Deadly Dealings E-Book

Joachim Stengel

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 259

Beschreibung

DEADLY DEALINGS: A man is shot right in front of his office door, ripping private detective Robert Tarne out of his sweet daydreams. Why here and why now, why him? Is it just a coincidence? And what about the blood-stained key that the dying man manages to hand over to him just before the cops arrive? In Deadly Dealings, the latest Robert Tarne crime novel, we meet a kaleidoscope of characters, including shadowy elite police units of the German government. With millions at stake and all sides claiming to be on the "right side", Tarne is challenged as never before. The action takes place in The Ruhr Area (in German: Ruhrgebiet), the sprawling, gritty heart of the historic coal and industrial zone along the Ruhr River, still the most populous area of Germany. It is a cultural and economic melting pot, almost a country in itself. Readers will be surprised to learn that the proper and organized Germans also operate in an very gray area when it comes to the law. This is a novel about German culture you don´t read about in the tourist guides!

Leseprobe

Many thanks to Jay Adams for his suggestions and assistance in preparing the English text

Table of Contents

Chapter 01: Present

Chapter 02: Past

Chapter 03: Present

Chapter 04: Past

Chapter 05: Present

Chapter 06: Past

Chapter 07: Present

Chapter 08: Past

Chapter 09: Present

Chapter 10: Past

Chapter 11

Chapter 12: Past

Chapter 13: Present

Chapter 14: Present

Chapter 15: Present

Chapter 16: Present

Chapter 17: Present

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

01 Present

Monday, early afternoon, in the middle of August. The sun is blazing in the cloudless sky above the parched city. The Ruhr area has been simmering for six weeks. People seek the shadows wherever they can, moving only apathetically and aching for a few drops of rain. Should he take his feet off the table and draw the blinds? Tarne loves the sun and the warmth, but only from the shade. At this moment, it's bothering him during his favorite pastime, reading. It's pulling him out of an existence in the fascinating alternate worlds of Paul Auster, lulled by bird song and occasional traffic sounds. Should he treat himself to an ice-cold Pepsi Light? But that would require him to get up and fetch it from the fridge! A bead of sweat runs down his forehead. A beautiful day. A quiet day! No bills due and a few euros in his pocket.

He had delegated the surveillance of a jealous husband's wife to an associate. Why worry about new assignments? Life is beautiful. Enjoy the moment!

His last job had taken him to Denmark. It had to do with a chicken farm. He had been successful, proving that eggs sold as organic were not being produced according to the regulations.

He had liked the country. There, using the lavatories and parking were free, unlike the gas stations on German highways. He had to pay seventy cents there. They even make a fortune off of people peeing! The 50 cent voucher that is spit out of the coin automat, which he could redeem for a 2.99 plastic cup of iced and sweetened latte macchiato, normally costing 99 cents, didn't make it any more bearable. He felt his anger pass over his face as he stroked two fingers over his right eyebrow, as if he wanted to shoo away an annoying fly.

"Get ready!" he muttered to himself, only half paying attention to a man rushing past the long window front of the former butcher shop where Tarne had set up his office. The man outside wore a jacket, despite the heat, like a stuffy businessman and kept looking over his shoulder. More drops of sweat found their way to Tarne's eyebrows. In the side window of a car parked across the street, something glinted, followed by an incongruous crack of thunder against the blue sky. That jolted Tarne awake. He was already on his feet before the echo of the shot died away. The man in the jacket was hit, raised an arm, and stumbled backwards over the sidewalk until he was in front of Tarne's office door. The bullet had passed through the man's flesh like butter, exiting his body and continuing through the glass entrance door to Tarne's office. A growing spider web of cracks appeared on the whole pane from the entry hole. The man vainly tried to grasp for support with his raised hand. Slowly, he slid down, leaving a red trail. The sign on the window, 'Robert E. Tarne - Private Investigations', was smeared with a bloody streak in the middle. The red glint appeared dangerous in the sun. Tarne sprang to the door, suddenly feeling cold. A car engine revved and the vehicle peeled away with screeching tires. Tarne pushed against the door and moved the slumped body back. The man groaned. Tarne leaned over him. The man's white shirt was soaked with blood. He reached out a hand and tried to say something, but a gush of blood shot from his mouth, making only an indistinct grunt audible.

