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- Herausgeber: Alfredbooks
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
by Alfred Bekker He saw the flames rising, saw them eating away piece by piece. The man paused for a moment and moved a step further. In his right hand he still held the empty gas can, which he now hurled away with a powerful movement. When a paper factory goes up in flames, private detective Aldo Burmester must stop a killer .. . Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Alfred Bekker
Burmester And The Hot Flame: Thriller
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Burmester And The Hot Flame: Thriller
Copyright
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Burmester And The Hot Flame: Thriller
by Alfred Bekker
He saw the flames rising, saw them eating away piece by piece. The man paused for a moment and moved a step further. In his right hand he still held the empty gas can, which he now hurled away with a powerful movement.
When a paper factory goes up in flames, private detective Aldo Burmester must stop a killer ...
Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.
Copyright
A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of
Alfred Bekker
© Roman by Author
COVER A.PANADERO
© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia
The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.
All rights reserved.
www.AlfredBekker.de
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1
Hamburg in 1991...
Dogs barked from afar through the darkness of the night, while the masked man turned up the collar of his leather jacket and looked back for a moment. He saw the flames rising, saw them eating away piece by piece. The man paused for a moment and moved a step further. In his right hand he still held the empty gas can, which he now hurled away with a powerful movement.
He allowed himself a full second to enjoy the sight of the greedily licking flames, then voices reached his ears and that meant he had to hurry now. They were no more than a few unintelligible scraps of words. Headlights came on and the masked man ran toward the fence that surrounded the factory grounds. He was only a mediocre runner, but that was quite enough in this case. He would make it.
A little later, he found the hole he had opened earlier with the help of a long steel pincer and through which he had entered the compound. The voices at his back grew louder. He cursed as the end of a wire tore open his jacket. Then he was finally through and ran the few meters to the car.
The masked man yanked open a door and jumped inside. Only a split second later, the vehicle started. The tires spun, and then he chased into the darkness. The masked man breathed a sigh of relief. The voices and dog barking gradually faded away. He took the stocking mask off his head, glanced briefly in the rearview mirror and smiled.
2
Arthur Jansen felt his pulse pounding up to his neck as he stopped his Ferrari a little too abruptly. He sighed audibly and ran the flat of his hand over his tired-looking face. The day had been hard enough for him and now this!
Just stay calm!, he thought. You'll have to get the hell through it!
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jansen vaguely heard the voice of his doctor, who had been prescribing less stress for years. But he could talk!
Jansen took out a tube of tablets from his jacket pocket and took two of the round dragées that were inside. Unchewed and forced to choke them down without water, he hoped that they would drive away the raging headache that had been plaguing him all day. In fact, since the mail had come and he had received that certain letter. A letter that had been glued together from newspaper clippings and that contained anything but friendly congratulations on his upcoming sixtieth birthday!
Jansen opened the door of the Ferrari and his gaze slid over the factory grounds. Headlights had turned night into day at this location. He saw a police patrol car and a fire truck behind it. A tall, broad-shouldered man came running toward Jansen. It was Hannes Plötz, one of the night watchmen. When he reached his boss, he first gasped.
"What is it, Mr. Plötz?"
"Everything's under control," the man puffed.
"It sounded pretty dramatic on the phone, though."
Mr. Plötz nodded.
"It could have been pretty dramatic, boss! But it turned out all right one more time. Mainly because the mess was discovered early enough."
Jansen nodded.
"It's all right, Mr. Plötz ..." he muttered.
"There was a car waiting over there. It all happened very quickly."
"You didn't happen to recognize anything else?"
Plötz shook his head. "No."
"License plate?"
"Wasn't lit."
"Damn!"
"The guy cut a hole through the fence with a pair of pliers. He left the pliers behind, but I doubt if they'll get us anywhere."
Jansen raised his arms.
"Well, at least that's something!"
Plötz seemed less confident. He made a throwaway hand gesture and said, "Generic stuff, boss. You can get them at any home improvement store."
Yes, thought Jansen. And the police probably didn't even need to look for fingerprints. If this damned arsonist had any brains at all, he was wearing gloves.
