Craig Russell - The Valkyrie Song

‘I always do, Uncle Georg.’

‘That suppressor is the last new bit of kit I can get you. It increases our exposure risk every time I acquire new equipment. Our client sourced it for me and I don’t like getting them involved. I’ve got no control over the supply chain and we could be lumbered with traceable gear.’

‘I understand. Do you have the details for the other meetings?’

He handed her a data stick. ‘I can’t get used to this technology. I feel like I’m living in the future and I don’t belong in it. All that information, stored on something so insignificant. If we’d had these back then we’d have been able to destroy all our files before the rabble got their hands on them.’ He sighed. ‘You never ask. Why do you never ask?’

‘Ask what?’

‘Why they have to die. Are you never curious?’

‘You taught us not to be. It’s none of my concern. My job is to complete the meeting. Sure, sometimes when I’m preparing… watching them… it’s like seeing into their lives and I sometimes wonder why this person has to be ended. But not much. I just do my job.’ She ran her hand through his grey hair. ‘You worry too much, Uncle Georg. Remember how you taught us to take every moment of pleasure we could? To enjoy the time in between meetings?’

‘Yes. I do remember. Do you enjoy your life?’

‘I enjoy everything this life gives me. I’ve got you to thank for that.’

‘But the killing…’

She smiled, but looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot.

‘We all die. I learned that from you. We all die alone and many of us die in pain and fear. Terrifying diseases. Horrific injuries. Lingering deaths. All my meetings are ended quickly and the target has little idea what’s happening to them. Sometimes no idea: not even an instant of fear or pain. And, for all you or I know, I could be saving them from great future agony and anguish. That’s the way you trained me. I don’t feel bad about what I do; you told me not to feel bad about it.’

‘Even though we’re doing it for money now?’

‘The fact that we’re doing this for ourselves instead of for the state isn’t our fault. They changed the world around us. We are what we are, you and I. Just like everybody else who was cut adrift when the Wall came down. Try not to worry so much.’ She placed the data stick in her handbag and kissed him on the cheek again. ‘Goodbye, Uncle Georg.’

‘There’s one more thing,’ he said, halting her as she rose from the seat. ‘We may have to arrange another meeting. Not for a client.’

‘Oh?’ she said. ‘We’ve never done a non-paying job before.’

‘This is a self-protection thing. Someone is beginning to ask too many questions in the right places. A policeman. And he’s maybe getting a little too close to home. We may need to deal with it. Discreetly.’

‘When?’

‘I’ll let you know. It may come to nothing. Goodbye, my child.’

‘Goodbye, Uncle Georg.’

After she left, he remained on the bench, fists rammed into his coat pockets, his collar turned up against the cold, and tried to recapture that moment of peace. But he couldn’t.

Fabel drove into the Police Presidium in Hamburg-Alsterdorf at ten-thirty a.m. He had only managed to get five hours’ sleep and felt leaden and dull. He spent the rest of the morning preparing for the team briefing. His weariness suddenly intensified when he was intercepted in the lift by Criminal Director Horst van Heiden.

‘A word, Jan…’ Van Heiden pressed the button for the fifth storey, the top-brass floor, signalling that the word was formal.

Fabel followed van Heiden into his office and sat down. When van Heiden sat down on the executive leather chair behind his desk, he straightened his tie and adjusted a notebook and pen on his desk. When the order of his bureaucratic universe was once more restored, he began.

‘I just wanted to catch up with a couple of things. Are you okay for this conference on violence against women? I’ve had the organiser on the phone again. I think she’s worried that we’ll send someone junior.’

‘It may come to that, if I’m honest.’

‘This murder last night?’ asked van Heiden.

‘I take it that was one of the things you wanted to talk to me about…’ Fabel failed to keep the weariness from his voice.

‘It’s all over the media,’ said van Heiden. ‘And there are some elements who blame us for not catching the Angel the first time round. If that is indeed who we’re dealing with.’

‘That I don’t know, Horst. I actually think it’s very unlikely. The modus is totally different. But I’m digging out all the old files. Obviously, it wasn’t my case the first time around.’

‘Mmm…’ Van Heiden again nudged the silver pen a fraction of a degree. ‘That’s the thing… I’ll be quite frank about this, Jan, we are getting a lot of funding from the BKA for you to set up this Super Murder Commission.’ The BKA was the Bundeskriminalamt, the Federal Crime Bureau. ‘It’s quite an accolade for the Polizei Hamburg to have a unit that will have a republic-wide brief. Within legal restraints, I mean,’ van Heiden continued. ‘As I’ve said to you before, it is an opportunity for us to establish ourselves as the centre of excellence in investigating complex and multiple murders in much the same way as the Institute for Judicial Medicine at Eppendorf is seen as the centre of excellence in forensic science.’

‘But…?’ Fabel raised an eyebrow. Van Heiden was beginning to sound like a commercial. And he always did a commercial before he hit you with the punchline.

‘But I do not delude myself that the reputation that has won us this accolade is a collective one. It’s yours, Jan. You’re the one everyone thinks of as Germany’s leading expert on complex and multiple murder cases.’

‘Thanks for the compliment.’ There was a resigned scepticism in Fabel’s smile. They both knew that van Heiden was getting pats on the back for Fabel’s achievement. ‘But let me guess: I inherit the Angel of St Pauli case that no one could solve in the nineties and, if I don’t get a result, suddenly my reputation takes a knock.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I really don’t think this is the work of the Angel. But I’m not ready to go on record with that yet.’ Fabel stood up.

‘Oh…’ Van Heiden reached into a drawer and took out a letter. ‘There was something else. We’ve received a request for an interview from the Danish police.’

‘What about?’ Fabel leaned over his desk and took the letter from him.

‘It doesn’t say. As you know, the Danish police have a liaison officer here, but this has come direct from a Politidirektor Vestergaard. One of his officers, Jens Jespersen, is flying in from Copenhagen, specifically to speak to you. There are no other details. It would appear that your reputation is becoming truly international.’

After checking all his drawers, without success, to see if he had left his MP3 player in the office, Fabel had a coffee and a cheese roll at his desk before taking a few minutes to prepare himself for his meeting with Anna Wolff. He knew it was going to be a difficult one. So did Anna, if her expression was anything to go by when she walked into his office, as always without knocking.

‘Sit down Anna,’ said Fabel.

‘What is this?’ she said, still standing. ‘Am I getting the sack?’

Fabel sighed deeply. ‘Yes, Anna. Effectively you are.’

For the first time since he had known her, Anna looked truly taken aback. She dropped down into the chair and gazed at Fabel blankly.

‘I’m sorry, Anna. I’m going to request that you be reassigned. I’ve warned you more times than I can remember about your attitude.’