Killer Girls Read online

  MARTIN BARKAWITZ

  BE

  Belle Époque Verlag

  Translated from the German by Henry Seymour.

  Copyright © 2019 Belle Epoque Press, Dettenhausen, Germany;

  for foreign rights requests, please contact us at [email protected]

  Editing / Proofreading: Christiane Geldmacher, Textsyndikat

  Cover design: Marie-Katharina Wölk, Wolkenart

  ISBN 978-3-96357-096-4

  1

  Kea Kuhn smiled her fear away as the jet from Frankfurt, Germany, approached the landing strip of New York’s JFK airport. In a few minutes she would stand for the first time on American soil. She had sacrificed her whole past life, her family and her friends within just two weeks for a change of heart. And all that because of …

  Tom reached for her hand.

  ‘Scared, darling? See, we have almost reached our destination.’

  Kea shook her head.

  ‘No, I’m fine, honest.’

  It was a partial lie. She felt no sudden boding, no panic of a disastrous landing. Instead, Kea only realized at this moment that she had reached the threshold of a totally new life before her. She had only one person to depend on. And he sat beside her, holding her hand as if everything was normal in her world. It seemed almost impossible that Tom had fallen in love with her.

  ‘To hell with all men!’ – That was what Kea and her best friend Ines had sworn last New Year’s Eve, when Kea had cried her eyes out over Frank. Yet now, barely six months later, she had decided to move in with Tom – in Manhattan.

  When they left the passenger plane through the gangway, she pulled herself together. She had heard the worst about the U.S. immigration control service. Foreigners were screened like in a criminal investigation, they said.

  The queue moved at snail pace toward the checkpoint. It left plenty of time for her fear to grow.

  Did she look suspicious? No, that seemed unlikely. Kea wore a smart beige trouser suit that seemed plain and almost old-fashioned. Her blond hair was cut shoulder-length and tidy, so that she appeared respectable, if a little boring perhaps.

  ‘Could you put that in your baggage?’

  Without waiting for an answer, Tom pushed a small leather bag in her hand. It looked like a make-up container.

  ‘Why can’t you take it through customs yourself?’ She asked, a little puzzled.

  He smiled at her.

  ‘You and I are a team now, darling. Please, just do as I ask.’

  Kea decided not to make a fuss. Besides, it might attract the attention of the men in uniform if she started an argument now. She pushed the proffered container into her large shoulder bag, although suddenly troubled by a feeling of doubts that grew stronger with every minute.

  Why had Tom asked her to do this?

  Was it some form of finding out whether he could trust her?

  What did the leather bag contain?

  She forced herself to breathe deeply. Tom stood close behind her, which meant she would have to face the controls first, She only had a tourist visa while Tom could show an investor’s visa since he intended to found a business in the United States.

  What if the bag should contain something illegal?

  Then he could raise his hands in feigned innocence that there was no direct connection between the two of them. They had planned to marry in Las Vegas, after which it would be no problem to remain longer even after her own visa had run out.

  The elderly Japanese couple before her had passed the control without trouble. It was Kea’s turn. She handed her passport to the young officer together with her visa. Her jaw felt tight with the effort of smiling.

  Was it the uniforms? Something suddenly reminded her of that dark, terrible secret in her past. What if they knew?

  The air smelled of disinfectant and sweat. Her own sweat of fear?

  ‘What is the purpose of your visit to the United States?’, asked the immigration officer.

  Kea asked herself how often he had to repeat that question in the course of each day of his duty. Did this routine really serve to filter wrong-doers from the sheer endless crowds?

  ‘Ah, tourism for as long as the money lasts,’ Kea stammered. ‘I have heard so much about New York and want to see everything. Broadway, Central Park, China Town and…’

  ‘Welcome in the United States.’

  With those word the officer stamped Kea’s passport. She felt the strain ease. Unfortunately she had forgotten customs control.

  Its officer was a man in his fifties, with eagle eyes who seemed to take joy in putting unwary travelers ill at ease. A sharp customer, as Kea’s father might have said. He called her over at once. Kea avoided casting a look for help toward Tom with difficulty. She was a grown woman after all and had to deal with her own problems, she thought with a touch of anger. She was sure, the customs officer had picked on her because he recognized her uncertainty. Why could she not appear as self-assured as other women seemed? Hopefully she would acquire that facility with Tom at her side.

  According to the name plate the customer officer’s name was Bradley. And Bradley wasted no time in asking to check her hand luggage. He simply told her to hand it over. With a measure of routine, his gloved hands rifled through her large handbag. And, of course, the first thing that attracted his interest was the small cursed bag. His eyes narrowed in distrust.

  ‘What is in here, Miss?’

  ‘I, ah …’

  Her breath faltered, the blood pounding like mad in her temples. How could she know? For a few moments she cursed Tom silently to have put her in this situation. She saw herself already in some American prison. And she doubted it would be much fun.

  Patience was not a virtue of Bradley’s character. He waited no longer for an answer, but unzipped the bag. With practiced ease he rummaged around in its contents and unearthed an item that seemed to have found his interest.

  It was a baby’s dummy.

