Blood Trail in the Rain E-Book

Jörg Wenzel

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Blood Trail in the Rain In the dark alleys of Cologne, private investigator Marek Witte hunts down a brutal murder that hides far more than it seems at first glance. When he connects the prostitute whose death haunts him with the underworld and dangerous secrets, he must fight powerful enemies who will stop at nothing to protect their dark dealings. Together with the seductive bee, who knows more than she lets on, Marek is drawn into a web of betrayal, violence and passion. Every step they take takes them deeper into the shadows of Cologne, where nothing is as it seems. "Blood Trail in the Rain" is a gripping crime thriller full of dirty secrets, dangerous love affairs and a hunt in which life is the only currency.

Leseprobe

Title:Blood Trail in the Rain

Author:Jörg Wenzel

Biography:

Jörg Wenzel was born in Cologne in 1982 and

grew up in the narrow, bustling streets of the city. From a young age he developed a passion for dark stories and the dark corners

of urban life. After finishing school with an apprenticeship as a car mechanic, he spent many years in various jobs, some of which gave him an insight into the dark side of

society. These experiences shape his writing style and his ability to create authentic, realistic characters.

Today Wenzel lives in a small suburb of

Cologne and devotes himself entirely to writing. His books often deal with the question of how people act in difficult, often desperate situations and how far they are prepared to go to save themselves.

Chapter 1: The First Shot

Marek Witte got out of his smelly old BMW, which he saw as more than just a car - it was a battlefield of dirt, crumpled cigarette packets and pizza boxes. The car was parked

in the middle of one of Cologne's murky, run-down streets - more precisely near Ehrenfeld, where even the air smelled of exhaust fumes

and cheap beer. He had seen a lot, but this autumn was different. The carcass of a young prostitute had deteriorated into a limp heap of skin and blood in a disgraceful back alley. A

broader sight that felt like a punch in the stomach. "Nice place to start the day," Marek muttered,

adjusting his jacket over his broad, muscular shoulders. The smell of mold and the sharp smell of iron rising from the victim's blood quickly made him sick. But he couldn't throw up, not here, not now. Not yet. Inspector Berger, a corpulent man with a potbellied belly and sweaty forehead, stands next to the corpse. “Damn fog, Marek.

TheHomicide guy always sends you to the dirtiest holes." Berger shrugged. "Do you know what her name was?"

"Definitely not Mary Poppins," Marek replied, narrowing his eyes. "And what was she?" "Some prostitute. Sabine Müller. The usual crap, you know. "Nobody is interested in those up there making deals with their tits and ass cheeks," Berger grumbled. "I guess

she didn't have any family either, at least none that came forward." Marek knelt down next to the corpse. The

woman was young, maybe in her early twenties, her skin was still soft, but her face was barely recognizable. Blows, stabs, probably something with a knife. Her face

was half disfigured, as if someone had taken an axe and had too much fun. Her eyes stared into space, as if she had just looked into hell.

He could no longer ignore the disgusting smell of disinfectant and blood, and yet he still squinted. "This is no coincidence, Berger. And if you tell me this was just another drug war, then I will..."

“Are you going to ask me something?” a cold, mocking voice interrupted him. Marek turned around and there she was:

Sabine "Biene" Müller, the daughter of an old acquaintance and one of the few who was still somehow "respectable" in this cursed neighborhood - at least in her own eyes. But

Marek knew that Biene didn't care much about morals. The torn leather jacket, the smoky look, the smell of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke told him that she was just as dirty as the rest of the neighborhood. She had her pride, but also a whole lot of incomplete stories.

"What are you doing here, Bee?" he asked, looking at her. Her eyes were gleaming dangerously, and she hadn't come here to cry. "I don't want her to just die here in the gutter with no one to blame for what she did," she hissed, folding her arms over her chest. "She

had a few stories, but..." she snorted disdainfully. "She had no friends. Everyone out there is only concerned with themselves."

Marek stared at her. "You don't sound particularly sad, Bee. Do you know more than what you're letting on?"

"I don't know what you're imagining, Witte.

But what I do know is that she didn't just die. She wasn't just another victim of 'the business'. There's more to it than that," she replied, taking a step closer. Her expression

darkened. "And yes, I may be able to give you some information, but you have to hurry. Otherwise, this is going to get a lot worse than you can imagine."

Marek took a moment and looked her up and down. She was still the same. The sexy, cheeky guy he knew well, but also someone not to be trusted. They had their own stories. Stories they didn't tell each other.

