for a moment, then extracted a small device with a pistol grip. Velcroed to the side were four snub-nosed rockets. He peeled one off and rammed it into the pistol grip.

Heimo glanced up. The snowcat had a top hatch. "Glazer you go out the right door, I'll go out the left. Kat, pop the hatch and fire a flare. Keep it low but make sure it doesn't hit the van. If he swings the gun around, use the rifle. And remember there is likely to be another guy in the passenger seat."

Kat and Glazer swapped positions, and Heimo pulled his Glock out. "Kat first."

She crouched in the middle of the cabin, twisted at the stubborn handle for a moment, then eased the hatch up. As soon as she had it open enough to get her hand and the flare gun through, she straightened and said, "Now!"

Without waiting for the flare to ignite, Heimo and Glazer flung their doors open and dived into the snow. Heimo heard a pop as the rocket left the pistol, and a loud bang as it ignited.

He landed face first, the pistol held against his chest, then rolled once and brought the gun up. The snow was too deep to see ahead, so he struggled to a crouch and gradually raised up hoping not to hear the stutter of automatic weapons fire. What he did hear was two sharp cracks from his right. Glazer must have fired.

Heimo stood, pistol forward, and heard the young officer say, "Target down."

The van door was still open, but the bearded figure was slumped forward, the upper body partly supported by churned up snow. Heimo called, "Kat, cover us. Glaser, we go forward, tactical spread."

He waited a moment, then plowed ahead.

The area was exposed to the wind, and although there was none at the moment, it had been at work during the preceding hours sculpting drifts, piling snow in some places, and scouring it away in others.

The two officers moved in spurts and stops, avoiding the deepest areas, but using the drifts as partial cover. They could hear the gentle chugging of the van's engine, but nothing else. But the time they reached it, Glazer was ten meters from the rear, and Heimo five from the front.

He moved sideways trying to watch the doubled over figure by the driver's door and searching for his supposed companion in the interior. When he reached the still body, he could tell the man was dead. COBRA used military grade weapons and ammunition designed to inflict maximum damage. They'd done their work. The man's back was a bloody mess where at least one round had gone through him.

"SECOND TARGET MOVING AWAY FROM THE VAN!" Kat used the bullhorn in the snowcat, scaring the crap out of him because he'd forgotten it was in there. He looked back over his shoulder and could see her standing up through the open hatch, the rifle aimed toward the van.

Glazer shouted, "I'll take him," and moved around the back of the van and out of Heimo's sight. Heimo looked in the front - empty. He reached in and switched the ignition off. There was a sudden, absolute silence for thirty seconds, then he heard Glazer shout, "Stop or I shoot!", immediately followed by a low keening sound from inside the van.

The vehicle had conventional double rear doors, but he couldn't tell if they were locked. He looked back at Kat and signaled that he was going to try them. She waggled the rifle. Heimo stood to one side, aware there might be a third smuggler, and gingerly pulled on the rusty handle. Nothing moved until he tugged at it. Then it popped outward and dropped against the snow. The keening noise stopped.

He took a breath and edged around the opening pistol first. It was dark inside, and the light filtering through the swirling snowflakes didn't add much. But what he saw mirrored what they'd found at the chemical plant. Black people huddled at the rear of the compartment, the terrified rolling of their eyes the only movement in the obsidian interior.

He waited a moment, watching, then relaxed. Remembering the lack of English in the earlier group, he tried French. "I am a police officer. We will not hurt you. Stay here and we will get someone to help you. Do you understand?"

There was a grunt and an impossibly deep voice replied, "Yes, monsieur, don't shoot us please."

"Don't worry. You are in Austria now and you are safe. We will take care of you." Or we'll send you back where you came from, he thought, and you'll have wasted all that fear. But there was no point in telling them now.

He backed away from the door and shouted, "Glazer, situation?"

"Got him," the young officer shouted. "No weapons. Two minutes."

Heimo stretched, feeling like he'd been crammed in a barrel for an hour. It had worked better than he hoped.

# Chapter 40

A man came into view trudging through the knee-deep snow, his hands behind his back. Glazer followed, his Glock steady on the man's neck. The fellow was young, not more than nineteen or twenty, and clean shaven. His face was blank.

Heimo shouted to Kat, "All secure." He opened the remaining van door and gestured for the people to come out. No one moved for a few seconds. Then, with infinite slowness and one by one, they began to emerge. Most scooted forward on their bottoms as the van compartment was not high enough to stand upright. A heavily pregnant woman struggled on her hands and knees. Heimo shoved his pistol in his jacket pocket and bent down to help her.

He felt a burble of air from the round before he heard the rifle's crack. A bulky shadow, looming above him, toppled forward in slow motion, falling like a cliff collapsing. Reflexively, Heimo twisted away, scrabbling for his Glock, but he wasn't quick enough. The figure's outstretched arms snagged him, and they went down together. Heimo landed on his back with the huge smuggler on top of him. His fingers found the pistol, jammed the weapon into the man and fired three rounds through his coat pocket.