  That would not have been unusual, had Kea been in the company of a baby. What was also unusual was the absence of nappies, tissues and baby powder as well as the paraphernalia a mother carried for her child. No doubt, Bradley found it strange. Kea noticed the wedding ring on his hand. He was probably a father, perhaps even grandfather. Certainly, his face mirrored suspicion, Kea felt. He held out the dummy, or what they called a comforter in America, accusingly.

  ‘What’s this, Miss? Are you trying to make fun of me?’

  Kea searched desperately for a convincing answer. She was childless, had never been pregnant. Her relationships in the past had never led to family planning. It was different with Tom. She would have loved to bear him a child. But before it could come to that, she had to deal with this tricky situation.

  ‘That is … a sad reminder, do you understand? My baby died at birth.’

  She uttered the sentences haltingly and started to weep. Kea was not one of those women who could cry on command. Now the tears burst from her eyes, not from sorrow, for in truth none of this had ever happened. The lie had come quite unexpectedly into her mind.

  Still, through the veil of her tears, she seemed to recognize a softening of Bradley’s face.

  He pushed the dummy back into the bag, closed the zip and handed the piece of luggage to her.

  ‘I’m sorry, my question upset you, Miss. I was only doing my job, okay? Have a pleasant stay in our country.’

  Kea nodded and dried her eyes while she pressed her bag to her side.

  Tom waited beyond the exit for her.

  She wanted to ask him what this whole charade was meant to be, what he had thought about it. Why did she have to carry a comforter through customs? Was it just some kind of test? Was he asking himself if she was worthy to become his wife?

  No. In
all likelihood it was nothing important. Tom had a strange sense of humor. If she asked him about it, he would most likely only laugh and pull her earlobes, knowing she liked it.

  Still, right now he looked troubled.

  ‘You cried?’ He said.

  Kea waved the question away.

  ‘It wasn’t too bad. The customs officer drove me mad with all his questions. Do you want your bag back?’

  ‘Later. It can wait. Let’s go, I want to show you the apartment. Our new home, darling.’

  He spoke so warmly that she forgot the unpleasant experience almost at once. Tom reached for her hand and Kea once again felt the wonderful feeling to have him by her side. He was a head taller than her but it was not just his height and his self-assured bearing that had drawn Kea to him on first sight. Ever since her teens she had longed for a friend who would spare her the troubles other girls had to endure.

  Instead, she had always met with problems. Matthias, the mother’s son, Ralf, the drinker, Bernd the psychopath. None of them would ever have had the courage to move to America. They even failed to fly to Spain with her for the summer.

  She pushed the memories of the past from her mind, concentrated her thoughts on the presence. Tom guided her through the corridors of the airport, populated by travelers from every corner of the world. Policemen in their blue uniforms watched the crowds zealously. No wonder after the terrible terrorist attacks the city had endured.

  Tom headed for a waiting taxi, opened the back door for Kea and moved in beside her. He told the East-Indian driver the address and the yellow Checkers Cab moved smoothly away.

  Kea leaned her head on Tom’s shoulder and enjoyed the changing views around her. She had never been to New York before, let alone America and everything seemed new and exciting to her.

  Suddenly Tom’s mobile rang.

  He cast an excusing look at her and moved away a little.

  ‘I have to answer, darling … Yeah, what’s the matter?’

  He now spoke English and suddenly sounded aggressive. It was a manner quite new to her. Normally, Tom always seemed easy going, although Kea had only ever been in his company when he was not involved in the complexities of his dealings. She only knew that he was in the process of creating a software-start-up company. But she had heard often enough, how hard it was to make your way in the American IT industry.

  She understood only part of the conversation since her schoolgirl English was more than a little lacking. But she could almost feel a sense of aggression, if not hatred, in her friend’s short answers.

  She had never seen or heard Tom like this before.

  What was going on that changed his normally so calm and controlled manner into almost rage that distorted his face? With what kind of people was he dealing with in his job?

  She felt distinct doubts rising within her as the taxi moved slowly along the Expressway toward Manhattan. She could not help but ask herself what her own professional future might look like if this was the way business was conducted. As a graphic designer, she had the opportunity to find customers anywhere in the world. At least, if she should find the same difficulties with which he seemed to wrestle, she could always fall back on her old clients in Germany or Austria. That was some consolation.

  She forced herself to breathe calmly and not to look in his direction. Slowly, the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach subsided. And then the call was over. Tom reached for her hand. It was warm and comforting as usual. He glanced at her with an apologetic smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. It isn’t right to speak of business in your presence. But some things just can’t wait.’

  ‘No problem’, Kea lied. ‘I hope everything is in order and you’re successful.’

  ‘Successful? You can bet. I don’t mean to let people steal the butter from my bread.‘ Tom said softly.’

  He seemed distant, probably still involved in his previous conversation. Kea decided not to ask too many questions although she wondered what had been behind the call.

  But did she really want to know the truth?

  Tom is too handsome to be true. That sentence, spoken by her best friend, went through her head again. She pressed her lips together. Nonsense! Nina was simply jealous because Tom not only was better looking than Kevin but also seemed a winner in his chosen field. While Nina’s dearest worked for an insurance company and would probably last until he was pensioned off, Tom was in the process of creating a software company that was bound to succeed.

