Craig Russell - The Carnival Master

Cologne was so different to Hamburg. Was it possible, Fabel wondered, to change your surroundings and change yourself to suit? If he had been born here, instead of in the North, would he be a different person? The waiter arrived with his meal and a fresh glass of beer and Fabel tried to put it all from his mind. For now.

It had been four hours but Maria had turned down Olga’s offer to take over watching the monitors. It was getting dark and the villa was reduced to a dark geometry broken up by the brightness of the windows. Suddenly two lights came on above the front door, illuminating one of the guards.

‘Tell Buslenko they’re on the move…’ Maria barked at Olga.

The door swung open and Vitrenko’s bodyguard emerged. The Lexus door opened for someone still inside the villa and out of sight. Then a tall dark figure was framed in the bright doorway. Again a shudder of recognition. He might have changed his face, but at this distance some primeval instinct identified a form burned into Maria’s memory. He stopped, his silhouetted head angled. Maria felt ice in her veins: it was as if Vitrenko were looking through the camera, directly at her.

He stepped forward and into the Lexus, out of view.

Maria followed the car as it drifted silently down the drive and out of the gate. ‘They’re turning right.’

The Lexus was gone. Vitrenko was gone.

‘Taras has picked them up,’ said Olga Sarapenko. ‘They’re heading out towards the autobahn. He wants you to help him with the surveillance.’ She tossed Maria a walkie-talkie. ‘Channel three. Taras will guide you in. I’m to man the command post here. I’ll liaise between you and Taras and update you on any developments.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better for you to go?’ asked Maria. She suddenly felt very afraid and ill-equipped to deal with the consequences of catching up with Vitrenko. ‘Aren’t you better trained for this?’

‘I’m just a police officer like you. The difference is that you’re a German police officer. Taras thinks that might be useful if things get complicated.’

‘But I don’t know this city…’

‘We’ve got all the geopositioning kit we need to direct you. Use your own car. You’d better go. Now.’

It was dark, wet and cold. Cologne glittered bleakly in the winter evening. It was a straight drive to Lindenthal through Zollstock and Sulz. The radio lay mute on the passenger seat. After ten minutes and as she approached the Stadtwald park, Maria picked it up.

‘Olga… Olga, can you hear me?’

‘I hear you.’

‘Where am I supposed to go?’

‘I’m on the autobahn heading north…’ It was Buslenko’s voice. ‘Head for the Kreuz Koln-West junction and take the A57 and head north. I’ll let you know if we turn off. Olga, guide Maria through Junkersdorf onto the autobahn. Vitrenko’s car is not moving fast, but Maria won’t catch up to us till we stop. Olga… any idea where this takes us?’

‘Hold on,’ said Olga. There was a pause. ‘It looks like Vitrenko’s heading out of the city. Could be that he’s heading back up north. Hamburg.’

‘Unlikely at this time of night,’ Buslenko said. His voice over the radio a universe away. Maria felt isolated, cocooned by the darkness and the thick, sleety rain against the windscreen. How had she got herself into this situation? She had taken so much on trust with these people. Who was to say that they were who they said they were? She shook the thought from her head: they had saved her life; they had found Maxim Kushnier’s body and disposed of it; they had given her ill-planned, half-assed mission some kind of coherence and at least a hint of viability.

Maria pressed the call button of her radio. ‘Tell me where I’ve got to go…’

The Hotel Linden was only a few minutes from where Cologne’s Hansaring joined the Konrad-Adenauer Ufer which ran along the Rhine’s edge. It somehow gave Fabel hope to sense something of the old Maria in her choice: the Linden’s situation gave her as central a base as possible without being conspicuous. He told the taxi driver to wait for him and trotted up the steps into the hotel’s small lobby. A pretty dark-haired girl smiled at him from behind the reception desk. Her smile gave way to a frown when he showed her his Polizei Hamburg ID card.

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ he reassured her. ‘I’m just trying to trace someone.’

Fabel showed the receptionist a photograph of Maria. ‘Ring any bells?’

Her frown deepened. ‘I can’t say that it does… but I’ve been off the last week. Let me get the duty manager.’

She disappeared into the office and returned with a man who was too young to wear such a serious expression. There was a hint of suspicion in the way he eyed Fabel.

‘What’s this all about, Herr…?’

‘Principal Chief Commissar Fabel.’ Fabel smiled and held out his ID again. ‘I’m down from Hamburg looking for this woman…’ He paused while the pretty receptionist handed the photograph to the manager. ‘Her name is Maria Klee. Our information suggests that she stayed in this hotel. But she might have used another name.’

‘What has she done?’

‘I don’t see that has anything to do with your answer to my question.’ Fabel leaned forward on the reception desk. ‘Have you seen her or not?’

The duty manager examined the photograph. ‘Yes, I have. But she doesn’t look like that now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She checked out of here a couple of weeks ago.’ He typed something into the reception computer. ‘Yes, here it is, the twenty-sixth. But when she checked out her hair was cut really short and dyed black. The other thing was her clothes.’

‘What about them?’

‘They were always different. I don’t mean just a change of outfit

… I mean completely different styles of clothes. One day really expensive, the next scruffy and cheap.’

Surveillance, thought Fabel. She had a lead and was following it. ‘Anything else? Did she ever meet with anyone here?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. But she did park her car in the hotel car park without registering its licence number with us. We nearly had it towed away, but one of the porters recognised her as a guest. I was going to have a word with her about it but she checked out before I had a chance.’

‘Did you get the number?’

‘Of course…’ The prematurely pompous duty manager again referred to the hotel computer. He scribbled something down on a pad and handed it to Fabel.

‘But this is a “K” plate… a Cologne licence.’ Fabel looked at the number again. ‘What kind of car was it?’

‘Cheap and old. I think it was a Citroen.’

‘Would you have any idea where she was going from here?’

The duty manager shrugged. Fabel scribbled his cellphone number on the back of a Polizei Hamburg business card.

‘If you see her again, I need you to phone me on this number. Immediately. It is very important.’

Back in the taxi Fabel examined his list of Cologne hotels. He had to try to think like Maria. He guessed that she had left this hotel because she had checked in under her own name. She would seek out somewhere even less conspicuous. He leaned over and handed the list to the taxi driver.

‘Which of these would be the best if you wanted to book in somewhere under a fake name and pay cash without too many questions asked?’

The taxi driver pursed his lips in consideration for a moment, then took his pen and circled three names.

‘These would be your best bet, I reckon.’

‘Okay…’ Fabel leaned back in his seat. ‘Let’s start with the nearest.’