Time Heals No Wounds by Hendrik Falkenberg

with a grin. Fritz opened an e-mail from the Coast Guard and clicked print. The printer in the corner of the room started churning.
    “I’m really sorry, Marcel, but my case has first priority,” Fritz said and shut down his computer. He grabbed the printout of the boat and nodded at Hannes. “Come on, we’ve lost enough time!”
    The two investigators headed out of town. Hannes called the Olsens to let them know that they would be dropping in for another visit.
    “Well, this is quite a stir,” said Mrs. Olsen as Fritz and Hannes got out of the Jeep. “Come in, I’ve baked another cheesecake. It might still be warm, but my husband says it tastes better that way.”
    “That’s nice of you, but unfortunately we don’t have time for your delicious cake,” Fritz said. “Tom is an important witness. We may have found a lead because of him.”
    Mrs. Olsen pushed Tom forward while Fritz opened a folder and held out the image of the battered speedboat.
    “Is this the boat you saw on Saturday? And”—he waved to Hannes—“we would like to know if this is the same man you saw on the boat.”
    Hannes opened the photo on his cell phone and held it out.
    Tom grabbed the photo of the battered boat and scratched his head. “Hmm, yeah, I think it looked like that. I remember the painted red dolphin at the bow.” Then he took the cell phone and looked at the screen.
    “We have three photos of him, so you can scroll,” Hannes said and took over after Tom gave him a quizzical glance.
    “Yes . . . well . . . I only got a brief look at him, but he really reminds me of the man on the boat.”
    “Do you think he does, or do you know he does?” Fritz asked.
    “Hmm . . .” Tom scratched his head again. “Will he go to jail if I say he’s the guy? Because I’m not quite sure, the photos are kinda small.”
    “But at first glance, do you recognize a distinct resemblance?” asked Fritz, and Tom nodded. “Then we should organize a lineup for you to see him in real life. Don’t worry; you’ll stand behind a two-way mirror so you can see him, but he can’t see you.”
    After Mr. Olsen agreed to release him for a few hours, Tom climbed into the backseat of the Jeep, and they took off toward the station. As they entered the city, Fritz barely eased off the gas, continuing to barrel down the road toward the police station, when his cell phone rang.
    “Janssen here,” he said and blew through a red light. A light flashed from a small box near the intersection. Fritz swore. “What? No, that wasn’t because of you! I was just caught running a red light. But what’s up? Talk to me!”
    A few seconds later, Fritz cursed again and abruptly stopped the car. Furious, he slammed the phone on the dashboard. “Those amateurs! Our surveillance team did a great job. Just as they were about to arrest the suspect, they found the real estate office locked and a sign hanging on the door saying the office was closed. Once they finally managed to get the door open, there wasn’t a single person in the office. If we’re actually investigating a murder case, then our prime suspect has just managed to escape through a back door.”
    On the way back to the farm, Fritz railed against the decline of the police force and his colleagues’ incompetence. Not even the gentle sounds of Vivaldi could appease him. A relieved Tom jumped out of the car when they reached the farm. Even a piece of Mrs. Olsen’s cheesecake was unable to brighten Fritz’s mood.
    “Now what?” asked Hannes while Fritz wiped the last crumbs from his mouth and drove the Jeep back toward the city.
    “Now we pay a visit to Mr. Schneider’s residence. This guy’s obviously hiding something.”
    “What about Tom and the Olsens? Aren’t they under suspicion too? All three live near the crime scene. And then there’s Merlin.”
    Fritz rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Tom was fishing on the beach, Mr. Olsen was in his field, and his wife was at home. We still