Martin Cordemann

The Polizeit Detective

A Time Travel Crime Story

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Inhaltsverzeichnis

Titel

12:00

21:20

12:10

21:30

12:11

21:31

12:12

21:32

12:13

12:20

21:40

12:30

21:50

12:31

21:51

12:32

21:52

12:33

21:53

05:54

21:54

05:03

05:55

21:55

12:34

21:56

12:40

22:00

12:41

22:01

12:42

22:02

12:43

22:03

12:44

22:04

12:45

12:50

22:10

12:51

22:11

12:52

22:12

12:53

Impressum neobooks

12:00

“We have a problem.“

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, you have,“ corrected Elisabeth Fect, a beautiful woman in her early 30s, a brilliant chess player, and his superior officer.

“That sounds more like it,“ Ethan agreed. „Would you like to specify?“

“Would you like me to?“ she grinned.

“Never.“

“Too clever?“

“Too boring!“

“I beg your pardon!“

“No, you don't.“

Fect nodded in agreement.

“So you want to find out for yourself?“

“Like I always do.“

“May I give you a hint?“

“You mean... like it could be a murder?“ the Detective speculated ironically.

“Yeah, something like that.“

“Sure, what have you got?“

Captain Elisabeth Fect put on a serious face and said with a touch of drama: “Detective Cause, it could be a murder!“

“It could be... or it is?“

“Well, it is,“ she admitted.

“A murder you say,“ he said in played astonishment.

“Yes, Detective. Someone has been murdered.“

“Who?“

“Ehm...“

“Where?“

“Well...“

“When?“

“...“

“Why?“

Fect shrugged her shoulders.

Ethan smiled.

“Well then... let's find out!”

21:20

“Is that what happened?”

“More or less.” Ethan gave it short thought. “More less.”

“Why don't you tell us the truth?”

“Maybe I did.”

“You don't seem sure.”

“But I am. Very so, to be clear.”

“But?”

“Oh, there's no but.” Ethan grinned that grin that made people angry at him, sometimes hate him, sometimes try to kill him, but without success so far. “Well, the day is young,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Oh, that was... something I thought about. And, to make that clear, I doubt it.”

“You doubt...” The man caught up. “Oh, you doubt, that I beg your pardon.”

“I'm impressed,” confirmed the same grin. “You don't seem to be that dumb after all,”

“Well...”

“Seem I said, so the jury is still out on that one.”

The man sighed, something the Detective was used to.

Ethan smiled.

“Where were we?”

“You wanted to tell us the truth,”

“I did tell you the truth,” corrected Ethan, “I didn't want to. It just came out.” Now it was his term to sigh. “I don't have to lie anyway, so what is all of this about? And who the hell are you, by the way?”

“Why don't you consider this a story and me the reader?”

“Why don't I consider this a case and you an asshole?” proposed Ethan.

“Well...”

“Would you like me to go on?”

“Yes.”

“With the insults?”

Again the deadly grin.

“What about me?” now the other man said.

“What about you?”

“Am I an asshole, too?”

“I don't know, you haven't said that much, yet. I can let you know if I come to a decision?”

“I'd rather skip that.”

“Probably a good idea,” concurred Ethan.

“So you are Detective Ethan Cause and your superior officer is Captain Elisabeth Fect?!”

“Absolutely correct, as if I told you... which I did.”

“That aside,” the still nameless man looked up from his notes, “your names are Cause and...”

“Cause and E. Fect, yes.” Ethan nodded. “Your are not the first to not notice. But it get's even better when you consider which organization we work for.”

“You work for the Polizei.”

“That is... almost right.”

“It is not?”

“Not precisely, no. If we would, we would both be in Germany, Austria or some part of Switzerland and we would not have this unpleasant conversation.”

“I don't understand.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Even he can see that.” Ethan pointed into the direction of the first man, which had given the lead to his colleague and become quite quiet.

“What, no further insult?” the man replied.

“I thought it was enough insult implied. So, as the two of you should already know, Fect and I are working for the Polizeit.”

“What kind of word is that?”

