Jörgensen Chases The Serial Killer: Hamburg Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

Inspector Jörgensen hunts the serial killer

A serial killer is on the loose and puzzles the investigators. Is it just the actions of a madman following his dark urges? Or is there more to it?

 

 

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.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred Bekker
• Release date: Jan 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215201220

Alfred Bekker

Alfred Bekker wurde am 27.9.1964 in Borghorst (heute Steinfurt) geboren und wuchs in den münsterländischen Gemeinden Ladbergen und Lengerich auf. 1984 machte er Abitur, leistete danach Zivildienst auf der Pflegestation eines Altenheims und studierte an der Universität Osnabrück für das Lehramt an Grund- und Hauptschulen. Insgesamt 13 Jahre war er danach im Schuldienst tätig, bevor er sich ausschließlich der Schriftstellerei widmete. Schon als Student veröffentlichte Bekker zahlreiche Romane und Kurzgeschichten. Er war Mitautor zugkräftiger Romanserien wie Kommissar X, Jerry Cotton, Rhen Dhark, Bad Earth und Sternenfaust und schrieb eine Reihe von Kriminalromanen. Angeregt durch seine Tätigkeit als Lehrer wandte er sich schließlich auch dem Kinder- und Jugendbuch zu, wo er Buchserien wie 'Tatort Mittelalter', 'Da Vincis Fälle', 'Elbenkinder' und 'Die wilden Orks' entwickelte. Seine Fantasy-Romane um 'Das Reich der Elben', die 'DrachenErde-Saga' und die 'Gorian'-Trilogie machten ihn einem großen Publikum bekannt. Darüber hinaus schreibt er weiterhin Krimis und gemeinsam mit seiner Frau unter dem Pseudonym Conny Walden historische Romane. Einige Gruselromane für Teenager verfasste er unter dem Namen John Devlin. Für Krimis verwendete er auch das Pseudonym Neal Chadwick. Seine Romane erschienen u.a. bei Blanvalet, BVK, Goldmann, Lyx, Schneiderbuch, Arena, dtv, Ueberreuter und Bastei Lübbe und wurden in zahlreiche Sprachen übersetzt.

Book preview

Jörgensen Chases The Serial Killer: Hamburg Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

1

It was night. Engine noises drifted over from the nearby highway. Lights wandered along the roadway through the darkness. Christian Dubbert turned around briefly, reached for the gun he was wearing under the jacket of his dark gray three-piece suit for the third time in ten seconds. Before he entered the service area, he turned around once more. His face looked tense. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. His pulse was racing. 

No trace of YOU!, he thought. That's good! Dubbert had given up hope that THEY were no longer pursuing him by now. For the moment, he had to be satisfied with the fact that he had a lead over his pursuers, which allowed him to enter Danny's store and have a coffee there. After all, it wouldn't have taken much for him to fall asleep at the wheel.

He unfastened the first button of his shirt collar before passing the door of the rest stop. Getting to Bremen alive - that seemed to him at the moment like a goal that was almost unattainable.

Dubbert let his eyes wander. Behind the counter stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with I AM DANNY printed in large letters on his T-shirt, probably to signal that he was the boss of Danny's store.

Dubbert noticed a man with a high forehead that shone so much that the light from the neon tubes was reflected in it. He wore black horn-rimmed glasses that seemed to press against his nose, because he kept fiddling with the frame.

For a moment, Dubbert wondered if he was one of THEM. Thick glasses were great for hiding earphones and microphones, like the ones surveillance teams used. The glasses didn't seem particularly strong, either.

Possibly window glass!, Dubbert thought.

As if frozen, he stood there and was able to brake himself at the last moment in order not to just instinctively reach under the jacket and rip out the weapon.

The man with the thick glasses seemed interested in the stand with maps and city plans. At least he pretended to be. He leafed through a guidebook about Hamburg and put it back with the others. Then he looked up and looked at Dubbert for a moment.

The face was v-shaped and very narrow, which made the protruding ears look all the larger. There was a clearly visible dimple on the pointed chin.

Dubbert swallowed. He tried to remember if this man belonged to HIM and if he had seen him before. Maybe in different clothes and cosmetically changed ...

Is what? asked the man with glasses.

The sweat on Dubbert's forehead now felt ice cold. He half-opened his mouth and was completely unable to utter a single sound for the first moment.

