Read Online Grave Intent by Alexander Hartung - Free Book Online

business, this little snoop would find him.
    Chandu closed the door and glanced at his watch. He had to hurry.
    As he headed down the stairs, he heard tires screeching outside. A man was shouting something in a foreign language. He thought he heard a gun being cocked.
    He cursed to himself. Time was up.

    Chandu ran to the second floor, rammed a door open with his shoulder, and rushed inside. The apartment stank of grease and cheap schnapps. An old man sat on a shabby couch. He wore a stained undershirt and wagged a beer bottle at Chandu’s face.
    “Get outta here!” the man hollered.
    “Gladly,” Chandu replied, crossing the room. He opened a window, positioned himself on the window frame, hung down, and let go. The ground wasn’t too far, about ten feet. He rolled away, hauled himself up, and ran into the building’s rear courtyard. With any luck, the thugs would search the building first before they were on to his trail.
    He headed deeper into the tenement blocks. Three more buildings and he’d reach the safety fence at the train overpass. The area beyond that was vast and offered little cover. His only chance was along the fence line to the neighboring buildings and through their backyards.
    Chandu came to a run-down playground. The swings were torn off, and the wood on the jungle gym all weather-beaten. A teen boy rode up on a dirt bike. He wore faded jeans, an old jacket. Chandu could tell at a glance he wasn’t carrying a gun. Maybe a concealed knife, but Chandu wasn’t worried about that.
    The kid brought his motorbike to a stop two yards from Chandu, straightened up, and shouted, “Here he is!”
    Chandu overcame the distance to the kid and connected a solid haymaker to his temple. The kid flew from the motorbike and landed next to the jungle gym.
    “Always wear a helmet, kid.”
    Chandu pulled up the motorbike, got it in gear, and rode off. A shot rang out. He ducked and revved the engine.
    Another shot. Dust sprayed up next to him.
    He raced on across the footpath and yanked the motorbike hard to the right. A bicycle rider appeared and saved himself by veering into the bushes. Earth and pebbles filled the air as Chandu raced toward the street. He laughed as the wind rushed past his face.
    Maybe being an informant wasn’t so bad after all.

    Jan paced back and forth in the investigations room. His conversation with Vanessa Ziegler hadn’t told him anything new. Zoe was still analyzing the last of the evidence, Max was comparing the patient list with the police database, and Chandu was out looking for the possible perp from the sketch.
    An image of Dr. Valburg was starting to emerge, however. The better Jan knew a victim, the easier he arrived at his killer. But he had not yet found the decisive clue.
    The way the murder had been carried out remained unclear. The grave, the cross, announcing the victim’s death in advance—it all had to mean something. He could rule out that testy Dr. Ewers, along with the possibility of a dealer. Neither of them would go to so much trouble. It was something personal. Someone who knew and hated Bernhard Valburg.
    Jan’s phone rang, jolting him out of his thoughts. He looked at the screen. Bergman. Jan moaned.
    “Jan Tommen here.”
    “Get your ass in my office,” Bergman said. “We have a new grave.”

Chapter Four
    The man in Bergman’s office was visibly upset. He’d rumpled the jacket of his dark suit, unbuttoned his shirt, and loosened his tacky paisley tie. He sat hunched over a cup of coffee, staring into the dark brew like he was trying to read his fortune in it. His brown hair was damp with sweat, as if he’d run all the way to the police department.
    Bergman rose from his chair. “Herr Quast, allow me to introduce you. This is Jan Tommen. He’s my lead investigator.”
    Jan shook the man’s hand. It was moist and frail. “What happened?” Jan asked.
    “This morning I went to visit my parents’ grave, as I do every Wednesday. Stahnsdorf