“A foreign one. Well, actually two foreign ones, but merged together.” A long sigh, the sigh of having explained all that a thousand times before, escaped Ethan's lips, walked through the room, enjoyed the view at the window and then left for a drink in a bar and a nice relaxing massage. “It's some kind of wordplay. It consists of the German words Polizei and Zeit. Polizei means police and Zeit means time, so in English it would be something like Policetime... which would not make a lick of sense, so we prefer to use the German word, because it sounds young and cool an hip and has more to it than just calling us The Time Police... which sounds more like the name of a rock band or something. And yes, we considered Crime Travel as a hint to Time Travel, but there was already a tv-show by the same name and we didn't want to get into legal trouble.” Ethan looked at the two men. “So does that answer your question?”

“Do you care?”

“That answer you do know.”

“We do.”

The man did not smile, neither did his colleague.

“So why don't you tell us what happened then?”

“I found out what happened and who the killer was.”

They just stared at him.

“Or would you like some more details?” he grinned.

12:10

There was an office. In a skyscraper. With not the nicest of views. Showing other skyscrapers. Higher. And uglier. And skyscrapier, if that was a word. But they lived in a time, where it could be one. Even a crappy one. A scycrappy one...

21:30

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. I'm just building up the mood...”

“We would prefer if you wouldn't.”

“I know. But as you can imagine: I don't care. So wanna hear the story or not?”

12:11

In the office there was a desk. In front of the desk there was an armchair. In the armchair there was a person. In the person there was a knife.

“Why does no one use a gun anymore?” asked Tenant looking at the body.

21:31

“Who?”

“Tenant. Lou Tenant. Actually Lieutenant Lou Tenant... which does not work, if you're British.”

“Or...”

“Or humorless, yes, so it does not work on you. He was my partner at the time.”

“And Captain Fect?”

“Was my boss. Still is. Still will be. Still wanna know what happened?”

“Ehm...”

“Then less interrupting and more listening!”

12:12

“Too easy to follow.”

21:32

“What?”

“That's what you get for the constantly interrupting me. It was the answer to the question why nobody uses guns anymore... although I'm tempted right now!”

12:13

“Really?”

“No, not really. But guns are cataloged in a central system.”

“In how far central?”

“Across time... or timeless? Maybe out of time? Maybe not. But in the future, if that helps?”

Tenants face said that it did not.

“Anyhow, there you can find guns which have been used or will be used. It was supposed to lead to some kind of restriction of firearms... but that seems not to work with everyone. There are always some people who wanna stick to their guns – and now they are sticking to them. Doesn't change much, but sounds good. And has lead to the fact, that most firearms are cataloged now. At least those which since the beginning of time travel were part of a crime. So imagine you find a gun that was used in 2031, 2115, 2527 and 3030. Then you know you're looking for a time traveling killer.”

“Did you ever encounter one?”

“Not yet – but I'm still hoping for it!”

“And if you travel back very far in time and get a gun there?”

“Not subtle enough. Too easy to find out who traveled there... or then, to be precise, so it would be not that difficult to find the right person.” Ethan looked at the knife sticking out of the victim's back. “That gave knifes as the new murder weapon of choice a real push. You should buy stocks.” He stood up and walked over to a cop in uniform. “Wachtmeister Liebrecht?”

“Yes, Detective?”

“What can you tell us about the case?”

Liebrecht took out an e-padd and looked at his notes.

“The victim is Ralf Wagenbach, a banker.”

“Any enemies?”

“He was a banker!”

“So that doesn't shorten the list of suspects.”

“No, Sir, but the use of a time machine might.”

“Any suspects in particular?”

“More than enough.”

“Anything else?”

“A name. In his notebook. Handwritten.”

Cause looked at it. “A meeting? For the time of our murder?”

“Looks like it.”

“Our killer?”

“Possible. But unlikely.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn't exist.”

“That sounds... strange.”

“Yes, Sir. Maybe just a memory... of something? Or a codeword?”

“Possible,” nodded Ethan and looked at the appointments book which was made of the finest paper you could buy for money. “One meeting... but for the rest of the day he seemed to have other plans.”

In the notebook the afternoon was framed with a big heart. On the desk there was a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of champagne which still was ice cold and a little bottle containing some kind of drug.