Are you not feeling well? asked the man with the glasses.

Everything's fine, Dubbert said, although his heart was racing and he felt as if someone had tightened a tension belt around his chest and was now slowly tightening it tighter and tighter.

Dubbert continued toward the counter. A woman in her mid-thirties was sitting there in front of her coffee. She wore a serious-looking costume. The blond hair was slightly curled.

A coffee, Dubbert turned to the man in the Danny T-shirt. And I hope it's extra strong.

For you, then, a funeral alarm clock, sir?

Yes.

He grinned.

But that grin immediately died when he saw the beads of sweat on Dubbert's forehead.

Is it too warm for you here?

No, no, it's all right.

Say, I know you! Don't you drive this route often?

I'm sorry, but I don't feel like making small talk right now, Dubbert said.

Just asking, sir. I thought I'd seen you here before.

The phone rang and the man with the I AM DANNY T-shirt answered the phone.

Don't hold that against Danny, the woman with the blond curls said. He does that to everyone.

Dubbert smiled wanly. Again and again, his gaze returned to the blond hair that curled on her narrow shoulders.

Dubbert sipped his coffee.

At least his so-called corpse alarm clock is really what it's supposed to be - strong!

Yes, a lot of truck drivers stop here, sitting on the trestle for far too long, thinking that a cup of the brew will at least get them to Hamburg! She paused. Is there something wrong with my hair or why are you staring ...

It's all right. It's just that someone very close to me had hair just like yours. And for a moment my mind wandered a bit.

She frowned. Then she glanced at the watch on her wrist and said, It's time for me to go. She suddenly looked nervous.

Danny was still on the phone.

She took her credit card out of her purse and ticked it restlessly on the counter.

As she held still, Dubbert could read the name inscribed there: Rita Grunert.

I guess it's going to be a while, she said.

Dubbert glanced at his watch.

Too long for me. He downed the corpse alarm clock with a few hearty gulps and placed a bill on the counter.

2

One hour later ...

The sedan bumped along the narrow, unpaved road that led up to a wooded area. At a distance of half a kilometer, the nocturnal band of lights of the highway could be seen. At the wooded area, the car stopped. The engine was switched off.

The driver got out, rounded the hood and opened the passenger door. The moonlight fell on a woman's head covered with blond curls.

This head slumped limply forward.

The driver of the limousine reached into the side pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, which he now slipped on. He then grabbed the woman's motionless body under the arms and hoisted it down from the passenger seat. Her heels dragged across the floor. She lost a shoe.

Arriving at the edge of the forest, he leaned her against a thick, gnarled tree. She suddenly groaned. An inarticulate sound passed her lips. The head lifted briefly before the chin pressed against the base of the neck again.

Maybe I didn't dose the knockout drops sufficiently, it went through the driver's mind. So he had to hurry. He took out a folding knife. The blade flashed in the moonlight.

He crouched down next to her, took her right arm with his left and applied a few quick cuts to the crook of her arm and wrist. He did the same with the other arm.

Then followed an equally quick cut through the carotid artery. The blood was already flowing in streams when he opened the blouse and the waistband of her skirt with the knife. The abdominal artery was always the most difficult to find.

When he went back to the car, he found her purse on the passenger seat.

He took it and opened it. A little later, he also found the wallet. He searched it, found two credit cards and a health insurance company membership card. He also found a driver's license. Everything was issued in the name of Rita Grunert.

There was also an ID card from the municipal library of Hamburg. It was quite old, but had been renewed again and again. The photo showed Rita Grunert with straight dark hair instead of blond, curly hair.

He screwed up his face.

I thought so! Wrong like most blondes!, it went through his head, while his face took on an expression of mocking cynicism.

He put everything back into the bag and closed it carefully. Then he hurled it to where he had left the woman.

3

When we reached the scene on the A1, about fifteen kilometers west of Hamburg, it was about ten o'clock in the morning. Even from a distance, we could see the emergency vehicles of the responsible police and the Hamburg police. The hearse of the responsible forensic doctor could also not be overlooked.

We were on the road with a total of three vehicles. My colleague Roy Müller and I drove our sports car as usual. Our colleagues Tobias Kronburg and Ludger Mathies followed us in an inconspicuous Chevy from the stocks of our motor pool, while our detection officers Frank Folder and Martin Horster