"It will be alright," Tarne tried to reassure him, without believing it. "I'll call for help." He reached for his phone, dialed 911, provided the necessary information, and repeated: "Yeah, that's right, Hubertstrasse, corner of Hubertweiche in Kray, the store with the yellow tiles - right in front of my office," Tarne stammered. He wondered what he had just blurted out, then knelt down beside the man again and cradled the dying man's head in his lap to give him a comfortable position. More and more blood gushed out of the man's mouth. With his last bit of strength, he groped for Tarne. His hand, balled into a fist, slid over Tarne's chest and slowly opened. It left behind a trail of blood and a small key. Tarne reflexively reached for it and slipped it into his pocket. At the same moment, the last breath escaped the man's lungs and his eyesight was extinguished forever. Tarne sat motionless. The adrenaline that had flooded his body temporarily had been spent. Overwhelming fatigue spread through him. He knew this archaic mechanism that provided energy in the moment of danger to run faster or hit harder, and thus through evolution had enabled humanity to survive. It hadn't helped in this situation. He couldn't prevent anything and was flattened. A man had just died in front of his door and in his arms. Not died, no, shot. Like an execution on the street. That was the most accurate description. Windows were opened. Curious people stuck their heads out to catch a glimpse of the sensation that was served to bring a touch of excitement and adventure to their dreary everyday life. "Don't lose your nerve!" Tarne told himself. Following his professional instincts, he pulled the wallet from the dead man's jacket and fished out the ID. Edgar Eberli, born in Adligenswil/LU, Switzerland, on April 18.1972. He was forty-two years old. He lived in Bern, Aebistrasse 11. As the first onlookers approached, he put the wallet back and wiped it clean. He didn't want to leave any fingerprints behind.

The sirens grew louder and louder. When the emergency responders arrived, they found Tarne sitting cross-legged in front of his shattered front door, covered in blood and cradling the head of the dead man lying in front of him. The pavement beneath them was a dark red pool, littered with cigarette butts, flattened gum, bottle caps, and sparse patches of grass. An animalistic stench hung in the air, and the first flies were already circling the drying crusts of blood.

It took Tarne some time to gather his thoughts. It was strange how quickly the police had arrived, almost as if they knew something was going to happen. An ambulance was also approaching from the city center.

The police officers holstered their weapons, and the doctor pronounced Eberli dead before turning to Tarne. When questioned, Tarne denied any involvement and insisted that everything was fine. But nothing was fine with Tarne.

He was pulled to his feet by the responders, who bombarded him with questions.

02 Past

"Come with me," a fellow student had said, "it's a fun job!" That's how Tarne's work as a detective started. They had met each other at dawn, like two little boys embarking on an adventure, like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Their breath had been visible as white vapor as they waited for the VW bus, in which they were driven to Cologne with six other people, two of them women. There they had to wander around all day in all sorts of department stores and expose shoplifters.

"Why so far away?" Tarne had asked. "So you can't accidentally run into someone you know and cover for them. That's why," they were told, Tarne suspected that it had more to do with the low pay and that the employer was afraid that people would just walk away. The fellow student explained to him later that the actual earnings only started after six months and that the starting wages were currently low for that reason. That was when the poor bastards who were caught stealing were in court. Then you got wage loss and travel expenses reimbursed by the court. It looked like you wouod be in court in the morning and then would wander around the department stores for the rest of the half day. The more shoplifters you caught, the more court hearings, the greater the earnings.

Tarne quickly developed a knack for it. His success rate was good. At peak times, he caught six to eight "fish" a day. Early on, the stories of the victims often touched him. Sometimes he let someone go. But he was ironclad on one thing. He never took bribes. Not from the young girls who put a nail polish or eyebrow pencil in their handbags or jackets in the cosmetics department, or from men and women of all ages who tried on new clothes in the dressing rooms and actually believed that they wouldn't be noticed. He quickly learned where to stand, what to watch for. He could increasingly predict the behaviors of men or women who would help themselves. He found particularly exciting the people who had to steal compulsively, just something, no matter what it was. They spontaneously and unexpectedly stole things that no one would think they could have an interest in. They acted as if driven by an impulse. But he caught them all. When their faces became too well known in the department stores, the detectives were moved to another city. At first to Cologne, Münster, or Wuppertal, later mainly within the Ruhr area, from Duisburg to Dortmund, Oberhausen, Mülheim, Gelsenkirchen, Herne, Bottrop, Bochum.

