Worse, Bastian felt that he stood pretty much alone with his presentiment of danger. Not even Josef Hesemann, the doctor, would listen to him any longer. As a matter of fact, just the day before, Hesemann had urged Bastian to drink a goblet of wine before going to bed in order to relax his nerves.

But he simply knew that the killer was still close. Tomorrow in the early morning he would depart for Cologne and take a look for himself at the killer's farm. Maybe he would find clues about h.e.l.lenbroich's next steps, and if he was lucky he could stop him before yet another young girl lost her life.

IX.

Present

Anna walked along the bank of the Rhine. It was a clear, bright day; the sunshine sparkled on the water. Cheerfully daydreaming, her thoughts wandered freely until, suddenly, she noticed someone squatting ahead in the distance. The silhouette seemed somehow familiar. Curious, she quickened her pace and approached the person.

He had his back to her, so she could discern only his broad shoulders and his wind-blown blond hair. Even so, she knew immediately who he was. She recalled the evening two weeks ago when he had walked her home in the thick of a snowstorm.

All of a sudden he turned around as if he had felt her glance on his back. His dark-brown eyes smiled at her. She felt her knees getting weak and desperately tried to think of something to say. Not a single word came to mind. All she managed was a stiff, short nod. Fortunately, he eased the situation.

"h.e.l.lo, my lady, how are you? I am glad to see you again."

Just as she was about to reply, he literally vanished. Bastian was gone. And that was not all: the Rhine also faded away until it disappeared and Anna found herself standing alone in the dark. Startled, she opened her eyes and sat up. It was nine o'clock at night. She had fallen asleep on her sofa.

Her throat felt dry. Slowly she got to her feet and, still half-asleep, walked over to the kitchen. She took a water gla.s.s off the shelf, and while water ran from the faucet she glanced down onto the street. Strange. Someone was standing under the streetlamp and looking up to her window.

At first she worried that it was a stalker, but when she took a closer look, she thought she recognized the man she had just been dreaming of. Indeed, he was waving at her. Now she was convinced that it had to be that Bastian guy. Wait, was that really his name or had she only dreamt it? She waved back at him, took a big gulp of water, shrugged off her rumpled work clothes, and hurried into jeans and a sweater. She tiptoed down the stairs and quietly opened the door.

"h.e.l.lo there, can I help you?" she whispered.

"No, thank you. I just wanted to check on you, to make sure everything is good with you."

"Well, thank you. I'm doing fine," Anna replied. After a short moment of silence, she ventured, "Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"

"With pleasure-if you don't mind letting a stranger into your apartment at such a late hour."

Anna opened the door a bit wider and waved him inside. In fact, her audacity at inviting a complete stranger into her apartment scared her a little bit, but her gut feeling told her she was safe with him. He followed her up the stairs, and she motioned him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

"It was very kind of you to walk me home the other night," Anna said while heating water for their tea. "Truly, it was quite late, snowing like mad, and pitch-dark." She paused.

"By the way, my name is Anna."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Bastian," he replied, not registering Anna's look of surprise. "I just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you. I often check in here to make sure that everything is fine."

"Oh, I see-so you must belong to that new civil watch squad that took up duty here in Zons last month? I actually thought the mayor wasn't that serious about it. Well, at least that's what the media made me think. They were always mocking the initiative because you never really see anyone." Anna chatted breathlessly and didn't even wait for Bastian's answer; she took his brief nod as a confirmation and kept chattering on, engaging him in a cheerful conversation about all the things that made Zons so special.

"Have you been living here a long time?" she asked him.

"Oh, yes. For a very long time. Sometimes it even seems much too long for my taste." He smiled at her.

The conversation was pleasant, and an hour had pa.s.sed easily when he suggested that, given the late hour, he should leave so Anna could get ready for bed. At first Anna felt a slight disappointment, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

When he said good-bye, he placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. His old-fashioned mannerisms and speech struck Anna as somewhat odd but also attractive in a peculiar way. Martin had never treated her with any chivalry-or even the attentiveness one would expect of a boyfriend-and she was so charmed by Bastian's quaint ways that she completely forgot to ask for his phone number. When she realized that he hadn't asked for hers, either, she felt another little sting of disappointment. But since she didn't want to spoil her blissful mood, she decided to cherish their nice encounter until the next one, which, she strongly hoped, would happen soon.

In the middle of the night Anna opened her eyes. Had the conversation with Bastian been real or part of that same vivid dream? Suddenly she wasn't sure anymore whether Bastian had really sat in her apartment and gently kissed her hand good-bye, or whether it had been just another dream.