He felt them hit, but the body jumped only slightly. Shoving it away, he struggled to his feet panting from the exertion. Another man with a black beard and sightless eyes as snowflakes began to cover the face. He wore no hat, but his hair, thick and tangled, splayed out in the whiteness. There was a single neat hole through his right temple and a mangled mess on his left.

Kat bellowed without using the bullhorn, "Are you OK?"

Heimo held his hand up, then let it drop to his side. An odd silence permeated the scene as though even the molecules of air had become frozen. He shook his head trying to recover a sense of place and self.

Looking up, he realized the migrants had frozen in position. Some stared at him, and some stared at Glazer who was down on one knee covering everyone with his pistol which traversed back and forth across the group. His captive stood where he was, head down as though ignoring the world.

Heimo backed away from the man on the ground as details became distinct. Only then did he grasp that his shots into the torso had been wasted. Kat had reacted instantly, and the rifle bullet killed him at the same instant Heimo became aware of him.

Glazer rose out of his crouch. His face was tight, and he jammed his pistol into the back of his captive's neck and pressed until the man sank to his knees. "You all right?" he asked Heimo.

"Not a scratch." Heimo motioned the migrants to sit down in the snow. "Kat, contact Nasic on the radio," he yelled.

Before she could answer, they heard the throaty diesel of the other snowcat grinding up the hill from the opposite direction. Heimo turned his attention back to the van. The rear was now empty, but it stank of urine and fear. He shook his head, disgusted by his failure to clear it properly.

Nasic's snowcat stopped a few meters away. He jumped out and surveyed the carnage. "I see we've missed all the fun. What do you want us do?" gesturing at the Glazer's captive.

"We need to get these people into shelter. Take as many of the women and kids as you can to the Excelsior. We'll take the smuggler and the rest in ours and meet you there."

Kat walked up and, overhearing the conversation, took charge of the captive while Glazer went back to fetch his snowcat. They began the laborious process of separating the migrants, placing the most vulnerable into the large vehicle. As soon as it was filled, Nasic and his other officer chugged away.

Kat handcuffed the young smuggler to a steel support post in the back of the other snowcat. She pulled his face up by grabbing a handful of hair and shoved her own face forward staring into his eyes. His expression never changed. She said something in German, but he gave no flicker of understanding. She nodded, pulled her pistol out and jammed the barrel up against his nose forcing his head even farther back. Staring into his eyes, she brought her other hand up and showed him a thumb and forefinger held a millimeter apart. He glanced at them, then back at her. She nodded once more and released his hair.

The remaining migrants were men and boys, four of them. Squeezing them into the cat was difficult, but they managed. The dead men would have to wait. Kat stayed with the captive and Glaser started them back the way they'd come. With no need to keep the speed down, they were at the main road in a few minutes. He turned down the hill, then into the hotel car park. Nasic's vehicle was already there, and they parked beside him.

A youngish man with steel spectacles and a heavy coat over his suit, was talking to the COBRA chief. Rudi turned as Heimo got out and said, "This is Mr. Weigand, the manager. They've got an empty conference room and we can put everyone in there until we get things sorted."

It took a while. Only one man spoke French, and his translation was understood by one or two others, so several re-translations were necessary to get everyone moving. As they walked through the huge lobby of the hotel, the manager explained they were not open yet, but the staff were already preparing for the ski season.

"Do you know how long they will be here?" he asked Heimo, his forehead wrinkled in a worried frown.

"As long as it takes to get transport up here. We'll call the highways people and tell them to clear the road as soon as possible. I have no idea when these people last ate or drank, so they'd probably appreciate some water and food."

"Of course, of course, I'll tell the kitchen to get something ready."

It took many phone calls to arrange everything. The snowplows responded promptly and a convoy of three of them could clear the road to the top of the pass in thirty minutes. Nasic and his officers returned to the van to secure the site until mortuary people could pick up the bodies. And Kat kept an eye on the remaining smuggler who might have been carved out of stone for all the response he showed.

Heimo called Moretti and told him the outcome. "We'll take this kid back to Klagenfurt and see what we can get from him, but he's not said a word up to now."

"At least you found them. We are having serious words with our colleagues in the Finanza but it's no fun. If you find any information on other smugglers, let me know. The Ministry decided to arrest everyone we think is involved in this. We don't have much evidence, but those are the orders."

Heimo promised to keep him in the loop. The migrants huddled around one table, staring fearfully as the door opened. There were bottles of water on the table, but nothing else. He realized he still couldn't identify the owner of the deep voice that spoke French. "Bon jour. Who is the one who speaks French?"

A man at the back of the group stood up. He was exceptionally tall and near to emaciation with ragged clothes that hung on him as though on drying rack. He looked at Heimo and replied, "Monsieur."

"I want to tell you what will happen. First, the people here will give you anything you want to eat or drink."

