The Ways of Justice

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

Detective Chief Superintendent Frank Kruger loved the freshness of a new day breaking. The chill in the air always felt like an infusion of fresh blood. Besides, the early hour enabled him to get a timely start for his office and beat the morning traffic congestion. The Polizeipraesidium (police headquarters) was located in a busy part of Munich and inner-city snarl-ups were legion.

He couldn't be bothered with getting his own breakfast that morning, planning to eat in the headquarters' cafeteria and go through the morning papers before his daily staff meeting began at eight AM. The local press was quicker off the mark than his own bureaucracy which had to collect and sort the reports from his police stations spread around the metropolis and rural areas. That way, he would learn of the occasional murder, the more frequent house robberies and other crimes committed in the past night. Sad but true.

Kruger headed up the Serious Crimes Department of the Bavarian Kriminalpolizei (CID). Being the capital of the province of Bavaria, Munich had its fair share of crime and the press never failed to report it.

Today, the editors of The Munich Times, otherwise known for their pithy style, devoted the first four pages to an accidental death which had taken place the previous day. The deceased, Dolff Madden, was one of the provinces wealthiest citizens and a much-honoured son. Thus the size of the spread. But the way the man had died caught his attention. He was hit by a golf ball, the paper reported.

As accidents weren't his area, he found the piece of news amusing.

He finished reading the obituary, rose, stretched and walked up the stairs to his regulation-size, institutionally grey office. Standing at the only window, he gazed out over the myriads of rooftops to the twin towers of Munich's famous landmark, the Frauenkirche cathedral, dating back to 1494, and on to the foothills in the far distance. Heavy rain clouds hid the peaks of the Alps proper. Rain's on the way, he said to himself.

A sound behind him caused him to turn. Mario Ziegler, a senior inspector, walked in and, greeting the Chief, slumped into his regular place at the conference table.

In his late twenties, Ziegler had auburn hair styled with a loose quiff and cropped short at the back. Over six feet tall and slim, he wore a navy-blue denim jacket, white T-shirt and tight jeans tucked into cowboy boots with fitted imitation spurs. A fan of country & western music, he dressed like Johnny Cash right up to a Royal Flush Stetson.

Kruger shuddered at his get-up. "On the way to a rodeo today, are we, Inspector?"

He glanced at the Chief's well-worn, old-fashioned clothes. "On my pay, Chief, I can't afford posh suits."

Kruger gave him a weak smile. His hair, brushed straight back, was thinning and turning a steely grey; his large, brown eyes had the perpetually sad look of a boxer dog which never got its own way. His puffed eyes gave him the appearance of a man who'd been old for a lifetime though without belying his bulldog spirit or his terrier instincts. But when he smiled, he looked a lot like a Buddha ready to forgive the world's every sin.

"Well, old man Madden really went out with a bang yesterday," Ziegler said, grinning. "And seeing the coverage the press is giving him, he could easily have been the Bavarian minister-president himself."

"I should think Dolff Madden is of greater import," Kruger commented with a wry smile, "considering as how he is ... was chairman of an international conglomerate employing more than thirty thousand people in Germany alone – and most of those in Bavaria."

"I suppose so. Those types get my goat though. Dirty rich and dirty hands. But he'll go down as a local hero, no doubt. His powerful buddies from here to Berlin and Brussels will see to that. And from what I hear he's the biggest contributor to the ruling party funds hereabouts–"

Kruger held up a hand. "Enough, Inspector. We don't know any of this for a fact ... Anyway, as long as these people keep their hands clean of crime, it's not our area of responsibility."

Ziegler seemed about to protest then thought better of it as other staff members began filing in, chatting among themselves.

Kruger rose to take his place at the head of the conference table, knowing Ziegler had a point. But what could he do about it! It was the way of the world. Wealth - power - politics. The deadly three for which, when taken together, crime was merely an expedient.

He took his seat at the head of the table and prepared himself to listen to what the city's villains had been up to in the last twenty-four hours and what his subordinates were doing about it.