"Sorry, boss!" said Hannes Plötz in a tone of voice as if he had set the fire personally. Jansen approached him and patted him on the shoulder almost amicably.
"It's not your fault," he said, walking past him.
He saw another acquaintance who had just sat down in the patrol car to make a phone call. It was an inspector from the police in Hamburg-Mitte. A long, lanky guy whose spine formed an arched line when he stood comfortably.
His name was Bergmann and Jansen still had unpleasant memories of him when he had shown up at the police station with the first threatening letter. Bergmann was totally incompetent, at least that was Jansen's opinion. A few extra patrols around the factory and in front of his apartment building, that was all this commissioner had managed.
Jansen stood with his legs wide apart in front of the open door of the patrol car, from which Bergmann's long, thin legs protruded.
"I hope you finally find the people who are trying to take me down!" he grumbled. "So far, your investigations haven't gotten you very far."
Bergmann came out of the car and looked down at Jansen. The commissioner's face contorted as he replied, "I don't like people who assume they are alone in the world. My men are stepping up patrols outside your house and factory. What more do you want?" He shook his head uncomprehendingly. "I don't like people who, just because they have money, think they should be treated everywhere as if they were alone in the world."
Arthur Jansen looked very angry. His eyes flashed aggressively and the vein on his neck swelled thickly.
"And I don't like people who get paid by my taxes and don't do anything for it," he then growled back.
Bergmann seemed to consider paying back in kind for a moment, but then decided against it.
"I understand your anger, but please take it out on someone else! You'd better think about who in your oh-so-fine circle of acquaintances might have forgotten their good manners!"
There was a flash in Jansen's eyes.
"Pah!" he said, but of course he knew that his counterpart was right. Jansen had racked his brains a hundred times about who might be behind the threats, intimidation and attacks. Someone was out to get him.
Jansen left the inspector and walked toward the factory site to see the damage with his own eyes. It didn't seem too bad. But who could guarantee that it wouldn't be really serious the next time?
3
Aldo Burmester, the well-known private detective, let the doors fly aside as he entered his office on Beenckstraße. Jana Marschmann, his blonde-haired assistant gave him her brightest smile in greeting.
"Well, how was court?"
Aldo threw his coat into some corner and then shrugged his shoulders.
"We'll see," he said. "I made my statement today, but in the end I guess it will all depend on what the psychiatric reports look like. But that's not our job anymore, Jana."
It had been almost half a year since Aldo had investigated a particularly gruesome murder of a woman. The victim had been dismembered and kept in a freezer, and now they were arguing in court about the extent to which the perpetrator was insane.
"Before I forget: Someone called for you, Aldo!"
"Who?"
"A Mr. Jansen from Altenwerder. It sounded very urgent ..."
"Did he say what it was about?"
"No. He just wanted to talk to you in person. I told him you'd call back." Jana pattered away on her high-heeled shoes and came back with a piece of paper, which she handed to Aldo. "This is the number. I've since done some research on who we're dealing with. I mean, in case he becomes our client."
"You are one of a kind, Jana!"
"I know that, Aldo," she returned. "But it's nice that my boss is starting to realize that, too."
Aldo smiled. "Well, go ahead and shoot!"
"It is the paper Jansen. He has several factories and suppliers in Germany. But the nucleus of his company is here in Hamburg." She blinked her improbable blue eyes at Aldo. "Could be a lucrative contract."
Aldo grinned. "I didn't know you were so materialistic."
"You never stop learning, Aldo!"
"Yes, it seems so," Aldo returned and went to the phone.
"I'm going to give that Jansen guy a call ..."
4
The house had something blatantly ostentatious about it and should make it clear to any onlooker, even from a distance, that it was not inhabited by poor people.
Aldo Burmester parked his champagne-colored Mercedes 500 SL next to a Ferrari and got out. It was only a few meters to the portal and, as it seemed, Aldo was already expected. A man in a dark suit stood there. A mixture of majordomo and bodyguard, that's how Aldo estimated him. The private detective moved towards the portal, climbed the stairs and then gave the man in the dark suit his card.