  Which career showed the greater glamour?

  She swallowed her doubts and admired the broad avenues with their typical hydrants, the flickering advertisements and news flashes on Time Square, and the many skyscrapers in midtown. The difference of seeing this world-famous city on television or in real life was huge. Kea felt surrounded by the sounds and smells of this strange and yet attractive city with its flair and constant flow.

  The cab stopped at an address in the Upper West Side.

  Tom paid the driver and collected their luggage. A doorman opened the entrance for them, his uniform reminding Kea of an admiral in an operetta.

  A lift took them up to the eleventh floor.

  ‘We’ll have peace and quiet here,’ Tom said laconically as he unlocked the door. ‘This floor is ours alone, darling.’

  Kea caught her breath. She walked over thick velour carpets to the panoramic windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.

  New York lay at her feet.

  Of course, the eleventh floor was nothing grand in these surroundings, but Kea had never lived in such an apartment before. She had been born and raised in a small terrace house in Germany and later lived in a two-roomed flat at the edge of town, before she had flown in Tom’s company to this luxury.

  He moved quietly behind her and touched her shoulders tenderly.

  ‘That back there is the East River. You can’t see too much of it from here because of the houses. And over there is the start of Brooklyn. At night, we have a sea of lights in front of our noses.’

  ‘It’s wonderful!’

  ‘You are wonderful,’ Tom whispered and kissed the back of her neck.

  Kea shivered and closed her eyes. Her heart beat louder as she gave way to the feelings Tom’s touch created in her.

  A small metallic sound intruded into her emotions. Tom stiffened.

  ‘What the fuck is that noise? – Hey!’

  Kea’s friend shouted the last word. She flinched, turned, her eyes wide open. Two armed men had somehow entered the apartment and stood before her and Tom, their faces covered by masks.

  2

  Special Agent Lenita Borges sucked on a straw. The remaining Seven Up was already warm. She placed the plastic cup on the floor mat of the Ford Crown Victoria and stretched her long legs. Her partner, Chuck Jablonski slouched in the driver’s seat. He grinned at her. ‘Your bum gone to sleep, Bellissima? We’re hardly here for more than five minutes.’

  Borges snorted derisively.

  ‘Bellissima is an Italian word, you fool. My grandparents came from Portugal if you really want to know, okay? And I am touched by your many thoughts about my bum. I wouldn’t be surprised if you harbored some rather revolting dreams about it.’

  ‘You don’t want to know that. All I notice right now is that your in a foul mood. Don’t work it off on me. I don’t like suspect observations any more than you. Since when has the FBI handed out the best jobs to us? The old man must have his own ideas when he decided to put us on the trail of this Berger. At least, the charming couple seemed not to have noticed when we followed them from JFK.’

  Borges shrugged.

  ‘Let’s hope so. Are they tracing the telecommunications?’

  Jablonski nodded.

  ‘That works at least as far as Berger’s Smartphone. Jim sent a message just now. Berger received a call from Rossini in the taxi. Sounds as if Berger lost his temper totally.’

  ‘Over what?’

  ‘No idea, We’ll find out tonight at the debrie
fing.’

  ‘If we haven’t died of boredom like daisies without rain by then,’ Borges sighed. ‘What is it with this blond bitch? Is she an accomplice or just his piece of ass? According to the German police, this Kea Kuhn has a clean sheet. No felonies, no connection to the criminal underworld’

  ‘Apart from her contact with Berger’, Jablonski reminded her.

  ‘It looks as if she has no idea what kind of dogshit her Romeo is, although I find it hard to believe that. Unless she is real dumb. Well, with that color of hair …’

  Jablonski raised a critical eyebrow.

  ‘Does that mean, you won’t consider dying your hair blond? I had hoped you might surprise me with it on my coming birthday.’

  ‘Keep dreaming,’ Berger replied dryly. ‘Anyway, I’ll have to powder my nose ASAP or I’ll burst.’

  ‘After only one soda? That shows you worked undercover too long and just haven’t got the stamina for surveillance yet. Bladder training is one of the most important disciplines in our line of work.’

  Borges opened the passenger door.

  ‘You’re not funny, Chuck, Sorry to have to tell you that shocking news. I’ll report off for three minutes. If I’m needed urgently, I shall be in the ladies rest room in that diner ahead.’

  Jablonski waved her good-bye and closed the door behind her. Borges smoothed the jacket of her dove-gray trouser suit and hurried toward the coffee bar.

  Jablonski was not a bad partner. There were plenty FBI agents far less pleasant than him. Despite his solid build and dry humor, he was reliable and kept his macho talk mostly within limits. And in action, she could have wished for none better covering her back than her present partner.

  Borges could only hope that this spectacular kidnapping case would produce more for her than endless hours of surveillance, sitting in a parked Crown Vic.

  She was halfway to the diner when suddenly the door to the apartment house crashed open. Borges stopped. Had Berger smelled a rat and was on his way to disappear again with his latest playgirl? But no, it was not the pair that left the building.