Inhalt

Death in Tangier

Thriller by Neal Chadwick

The size of this book corresponds to 128 paperback pages.

The German student Elsa travels to Tangier after her painful parental divorce to gain some distance. There she meets 38-year-old Robert, an attractive, yet somewhat opaque man of seemingly Danish origin, with whom she falls in love and into whose villa she soon moves into. At first she unconditionally believes him and entrusts him with many things from her depressing past, but when she realizes that Robert uses make-up utensils and has several passports, she begins to think about the character of Robert's business. A little later Robert goes on one of his so-called business trips to Spain and France, and Elsa stays behind in the villa together with the Arab valet.

It turns out that Robert is a professional contract killer - a terrible discovery made by Elsa. Robert can no longer let her live...

Copyright

NEAL CHADWICK IS A PEN-NAME OF ALFRED BEKKER.

A CassiopeiaPress Book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books and BEKKERpublishing are Imprints by Alfred Bekker

ORIGINAL: TOD IN TANGER

www.AlfredBekker.de

postmaster@alfredbekker.de

1

The first time Elsa met Robert Jensen at the Tangier post office.

All in all, it was only a very brief encounter. Robert had almost run over her and seemed to be in a great hurry.

"Pardon!", it hissed through his thin lips.

"Never mind," Elsa replied. She said this instinctively and without thinking much in German, although she could not really assume that the person she was talking to understood her.

Then they took a quick look at each other. Elsa looked into light blue eyes.

The man was blonde, and his hair was already thinning in some places. Still, his age was hard to estimate. Between 25 and 40 everything seemed possible.

But there were these eyes that just seemed better suited to an older man.

When he crashed, his passport fell off. He bent down to take back the document, but Elsa still managed to take a look at it. It was a Danish passport, she could see that much.

He took the document and immediately put it in the inside pocket of his light brown summer jacket. Then he passed Elsa. She watched him, but he did not turn to her, but turned straight to one of the switches.

There she heard him speaking in - as far as she could judge - quite fluent French. She didn't understand much about it. Just single words that didn't make sense. The next time she met him was the following evening.

The muezzin had already called his evening prayer over the city via loudspeaker and it was dark. Fog rose from the sea. It got damp and also quite cold.

She tightened her thin jacket around her shoulders and raised her collar a little, but this damp coolness went through everything. There seemed to be no cure for it.

She knew that it would hardly be warmer if she rolled herself into the ceiling in her hotel. The heating was out of order. There was still an electric radiator - but the weak power grid in the house already had trouble coping with a hairdryer.

Elsa let herself drift in the Tangier in the evening and watched the people crowding the streets.

When you came here by ship, the city looked almost like an anthill from afar. An anthill stuck to a slope.

And she was right in the middle of it. In the meantime she knew that she was not allowed to pay attention to the aggressive street vendors and alleged tourist guides.

"Voulez-vous visiter ma shop?"

She shook them off like annoying flies. She didn't want to buy anything. Neither a leather jacket, nor a carpet or an 'original Moroccan handmade'.

Maybe even 'Made in Taiwan', she thought.

But whatever it was, she didn't have the money for it. She strolled along the seafront. For a while her eyes got caught on a man driving a donkey cart.

The sea was calm. Wafts of mist hung low over the sheer endless water surface.

A film set, she suddenly thought. It's like a movie.

She decided to go to the beach for a while. She took off her shoes and let the cold salt water play around her feet. She walked across the wet sand and dreamt to herself. The sea was roaring. The road a bit further up, too, but down here on the beach the sea was louder. She looked around.

No one was here at this hour. All she saw was darkness and fog and the sea... And a little further away, than the black, dark shadows, the stalls and beach restaurants, which were all still closed at this time of year. Even during the day. There just weren't enough tourists to make it worth opening.

The moonlight now came pale through the fog and bathed everything in a strange light. Suddenly the sound of the sea mixed with voices that soon approached. At first Elsa was frightened, then she listened. They were Arab voices. Male voices.

She stood there as if frozen as the figures stepped out of the darkness into the pale moonlight. She heard them talking, but of course she couldn't understand a word.

She had no idea what to do.

There were three young men. Maybe 20, maybe 25 years old. They seemed to have little regard for traditional Moroccan clothing. They wore jeans and dark leather jackets. And if it hadn't been for the dark complexion on her skin, she couldn't have been distinguished from her peers anywhere in Western Europe.

Elsa remembered the mule skinner she had seen shortly before. All this in the same country at the same time...

The men looked at her in a way she didn't like.

She looked around. But there didn't seem to be a soul anywhere. Nobody but these three guys.

The men laughed.

Elsa had an instinct that her conversation was about her. It may be that her feelings were sometimes mistaken, here she was quite sure.

She was leaving.

Just gone.