That‘s how it all began. It didn't matter how you dressed. You could wander around the department stores in any attire you pleased, the more inconspicuous, the better. Eventually, Tarne noticed that the surveillance company sent those dressed in suits to the better stores. So he started wearing a suit. It somehow appealed to him to distance himself from his student image. He realized that a suit was also a kind of uniform, just like the student jeans and t-shirt repertoire, and that he would never look well-groomed. But in this more refined outfit, his careless, sometimes maliciously described as sloppy manner was not quite as apparent. He soon became known for his good nose for crime in the more upscale stores and had the best catch rates. Apparently, a person in a suit seemed more inconspicuous, so he earned good money on the often more extensive legal proceedings of this clientele.

At first, it was just a job to make ends meet as a student. Then Tarne began to enjoy it. Spying on people, uncovering their secrets. Being on the go, unbound and without the supervision of a boss, began to appeal to him. He determined when he got going and what he did to catch people in the act. And in his own way, he was doing something for justice! At least, that's how he saw it.

And there was something else that attracted him: maintaining law and order! He didn't think about whether the rules he upheld were right or just. That was simply the way things were.

It became more and more his responsibility to ensure, in his own way, that these rules were followed.

03 Present

"And let's do it all over again," one of the two tormentors droned on in the shabby, gray-painted room, a typical office at the police station, Norbertstrasse precinct, opposite the Gruga. Two desks were placed head to head so that the two users could sit facing each other on their desk chairs and look into each other's eyes. Another table had been placed alongside the two office pieces to create additional space for the mountains of files and paperwork. In front of the table was a metal pipe chair with a wooden seat and backrest. Tarne had been dumped in that spot. Shriveling potted plants, tasteless wall decorations, calendars with vacation landscapes on one side and cars and scantily clad beauties on the other surrounded him. In between, there were notes with printed sayings hanging on the wall like "When God saw the salaries of employees, he turned around and wept bitterly." Tarne had been informed of his rights and had been allowed to freshen up briefly. Remnants of blood still stuck to his face, neck, and hands. Encrusted. The fresh red had turned into a rust brown with black edges, cracking and flaking. The blood-soaked clothes had dried by now and rustled and chafed with every movement. He emitted a foul odor. Very pleasant, all of it, thought Tarne, hoping that the officers got a good whiff of the emanations.

The one with the vacation landscapes had introduced himself as Detective Roland Bergmann. Markus Krause, with the car calendar behind him, had said,

"We know each other well enough. Have you gotten yourself into another mess? I'm curious to see how you'll get out of it this time."

Bergmann was approaching retirement, a paternal type. Krause, Tarne remembered, must have been around thirty-five. Krause confronted him with the repeated questioning more directly, as if he had to earn his spurs for promotion, and it seemed to be a lot of fun for him.

"That can't be serious," Tarne exclaimed, clearly showing his annoyance. "The whole thing again?" It felt like the interrogation had been going on for hours already.

"Yes, please! Start from the beginning again. There are a few things that are unclear," Krause insisted.

"Listen, I didn't see anything more than what I said. It won't change if I have to repeat it five more times," Tarne replied. Even his reminder that a person had just died in his arms and no one could just shrug that off didn't help.

Bergmann had been pacing back and forth with his hands folded behind his back for a while. Now he stepped behind Tarne and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen," he said, "there's no reason to get angry. We're just doing our duty."

Tarne sighed and resigned himself to his fate. He knew it was routine. The officers had enough experience to know that people often remembered something else the longer they squeezed them. But they couldn't get anything out of him! Tarne began to itch all over, from scabs that weren't his.

Bergmann went over to a low, also gray, dented metal filing cabinet with locked doors and sat on it. The gray room, Tarne thought.

Krause rested his head on his hands, fixing him with a gaze. From the background, Bergmann spoke in a calm tone,

"Do you want a lawyer?" A shower would be preferable, Tarne thought to himself before responding,

"Why would I need a lawyer?". Krause lowered his hands and leaned further over the table,

"Well, what do you think? Do you need one?"