"Here," he said as he did so. "I'd like to see Mr. Arthur Jansen."
The dark-suited man took a quick look at the map and nodded.
"I know, Mr. Burmester. Mr. Jansen is already expecting you. If you would please follow me."
The man was tall and almost as tall as Aldo. And he seemed very stiff and formal, although he was certainly no older than thirty. He turned and left, while Aldo walked behind him, letting his eyes wander a bit. They passed through an exquisitely furnished reception room. The pictures on the walls were probably originals and, to all appearances, had the same function as the entire mansion - to show that one belonged to those who had made it big.
Well, thought Aldo. After all, Arthur Jansen had made something of himself. And if someone had money enough to put such an estate in the countryside, then perhaps there was also a generous fee for the private detective.
Suddenly, the man in the dark suit spun around.
"Are you carrying a gun, Mr. Burmester?"
"Yes."
"Then please give them to me!"
"Why?"
"Mr. Jansen's order. Please understand, but Mr. Jansen has been through a lot lately and has become very suspicious."
The man's jacket fit snugly and spanned his muscular torso. The bulge under his left shoulder revealed that the guy was also armed. Aldo shrugged, took out his automatic and handed it to his counterpart. Then they went through a hallway and finally into a bright winter garden, where it was quite hot. Aldo loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.
A stocky man around sixty was examining some noble houseplants and seemed to be completely absorbed in them. That had to be Arthur Jansen. In his right hand he held a brass teapot, which he put down when he noticed Aldo.
"Mr. Burmester?"
"That's me," Aldo nodded, looking around a bit.
It almost looked like a greenhouse here. The high humidity was quite sweaty after just a few moments. But Arthur Jansen seemed to feel comfortable in this climate.
The stocky man was silent for a moment and subjected Aldo to some kind of scrutiny. He was probably one of those people who thought they could tell if someone could be trusted. Finally, he had apparently made up his mind, approached Aldo and extended his hand to the private detective.
"I'm Arthur Jansen. We spoke on the phone." Jansen turned to the man in the dark suit. "Leave us alone, please, Kai." The man nodded and left the room.
Meanwhile, Jansen turned back to his guest: "My son recommended you to me! You are supposed to be the best and that's exactly why I want you to take the matter in hand."
Aldo raised his eyebrows.
"What kind of thing are you talking about? You were pretty tight-lipped on the phone."
Jansen shrugged.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Burmester, but I wanted to get a personal impression before I decided to trust you."
"I understand that."
"Well, to make a long story short: Someone seems to have it in for me. It was only a few days ago that someone tried to set fire to my paper factory again..."
Aldo frowned.
"Again?" he echoed.
"Yes, it was the second attempt. Thank God the damage is not worth mentioning. But that's not all. One of my cars was demolished, and I'm getting strange calls."
"Did you record any of these calls?"
Jansen smiled wanly.
"That's just it. When I pick up the phone, I hear someone breathing. Nothing more. No response. Nothing. And then he - or she - hangs up again." He raised his arms in an almost incantatory gesture. "Someone is out to terrorize and torment me, if you ask me." Jansen reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to Aldo. "And then there's this!"
Aldo took the envelope and pulled out the contents. It was a letter glued together from scraps of newspaper. And the contents were anything but friendly.
We'll get you, Jansen!" it read. Think of how well paper burns...'.
"This one isn't even the worst," Jansen explained in a clipped voice.
It certainly sounds very personal, Aldo thought. Like the lines of someone who was not primarily interested in setting fire to a factory, but in meeting its owner. The question remained, how far the unknown person would go!
"Did you show this to the police?" the private investigator inquired.
"The first ones I got, yes. Not this one."
"You should!"
"I now get something like this in the mail almost regularly once or twice a week. By now I have a whole collection of them. As far as I'm concerned, you can keep that there."
"And what do you expect me to do now?"
"That you find out who is behind it!"
Aldo pocketed the letter and took out his cigarettes. He lifted the pack and asked, "You don't mind, do you?"
"No, go ahead!"