She did not feel comfortable in this situation, turned around and walked a few steps. Then what she had feared all along happened. You spoke to her. First in French, then shortly afterwards in English. Finally, in German.

"Where are you from?" one of them asked.

She stopped and turned to them. The three came closer.

"Germany? Germany? Holland? Where from?"

"Germany," she said. And her own voice sounded strange to her.

"Germany - good. My brother lives there. In Düsseldorf. Do you know Düsseldorf?"

"Yes."

"I've been to Germany. In Hamburg. And in Stuttgart. My father was in the circus."

She turned to leave again. But she didn't get far. Just a few steps.

"Hey, stay here!"

She looked into a somewhat angry face.

"I know some German. I just want to talk," he explained. The other two watched eagerly. One grinned pretty cheekily.

"Just a little entertainment," he said. "Don't sell anything!"

"That's what everyone says!", she was kidnapped - a little less friendly than she had planned. But now it was out.

"Germany is good," he said unimpressed. "Good at football and good cars." He seemed to want to make good weather. Then his face changed a little. "Are you here alone?"

She hesitated to answer.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came through her lips. She didn't want to make a mistake. There's no way.

"There's no one here," he said. "Do you have a husband?"

So that's why the wind blew. He wanted to clarify her ownership and whether he could end up with her - without interfering with someone else's rights.

"No," she said. "I mean, so..." She stammered something together and knew immediately that her answer had been a mistake. She just said it without thinking about it.

He smiled, but she didn't return his smile.

The young man came one step closer.

"Not married?" he asked.

It seemed very important to him, otherwise he wouldn't have made sure again.

He took another step towards her, and before she could retreat, he had grabbed her by the arm.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he said. But she was afraid. She even trembled. She released her arm and took another few steps back. The three followed her.

"Just a little talk..."

"Leave me alone!"

"We are a hospitable country! And we are kind to everyone who is kind to us..."

That was kind of a threat.

"Leave me alone!"

She started to walk. Panting, she rushed forward as the three followed her.

You played with her. With her and her fear. She dropped the shoes she had held in her hand and set off on a spurt. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

The men laughed and came after her.

Elsa barely knew where she was going. She just ran into the darkness, away from the sea, away from the beach, to where there were people.

As many people as possible. She might be safe in that mass.

She tripped over something in the soft sand. Driftwood, maybe, that washed up the tide and didn't take the tide back. There was some of it here on the beach. She fell to the ground.

She felt the sand drifting into her clothes.

Behind her were the three pursuers. They wore sneakers and came up fast. Desperately she tried to get back on her feet.

They think of me as fair game!, it shot through her head.

Those guys seemed perfectly safe. Here on the beach, where it was dark and where no one waited...

The sound of the sea and the noise of the road that led along the sea stunned their ears together. No one on the seafront would hear anything if the three of them attacked them now.

Then Elsa saw a figure emerge from the darkness. She came from exactly the direction she wanted to go. She came from the street, where life was and people...

At first she was frightened, but then the moonlight fell so that she could see a face. It was the Dane who almost knocked her over at the post office.

He stood there and seemed to grasp the situation immediately. His trains were calm and serene. They were even cold. Completely cold.

She looked up at him, then back to the water, where the three men were.

Then she got up. She stood there as if rooted - and so did the three who had run after her.

They looked frowning at the man who had stepped out of the darkness and whose intention seemed quite obvious to block their way.

Elsa carefully put one foot in front of the other until she stood behind the Dane. She took a deep breath.

The three tried it with the Dane in English, after all it was obvious that he was European. But the man answered in Arabic.

Elsa didn't understand a word. But it didn't seem like a friendly thing to say to them. In the eyes of the three Moroccans, it flashed poisonously.

The Dane stayed as cold as in the beginning. But he was alert. No detail in the movements of his opponents seemed to escape him. He literally pierced her with his gaze.

The exchange of words went back and forth a few times.

And then suddenly a knife flashed in the moonlight. The guys grinned. A second knife was drawn. A switchblade. Dangerously, the blade squeezed out of the handle, as did the long tongue of an iguana, which kills and eats its prey at lightning speed.

Easy prey - the three seemed to hold out for the Danes. The numerical ratio spoke for her, and the Dane in his elegant jacket did not look like an experienced street fighter who was prepared to roll in the mud with his opponents.

The first knife rushed forward threateningly, the other two men held back. They seemed to want to wait and see. But there was a confident grin on their faces.

The Dane grabbed his opponent's right arm and brutally turned him around. With a scream, he dropped the knife in the sand.

Just a fraction of a second later, the Moroccan was in the stranglehold of the Dane.

He pushed the other two back with a few unfriendly sentences in Arabic. They hesitated, and seemed a little uncertain at first and not quite conclusive about how they should behave, but then they moved away quickly.

With a rough thrust the Dane then threw the attacker into the sand. With disbelieving, wide open eyes, he left.