The man looked at his fellow travelers and said something. It caused a stir and they all began to speak at once. The man nodded, and a small smile stretched his pinched mouth. "We have not eaten for two days, and very little before that."

"I will come back in a moment." Heimo started for the door, but it opened before he got there, and the manager came in.

"Ah, Inspector. The chefs have put together what we can scrape up. It is not up to our usual standards, but we have not received our full supplies yet."

"They're starving. Haute cuisine is not required. Do you speak French?"

The manager looked surprised. "A little, enough to help our French guests. Why?"

"The tall man is the only one we can communicate with. If you talk to him, he'll translate for the others."

"Excellent. I'll tell the kitchen to hurry."

Heimo turned back to the group who were finally looking happier. "They will bring food soon. After a while, some people will come and take you to a place where you can stay. You are in Austria just over the border from Italy. Do you know where that is?"

The tall man shook his head, but when he asked the group, a woman with glasses burst into speech, nodding rapidly. The man looked up. "This woman knows but it does not mean anything to me."

"Do you know where the men in the truck were taking you?"

"Oh yes. We are going to Paris, France. We have jobs there working in a big hotel."

Heimo didn't groan, but he wanted to. How could people believe such promises? But perhaps hope was worth any amount of privation and fear.

"The man who manages the hotel speaks a little French and will try to help you. Bon voyage."

Kat was still watching the smuggler. "Has he said anything?" Heimo asked.

"Not a word. I pointed to the water, but nothing."

"Searched him yet?"

"Just for weapons. He's clean."

Heimo walked over and signaled to the captive that he should stand but received not so much as a glance. Irritated, Heimo grabbed a handful of the wavy brown hair and hauled him to his feet. Water leaked from the man's eyes, so he could at least feel pain.

Heimo began going through pockets. Cheap Libyan cigarettes and a BIC lighter. Twenty-five euros in notes, a grubby white card with four numbers printed on one side, and a black and green logo with a name on it on the other. He also checked the clothing looking for needles or concealed razor blades but came up empty. Finally, he pushed up the coat and shirt sleeves looking for needle tracks. There were none, but tattoos covered both arms.

When he finished, he stared into the gray eyes looking for any sign of life. They stared back without a flicker. Heimo shoved him down to a crouch.

"I don't think we're going to get a lot out of him. He may be a robot and we don't have the secret password."

Kat watched the search without comment. "Those look like gang tattoos."

"Either that or prison—they're rough. Someone may be able to identify them."

They heard a low grinding noise emanating from the main road. The first snowplow managed to shove a two-meter drift in front of Kat's car, but the second cleaned a space behind it. The third continued to the top of the pass. And in their wake a small convoy followed.

A long black hearse crept though the narrow passage the plows had created. Behind it a large red and white van fitted with seats and bearing the logo of the Red Cross slithered into the parking area. And bringing up the rear, a big four-wheel-drive SUV with chains slowed for a moment, then headed for Heimo and Kat.

It stopped, and a COBRA officer stepped out. "Hello, Heimo, you're a long way from home."

It was Ernst Pliesch. He and Heimo had been in the same COBRA class years before, but Pliesch, a physical fitness fanatic, had stayed with it. "Don't I know it," Heimo said. "How are you?"

"Same, same. Got a grandson now, but I don't know if Lena sent you a notice." They chatted for a moment.

"Rudy's with the smuggler's van until the local guys get here. Got two stiffs, but I think they'll have to fetch them out in one of the cats. Snow's pretty deep. We'll take the survivor back to Klagenfurt and sweat him for a while. The migrants are all in the hotel."

"Got it," answered Pliesch. "Rudy told me to wait here."

Heimo regarded the captive for a moment. "I don't fancy putting him in your car. If he gets stroppy, I'll have to shoot him and get blood all over your seats."

"Or bullet holes if you miss. I called Thurner, and he's sending a wagon to transport him in the style to which he's accustomed."

"You think of everything."

Ten minutes later, the snow having finally stopped, the police van showed up, and they shackled the prisoner inside. Time to head for home.

# Chapter 41

In Heimo's considerable experience, criminals caught red-handed were usually eager to make a deal or curry favor hoping to lighten their sentences. This one remained as mute at the end as he had from the beginning. But a colleague who had had several tours in the Balkans gave them a clue.

"Albanian, I'm almost sure. Those tattoos on the forearms are typical although I've never seen the exact ones before. But the card you found on him–that I have seen. It's a nightclub and brothel in Tirana. Every shady operator in the area uses it as a rendezvous."

So they found an Albanian speaker and tried to get something out of the smuggler that way, but it was like talking to a rock.

Kat looked at her watch as they stood outside the custody cell. "At least four hours since he's had anything to drink. He might loosen up when he gets thirsty enough."

"A tempting idea, but we'd get had up for mistreating a prisoner. We need leverage. Call Arturo and ask if they have anyone who might identify him and give us something we can use to pry him open."

