A Slow Death (Max Drescher Book 1) by James Craig Read Free Book Online

getting drunk and staying out all night, they’ll be a lot less hassle.’
    ‘I suppose you’re right.’
    ‘Of course, I’m right,’ Max chuckled, reaching for his lighter. ‘You can sit back and let them sow their wild oats. And, God knows, this is the place to do it. I certainly did.’
    ‘Hm.’ Michael looked at him doubtfully.
    ‘Isn’t that what you did?’
    Michael thought about it for a moment. ‘Not really.’
    ‘Ha.’ Max teased. ‘Serves you right for growing up in the sticks.’
    ‘It’s not my fault,’ Michael protested, ‘I didn’t ask to be born in Aachen.’
    ‘Anyway, at least the boys won’t have that disadvantage. They’re Berliners, born and bred. When they reach sixteen – watch out. In the meantime, you should enjoy them while you can.’
    Michael brightened slightly. ‘Yes.’
    ‘As Don Corleone said,’ drawing on his limited English, Max dropped his voice a couple of octaves and launched into an appallingly bad Marlon Brando impersonation, ‘a man who doesn't spend time with his family can, urgh , never be a real man.’
    ‘Like you would know,’ Michael laughed, downing his beer in three quick gulps and quickly jumping to his feet. ‘Another one?’
    Max nodded. ‘Sure.’
    Disappearing inside, Michael quickly reappeared with a couple of fresh beers, placing the bottles on the table, he dropped back into his seat. ‘I hear that you managed to put in the briefest of appearances at the Beerfeldt crime scene.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Max nodded as he finally lit his cigarette and took a hearty puff.
    ‘Thanks for coming to say ‘hello’.’
    ‘I had other stuff to do. Anyway, Gerber said that you had it all completely under control.’
    ‘Hardly,’ Michael groaned. ‘Six bodies, what a mess. And, as you can imagine, Marin wants swift results.’
    Max bridled at mention of their boss, Kriminalkommissar Martin Marin. ‘Marin can go fuck himself,’ he groused, through a cloud of cigarette smoke. ‘All he cares about is getting the case off is desk as quickly as possible. It’s always the same. Close it down, declare victory and move on.’
    ‘Sure,’ Michael agreed, ‘but, regardless of all the usual political bullshit, this is a really nasty one, Max.’
    ‘Yes, yes.’ Starting on his third bottle of Beck’s, Max could feel the beer buzz beginning to build. He wasn’t in the mood to talk shop but, then again, what else did they really have to talk about. ‘So,’ he sighed, taking another drag on his smoke, ‘what have we got, so far?’
    ‘The victims,’ Michael explained, ‘have been identified as the father, Carl Beerfeldt, the mother, Sylvie Beerfeldt, and four kids – Adam, Maggie and Nathalie, plus a half-sister, Dinara Semin, from the mother’s first marriage.’
    ‘What did the neighbours have to say?’
    ‘Not a lot,’ Michael sighed. ‘No one saw anything. No one heard anything. No one had any idea why such a ‘perfect’ family would be slain in their own home.’
    ‘Typical,’ Max snorted. ‘The general public are completely useless.’ Taking a final drag on his cigarette he dropped it into an empty beer bottle.
    ‘There are still a few doors to knock on.’
    ‘Waste of time. You know we’ll never get anything that way. If we’re going to drive this thing forward like Marin wants, we’re going to have to move faster. What do we think about what went on there?’
    Michael took another swig of his beer.
    ‘As always,’ the Kriminalinspektor observed, ‘we should start with the most obvious explanation and go from there.’
    ‘Yes.’ Michael didn’t venture an opinion on what the most obvious explanation in this case might be.
    ‘We know that statistics show that the only people who hate you enough to want to kill you are other family members.’
    ‘Yeah, but in this case, all the family members were killed.’
    Max pondered that for a moment. ‘But the wife was married before?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    Sitting back in his