Craig Russell - The Carnival Master

Ansgar watched Ekatherina eat and talk. Naturally, she did most of the talking, her German charmingly accented, but most of all Ansgar watched her eat. During the meal, Ekatherina worked hard to coax out of Ansgar some of the details of his childhood, family, what had made him want to be a chef. Ansgar found himself wanting to be more conversational; easier, more interesting company. Most of all, he wished he could sit here in this Ukrainian restaurant with an attractive young woman and be someone else: someone with a normal life and normal urges.

Ekatherina didn’t seem to worry about Ansgar’s taciturnity. She talked at length about her childhood in Ukraine; about the astounding beauty of the land and the warmth of the people.

Ansgar listened and smiled. Ekatherina was dressed in what he guessed was her best outfit. It clearly wasn’t expensive but it showed an element of taste. The white blouse was open to the third button and when Ekatherina leaned forward Ansgar could see the full swell of her breasts, pale and smooth. He appreciated the effort she had made. But all through the meal he sought to keep from his mind those dark fantasies that he had formed around her.

They took a taxi from the restaurant. The food, Ansgar had to admit, had been interesting. It was always a strange, even difficult thing for Ansgar to enjoy a meal in another restaurant. To start with, he was never treated as an ordinary customer: he had a reputation and anyone who knew anything about Cologne’s food scene knew who he was. Ansgar had been sure he had heard his name amongst the babble of Ukrainian words exchanged between Ekatherina and the waiter. The other problem he had was the way he had to try to leave his professional self outside and simply enjoy the experience for its own sake. The truth was that Ansgar analysed every mouthful, judged flavour combinations, assessed layout on the plate. Ansgar was an artist, and he liked to compare the brushwork of others to see if there was anything he could learn from it. Many subtle nuances that had been added to some of his most highly regarded dishes had been inspired by a cruder expression in some second-class eatery.

But tonight, as he slid into the back seat of the taxi next to Ekatherina, he felt his belly too full. For Ansgar, food was about quality, about the experience, rather than the quantity. He felt the heat of Ekatherina’s body as she leant against him. Ansgar was also aware that he had had more to drink than usual. It made him nervous: he felt braver; more likely to act on his impulses. On that greatest of all impulses. He also sensed carelessness and ease in Ekatherina’s movements. It was a dangerous situation and he fought to keep those images from his mind. Images of a fantasy that now seemed possible, even if only remotely.

Ansgar had intended to drop Ekatherina at her apartment. He had declined her offer of a coffee, but she had leant across and kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth. It tasted of coffee mingled with the raspberry flavour of the malynivka liqueur they had drunk to end the meal.

He paid the taxi driver and followed Ekatherina into her apartment building.

‘I used to go out with this girl who liked to be tied up, you know,’ Scholz leaned back in his chair and raised a bottle of Kolsch beer to his lips. ‘I mean really tied up. Really tight. Every time we did it. She couldn’t, you know, enjoy it properly unless she was trussed up.’

‘Thanks for sharing that…’ Fabel smiled wryly and took another sip of Kolsch himself. He started to feel that little bit light-headed. He felt the usual fear of losing control kicking in and made a decision to slow down with the beer.

‘I mean, it was like she couldn’t get off without it,’ continued Scholz. His frown cleared and he grinned. ‘There is a point to this, other than offering a window on my sordid personal life. What I’m getting at is that I have come across a lot of weird stuff in my professional life and a fair bit in my personal, if you know what I mean, but no matter how I try I cannot imagine how some sicko gets pleasure from eating other human beings.’

Fabel sat on the sofa and picked fussily at the pizza that Scholz had ordered for them on the way to his flat. It had been Scholz’s idea to collect the files, pick up a take-out meal and go over to his apartment. It was, he had said, going to be a long evening and there was no point in being uncomfortable.

‘I can honestly say there’s little I haven’t seen over the years,’ continued Fabel. ‘Professionally, I mean. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to get out of the job.’

Scholz smiled as he watched Fabel continue to pick at the pizza. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘They didn’t do a herring topping…’

Fabel laughed. ‘It’s funny,’ he said. ‘You lot down here make a joke about us in the North eating nothing but fish. Truth is, we tend to eat fish because we’re coastal people and that’s the most immediate source of food. And the way we connect with other cultures plays a part. You know there’s a Hamburg dish called Labskaus?’

‘I believe I’ve heard of it,’ said Scholz with a straight face.

‘Scandinavian sailors brought it to Hamburg. Then we took the recipe across to England. The British don’t have a clue if you ask them about Labskaus, yet they call people from Liverpool scousers because it was so popular there. My point is that our diets are shaped by what’s available and the contacts we have. Obviously nowadays you can go into any supermarket and buy whatever type of food you like, but the old, generations-long traditions tend to stay in place. It’s like we inherit a prejudice for or against certain foods. Which brings me back to our Karneval Cannibal… what I find strange is that we have always had a concept of taboo foods. Take pork. Even here, where you eat so much meat, and further south too, there are many people who have a problem with eating pork.’

‘What?’ Scholz looked dubious. ‘South of the “White Sausage Equator”…?’

‘Even there, amongst dedicated meat-eaters there are those who will not eat any part of a pig. Pork is the most common taboo food on the planet. The Muslims won’t eat it, the Jews are forbidden it, and there was even supposedly an ancient injunction against it amongst Highland Scots. It must have something to do with the similarity between pork and human flesh. I mean, we live in an age of xenotransplantation where genetically modified pig organs are being transplanted into humans. Tribes in Papua New Guinea talk about human flesh as “the long pig”.’

‘So you think it’s because it’s like eating human flesh?’

‘I think we maybe have some deep cultural memory of cannibalism. And our rejection of cannibalism is a part of how we define ourselves as civilised. Nineteenth-century European colonisation was often justified as saving the natives from themselves. And cannibalism was cited as the prime example of savage behaviour.’

Scholz sipped his beer. ‘We’ve deliberately kept the details of both murders away from the press. We told them there were elements that only we and the killer would know. We haven’t even confirmed a definite link. Like you say, there’s something about the whole concept of a cannibal being on the loose that scares the shit out of people. And the press would just love it.’

‘So you really had considered the possibility of the killer being a cannibal before I mentioned it?’

‘Yep,’ said Scholz. ‘But I wasn’t as sure of it as you were. I thought the weight of the flesh was perhaps the significant thing. A pound of flesh.’ Scholz said it in heavily accented English. He paused and contemplated his beer. ‘Do you think there’s any chance that our guy is motivated by something other than sexual cannibalism? Given that there’s no semen found at the scenes.’