"I don't need one if something happened to be outside my door. Why should I need a lawyer?" Tarne replied. From the background again,

"Coincidentally?" Tarne turned to Bergmann,

"Yes, coincidentally. I haven't done anything wrong. Is this how you treat people who help others?" Krause chimed in once more.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you! So, what time was it when you first saw the man?"

"Now listen up," Tarne snapped back, "I'm talking to your colleague! And now to you: I'll repeat it for the last time, and only for you, Mr. Krause: I saw this guy at around 2:30, and almost immediately heard the shot." Krause was not at all impressed by Tarne's outburst.

"How did you know it was a shot?" he asked.

"Well, the guy practically fell at my feet," Tarne replied. "What were you doing in the office? How did you know the time so precisely?" Krause continued.

"Do you want me to give a lecture or something?" Tarne retorted. From the background, Bergmann tried to calm things down,

"We're just asking about what's unclear to us!" Krause jumped back in, "And the car, are you sure about the make? Did the shot even come from a car? No one else saw a vehicle!"

"Yes, I saw the muzzle flash. Yes, it was an Audi A8, and yes, it was silver-grey metallic. And no, I didn't recognize the number plate!"

"You remember so many details and expect us to believe that you didn't see the license plate? Who would..."

Mid-sentence, the door was flung open. Detective Hesse appeared and addressed Tarne:

"I just found out you were here, what a fine mess you've gotten yourself into!" and Turning to his colleagues, Hesse continued, "Hold on a minute, he's fine. Wouldn't hurt a fly!"

Hesse and Tarne had known and respected each other for a long time, helping each other out in many situations and realizing that they were cut from the same cloth. Long before Hesse became a chief inspector, he had already taken Tarne under his protective wing.

Then they all sat down together in a noticeably more relaxed atmosphere around the tables. Tarne had a half-eaten sandwich in front of him, and the aroma from the served coffee cups immediately made the room more pleasant. Tarne no longer felt like a suspect. They now discussed together whether they might have overlooked any information. Only Krause looked suspiciously at Tarne, as if he wanted to say,

"I don't believe a word you say!"

The door was ripped open again, and a commotion erupted in the office. Two men dressed in elegant steel-grey suits and properly tied neckties pushed past other colleagues. They held up their official identification cards, explaining that they were directly from the LKA [Landeskriminalamt: State Police], undercover agents as part of the Singvogel task force, and vehemently demanded Tarne be handed over. Their mumbled names were almost drowned out in the confusion during introductions. Tarne strained his hearing and managed to catch something that sounded like Schmidt and Hagen. One of the two men in suits loudly exclaimed,

"This is a matter of national security. It falls under our jurisdiction."

All had risen by now. Tarne's face was a single question mark. Bergmann spoke up:

"Well, that's all the better then. According to our investigations, there is no longer any suspicion against him. If a murder happens to occur at his doorstep, that's no reason to keep him here."

One of the gray suits chimed in:

"By chance? Don't make me laugh! Then why were you informed beforehand?"

Hesse took control of the situation:

"Where do you even know that we were informed beforehand? I emphasize the word 'you'! You should provide us with information first. Maybe that will shed some light on the matter. Fortunately, we live in a constitutional state, and I stand up for it in my role as a police officer."

The other, the spokesperson of the two, retorted:

"You're overstepping your bounds. You could get into serious trouble!"

Turning to Tarne, Hesse, surprisingly calm, said:

"You see, it seems to be about more than what we initially thought. I can only advise you to get a lawyer as soon as possible!" And turning to the people from the LKA, he continued: "From our perspective, this man has not committed any crime. He is a witness, not a suspect. Or do you have other information? And even if you do, he has a fixed place of residence. There is no flight risk. We will let him go now," and to his colleagues, "Or do you have any further questions?"

Both shook their heads.

One of the grey suits spoke up:

"You're sticking your neck out pretty far for someone you hardly know. That's going to be an expensive mistake." Hesse replied calmly:

"We'll see. We've finished our investigation and released him. That's what we should do as police." The LKA men reached for their IDs and left the office with a disdainful look at Tarne. The chief inspector turned to his friend: "I hope you know what you're doing. If the LKA is after you, things could get uncomfortable."