“And what do you get for it?” he asked harshly. "I'll get" was from you, Witte. You already

have more than one foot in this stinking world. "But you're not as stupid as you pretend to be," she grinned. "What you know and what you do is your problem. But if you

really want to help me, then stop talking to the police.talk and listen to me.”

“Why don’t you just go to the police and tell them everything?” he countered. "Because the police aren't interested in cases like this, as you know yourself." "They're only interested in how they can handle the next

case in the stack of files," Bee explained cynically and rolled her eyes. "So what do you know?"

Bee pulled out her cigarettes, lit one and

blew the smoke into the air. "First of all... the asshole who did this is no stranger. She went along with it because she made the wrong deal. With a guy who is in a lot deeper shit than we can imagine."

"You're talking in riddles," growled Marek, "who was it?"

"Kalle 'The Crane' Schönfeld," she said, then grinned crookedly. "You know him, right?"

Marek pulled a face. "Shit, not that wanker again. What did he want with her?" “I don’t know exactly, but the crane has the

city completely under control.” And if you don’t get off your ass and get him onthe sack, then this will only be the beginning of much worse filth," replied Bee with a hard tone in

her voice. "But you know you can't stop anyway."

"Are you coming with me?" asked Marek. "I could use a few more answers."

"Sure," replied Bee. "But be careful, Witte. At some point you won't be able to get out of this mess." She grinned as she turned and walked

towards the streets. "Come on, let's go for a walk." But don't worry, I've got some presents for you too if you find the crane." Marek hesitated for just a moment before

following her. Autumn had only just begun. And it was going to get damn dirty.

Chapter 2: The Crane

Marek drove his BMW through the streets of Cologne, the sound of the worn tires echoing loudly in the narrow alleys. He had seen it coming - Kalle "The Crane" Schönfeld was not

the type to just bury his head in the sand. The Crane controls the city's drug market with a handful of brutal henchmen and a rat's nest

of connections that reached into the highest circles of the city. Marek knew that anyone who did business with him would eventually have one foot in the grave. But if he wanted to achieve something, he had to go to him. He stopped in front of a run-down building in the west of Cologne, right next to a brothel

that was known in the area for its shady dealings. The entrance looked like it had come out of a bad crime series - a rusty door behind which only the stinking shadow of Cologne's underworld was hidden. Marek took a deep breath before pushing open the door and entering the run-down office. The walls were covered with gilded

newspapers, the floor was sticky as if it had never been wiped. A heavyThe smell of cigarette smoke and old coffee hung in the air.

"Ah, Marek!" a deep, cold voice rang out.

Kalle "The Crane" sat behind a massive desk filled with dirty ashtrays and half-empty bottles of alcohol. His eyes sparkled like a predator that knew you were trapped.

"Crane," said Marek, slowly sitting down on the chair opposite him. He could already feel the man sitting opposite him looking askance

at him. Crane was not a man who would let anyone intimidate him, and he was even less someone who would let anyone tell him what to do.

"What a damn goodness to see you again," said Kalle and pulled a cigarette out of his pack. He lit it with an old silver lighter that

he held to Marek. "And what's this about, you don't really want to dig in my dirt, do you?"

"You know that I can't do anything else, Kranich," Marek answered without changing

his expression. "I'm here because I want to know something." And you're the only one who can tell me something. It's about Sabine Müller."

Kalle took a drag on his cigarette, blew out the smoke slowly and leaned back. "Sabine..." he muttered and stared at the ashtray. "She was a useful piece of shit. Did her job, didn't

ask questions. But at some point she wanted more. A damn fairy tale. And if you ask me, you should keep your mouth shut. But what do you know about her death, Marek?"

"Not much. You know that better than I do. "But something stinks about the murder, and

I think you have the edge," said Marek, staring at Kalle as if he wanted to skin him. "I need information. What's going on out there

in your drug empire? What was Sabine doing there?" The crane laughed softly, a scratchy, dangerous sound. "You're a tough guy, Marek.

But believe me, you don't want to go into it any deeper. There are things you don't need to know."

"And there are things I want to know," Marek said, sliding forward in his chair. "If you don't tell me what you know, you won't be the only one who loses something here." Do you understand?"

Kalle put his hands together as he thought, and his eyes narrowed. "You're an ass, Marek. But you're not completely stupid either. OK,

here's what I know: Sabine had gotten involved with one of my guys. Was out with the sweetheart of a guy from the milieu, someone who should have been on the list for

a long time. But when she suddenly started to blab, she became... a risk. And you know what you do with risks, right?"

"You had her killed," Marek said as he slowly put the doll together. "Why? Because of what dirty secret?"

