This story is based on actual facts and happened to an acquaintance of mine. I usually ignore Missing Person Flyers, but suppose one day you saw a flyer with a person you knew.
If you having any information please contact: 0466/4553-7000
Dave wouldn't ordinarily pay attention to a missing person flyer. Every few months, he would see one plastered on a utility pole or tram kiosk. Someone who had vanished. Sometimes foul play? Sometimes a person wanting to start a new life? Usually, no one ever found out.
This flyer was different. Dave had put it up himself.
It had been 18 months since Andy disappeared, and the police and private investigators had given up the case. All the leads had dried up, but the police had a theory: Andy had wanted to go missing. He was a foreigner, no connection to Berlin, and perhaps, he wanted to get away from it all. Start over.
Dave had been working in Berlin for three years when Andy's parents contacted him. They'd pleaded with him to see what he could dig up. Dave had been frank with them. He didn't think he could do anything. Sure, he'd gone to school with Andy at Northwestern, but they rarely socialized. They had gone out to dinner a few times, but they traveled in different circles. In fact, they were hardly friends anymore. But Andy's parents were insistent. They wanted someone who knew Andy and someone they could trust. They believed that Dave would have an advantage over the professionals and could think outside the box, uncover things the police had bypassed or overlooked.
Dave thought it was unlikely he could find anything. This wasn't a novel where the amateur sleuth uncovers the smoking revolver and then gathers the suspects in the drawing room to unmask the culprit. Nevertheless, Dave agreed to put up flyers, talk to Andy's friends, and retrace Andy's last few days.
His reluctant acceptance relieved Andy's parents, and that in itself was good reason for him to go through the motions of trying to solve Andy's disappearance, however silly it was.
Getting any information from the police was nearly impossible. However, he did speak to Hauptkommissar Peters, the detective in charge of the case. Peters was a grizzled ruddy-faced man of about 50, a receding hairline and the beginnings of a belly.
“You're wasting your time young man. We've done all we can,” he said insistently. “If you want my opinion, off the record, Mr. Collins drowned. He'd been to the Bergheim, the dance club, on the east end, and was last seen walking toward the Schilling Bridge on his way home. He probably felt adventurous, you know young people, and took a short-cut across the River Spree. It was January, and the river was nearly frozen. The ice cracked and he drowned. Simple as that. His body was probably washed out to sea,” he added.
“But the sea is hundreds of kilometers away. Wouldn't his body have washed ashore?” Dave said.
“Not necessarily. It was winter after all. Bodies are sometimes never recovered. Now, good day. I'm a busy man. My advice, don't waste your time,” he said curtly as he showed Dave the door.
Next Dave talked with Andy's former roommate, Paul. He confirmed what the police already knew. Andy had money problems. Paul offered his theory: Andy was heavily indebted to loan sharks, and maybe they killed him. Dave was skeptical of that idea, but dutifully noted it in a notebook he had bought for that purpose.
Dave had arranged to met Hannah, Andy's off-and-on-again girlfriend, at a cafe. He had met her at a party shortly before Andy's disappearance. She was hard to miss: bright blue hair, a nose piercing and a large tattoo of Wonder Woman on her right arm. But she had changed. She was hugely pregnant, seven or eight months, by the look of her.
“You know, I've told everything I know to the police and those investigators. I don't know what I can add,” she said, nervously lighting a cigarette. (The sight of a pregnant woman smoking made Dave cringe but he kept focused.)
“I'm doing this as a favor to Andy's parents. I just want to ask you a few questions and confirm what the police probably already know,” Dave said.
“Okay, go on,” she said, not looking at Dave directly.
“You were the last person to see Andy alive on the night he disappeared. What did you talk about?”
“I met Andy at the Bergheim for a drink at around 11 PM. I wanted to break up with him, once and for all. He looked tired and very pale. He seemed worried and sad so I didn't have the heart to tell him that night,” she said mechanically as if she had memorized her lines.
“Did he look like he was high or drunk? Dave asked.
“Andy? Not likely. He wasn't into drugs. Maybe a little weed but nothing stronger. As for drinking, one beer would put him under the table. We chatted for about 20 minutes, and then he left, saying he was tired. That was the last time I saw him, she replied, with a hint of tenderness in her voice.
“And that was it?”
“Yes, but you know, I found it odd that Andy paid for the tab. Andy rarely paid for anything, and his wallet was full of Euros. I asked where he got the money, but he said it was a long story,” she added, inhaling her cigarette deeply into lungs.
“And you told the police about the money?”
“I'm not sure. There was so much going on at the time. I was in a daze. I may have forgot. I don't remember, she added restlessly.
Something in her manner made Dave think there was more. “I'm not the police. I'm here at the request of Andy's parents. They want some closure. They just want to know what happened to their son. You're going to be a parent soon. You can image what's going on in their minds,” Dave said.
Hannah fidgeted. She looked apprehensive. She wanted to say something, but couldn't. “Hannah, I know you want to tell me something. What is it? There's nothing to be afraid of.”
“It's not that easy. So much time has passed. Andy was desperate for money. He'd been out of work for awhile and owed people a lot of money. Not nice people, she added.
“Loan sharks?” Dave queried.
“Yes. I told Andy I knew a place where he could get money fast. No questions. I never dreamed he would take me seriously, but when I saw him that night. I knew he had done it. He didn't have to tell me,” she said.
Her lip quivered and she said quietly, “He sold a kidney. There's an underground market for such things.”
Dave was stunned. He didn't know what to say. “Why didn't you tell the police?”
“I was afraid. I felt responsible in a way. Plus, they say this organization is run by the Russian Mafia. You don't want to get involved with them. Then I heard rumors that sometimes, when a rich client offers enough, they snatch someone they know who isn't too connected, and take vital organs. And then the person just disappears and no one knows. So ever since he vanished, I can't help but think.... But of course it's foolish,” she added. But Dave could see in her face she didn't think it was foolish at all.
“Aren't you concerned that I'll go to the police with this new information,” Dave asked.
“I'll deny everything. I'm not getting me and my baby involved with those people. Now, I recommend that you drop this too. Taking a life means nothing to the Mafia. Now, I've said enough. I need to go. We needn't meet again,” she said as she rose from the table.
A few weeks later, standing before a well-manicured house on a leafy canopied street in a posh section of Potsdam, Dave couldn't believe this was the address he'd been given. He had expected a warehouse or a grungy tenement, but this was upscale. It had taken some persuading, but Hannah had told him how to get in touch with the organ buyers. Posing as a prospective donor had brought him this far. His hand trembled as he reached up and pressed the bell. He waited. The door opened and standing before him was Hauptkommissar Peters.