Whisper For The Reaper by Jack Gatland (best motivational books for students txt) 📗

Bullman stayed silent at this for a moment.

‘You’d make a good Detective Superintendent,’ she eventually said. Monroe shrugged.

‘Not my path,’ he replied, looking back out of the window. After a minute of staring, he looked back to Bullman, trying to get a read on her reaction to this.

She was already reading her book, their conversation already forgotten.

The headquarters of the Bundeskriminalamt was immense; more of a compound than a building, it comprised a series of three-storey red bricked buildings laid out in what felt like a small campus, with roads spider-webbed between each building, and a more functional concrete office block in the middle of a collection of long, narrow red ones. But the layout of the federal offices wasn’t that important, as Monroe realised incredibly quickly, when the gate guard barred their entrance.

They would never see it.

‘We have had orders to stop you entering the premises,’ the guard explained with no hint of apology.

‘But we’re Detective Chief Inspectors in the United Kingdom Police Force!’ Monroe exclaimed. ‘We have a working relationship with the German Police! Who told you to bar us?’

‘An order from the main office.’ The guard tried not to, but the hint of a sneer crossed his face. ‘It looks like your working relationship is not as close as you seem to think so. Things are not so smooth here after Brexit, eh?’

Monroe was about to argue the point when movement to his side distracted him; a woman had exited the building to their left and was now walking over to them. In her thirties, she was Asian, with short, spiky hair that completely contrasted with her black suit, while making her look twice as cool as either Monroe or Bullman. As she reached them, she held out a hand.

‘Kriminalkommissar Margaret Li, of the Schwere und Organisierte Kriminalität,’ she said as she shook Monroe’s hand. ‘I work with Rolfe Müller.’

‘I’m guessing he’s the one who told you not to let us in?’ Monroe asked. ‘Sounds about right, especially if you’ve got a guilty conscience.’

Margaret nodded.

‘Actually, he said you are actively harassing him, while interfering with his case,’ she explained as she lead them away from the gatehouse and back to the street. ‘My superiors listen to every word that he says, and they believe what he says. Me? Not so much. Especially as he is not assigned to any cases right now.’

‘So he is AWOL?’ Monroe smiled. ‘I bloody knew it.’

‘Not so much that, more on duty but with his own autonomy,’ Margaret explained. ‘We did not realise he was in England until he called us.’ She pointed north, up the street. ‘Schlesischer Busch is just up there. It is a nice, small park, and they have a street van that sells coffee. It is a sunny day, good for a walk.’

‘So we can’t discuss the case?’ Monroe muttered with exasperation. Bullman however nodded to Margaret.

‘I think we are, Alex,’ she said. ‘In the only way she can.’

Schlesischer Busch was one of several small state parks in the area, and on paper was nothing more than a square of park with office buildings to the south and west, a busy road to the east and a canal to the north. However, once you entered the park, you could see that it was a warm, green area, with flowing paths and tree lined corners, a place where families could gather, and children played; but the first thing that Monroe saw when he entered it was a grafitti covered watchtower that loomed over the rest of the park, a stark reminder of a time long passed.

‘That’s the Führungsstelle Schlesischer Busch,’ Margaret explained as she pointed to it. ‘All of this, the park, the streets, even the offices we came from were within East Berlin back when the wall was up. That was a watchtower on this side of the wall which would have run through the middle of the park, although back then there was no park here, just warehouses, train tracks and gatehouses. There would have been a small space between the inner and outer wall, which was built up beside the Flutgraben canal.’

Monroe stared towards the watchtower and the canal, almost envisioning what things would have looked like a generation ago.

‘However, it has all since been removed, and the Schlesischer Busch now houses art exhibits,’ Margaret continued. Monroe couldn’t take his eyes off the watchtower as he nodded. Margaret was already making her way towards a small coffee truck, and Bullman followed, dragging Monroe with her.

‘So what couldn’t you say at your offices?’ she asked.

‘It is policy not to speak badly of our detectives,’ Margaret replied as she ordered an espresso. ‘I am sure you have the same?’

‘Ours is less a policy, and more of a vague guideline,’ Bullman replied.

‘One we don’t follow that much, either,’ Monroe grinned as he pointed to a latte on the menu. Margaret thought about this for a moment and then nodded.

‘Well here, it is a little more official, than as a politeness. And I have known Rolfe since I started here.’

‘And when was that?’ Monroe asked. Margaret glared at him.

‘What,’ she said, ‘you think that because I don’t look like a German I’m not one? I was born in West Berlin, Detective Chief Inspector. I am as German as anyone else.’

‘I meant, how long have you been working together?’ Monroe replied calmly. ‘I don’t care about your heritage.’

Margaret seemed to soften at that. ‘Six years,’ she answered as she waited for her coffee. ‘I know him better than anyone in there.’

‘So why do you think he went AWOL?’ Bullman asked. ‘And don’t tell us he’s on a mission or some kind of secret arrangement. That he phoned in to ask his superiors to help in barring us from our enquiries gives us a ton of doubt on that.’

‘You have not yet explained your enquiries,’ Margaret accepted a small cup of espresso, paying with her credit card via