The knife stayed in the sand.

Elsa had been standing there the whole time.

"My God!", she took it.

The Dane looked at her.

His face seemed relaxed and calm. He still seemed a little chilly.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Yes."

"Then it's all right..."

"Yes... I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you."

They both knew what would have happened.

But that wasn't so important right now.

It took her a while to realize that he had spoken accent-free German. Best High German. There is no sign of any scenic impact. At least not for Elsa.

His passport was that of a Dane, but he could have passed as a German. No problem. He wouldn't have stood out as a stranger anywhere.

She thought that she had also heard him speak Arabic and French. He had to be very good at languages.

"Are you coming?"

He frowned.

"Where to?"

"To the police."

"What do you want there?"

She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"But... I mean, these guys..."

"Believe me, you'll have more problems than they will."

"But this is about... Justice. I mean, someone can't just go there and have a... „

He shrugged his shoulders and seemed pretty unmoved.

"Has anyone claimed that the world is fair?"

"No, of course not..."

"You can do whatever you want, of course, but I advise you not to go to the police. Are you all right?"

"No..."

"Are you hurt? Has anything serious happened?"

"No, you got in just in time!"

"Then they should let things slide! You have to believe me. I've lived here for a while..."

"But you saw everything! If your testimony..."

"You have the wrong idea," he said. "This is a very bureaucratic country. And one in which relationships play an important role. Especially kinship ones. Do you know what happens when you ask a policeman for directions?"

"No."

"He will refer you to a tour guide. Some distant cousin. Of course, this guide won't do it for nothing. He'll give something to the cop who mediates, then he'll take you to your destination. But not directly. He assumes that you are not familiar with this area and will first take you past a few shops with whose owners he is either a relative or friend and from whom he probably also gets something for luring tourists to them in the shop." He smiled a little now. "That's how life works here. This applies to all areas. Now do you understand why I don't think it makes sense to go to the police?"

"I don't know..."

"An order-loving German who's used to all officials being incorruptible and everything well organized!"

"Don't make fun of me!"

"I don't do that. Absolutely not."

"What's your name?" All of a sudden Elsa was interested in what kind of man she had in front of her. She had already been interested in it yesterday in the post office, but she hadn't been so aware of it.

"My name is..." he seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing. Elsa could not explain this hesitation. She didn't think much further about it either. Later, much later, it should become understandable to her.

"Jensen," he said. "Robert Jensen."

He was Danish, she had seen his passport. And his name sounded like a Danish name as far as she could tell. It was a common name. This name might as well belong to a German, a Dutchman or a Belgian Flemish tongue. Not to forget the other Scandinavian countries.

She didn't attach much importance to this fact, she just thought about it.

"And you?" he asked. "What's your name?"

You really couldn't hear an accent. Not even a certain uncertainty in the selection of words.

"Elsa," she said. "Elsa Karrendorf."

"Where do you come from in Germany?"

"Osnabrück."

"Not exactly a metropolis. But I've been there before."

"You speak German well."

"Thank you."

"You seem to be quite good at languages at all... French, Arabic..."

"Yes, it's better to understand what people are saying. They don't cheat so easily. "Anyway, that's my experience."

"Foreign languages have always been an abomination."

"That's a pity."

"A little English at school. It just got stuck enough for me to get through..."

"Well, there are so many German tourists... Now you can read signs with the inscription 'Man spricht Deutsch' and 'Dortmunder Kronen'!"

"Yes!" She laughed. "And' Wiener Schnitzel'!"

He now laughed too, exposing two rows of flawless teeth.

Then she asked: "Where do you come from - in Denmark?"

He frowned a little. Then he grinned a little.

"My German doesn't seem so good when you hear it now..."

"No, I saw your passport in the post office yesterday."

"I understand..."

"So, where from?"

"Little nest. I'm sure you don't know him. And I haven't been there for a long time. For a very long time... "I probably wouldn't even recognize it."

She stood in front of him and suddenly felt a little embarrassed. The unpleasant silence lasted for a few moments.

Then suddenly he said, "Shall I take you to your hotel?"

She nodded. He gave her a feeling of safety and security; a feeling that she had a great longing right now, after this unpleasant incident.

So she said, "Yes."

She said it quickly and without even a moment's hesitation, because she had the feeling that she could trust this man.

"All right, let's go."

"Yes, but I want to go back to the water first."

"Why?"

"My shoes - I lost them when I ran away from the three of them..."

"Let's have a look. But I don't think we'll find her again."

You found them again. Against the odds. They lay in the sand, and Elsa picked them up, shook them out and grazed them over her bare feet.

They were cheap textile shoes. One

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: (C) ALFRED BEKKER CASSIOPEIAPRESS
Bildmaterialien: Tony Masero
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.07.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7438-7425-1

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