They returned to the office. Heimo had briefed Greiml when they'd arrived and was surprised at his response. Two officers involved in a shooting, two dead smugglers, one arrest, a batch of migrants saved, another unit called in, and Greiml could only smile wanly and ask if they were OK. Heimo shrugged and said it would all be in his report.

Josef was not there when they walked in. The paperwork on his own desk overflowed the in-tray and threatened to overwhelm the rest of the surface. He sat down and shoved it away. Then he swiveled around and faced Kat. "I owe you one for today. That was a bloody good shot under the circumstances."

She smiled but waved it away. "Couldn't miss. Excellent scope on the rifle and I was accidently aimed right at him when he appeared. All I had to do was squeeze the trigger."

"Nevertheless, you did good and I won't forget it." He rubbed the white streak on the side of his head. "Someone else had to do the same thing a while back."

"Schalk?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I heard about that."

He knew she wanted the story, but it was not one he was ready to tell.

"We're running out of road again. One smuggler who might as well be a deaf mute, two dead bodies who are no help, and a lot of Africans who don't even know where they are."

"Did you get anything from the interview this morning?"

"Nothing worthwhile. As much as I hate to do it, I think we'll have to put the lid on this one."

She nodded. "Odd isn't it? We've turned over everyone who had anything to do with the victims and we have nothing but theories and speculation."

Heimo's mobile phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and thumbed it on without looking.

A high-pitched voice screeched, "The mother!!!"

He pulled the phone away from the pain in his ear and glanced at the screen. Kat stared at him, the voice so loud she could hear it as well. The screen said 'Felsbach Josef'.

"Slow down and don't deafen me. What are you talking about?"

For a few moments all he heard was heavy breathing. Then, in a more normal tone, Felsbach said, "I've been trying to trace the connections between the people in the case. Today I discovered Frau Tauber was in the hospital in Salzburg many years ago. It meant nothing, but I followed it up. In June of 1981, she went to the clinic in Hermagor. There was a major problem, and they sent her by ambulance to Salzburg. She hemorrhaged, but they managed to stop the bleeding. And they did a Caesarian. She had a baby."

"I think I saw something in the PM report, but so what? I assume the baby died or was still born. No indication she had any children living."

"Yes, but she wasn't married then."

It clicked. "But she was a big time Catholic. She gave the baby up for adoption and never named the father. Happens every day."

"No, no, no, she did. The birth certificate says 'Kurt Schuster'."

Heimo froze in his chair, eyes wide and calculating furiously. Kat leaned forward as though about to leap at him. "What?" she demanded, "What?"

Heimo shook his head. "Tauber had a baby. Schuster was the father."

In the phone, he barked, "Go on."

Felsbach's voice rose again. "There was no other information, only the certificate. I drove to Salzburg to check the hospital records. The birth date is the same as Schuster's son."

Heimo was running now. "OK, I'm with you. But if Helmut Schuster is her son...?" and he stopped. There were a lot of possibilities, and any of them might lead anywhere.

Felsbach said, "Yes, it seems certain he is. But did he know, that's the question. When we asked him, he denied knowing her. I started to wonder if it was possible he never saw his birth certificate."

Could Schuster reach his thirties without ever having to produce a birth certificate? When he was young, his father would handle any identity requirements. When he got older, the first time he would be asked was when he did his Army service, but maybe the father did that as well. And then? Hardly anything else elicited a requirement to prove your birth. Except a passport.

"Does he have a passport?"

Felsbach laughed out loud. "I thought of that. He applied for one three weeks ago. For the first time. And he had to go to the district records office to get a copy of his birth certificate."

"Your theory is Schuster suddenly finds out his real mother is someone he hardly knows and decides to kill them both?"

"Yes. It's the only motive we've found."

"Where are you?"

"At the LKA in Salzburg."

"Stay there for the moment. I need to think about this, then I'll call you back."

Kat paced, riding the same train of thought that had occurred to him, although she'd heard only half the conversation. "Schuster, Helmut Schuster, right? Finds out Tauber is his mother, his father never told him, he loses it and decides to kill them both. And he never knows about the migrants."

Heimo nodded. "That's Josef's theory. He's discovered Schuster recently applied for a passport and had to apply for a copy of his birth certificate. That suggests he didn't have one and maybe had never seen it. The big question is, why would finding out Tauber was his mother cause him to murder them. Upset, yes, angry maybe, but homicidal?"

"But it's a motive isn't it? The first clear one we've found. Schuster hated his father, didn't he? And he said he hated his life on the farm and wanted nothing to do with it. And Tauber, his mother, lives only a few kilometers away and never sees him, never talks to him, never acknowledges him. Might be enough to trigger murder."

He was tempted to leap at it. It was the kind of blinding connection every investigator hoped for, a sudden insight that, at a stroke, connected all the dots. But he'd been there before and had been disastrously wrong at least once. Only one thing to do.

"This might, or might not, be the answer, but we bring him in and see what he has to say. Have you got his mobile phone number?"