Tarne shrugged:

"I have nothing to hide. But thanks for the advice. I'll get myself a lawyer." Hesse nodded in agreement and the other colleagues turned back to their files and computers. Tarne left the office and took a deep breath. It didn't go as he had planned, but he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Now he just had to figure out what was behind it all and who was after his life.

"Looks like you're in for some consequenses!" the gray-suited man sneered.

"That's my concern, not yours. Or are you trying to threaten me?" Tarne shot back.

"Just you wait," said the man.

"Tarne, you're dismissed," Bergmann interjected. "You can leave now."

The gray twins lunged towards Tarne, but he quickly dodged them. In the ensuing chaos, Hesse and his colleagues pushed them back and prevented them from following Tarne. Even Krause, who despised Tarne, acted in solidarity when it came to protecting their jurisdiction and working together with their colleagues.

As Tarne left the room, he heard Bergmann calmly say,

"Let's first clarify jurisdiction. We should probably call your agency."

Standing closest to the door, Hesse whispered to Tarne as he passed,

"Just a heads up: The perpetrator used hollow-point bullets, not full-metal jackets. He wanted to be sure. And one more thing: once you're out of the station, I can't help you anymore. You're on your own."

"Oh yeah? Thanks for the tip. That's just great," Tarne muttered angrily as he left the station through the basement and a back exit. What was all this about? They couldn't do this to him! He turned around and kicked the closed door with all his might. Ow, damn it!

04 Past

Manu had met him at university sports.

"I'm not a student," she had said, "I'm doing an apprenticeship as a ReNo," and laughed when he looked blankly at her. "Legal and notary assistant."

Since Tarne lived in Essen, he visited the university sports there for simplicity's sake. Much too inconvenient to drive to Bochum again in the evening. She still lived with her parents back then. During the circuit training at the former PH [School for Pedagogy] in Henri-Dunant-Strasse, they kept running into each other. Tarne's butt had caught her eye first. The movement of his muscles while running. He was fascinated by women with such a well-trained, well-formed body. For a while, they shared a three-part training: first running outside, then circuit training, then, if the pool was open, swimming together in warm water - very relaxing.

She preferred a one-piece swimsuit, not trying to be provocative with a bikini. Tarne was particularly fascinated by her endlessly long legs, which seemed to be even longer thanks to the clever cut of the swimsuit. Her legs were so alluring that thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, whom he believed he hadn't completely gotten over, dissolved into nothingness.

They had found a kind of harmony while running, usually side by side, chatting about everything under the sun. If he showed up before the training started, she always joined him. Otherwise, nothing significant happened for a long time.

Then Tarne received his first assignment. His supervisor in the agency that monitored only department stores had referred him to a lawyer at Rüttenscheider Stern: evidence was needed for a divorce through surveillance.

As he sat in the waiting area, Manu walked down the hallway with files under her arm in her "office attire," as she called it. Tarne whistled silently, she looked so sharp at that moment. Her great figure was particularly emphasized by this conservative outfit.

"What are you doing here?" She stopped in front of him with wide-eyed amazement.

"Well, I'm monitoring your work. That's my job, Hi, Hi!" He winked.

She joined in his laughter.

"Well then, see you tonight. You can tell me more then." And she disappeared into one of the offices.

It was their shared sport Thursday. After training, she had suggested,

"We could go have a drink!"

"Yeah, good idea!"

They ended up in the beer garden at Uhlenkrug. It was a warm summer night. The colored light bulbs in the old gnarled trees and the lanterns on the tables had created a romantic atmosphere. Above the murmur of the other guests and the chirping of cicadas, and after they had been served a beer, she asked:

"Did you notice it?" she asked, leaning forward as the candlelight reflected in her eyes.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We've known each other for a while now, and everyone thinks we're an old married couple!" she laughed.

He laughed too, taking a sip of his beer, and looked at her questioningly,

"It's true. We get along well." He also felt like they were on the same wavelength.

Glasses clinked, happy laughter echoed from another table. The air was thick and warm, and the smell of summer flowers surrounded them.