"Listen, you've got the right lead," grinned the crane, "but that's not the whole fun. You've started talking to the wrong people.

Your little mouth has uncovered things that shouldn't be made public. Drug deals with even bigger assholes than me that extend all the way to the East. Even a few politicians have gotten a piece of the pie." Marek swallowed as he heard this. "So she was just a small cog that could have started the whole mess?"

"Exactly. And when she started to eat too muchknow, it had to disappear. Pretty simple calculation if you ask me. But you know how

it goes - nobody wants to end up in a drug dealers' graveyard." Marek knew that he and Kalle were at a point where every further step was risky. Kalle

could have stabbed him in the back at any time, but the information he received was invaluable. The crane was not stupid, he knew that Marek would quickly have the truth in his hands.

"You helped me," Marek said as he stood up and walked toward the door. "Now you have to decide, Crane. You're either my friend or my enemy. But with a game like this, you

should be careful that you don't lose more than you think."

"Don't worry, Marek. "You'll find your way,

with or without my help," Kalle answered calmly. Then he added with a wry smile, "And be careful when you play with people like me." The game is getting dirtier and dirtier."

Marek didn't turn around. He knew what he needed to know. But the hunt had only just begun. And every stepbrought him closer to

the truth he was looking for – but also to the reason he knew he could not come back.

Chapter 3: Suspicious Faces

Marek and Biene stood in the gloomy evening twilight in front of one of the most run-down bars in Ehrenfeld, the "Schwarzer Hahn". The place was a paradise for broken souls,

alcoholics and people who preferred not to ask questions. Marek had often stuck his nose into things here that had quickly cost him his

life, but he knew that there was always someone here who was willing to open their mouth for a few bills. Or at least talk themselves into trouble.

"Well, do you think the guys in there are talkative?" asked Biene with a grin that promised more than it could deliver. She

pulled her leather jacket tighter around her body and chewed on a piece of gum while she looked at Marek appraisingly. "Or should I play the charming one again?"

"You can try to set the place on fire while I try to get some answers," Marek growled and pushed the door open. The stench of stale beer, cold smoke and an indefinable mixture

of sweat and desperation hit him. "But don't you dare open another onefemme fatale and you're causing us even more trouble."

"Relax, Witte," said Biene and followed him. Her boots clicked on the sticky floor. "I've survived worse."

The shop was full of shady characters. Men with tattoos who told more stories than they would ever tell, women with hard faces and

empty eyes. At the counter stood a guy whose head was so bald that the light from the shabby lightbulb reflected off it. Marek knew

him. Olaf "Glätte" Krüger, a petty criminal who had spent more time in police custody than he had been on the streets. "Slippery," Marek called and strolled to the

counter. "Long time no see. What are you doing? Or better yet, who are you doing it for?"

Olaf turned around slowly, his face twisting into a grin that radiated as much friendliness as a rusty wrench. "Witte. The private detective. What do you want here? Has

someone cut off your balls, or why do you need my help?"

"You know why I'm here," said Marek, leaning on the counter. He wasn't in the mood for

small talk. "Sabine Müller. She was here a few days ago. What did you see?"

"Sabine? Oh, you mean the little mouse with the big... eyes?" Olaf answered and laughed dirty. "She had a talent for attracting trouble." And yes, she was here. She was talking to a few guys who were better dressed than average. She looked like she had more money than brains."

“Names,” Marek demanded.

"I have no idea," said Olaf, taking a drag on his cigarette. "The guys weren't from here.

But one of them had a weird tattoo on his hand. It looked like an eagle or something. Maybe they were from the East. They come around here a lot."

While Marek was asking questions, Biene had already started to survey the scene. They spotted a guy in the corner who was acting

conspicuously inconspicuous. A tall guy with a beard and a striking jacket that looked like he had stolen it from a second-hand store. Biene went straight up to him, sat down next

to him and gave him her most seductive smile. "Hey," she said in a sweet voice, "you look like you have more stories to tell than these guys."

The man looked at her, suspicious but not entirely averse. "Depends on what you want to hear, sweetheart."

"Maybe it was about a friend of mine," said Biene, leaning closer to him. "Sabine Müller. You've definitely seen her." “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man mumbled, taking a sip of his beer.

"Oh, come on," whispered Bee, placing her hand lightly on his arm. "You look like someone who knows what's going on here. Help me a little and I'll make it easy for you." Marek watched the scene from a distance and snorted quietly. "Typical bee," he muttered. "Always opening the doors with his butt."

The man in the corner finally relented. "Okay, okay," he said quietly. "I saw her. She was here, meeting two guys. Big guys, one bald,