“That drug is often used for rape,” the Wachtmeister explained when he noticed Ethan's look.

“It's getting better and better.”

“Detective Cause?”

“Yes?”

A technician stood in front of him.

“We have made some scans.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Well?”

“Anything strange?!”

“How did you know?” the technician asked surprised.

“I had a feeling. So what is it?”

He looked at the scan results the technician showed him.

“That is strange.”

“How strange?”

“Quite,” muttered the Detective. “Looks like as if the time space continuum has gotten a tiny little scratch.”

“A scratch?” Lou Tenant seemed to be curious.

“Yupp. As if... it was damaged. Not dramatically. Just a tiny little bit. Like a... very thin crack... but it's there. And I don't have the foggiest idea why.”

“And there is something else very strange, Sir.”

“Something else? What could that be, Wachtmeister?”

“We found some fingerprints on the knife.”

“That is strange. Or just unprofessional. Sloppy maybe.”

“We also found a genetic fingerprint.”

“That is even stranger! So we seem to have ourselves a killer. Who was it?”

“That is what we can't find out. The person does not seem to exist.”

“Then that by far is the strangest. If I asked you how something like that is possible...”

“I have no idea, Sir.”

“Neither have I. Thank you, Wachtmeister, you presented us with a very unconventional case.”

“It is?” asked Tenant.

“Oh yes. Even for one with time travel in it.”

“And... what are we going to do now?”

“We have us a nice little talk with the suspects... that is, if they exist!”

12:20

Ariella Groger was an old lady. She smiled at the two policemen as the maid helped her into the room, pointed at the fine china and said: “Would you like some fucking tea?”

Ethan had to hide his grin, but Tenant took it less cool.

“That stupid cow of a maid only gets tea right a couple of times, say one out of seven, so I understandably don't like to share,” the old lady explained. “But maybe she still got some of the disgusting stuff she fabricates most of the time?” Madame Groger rang for the maid, which entered the room hastily and a little bit frightened. “You still got some of the crap you called tea?”

“No, madame.”

“Did you feed that shit to the rabbits?”

“I poured it into the toilet, all of it, madame.”

“Well, that's environmental pollution, you'll pay that from your salary,” whispered the old woman. “And now chop chop to the kitchen, I have something to discuss with these nice gentlemen.”

The maid bowed down politely and disappeared hastily.

“So what do I have to discuss with you?” the Groger demanded to know. “You are with the police, aren't you?”

“Yes, madame.”

“Good news or bad?”

“It's about a murder.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Might it answer it if I told you who the victim was?”

“That is exactly my point, young man. So, who did bite it, friend or foe?”

“Ralf Wagenbach.”

“Fraaaanziiii!” the old lady shouted, and, when the girl arrived at the door, totally breathless, added: “Champagne. The expensive one! Chop chop!”

“So it is good news then?!”

“Better is nearly impossible,” the madame laughed. “You saved my day. My week. My life. I would kiss you, if I wouldn't think of that to be too disgusting. The girl can do that later. Ralf Wagenbach, dead, finally! I'm so happy, I always feared I might miss that. But here we are – and he is not. Makes you almost believe in a god. Well, as you mentioned the word murder, it might not be natural causes?!”

“Definitely not!”

“Even better. Great. Fantastic. Did he have to suffer? Please?!”

“Probably... a bit.”

“Well, you can't have everything, can you?”

The girl entered with the champagne.

“How many glasses?” she asked.

“They are called flutes, my dear.”

“How many flutes?”

“One will do, the gentlemen are on duty. Oh, and that one gets a wet one on the cheek.”

The girl toddled to the Detective, kissed him briefly on his cheek and then hurried to the closet to get the right glass.

“What a great day.” The old lady was happy. “How much do I owe you?”

“I'm sorry, madame?”

“I'm am not. I'm very not! I'm happy. So what do I owe you. For the great news. Your police does charge for everything, doesn't it? For arrests. For interrogation. For torture. Does it charge for torture?”

Tenant looked at Ethan in astonishment.

“Do we... I mean, charge for torture.”