Craig Russell - The Valkyrie Song

‘Where have you got her now?’ The voice on the other end of the connection sounded genuinely anxious.

‘Safely back in her cell, Herr Doctor,’ said Fabel. ‘Where she can do no harm.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Kopke. He had a deep voice. A little scratchy. Fabel heard a metallic click and a crackle over the connection. A cigarette being lit. A medical man should know better, thought Fabel. ‘I really did want to warn you before you tried to interview her.’

‘I didn’t get the message-’ Fabel started to say, but Kopke cut him off.

‘She’s killed again?’

‘Yes. A male victim. And she castrated him.’

‘What was his name?’ Kopke’s tone was more demand than question.

‘I can’t-’

‘Was the victim called Georg Drescher? Or did Margarethe claim he was Georg Drescher?’

‘I can’t confirm or deny the identity of the victim, you should know that.’

‘Look, Herr Principal Commissar, you and I can play games and more people can die, or we can be straight with each other and maybe save a few lives. What will it be?’

‘What is it you have to tell me, Dr Kopke?’

‘First of all, you need to make sure that Margarethe is confined with maximum security.’ There was the sound of a blown-out breath and Fabel imagined the cigarette smoke billowing around the unseen psychiatrist. ‘You should have her watched by no fewer than two, ideally three, guards. Secondly, do what you can to make your demands sound like requests. She will respond with maximum hostility to any suggestion that you are commanding her to follow your will. And, trust me, Herr Chief Commissar, that hostility will be very professionally directed.’

‘I’ve already got the picture,’ said Fabel, involuntarily touching the gauze taped to his forehead.

‘Ah…’ Again there was the sound of a cigarette being drawn upon, followed by a hasty exhalation. ‘I thought you might. I also need you to get a court order over to me as soon as possible so that I can legally transfer the records of Margarethe Paulus’s treatment to you. I have tapes and video of my sessions with her and, trust me, you will want to hear all of them.’

‘In the meantime,’ said Fabel, ‘how about a little unofficial summary?’

‘Margarethe Paulus was a child of the GDR,’ said Kopke. ‘Her parents, from what I could gather, were bohemian, freethinker types who fell foul of the authorities. They ended up in prison and both died of cancer before reunification. Margarethe was taken into care by the state. It’s what she says happened to her afterwards that should interest you. Before I go any further, I have to tell you a little about her medical history. When she was still in the care of the state orphanage she started to have severe headaches. She would have been about eight at the time. Margarethe was admitted to hospital and it was suspected that she was suffering from a brain tumour. The operation revealed a growth in her brain which was subsequently declared benign, but the nature of the tumour is in some doubt — it was a reasonably large teratoma that could have been interpreted as fetus in fetu.’

‘I’m sorry…’ Fabel sounded more irritated than apologetic. ‘You’re going to have to explain.’

‘A teratoma is a tumour that is composed of all kinds of tissue. There can be hair, teeth, eye tissue in it. Sometimes it can have limbs — a hand or a foot, for example. In rare examples, a child is born with what appears to be a twin inside it. Fetus in fetu. Medical opinion is divided on whether these are actual foetuses that have formed within their twin, instead of alongside it, or if they are simply a more complex form of teratoma. Whatever they are, they are incapable of independent life. What was removed from Margarethe’s brain had the appearance of a rudimentary foetus. Somehow, maybe later after reading up on the subject, she decided that she had had a sister living inside her.’

‘And she still believes that?’

‘We learned to handle Margarethe and — with appropriate medication and management — she was able to live amongst the general hospital population. I’ll come back to why the medication and handling were so important, although I think you’ve experienced the reason first-hand. Anyway, Margarethe would sit over by the window for hours on end, talking to no one except her own reflection.’

‘Her sister,’ Fabel sighed.

‘That’s what we established in therapy, yes. But this is where I get to the most important bit. The tumour that was removed was benign, but it was large. When you take something like that out of someone’s brain things change. The chemistry changes; intracranial pressure alters and parts of the brain that have been constricted are relieved and have room to expand, particularly if the patient is a child. In Margarethe’s case, her personality changed. She had been a normal, emotional child of average ability. After the operation, she became distant, remote. But her academic and sporting ability improved radically. And that brings me back to the claims she has made.’

‘Which were?’

‘You have to remember that here in the East our post-war experience was very different. There are things that went on here that you couldn’t imagine. That we still have problems accepting. But what Margarethe told us was so incredible, so fantastic, that we put it down to schizoid paranoia. But then, as time went on, I began to have doubts. I mean, some patients have the most detailed and elaborate paranoias, but this was just too elaborate. Part of my job is to try to expose the falsehood of a paranoid delusion, to find a crack and use logic to lever it open so that the patient themselves, with the aid of the right medication, can see their fantasy for what it is.’

‘But there were no cracks in Margarethe’s story.’

‘None. I did a little research, too. At the Federal Commission for Stasi files. I discovered that many of the names she had given me were indeed real former Stasi people. But she had first given me this information at a time when the files were still being collated and reassembled.’

‘So if she was telling the truth…’

‘It still didn’t change the fact that she was very seriously disturbed. Or that she had murdered someone. The other thing was that there was this massive rage and hunger for revenge burning deep inside her. And most of it was directed at Georg Drescher. You see, Herr Fabel, Margarethe claims she was one of three young women selected by the Stasi and trained by Major Georg Drescher.’

‘Trained as what?’

‘Assassins. She claimed that she and her friends were trained to use a whole variety of methods to take human life, as well as concealment, espionage techniques — even how to seduce their victims. She said they were given code names. They were called the Valkyries.’

Walking into the Murder Commission incident room, Fabel felt like he was an unprepared act walking into the spotlight, centre stage. There were always times like this during an investigation — a development, a breakthrough, or another murder — when suddenly there was an electric tension in the air and the entire team looked on him expectantly. The truth was his head hurt, he was tired and felt sick, and he was struggling to deal with the enormity of what he had just heard from Margarethe’s psychiatrist.

Anna handed him a coffee and a couple of codeine. ‘You realise the mistake you made,’ she said in a low voice.

‘I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’ Fabel flipped the tablets from his palm into his mouth and washed them down with too-hot coffee.

‘You made a sexist judgement,’ said Anna. ‘And don’t go off on one — I’m not saying you’re a sexist. But what happened in there happened because you treated her differently because she was a female. You saw what she did to that guy in her apartment. If she had been a male suspect she would have been handcuffed to the restraint on the table.’