Oliver Bergmann admired himself in the mirror. His new uniform suited him extraordinarily well. It was official: as recently as last week he had been promoted and now belonged to the Crime Commission of the police department in Neuss, Rhine County. His jurisdiction included Zons, and he was in charge of violent offenses-murder, rape, robbery, physical a.s.sault, and poisoning.

Almost a thousand of these offenses were committed annually. With a crime-clearance rate hovering around 80 percent, Bergmann's team was one of the most successful in the entire county police.

A lucky coincidence had triggered his rapid promotion into the prestigious Crime Commission. Just a few months ago he had still been a regular patrolman who issued traffic citations and followed up on complaints about noise nuisance. Yet he had been the pivotal a.s.sistant to his colleagues who were trying to solve the murder of a homeless man at the Neuss Central Station. He had pulled out his cell phone at the right moment and filmed the perpetrator on the run. It had already been dark, but the police technicians nevertheless managed to use his cell-phone video to isolate the license plate of the killer's car, making it possible to catch the guy swiftly. Chief of Detectives Hans Steuermark had been so impressed with Bergmann's instincts and quick actions that he soon invited Bergmann to join his team, even though the patrolman's final grades from the Academy hadn't been the best. But Steuermark couldn't care less. He'd rejected candidates with better grades; he wasn't one to put a high price on theoretical knowledge displayed and praised on paper. He relied on promptness, logical thinking, and the right gut instinct.

The phone rang, and when Oliver saw the number on the display he frowned. His mother again. It was only eight o'clock in the morning, and this was her second call. Since Oliver's father had pa.s.sed away the year before, his mother felt lonely in the big house. Oliver visited her as often as he could and spoke almost daily with her on the phone. They generally had a good relationship, but she was starting to get on his nerves. He could already surmise what she wanted to ask him. He had announced his visit for the weekend, and now she was probably fussing about the dinner menu. Just a moment ago she had called to ask whether she should also invite his cousin over, and Oliver couldn't think of anything else for her to ask about now but the food.

"Hi, Mom," he said. "What's up?"

And, indeed, she asked him what he wanted her to cook on the weekend. Since he had to report for duty at the precinct in fifteen minutes, he cut it short and headed out.

It took him less than ten minutes to arrive at his office, where his partner Klaus already awaited him.

"Oliver, we have to leave right away. Steuermark wants us to take on the Body in the Woods case. The guys from Dusseldorf are already on-site, and I really don't want them to s.n.a.t.c.h another case from us."

Oliver thought about Klaus's previous case. Oliver hadn't been on board yet, but he knew that Klaus had been investigating the murder of a seven-year-old girl for almost a year, and that since Klaus wasn't the fastest detective, the Dusseldorf homicide division had ended up taking over the entire case. It had been a real comedown for Klaus after pouring a lot of time and work into the investigations-and, as it turned out, he had been on the right track. But the guys from the state capital had been pressing hard because the girl was from a notable local family, and they wanted the case solved as quickly as possible.

Klaus made a point of playing it safe when investigating. He wouldn't make an accusation until he was absolutely certain. But in the case of the young girl, there had been pressure to come up with a suspect at any cost, and when they finally arrested someone, they were only 80 percent sure it was the right guy. Since then Klaus had taken to speeding up his investigations; today he didn't even give Oliver time to grab a coffee.

They drove to a patch of forest adjacent to the Autobahn A57 near Neuss. A lumberjack had discovered the body of a man in his late twenties, fully dressed except for his shoes, which were missing. There was no wallet on him. And the killer had burned the man's fingertips, probably in order to prevent a fast identification of the victim.

Thanks to witness statements and an a.n.a.lysis of the tire marks, they had so far been able to determine that the killer must have driven a Ford. Two weeks ago, a wallet had been found in a household garbage can not far from a large housing complex in Dusseldorf; the information on the ID card matched the details of a young man who'd been reported missing eight weeks earlier. As far as Oliver was concerned, identification of the body should be imminent.

X.

Five Hundred Years Ago

Bastian was impressed when he saw Dietrich h.e.l.lenbroich's property. The farm was huge, with two large barns, numerous stables, a main house, and three smaller buildings for the employees, all grouped around a big inner yard. The premises appeared to be well kept, despite h.e.l.lenbroich's prolonged absence of several weeks. Just as Bastian was wondering who was operating the farm in the murderer's absence, a st.u.r.dy old man stepped out of one of the stables, as if antic.i.p.ating Bastian's question.

"Hail, stranger," said the old man. "What can I do for you?"