"Somewhere." She dived at her desk and began to rummage. After a moment she pulled out her notebook and flipped the leaves. "Got it."

"Hang on." He punched Josef's number. "We don't know where Schuster is right now. Was the passport issued?"

Felsbach said, "Yes, on Monday. He collected it here in Salzburg."

"He could be anywhere. If he only found out about Tauber when he applied, the presumption is he was planning a holiday not a getaway. Go to his home and work addresses. If he's there, bring him in. If he's not, call me and we'll try his phone and see if we can con him."

"Got it."

Kat looked skeptical. "What kind of con? If we call him after this much time, he's bound to be suspicious."

"Possibly, so we'll use the best lure we have. Ask him to come to Klagenfurt tomorrow to do the paperwork for his father's estate. Send him to the Records Office and we'll pick him up. I doubt if he's run because that would give the game away. As far as he knows, we've got nothing on him."

"He might have gone on holiday, though, and Europe's a pretty big place."

"True, but Helmut Schuster is not exactly James Bond. If he did kill his father and Tauber, it means he's impulsive and doesn't plan well. I'd expect him to make mistakes that ace investigators like you would catch in a heartbeat."

There was nothing to do but wait for Felsbach. At least he'd heard nothing from either Cristina or Andrea. He hoped that adventure was going without a hitch.

After fifteen interminable minutes, Felsbach called. "His car isn't at his apartment, and there's no answer at the door. I called his office too, but they don't know anything. The supervisor told me he's still off work because of his father's death."

"OK, tell the Salzburg people to keep an eye out, then come home. We'll try to convince Schuster to come into Klagenfurt tomorrow."

As soon as he punched off, Kat said, "Tomorrow's Saturday. Government offices are closed."

"Damn, forgot that. Any other ideas?"

"We could tell him we've recovered documents at his father's house related to money or investments, and we'd like to turn them over tomorrow. We can blather a bit and trace the call. If he's still around Hermagor, we'd know where to pick him up."

Heimo first tried the place Schuster had stayed when they'd interviewed him, but they said he'd checked out. He couldn't think of anywhere else they might try, so there was nothing left but his phone. They spent a few minutes setting up the trace.

Kat was the better choice to call as her phone number was unlikely to register on Schuster's screen. It rang six times and switched to voice mail. Kat punched it off without leaving a message. "He might be there and not answering, or he could be away from the phone."

"Give it some time, then try again."

They might have used the interval to slog through paperwork, but neither officer even considered it. Ten minutes later, Kat punched the number again.

After a moment, she said, "Hello, is that Herr Schuster? Yes, it's Inspector Ungar from Klagenfurt. Our forensic people found some documents in your father's house that seem related to investments and bank accounts. They have nothing to do with our investigation, and they would like you to come in and collect them."

She listened for a moment. "Tomorrow if possible, around nine o'clock. Give the duty officer your name and he'll have someone from Forensics meet you. Oh, and before I forget, you need to go to the Provincial Government offices on Monday. There are a number of documents you must approve and sign regarding your father's estate."

Another pause. "Not at all. Yes, the investigation into the smugglers is continuing. Goodbye."

She turned to Heimo with a grin. "Went for it like a trout after a mayfly. Want to run the trace?"

Heimo chuckled, "No, log the details and we'll do it if he doesn't show."

He called Josef and told him to come in tomorrow at 0830 for what he hoped was the finale.

# Chapter 42

Heimo felt oddly calm the next morning, a compound of believing he'd done everything he could, and an expectation that today would bring resolutions one way or the other. Either Schuster would prove to be the murderer, or the investigation would have to stop. And Andrea would arrive safely at Paulette's house, or she wouldn't.

The team gathered in the office at 0830. As there was no briefing on Saturday, they had time to come up with a strategy. With no evidence, getting Schuster to confess was paramount.

Kat started. "He doesn't strike me as a man with a lot of intestinal fortitude. I think he did the murders during a short-term rage, but the impulse was a one-off. He has no history of violence we know of, and he's not exactly physically imposing. But I think he's the sort of weak individual with a hidden nasty side."

"Possible." said Heimo. "We've lulled him into thinking he got away with it. When he finds out we know about Tauber being his mother, I hope the shock of realizing we've put everything together will break him down."

Josef, ever the spoiler, asked, "What if it doesn't? We have nothing concrete, and the prosecutor would throw the case out as purely circumstantial."

"Also true. We need the confession and I can't think of another way to get it."

Neither could the others.

Kat went downstairs a few minutes later and waited in a hallway adjoining the foyer. When Schuster walked in, she appeared as though by accident, and suggested taking him up to the Forensics office. He nodded solemnly as though sensible of the gravity of the situation.

She opened the door to Homicide instead, and Schuster was half-turned, thanking her. He got one foot inside and his eyebrows climbed his forehead as he recognized the two detectives. Kat shoved him into the room none too gently, closed the door and stood with her back to it.

