Free Until the Debt Is Paid by Alexander Hartung Page B

Chandu went on.
    Sarah’s cold, apathetic expression turned fearful. “How come?” Her eyes darted around as if she was looking for a way to escape.
    “Take it easy, Sarah,” Chandu said. “You know that they bashed in the judge’s skull?”
    “He deserved it, fuckin’ swine.”
    “The thing is, we want to find out who it was.”
    “It wasn’t me, but if I woulda gotten the chance? I woulda slit him open.” Sarah pressed her lips together tight. She had trouble keeping back her tears.
    “We know what he did to you,” Jan said softly. “And, yes, he did deserve to die. But we need to learn more about him and hi s . . . preferences.”
    “Hopefully youse got a strong stomach.”
    “When did you meet him for the first time?”
    “I only met the sick fuck once. I was new to it, he was probably the fourth or fifth customer I’d ever had. I was impressed by his crib, but my pimp was barely out the door before he started hitting me. Just a slap at first, then harder and harder. With his fist, in the face, in the gut, till I was on the floor crying. Then he kept at it with a cane, till I passed out. Hours later, I woke up in some park in Neukölln. Clothes all ripped to shit, four broken ribs, and three less teeth. With all the swelling I had on my face, I couldn’t work the street for six weeks.”
    “You were fourteen back then?”
    Sarah nodded. “I wanted to go to the pigs, but my pimp, he threatened to beat me if I opened my mouth.”
    “You never encountered Holoch after that?”
    “I was too old for him, actually.”
    “At fourteen?”
    “I told you, he was one sick asshole.”
    “You know other women he beat up?”
    “Two.”
    “How old were they?”
    “Both no older than fourteen. Probably younger.”
    “My God,” Jan whispered.
    “Welcome to my twisted world,” Sarah said, wiping a tear from her eye.

    Back at Chandu’s place, Jan grabbed a beer from the fridge and drank down the bottle in one long swig. Whenever he thought of girls worked over like that, he felt ill. Every one of those images in the judge’s picture album was a life destroyed.
    In the bedroom, Chandu was comparing the descriptions and names they got from Sarah with the photos in the book.
    “Nobody she identified is in here. It’s a dead end.”
    “We’ll have to keep looking,” Jan insisted.
    “That won’t be easy,” Chandu told him. “I’ll have to go around, see what I can hear, find out if they’re still in Berlin and where I can find them. For that I’ll have to call in a few favors.”
    “Maybe the judge didn’t keep photos of each and every victim,” said Jan. “I’ll come with you.”
    Chandu shook his head. “Way too dicey. Some folks wouldn’t be too happy about me having a cop along. I have to do it alone.”
    Jan wanted to object, but Chandu held up a hand.
    “I can watch out for myself. If there’s trouble? I’ll call you.”
    Jan gave in. “Okay. I’ll stay home if it means getting a new lead.”
    “I wouldn’t be too optimistic.”
    “How come?”
    “Finding these girls won’t help you,” Chandu said. “I could find plenty of women who would’ve liked to see the judge dead, but there will be no link to prove you innocent. You don’t know a single girl in those photos, and the descriptions Sarah gave us don’t ring a bell with you, either.”
    Jan sighed. “Maybe something in all this will jog my memory.”
    “I just don’t want you to get up your hopes. Whoever murdered Holoch knew about you having trouble with him, and seems to have easily gotten hold of your fingerprints. The hookers might supply us with more twisted details about Holoch’s kinks. But they aren’t going to get us closer to finding the murderer, or explaining why the crime was pinned on you.”
    “You’re right, but it’s all we have.”
    Chandu placed a hand on Jan’s shoulder. “I’ll find more of the women. You should get some rest. You’ve gone through a lot.”
    “I’m meeting Father