Grave Intent by Alexander Hartung Read Free Book Online

mouth. He hadn’t realized Father Anberger’s apartment had already been rented.
    “So do you have a name?” she asked.
    “Tommen. Jan, I mean. Tommen is my last name. You can just call me Jan.” He was still holding on to her hand.
    He pulled back his fingers as if he’d burned himself and stole a glance over the young woman’s shoulder into the apartment, still half expecting the priest to come out.
    His new neighbor caught him looking in the apartment and furrowed her brow.
    “Sorry about that, Frau Lan,” he muttered.
    “Lan is my first name.”
    “Oh—then, sorry, Lan. Speaking of which: what kind of name is that?”
    “Vietnamese.”
    “Ah. You’re from Vietnam.”
    “No. Potsdam.”
    “Oh,” Jan said, and added, by way of apology, “I only thought, because you’re so . . . I meant, you look like you—”
    “My dad’s Vietnamese.”
    “Ah.” Jan squeezed out a tortured smile. “Vietnam is awesome. I could die for some bami goreng .”
    “That’s Indonesian. Maybe you mean some báhn mi ?”
    “Right.” Jan coughed in embarrassment and changed the subject. “Anyway, sorry for peeking into your apartment—it’s just that I knew the renter who lived there before you.”
    “The priest who was murdered?”
    “You know about that?” Jan was surprised. The tenants’ association had asked the residents to keep it quiet so as not to scare away potential renters.
    “Sure I do. That’s the reason I got the apartment so easily.”
    “I didn’t think anyone knew about it.”
    “The Internet helped. I followed the case online, Herr Detective,” she said with a wink. “I posted in apartment-seekers’ forums that the victim had lived here. Once I did that? All the potential renters bailed. Apart from me.” She shrugged. “Made up a few extra-bloody details, and the pad went down two hundred euros.”
    Jan had to cough again. His new neighbor was nobody’s fool. Plus, it was pretty ballsy admitting to a detective that you’d run what basically sounded like a con.
    “Well, have a good night, Jan. A little sleep would do you good,” she said, gazing into his eyes.
    “Thanks.” Jan wasn’t sure what he was thanking her for.
    “I have to go to my study group.” She held up her books. “Number theory.” She smiled at him, shut the door behind her, and went down the stairs.
    “Good night,” Jan said, still confused, and waved after her.
    Today was just not his day.

    Jan had lain awake thinking about the case half the night and only fell asleep around two a.m. Now he sat at his desk in the police department, rubbing at his eyes, exhausted. He was badly in need of caffeine, and he could read up on the facts just as well over in the police department’s coffee lounge. As he was leaving his office with his notes, he nearly collided into Bergman, the head of detectives.
    “I was looking for you.”
    Jan sighed. Those words were never a good sign.
    Bergman pointed a thumb at the woman next to him. “Let me introduce you to Dr. Kerima Elmas. Clinical psychologist.”
    Jan shook her hand. She was a petite woman with a friendly smile. Her brown locks matched her dark eyes. Only her large nose and old-fashioned glasses detracted from her attractiveness. Jan put her in her late thirties.
    “Kerima will be spending the next hour with you.”
    “I thought we agreed I’d be spared all that.”
    “We did?”
    “You gave me your word.”
    “Then I must have been lying.” Bergman flashed his radiant smile.
    “Nothing to be afraid of, Herr Tommen,” Kerima said. “So far? No deaths or injuries have resulted from my little conversations.”
    “It’s not that. I’m in the middle of an investigation, and I don’t have the time to talk about my childhood or my relationship with my mother.”
    “You must not have a very high opinion of psychologists.”
    Jan stuttered, “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that—”
    “In any case,” Kerima went on, “we always hold these conversations