Free Grave Intent by Alexander Hartung

legend. He didn’t have great arrest stats, hadn’t solved any big cases, was a miserable shot and even worse behind the wheel. But there was no shortage of anecdotes about him. Jan’s favorite story involved an official reception where Fabian had barfed into his potato salad during the mayor’s speech. Back then, Jan was still wet behind the ears and had just been assigned to Fabian. It proved to be the most exciting year of his police training. Fabian had shown him the darkest corners of Berlin and explained the rules of the street. He removed any illusions Jan held that the police were always respected wherever they went. It was a tough time, but he never forgot Fabian’s favorite line: “Training with me isn’t supposed to be fun, kid, it’s supposed to help keep your ass out of the firing line.” Jan had counted the days until he was assigned away from Fabian, and yet he had never learned as much as he had during that year.
    Since the last time they’d seen each other, at the big police party, Fabian had gained some weight, and he now sported a full head of gray hair. His addiction to sweets was unchanged. On the floor of his car, Jan could see an empty six-pack of sticky buns, and a package on his lap still held one chocolate croissant. Only the family-size bag of gummy bears on the dashboard shelf was untouched. Five years from now, Jan predicted, Fabian’s stomach would have grown so much that his hands probably wouldn’t reach the steering wheel.
    “Nothing like healthy eating,” Jan said.
    “Janni,” Fabian greeted him enthusiastically. The cop wiped a coating of glaze off his mouth and reached through the open window to squeeze Jan’s hand.
    “Kid, this is Detective Jan Tommen,” Fabian said to David, the young cop in the passenger’s seat. “A pain in the butt and a wiseass you might just want to smack sooner rather than later, but he can drink a Russian polar bear under the table and is one of the few among us to make it all the way to the homicide squad.”
    “How’s your side job as billboard going?” Jan said.
    Fabian roared with laughter, resting a hand on Jan’s shoulder. “Ah, Janni, I’ve missed you. Want a sticky bun?”
    “There’s some left?”
    “No. I’ll have the kid go fetch some. Then it’ll just be us adults here and you can tell me about the case.”
    Next to him, David grumbled something. Jan was surprised by how young the other cop was—a smattering of stubble on a pimply face.
    “Save your money,” Jan said, waving Fabian’s offer aside. He would’ve liked to accept, but he didn’t want young David to be any more tormented than he already was. Training under Fabian was hard enough. “Not a lot to tell about the case. Our man Moritz Quast got a death threat. Someone dug a grave for him at the cemetery and wrote his name and date of death on a wooden cross next to it. Tomorrow this should all be over. Might have been a sick joke, except for the fact that we had the same incident three days ago—and now we have a corpse on our hands.”
    “I could smell how scared shitless this Quast was just walking in the front door,” David said.
    “Shut it, kid. Only the big dogs get to say the big lines,” Fabian replied. He turned back to Jan.
    “You thinking there’ll be trouble?”
    “I’m not sure. If it’s the same murderer? He’s going to try something tonight. Or it could be a copycat situation.”
    “You guys on his trail, though?”
    “There’s a few clues, nothing concrete.”
    “There’s no maniac you don’t nab.”
    “There’s always a first time.”
    Fabian waved the notion aside. “Don’t worry that fine head of yours. I’ll see to it that our Nervous Nellie in there stays alive and you get your killer.”
    “Sounds good,” Jan said and shook Fabian’s hand again. “I’ve got to press on. Watch yourself and the freshman here, while you’re at it. We can’t underestimate this situation. The murderer, he’s clever. He’s not