At a loss for words, Schuster stared first at Heimo, then Josef, then back. After a moment he stuttered, "Chief...Chief Inspector. I...I. Good morning. I thought...understood...I was to collect some documents."

Heimo nodded. He gestured at a chair which had been placed in the middle of the office. "Take a seat please."

Josef had his hand resting on a tape recorder switch hidden by a mound of files. He turned it on. Although a recording couldn't be used as evidence, it would give them leverage to continue the investigation if Schuster didn't crack.

Schuster looked about, took a deep breath and walked over to the chair. He lowered himself into it much as an elderly man with arthritis might do. Folding his hands in his lap, he said, "I don't quite understand. Inspector Ungar told me you found some documents in my father's house, and I needed to collect them. Is there a problem?"

Heimo nodded as Kat took the rear chair. "There is. We've come to the conclusion you murdered your father."

Schuster's eyes opened impossibly wide, and he lurched halfway to his feet. None of the officers moved. "You're...you're crazy. Of course I didn't. I told you what happened."

"Sit down."

Schuster sank onto the chair in slow motion, his hands now clutched together, white-knuckled.

Heimo resumed, "You gave us an explanation. But you used a common criminal tactic–you lied. We need three things to prosecute a crime: means, opportunity and motive. The means, your father's rifle, was there at the house in plain sight. And you certainly had the opportunity. You can't prove what time you got to the farm, and you could easily have been there earlier. But, for the last two weeks, we had no motive. You hated your father, but you could have killed him anytime in the past. Something triggered you that day, and we found out what it was."

Schuster shook his head, furious and red-faced. "There isn't anything because I didn't kill him. It's all lies, fantasy."

Heimo waited, staring. When Schuster started to squirm, Heimo said, "No, it's not. You had a very good reason to kill him. You found out Claudia Tauber was your real mother. Your father never told you, and your mother, your real flesh-and-blood mother, never acknowledged you, never spoke to you, never took your side, never tried to protect her child. And you snapped. And murdered them both."

None of the officers moved. Their eyes drilled into the suspect as though waiting for a volcano to erupt.

But it wasn't that dramatic. Schuster's head sank onto his chest and tears began to leak from scrunched eyes. Sobs started, almost inaudible at first, then increasing in depth and volume until the man vibrated in the chair. They didn't interrupt him.

After a minute, the sobs faded to sniffles and gasps. Finally he raised his head, eyes reddened and skin pale. "I didn't mean to," he said, his voice raw and low. "I really didn't. And I didn't kill her."

Heimo looked and sounded weary, tired of all the lies, skeptical of everything Schuster said. It was a pose, but an effective one. "Go on."

"I...I thought about it. I even went up to her place. But she was already dead when I got there."

Kat snorted. "This gets better and better."

Heimo shook his head. "You're still lying. We're going back through your story, and this time I want all of it, and I mean every detail, from the beginning."

It took a while and involved many stops and starts as the officers parried every attempt to shade the truth, but Schuster finally broke.

He said, "I only met Claudia Tauber a few times. I didn't like her very much because she always acted like I was a nuisance. Then I applied for a passport a few weeks ago. They needed a copy of my birth certificate. I didn't have one, so I applied for a copy. When I read it, I was..." He stopped and rubbed his face. "I couldn't believe it. It was like my whole life was a lie."

He stared at his hands for a few moments. "I tried to stop thinking about it, to just walk away. But it was always there. The more it swirled around in my head, the more I hated my father. And I started to hate her too. I'm her son, and she treated me like I was a piece of garbage. I decided to go to the farm and confront him, find out why he'd lied to me all these years."

He drove to the farm and told his father what he'd discovered. Instead of an apology or an explanation, all he got was a stream of sarcasm and invective. They raged at each other for minutes, shouting and swearing, until the old man turned on his heel and went into the barn.

Helmut was furious, angrier than he'd ever been. He started toward the house for no reason he could remember. The first thing he saw was the rifle leaning against the wall by the door.

"I picked up the gun and checked it. It was loaded. I thought if I threatened the old bastard, he might give me some explanation instead of just telling me what a terrible son I was. He came out of the barn and started laughing when he saw the rifle. I just went blind or something. I squeezed the gun and it went off. I wasn't even aiming it. He shouted and grabbed his middle and fell."

Schuster closed his eyes for a long moment. "I felt, for the first time, like I'd done the right thing. I walked up to him. He was bleeding and groaning. I stood over him and...I wanted to shoot him again. We stared at each other for a long time until I saw the life go out."

Schuster asked for water and Josef handed him a bottle. "I knew you'd think it was murder even if it was an accident. I cleaned the rifle so my fingerprints wouldn't be on it and put it in the house on the table. No one had seen me go to the farm, and there was no one else around. Then I waited so that when I told the police, it would look like I'd arrived later."

"You left out the part where you killed your mother," Kat prompted.

"But I didn't," Schuster insisted. "I hated the way she'd treated me, but I figured that was probably my father's doing. But maybe I know who did."

