Until the Debt Is Paid by Alexander Hartung Read Free Book Online Page A

people more bad luck than Berlin has kebab joints. That alone was a school of hard knocks. So if you’d killed that judge, I’d be able to tell. Plus,” she continued between drags, “I don’t see you going about it so stupidly.”
    Jan wanted to thank her and held out his hand to shake, but Zoe stepped away.
    “Don’t go getting all sentimental,” she declared. “I don’t do emotional crap. I’m not completely selfless in doing this.”
    “Uh, okay,” Jan stuttered. “But what—”
    “First off, lend me Steroid Man there.” She pointed at Chandu. “My neighbor gets all bent out of shape when I play music too loud in the morning. He needs someone who can talk to him in just the right way. Beyond that? It’s my chance for a little variety, for a change.”
    Jan eyed her, confused. He managed little more than, “Uh, I . . . ”
    “You really are slow on the uptake, aren’t you?” She rolled her eyes, taking a drag. “I give you time to get out of here. In return, you let me in on your own little investigation. Bergman would never let me work a homicide, and I’ve always wanted to.”
    “You’re nuts,” Jan blurted.
    Zoe nodded. She took a pen, grabbed Jan’s hand, and wrote a number on the underside of his wrist.
    “Call me this evening. I’ll tell you what the crime-scene guys found out.”
    And she giggled. For a moment, she looked like a little girl who’d just done something forbidden.
    “Now take off,” she said, lighting up another cigarette.
    Jan, astonished, took a second to recover. Then he signaled Chandu, and they tiptoed out of the courtyard.

    Jan lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. After Chandu had driven him back to his place and bandaged up his wound, he’d tried to cheer Jan up. They’d watched recordings of ice hockey and American football, but their usual enthusiasm had never kicked in. At some point it had grown dark again, and Chandu had gone to bed. Jan had never felt so lonely. He was glad to be staying here, but his life was in ruins. He could not call anyone or write any e-mails. The days of comforting city strolls were past. He couldn’t even show up in his local pub.
    Betty was dead. He still could not grasp it. Two days ago, he’d awoken at her place, and later he’d talked with her on the phone. Now she lay in Forensics on a cold metal autopsy table, burned beyond recognition. All her beauty was gone. He would never see her smile again, caress her pristine back, or hear her voice. Maybe it was a blessing he was no longer with Homicide—otherwise he would’ve stormed right into Forensics and demanded to see her corpse. He was spared that much, at least.
    He took out his wallet and gazed at the photo behind the see-through plastic. It had been shot when they first met. They had gotten to know each other at the birthday party of a mutual friend and liked each other from the start. He and the friend, Rene, had gone to school together. While Jan was trying his luck with the police, Rene had started college. Business administration. His stock phrase was, “I got no idea what I’ll do, but business sounds good enough.” Rene knew Betty from another university bash, so she’d ended up at the party. It had been a typical Rene party. Loud-ass music, tons of cocktails, and nothing to eat but chips and frozen sushi.
    Betty had been eyeing Jan all night. At one point he went over to her. Then she had showed him that radiantly beautiful smile of hers, and his heart was done for.
    He didn’t leave her side after that. Eventually Rene had staggered through the living room, shooting guests with his digital camera. Betty stood close and put her arm around Jan, and he’d toasted Rene with a beer bottle. He’d liked the photo so much he’d gotten a wallet-sized print to carry around. Whenever he looked at it, his memory of her first touch came right back—her warm skin, the scent of her hair, her gentle fingers.
    They had seen each other again the next day. And