Bastian quickly appraised the man: he was in very good physical shape for his age, but he was totally blind. His eyes were clouded over, almost completely white. Only a soft, dark shadow hinted that the old man's eyes must once have been brown. His long hair was thick and full, entirely gray, as were his bushy eyebrows. As he stood there with his hair blowing in the wind and those blind eyes, a long wooden cane in his right hand, he reminded Bastian of a magician.

Truth be told, Bastian had only seen magicians from a distance. As a boy he'd had to sneak out of his house to catch some forbidden glances of the magic acts at the jugglers' fairs. His mother had been adamant about not letting him go to the fairs; she was convinced that traveling folks were evil, devilish creatures with witches' brews and charms that poisoned and cursed innocent, upright people.

In fact, when he was a boy, Bastian had known of one such unfortunate person. The woman lived nearby in Zons, and rumor had it that a magician's spell had cursed her to remain an old spinster. Indeed, she had lived to a very old age, but not once had a suitor asked her hand in marriage, although in her time she had been considered one of the most beautiful young women in Zons.

His mother had often told him the story of the poor old maid, and as a consequence, Bastian's childhood fascination had gradually evolved into an inexplicable fear of the fairs and the psychics, jugglers, and magicians who peopled them. Bastian reminded himself that the old man standing in front of him now was a farmworker, not a magician; his heart stopped racing, and he returned the friendly greeting.

"My name is Bastian Muhlenberg. I am a member of the City Guard in Zons, and I am looking for the farmer and murderer Dietrich h.e.l.lenbroich. During his transfer from Cologne to Neuss he was incarcerated for one night in our Juddeturm, but unfortunately he managed to escape and killed one of our girls. I'm looking for clues. We need to catch him before he has the chance to prey on yet another victim. I hope you can help me and answer some questions."

The old man felt his knees getting weak until they couldn't hold him any longer. With a loud sigh he put down his cane. Covering his whole face with his hands, he sank to the ground, muttering words that Bastian could barely make out.

"Oh no . . . Dietrich. Not Zons. I always said it's a holy city . . . must not be desecrated."

"What does that mean? Zons a holy city?" Bastian stooped to grab the man under his arms and help him into the kitchen of the main house. "Didn't they tell you here that Dietrich h.e.l.lenbroich has another notch on his belt-another girl killed?" Bastian asked.

"No. The guards from Cologne searched everything and didn't leave a stone unturned, but they didn't say a single word about a dead girl in Zons." The old man painstakingly lifted a cup to his lips.

"Oh, yech!" He spit out the weak ale. "Marta! I need something stronger. Bring me a chalice of wine. The good one-and another goblet for my young guest here. And hurry up, will you, woman!" The maid looked frightened and scurried off to obey.

"Look," the old man continued with his wine in hand, "Dietrich was a very special boy. Deep down he is a good soul, but his father battered the little angel that used to live in his heart for so long that the angel flew away. Since then, Dietrich carries only the devil inside him, and the devil burns and destroys every little bit of kindness or affection. I'm afraid Dietrich's soul cannot be saved anymore. It has long disappeared. A very long time ago."

The old man cast his blind eyes steadily onto Bastian, and suddenly Bastian had the impression that the man sitting across from him was not blind at all. He tried to wash away his uneasiness with a big gulp of wine. The alcohol went down smoothly, replacing the chill from his long journey with warmth.

"How do you know Dietrich?" he asked the old man.

"I've known him since he was a little boy. He used to sneak into my performances when he was a young lad. You see, I used to be quite a famous clairvoyant. I even had the honor of entertaining some of the country's most prestigious aristocrats with my art. One day, however, I revealed the truth about the wife of one of those important men-and in his rage he had me blinded. Since then I was no longer suited for a juggler's traveling life. I need a stable place where I can find my way around despite my blindness. More than ten years ago, Dietrich asked me to become chief supervisor on his farm, and I accepted with grat.i.tude. I didn't know how a blind man could be of any use to the farm, but things have worked out well."

It's no surprise that Dietrich would hire a blind, old psychic just to scare off the rest of his staff, Bastian thought. They were all probably terrified that he'd cast a spell on them if they didn't submissively endure the murderer's brutal manner.

As if the old man had read this thoughts, he p.r.o.nounced, "Bastian Muhlenberg, you have a pure soul and are full of love. That's why I have decided to tell you a secret I only share with very few people."

"What secret? And what did you mean earlier, when you referred to Zons as a holy city?"

"Oh, that. I can easily let you in on what I know about the holy city of Zons," the old man whispered, leaning in closer to Bastian. His breath was warm and reeked of alcohol, and Bastian tried to overcome his nausea and remain close to his host.