The momentary silence was absolute. Then Heimo said, "Who?"

"The next day, I decided to go to her place and confront her. I wanted someone to explain why I was so unimportant to the two people who were supposed to be my parents. When I reached the lane to the Tauber farm, I saw a car pulled over to the side. There was a man squatted down by the wheel and the boot was open. I wondered if he was sick or had an accident or something, so I stopped. He kept rubbing his hands on the front of his clothes for some reason. Anyway, I asked if he was all right, and he said he was. Said he'd had a puncture and it was cold weather to change a tire. I didn't think anything about it until later. But he was clean and there was no way he could have changed a tire without getting filthy."

"And this mystery man is?"

"A guy named Bruno Osternig. He runs a logging business in Hermagor."

Heimo regarded him for a long while. "I think I've misjudged you, Mr. Schuster. You are considerably more cold-blooded than I gave you credit for. Here's something you should know about police investigations. We check everything. One thing we checked was the road up to the Tauber place. There was no sign anyone had stopped at the place you described. And Bruno Osternig has an alibi for the time of Claudia Tauber's death."

He paused as Schuster froze, eyes bulging as he waited for the axe to fall. "You weren't sure you'd done the 'right thing' after you hit that old woman, were you? That's why you moved her body to the sofa."

The silence was broken only by Schuster's raspy breathing. He opened his mouth but closed it without saying anything. His shoulders slumped. "She had it coming," he mumbled.

# Chapter 43

The resignation and subsequent suicide of Michael Aubock, Chief Prosecutor of Carinthia, created a sensation throughout Austria. Public and press were at first curious, then intrigued as it became apparent that there was not the slightest reason for the man to have shot himself. Or at least no reason that anyone could definitively assign to the tragedy. Gradually however, as there were no further revelations, the story was superseded by more pressing and current events, and it faded from public awareness.

For a few people, it remained a topic of intense interest. Chief Inspector Heimo Kapeller and Senior Prosecutor Cristina Neuroth caught themselves discussing it almost daily, although both would rather have talked about anything else.

Two weeks after the arrest of Helmut Schuster for the murders of his father and mother, they sat in a boutique hotel restaurant high in the Tyrolean Alps, sated after an excellent meal and swirling brandy glasses not far from a log fire.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again. We should pack everything in and just rusticate in the mountains. The hell with the rest of the world." Heimo belched delicately.

Cristina sipped at her brandy after inhaling the powerful scent. "I'd have to peel you off the walls after three days. You, my darling, are not the rusticating type. More like a knight, always looking for a fresh dragon."

"Are you telling me there's no way off this merry-go-round?"

"Only if you run out of dragons. The big daddy dragon is still out there waiting to scorch your pants, and you won't stop until one of you is on the barbeque."

He swiveled, all levity gone from his face. "Am I that bad?"

"Almost." There was a tiny pinch of worry around her eyes. He'd seen it before and wondered if he was making it permanent. She smiled and shook her head. "It's not really bad, not yet anyway, because you've kept it from becoming an obsession. But you're worryingly close sometimes."

He had to think about that one. "I need to visit the gents. Back in a tick."

His bladder was grateful, but the break helped his head not one whit.

Cristina had risen from the table and wandered over to the fire. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She leaned her head on his elbow and they stayed there for quite some time, saying nothing but feeling universes.

The restaurant was empty, and even the waiting staff had departed. Only the barman left his station in the adjoining room occasionally to see if they needed a refill.

Cristina finished her brandy as they sat down. "One more time, then we put it to bed for good. Agreed?"

He nodded. "There's not anything left, is there? We've beaten it to powder. But, yes, let's finish it." He stared at the ceiling for a moment, grimacing. "I think Aubock killed himself because he was being blackmailed by Mehringer. If I could prove it, I could put Mehringer away for good. But I have nothing but supposition and wild guesses. Therefore I'm wasting my time, and I need to walk away now." He glanced at her. "Does that cover it?"

"It does, at least the bare bones, but it doesn't go far enough. To me Mehringer is like the devil. He, or someone like him, is always lurking and ruining lives. The fight goes on, but we can't lose our perspective. We balance the need to put them out of business with the necessities of our own lives. I admit that he seems to be intruding in our space through no particular fault of ours." She sighed. "I suppose all I want is for him to fade into the background, at least for the time being. He will turn up again like a counterfeit coin, but until then, let's leave it alone."

Heimo grasped her hand and they shared one of those deep looks that the romance writers are fond of. But this was infinitely more nuanced and complex, and there was a tiny taste of fear behind it.

The barman made another appearance. Heimo looked up and said, "One more brandy, then you go home?"

The man grinned and nodded.

Heimo leaned back into the booth. "We discovered what I think was Helmut Schuster's real motive for killing his father. He'd told us his father wanted him to come down to talk about his financial affairs. But the old man had changed his will and cut young Helmut off completely. We reckon Kurt wanted to rub the boy's nose in it, but Helmut realized the will hadn't been filed yet. He destroyed it after he killed the old man, but Kurt's lawyer confirmed that he was making the change."