"Yes, but from the beginning, I had more in mind. I liked you right away. You look so good, so muscular, and that slightly brutal look around your mouth..." She leaned over the table and ran her finger along the corner of his mouth. He was pleasantly irritated, and ran his index and middle fingers over his right eyebrow from inside to out, earning another radiant smile from her big blue eyes.

"Do that again!" he said.

"What?" She shook her head and continued, "You mean the thing about the couple...is there something to it?"

"Sure!" It all happened so suddenly, he felt completely caught off guard and felt like he had at least now to take the initiative.

"So, if that's the case, should we go to my place or yours?" At the time, Tarne lived in a shared flat near the university and was relieved when she said,

"My parents are gone all week, we can go to my place."

That's how it began. They had a good time. They cuddled and laughed a lot, and there was always great, satisfying sex.

At least at first, things were going well for them, until the constant discussions about principles began, much to Tarne's dismay.

She had quickly moved away from her parents and set up her own apartment. Tarne‘s moving in with her happened gradually, as he mostly stayed with her. Over time he accumulated more and more things at her place, so that his termination from his shared flat was only a formality.

When Tarne was between jobs and she took a sick day, they often would still be in bed in the afternoon and would laugh about the saying allegedly made by a noontime show host: "Good day, ladies and gentlemen - good morning, dear students!"

05 Present

He had held death in his arms. Five hours of interrogation. The taxi smelled musty, of stale sweat from hundreds of passengers. No matter, he could finally relax. Tarne leaned back and enjoyed the muffled quiet. Through the tinted windows, he only half noticed the rushing lights. Blurred faces. The city was getting ready for the night. The driver chose the A40 highway route. Entrance city center. Dissolving traffic jam behind the tunnel. Kray exit.

Tarne got out of the taxi in front of his office. Approached the entrance. He wanted to avoid looking at the ground. But his gaze was magnetically drawn to it. A large dark stain. Someone had tried to remove the blood with water and had sprinkled granules or sawdust. He didn't want to step on it. Avoiding it, he reached for the door, and paused again. From shoulder height to the floor, right through his company sign, ran a wide, smeared strip of dried blood. Not good advertising! With one hand he fished for the key, pulled on the door before he had even inserted the key in the lock. The door opened easily. Had he forgotten to lock it? He couldn't remember. Understandable in the heat of the moment! Hadn't the police made sure his office was secured? He pushed the door further open, took a step forward. Crunching underfoot. Had someone broken in? He stopped again. The light of the street lamps, recently turned on, reflected in the door. These lamps had the peculiar habit of spreading only a muted yellow glow in the early evening darkness and only reaching their full luminosity later in the evening. Then, however, it could result in not being able to sleep because of their brightness shining through the window, as Tarne knew from experience. At the moment, it meant that he could hardly see anything. Tarne felt for the light switch.

"What the..."

Shelves overturned, the few pieces of furniture destroyed, cushions cut open, literally taken apart and scattered throughout the room. Every book, every file torn apart. Dropped. Pieces of wallpaper torn off. The walls bare. His pictures on the floor, broken through the frames. It looked more like wanton destruction than a thorough search. If it was the work of specialists, they wanted to show him with this chaos that they meant business. As a warning that they could afford it, that there was power behind them. If there was anything hidden here, they would have found it.

The only item that remained in its place was his desk. It must have been too heavy for them. But the doors and all the drawers were ripped out, his innermost possessions turned inside out and piled up on his desk like a garbage heap. A smell of whisky hung in the air. They had found his stash of Jack Daniels in the desk and poured out the bottle. What a bunch of barbarians! They had also rummaged through his private room behind the office, cut open the mattress, dismantled everything - logical, but this intrusion into his privacy was totally unacceptable to him.

"What a mess!" he exclaimed as he kicked a fallen chair with all his might, but immediately stopped with a pained expression on his face, as his battered foot reminded him of the kick against the exit door of the police station.

To restore order in the chaos, Tarne swept all the debris off the desk with both arms. He picked up the phone, put it down and hung up the receiver - surprisingly, it still worked! Then he set up his beloved wooden swivel chair from Manufactum. He sat down and pulled out the blood-stained key from his pocket. He placed it in the middle of the table and stared at it hypnotically. It's all because of you!, he thought. What are you keeping locked up, damn it?