Craig Russell - The Carnival Master

God knew she had achieved nothing else. Whatever had possessed her to think that she could come here alone and track down one of the most dangerous and sophisticated organised-crime bosses in Europe? She saw now how hopeless and half-baked her pathetic little crusade had been. She would drop out of sight for another week or so; stay in her friend’s apartment, then go back to Hamburg. She would find a decent hairdresser and dye her hair back to its normal colour. She would don the clothes and personality of the old Maria, but without the neuroses. No one in Hamburg need ever know she’d been here.

Maria had to deal with the car. This second hotel was just off the Konrad-Adenauer-Ufer by the river and she had left the Saxo parked in the lot around the corner from the first. She would then drive it back to the garage she’d bought it from and let them buy it back for a fraction of what she’d paid. It had been an expensive car rental.

Maria was about to dress in one of her cheap guises but she checked herself and donned instead a smart designer suit that she had brought down with her. She was amazed at how well it went with her newly dark hair. She made up her face and looked at herself again in the mirror. Almost the old Maria. Except she made up her mind to pick up a late breakfast on her way to the car dealership.

Maria headed out of the hotel and walked with a renewed vigour and confidence. She had gone about two blocks when she became aware of someone close to her side and slightly behind her. Suddenly he was leaning into her and his fingers closed like a vice around her upper arm. Something that was unmistakably the barrel of a handgun was rammed into her back, above her hip.

‘Do exactly what I say.’ Maria felt a cold, hard fear rise in her as she recognised the accent as Ukrainian. ‘Get into the back of the van up ahead.’

The door swung open from inside as they approached the large panel van. Maria was bustled in by the gunman while a second figure, inside the van and unseen by Maria, swiftly pulled a blackout hood over her head. Something stung her arm and she felt a chill surge as something was injected into it.

‘This is where Melissa Schenker, the second victim, was found. Weiberfastnacht, last year,’ said Scholz. He, Fabel, Kris and Tansu stood at the alley mouth, hunched against the cold and drizzly sleet.

Fabel looked along the street. It swept around at the end but he could see a spire puncture the sky above the rooftops. He pointed in its direction. ‘What’s that?’

‘St Ursula’s Church.’

‘But the first victim, Sabine Jordanski was found near there.’

‘Yep. On the other side. Her apartment was on Gereonswall. But as I said, the significance is difficult to read. There are tons of churches throughout Cologne. And standing here we’re within range of at least four of the city’s twelve Romanesque churches – St Ursula’s, St Kunibert’s, St Gereon’s, St Andreas’s and, of course there’s…’ Scholz turned to indicate the other direction and held his arm out as if announcing a cabaret act. Fabel saw the massive, domineering twin spires of Cologne Cathedral soar menacingly grey-black above the city.

Fabel looked again at the place that just under a year ago had been a murder crime scene. It was a narrow alley between two four-storey apartment buildings. It was cobbled and swept clean. A row of recycling and waste bins lined one side, allowing room for only one person to pass. The bins had been there at the time of the murder. Fabel had seen the scene-of-crime pictures. Being there in person confirmed the instinct he had had when looking at the photographs.

‘It has always been assumed that the killer followed the victims. Picked them out from the Karneval crowds because of their physical forms fitting his agenda. But I think the selection has been made long before that. Weeks. Maybe months. Maybe he was on their trails during the evening, but my reckoning is that he knew exactly where they lived and overtook them or predicted their movements. I think he was waiting here for Melissa Schenker when she came home. In the dark, in this confined space, like a trapdoor spider.’

‘So he selected the locus well in advance? Not just the victim?’

‘Yep… and that makes him a whole different proposition,’ said Fabel. ‘Serial killers come in two types: the impulsive and the organised. The impulsive types simply respond to their appetites. They scratch when they itch. Cannibalistic serial killers tend always to be impulsive and that is what I thought we were perhaps dealing with here.’

‘Does it make that much of a difference?’ Kris Feilke’s acne stood out even more vividly against the blue-white of his chilled skin.

‘Yes, it does,’ said Fabel. ‘Both types commit a series of murders, both often take trophies, both have borderline personality disorders, both tend to be loser types… but there is a huge difference between them. Impulsive serial killers have below average IQs. Often significantly below.’

‘Like Joachim Kroll…’ Scholz referred back to their discussion in the restaurant.

‘Like Joachim Kroll. But organised serial killers usually have IQs way above average. And they know it. They are smart, but they’re never quite as smart as they think they are. Anyway, I’m beginning to think that our Karneval Killer is an organised type. A planner. Especially in this case. Melissa Schenker was an almost total recluse. That was something else that I noticed in the files you sent me. Schenker had practically no social life other than the two friends who were always trying to draw her out of her shell.’

‘That’s right. They were the ones who persuaded her to come out with them on Weiberfastnacht. Poor girls. I interviewed them. They were completely distraught and riddled with guilt. They felt that if they hadn’t cajoled Melissa to come out she would still be alive.’

‘They’re probably right. But what I don’t get is the selection of Melissa. Our killer is a tracker and hunter. He must have seen her somewhere outside her apartment.’

Scholz shrugged, as much against the cold as anything. ‘We checked. She was a very regulated person. She worked with computers. Designed games, apparently. Made a small fortune from it, not that you would have guessed that from her apartment. It’s the big thing these days, apparently. Everybody wants to get into it.’

Fabel looked down the street along the top storeys of the buildings. Melissa Schenker had lived on the top floor. The sky glowered back at him.

‘Is her home occupied?’

‘No. It lay empty for more than six months and then was sold. A property company bought it and they want to rent it out. Word gets around, though. People around here can be a superstitious bunch.’

‘Have they renovated or redecorated it?’

‘Not yet.’ Scholz grinned.

‘I’d like to see it,’ said Fabel.

The grin stayed in place as Scholz’s glove dipped into his leather jacket. He raised a bunch of keys and dangled them as if ringing a bell. ‘I thought you might…’

The apartment was pleasant and bright even on a day like this, but without furniture it was impossible for Fabel to place in it the personality he had got to know through reading Scholz’s file. The walls were white. The ceiling was high and dotted with downlighters which cast bright pools on the highly polished light wood of the floor, the gloomy blue-grey day outside pressing itself against the arch-topped windows. The main living area was a good size: open plan with a wide step up to a raised area.

‘That’s where she worked,’ said Scholz, who had followed Fabel’s gaze. Fabel nodded. There was a bank of power and data points along the wall of the raised area.