"Dietrich's mother was from there. That's why to him it is a holy city!" The old man laughed out loud and then stood up and rested his hand on Bastian's shoulder.

"Bastian Muhlenberg, bestow me the honor and stay overnight. Tonight is the January full moon, and I would like to show you something." With these words, he abruptly walked out of the parlor and left Bastian alone.

So his first instinct had not betrayed him: Bastian had in fact encountered a real magician-or clairvoyant, or whatever he was-in the flesh. At first glance, he seemed rather sinister. His acquaintance with Dietrich h.e.l.lenbroich was suspicious enough. But Bastian couldn't say that the old man had threatened or even cursed him in any way. Should he stay overnight? His mother, G.o.d bless her, would turn over in her grave if she knew.

But she didn't know, and Bastian was curious to learn about the secret the magician had mentioned. Of course, it could well be a trap. Would the old man try to kill Bastian in his sleep? Well, he could have done so earlier by putting something into his wine. Bastian had emptied his entire goblet, but all he felt was pleasantly relaxed and drowsy.

No, he thought to himself, if he really wanted to kill me, he already had a good chance. Slowly he shook his head.

"I will accept your kind offer. I shall stay overnight."

A few minutes later the maid appeared in the doorway and asked Bastian if she could show him to his room. He followed her to the staff living quarters on the left side of the main house and gratefully sank down on the bed as soon as she had left the room.

"Hey, wake up! Time to go!" The old psychic hammered on Bastian's door.

Bastian rubbed his eyes and jumped out of bed. His stomach growled. He noticed that it was dark out. He must have fallen asleep and missed dinner. He opened the door.

The old man offered him some b.u.t.tered bread, cheese, and a goblet of wine. "Here, eat this. I believe you might need some refreshment," he said. "You slept so profoundly, I didn't want to wake you earlier. But now we have to go, or we'll miss an incredible spectacle tonight."

Gratefully, Bastian devoured the food and wine. His appet.i.te was voracious. The old man patted his back.

"My young fellow, had I known how hungry you were, I would have called you for dinner!"

"How can you tell that I have eaten everything, when you are blind?" Bastian asked, incredulous.

"From the way you are smacking your lips. I can tell without seeing that your plate is empty. Hearing is enough." The old man grinned at him. "Come on now. We'll go over to the meadow behind the main house, and I will show you a magic rectangle. Should you still be hungry afterward, there's plenty of bread and wine in the kitchen for you."

With these words he gently pushed Bastian through the door and slipped his arm under Bastian's. They hurried across the inner yard. A small gate led them onto a huge meadow. Four large torches were already set up in the shape of a right-angled trapezoid. Each torch stood about five to seven feet from the next one in the frosty gra.s.s.

The night air was frigid, and a thin layer of icy snow covered the meadow, reflecting the light from the full moon. Bastian rubbed his cold hands together and looked over at the old man, who was fishing in the pockets of his gown and finally held up two flint stones and some tinder.

"Strike a spark and light those four torches, please."

Bastian did as he was told. After gnashing the stones together, he produced some sparks, and the tinder began to glow. Then he held a piece of brushwood into the embers and waited until he saw a small flame. He lit the first torch, pulled it out of the ground, lit the remaining three torches with its flame, and then shoved it back into the frozen earth.

"Why do you need light when you can't see anyway? Besides, the full moon is so bright, one hardly needs torches."

"You will see for me, Bastian Muhlenberg. Tell me exactly how many feet the torches are apart."

Bastian walked the distance between the first two torches. Six feet. Then he turned in a right angle and walked from the second to the third torch. This time, he measured seven feet. Again he turned left and now measured eight feet. He repeated the left turn and walked back to the first torch. Nine feet.

"Excellent!" The old man clapped his hands gleefully and ordered, "Now, take me to the first torch."

Bastian guided the psychic to the first torch, where the old man requested that Bastian lie down next to him in the meadow.

"What do you see, Bastian Muhlenberg? What do your young eyes perceive?"

Bastian blinked. The torch's bright glow blinded his eyes, and it was hard to concentrate with the icy layer of snow against his back.

"All I see is the fire from the torch. What else should I see?" he asked, shivering.

"Focus. Ignore the fire and let your eyes see through the glow. What do you see in the sky?"

Bastian tried to focus but couldn't see anything, and his eyes started to water from the cold. But just a second later they adjusted to the brightness of the torch, and suddenly he could make out bright pinpoints in the nocturnal sky.

"I see the stars in the sky above me," he told the old man without averting his glance from the heavens.