"It's funny. Our professional lives revolve around people who can't seem to co-exist with others without crime or violence. Sometimes I think we're a little like parasites, feeding off the malfunctions of society's incompetents."

Heimo could only nod.

After the full-bellied cognac glasses arrived, Cristina said, "I talked to Paulette. That crazy woman who wrote those letters has been taken into a mental home. She was living in a derelict old house up to her eyes in rubbish and rats. The police had never seen anything like it. And Veronique is home until the New Year. They came up with a disguise for Andrea and took her over to Montluçon the other day for some retail therapy. I imagine she's getting cabin fever by now, but it went off without anyone noticing."

"At least we hope so. I asked Gunther to keep an ear out for any rumors about the brothel. Since his boys raided it and found those Somali kids, and no Andrea, I expected the underworld to light up, but nothing. It's a little nerve-wracking. By the way, we confirmed that Vogt was part owner of the brothel. Andrea mentioned a man who called himself 'Giuseppe' who would occasionally give her instructions, particularly about the kids who started coming through. That was Vogt. We traced the phone number. It was a mobile hidden among the junk in that cellar."

"Gunther doesn't know about Andrea?"

Heimo smiled. "I never mentioned her, either recently or in the past. But my boy Gunther is a smart cobber. Wouldn't be surprised if he'd guessed."

"Have you talked to that Dutch officer?"

"Van Der Molen? Yesterday. Sorry, I should have said. He has some information he thinks we can use, and a few contacts. I'm to call him when we get back, and we'll see if we can work something out. But I haven't mentioned anything to Paulette because I don't want Andrea to get her hopes up."

"You still think it's better to keep her in Europe?"

"Yes, but I'm only guessing. Here, we can keep an eye on her. South America or somewhere else puts her out of reach. It's down to her of course, but so far she's sticking to our plan."

Cristina grinned. "And Veronique?"

Chuckling, Heimo said, "I'm afraid I've ruined any fantasies she had about her noble papa. Introducing a brothel madam into her home was not quite what she expected."

"Speaking of fantasies, I saw Kat last Friday when she dropped a deposition off. Is her fantasy about the Italian officer working out?"

"Not quite sure. She went to Treviso to assist in the interrogation of that kid we caught with the immigrants. When she came into work the next day, there was a bit of a sparkle, but she didn't mention Arturo specifically. Just details about the information they'd gathered."

Cristian sipped her brandy appreciatively. "Nice stuff this. I thought the boy refused to say anything."

"He wouldn't talk to us at all. But Arturo dug up one of his colleagues who was in the Udine slammer, and the kid opened up a little. He's Albanian and according to him, most of the smugglers are either Albanian or Bosnian. The kid is pretty far down the pecking order and doesn't know much, but he more or less confirmed our suspicions. He named one of the guys who killed Vogt but it's the Bosnian equivalent of 'John Brown", so I don't think it'll get us anywhere. But we filled in the picture a bit."

Major pieces of the smuggler's network had been destroyed or rendered non-functional. Thanks largely to the Italians, forty-two people had been arrested and charged with human trafficking, illegal entry to the country, forgery, and a variety of other crimes. New cameras were being placed at known or suspected landing sites, border-crossing points, and transfer locations. Cooperation between national intelligence services improved bit by bit. Officers like Heimo and Arturo developed new, useful relationships. All of which made catching the smugglers a bit easier but did nothing to stop the human tide on its eternal odyssey into darkness. The people who prey on misery would always find new ways to feed their insatiable appetite for profit and perversion.

For a few minutes, they sipped their drinks, stared into the fire, and let the past trickle through them.

"You need to know something," Heimo said after a while. "In the past nine months my life has turned into something that I literally never could have imagined. Out of nowhere, I have you, I have a family I didn't know about, I have a family that was almost lost to me, and my old directions disappeared. I've been a bit punch-drunk most of the time."

He turned his head just enough to stare at Cristina. "But I think I've found my feet again. And I will never do anything that will jeopardize, even a tiny bit, what we have. That's a promise."

She searched his face for a moment, then nodded. "I'm as sure of that as anything I've ever believed. Which is why I've bet my life on it."

A massive log fell in the fireplace and sent a huge shower of sparks up the chimney.

The End
About the Author

Having retired after twenty-five years in the military and fifteen years in the IT industry, I finally had the chance to write. Making that happen involved moving my family, three dogs and seven horses to a small farm in Austria that is as far from civilization as we could manage. And we have loved every minute. I hope my affection for our adopted country shows up in the stories about Heimo Kapeller. It is a wonderful place to live.

Thank you for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed it. I would very much appreciate it if you could leave a review with your favorite book retailer.

You might also like:

Shroud of Deceit (Book One of the Heimo Kapeller Series)

The Daughter of Patience

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