Craig Russell - The Carnival Master

‘It’s all right, Maria…’ Buslenko’s voice was calm, soothing. He reached out to her shaking hands and took the guns from her. ‘It’s all right. It’s all over. You did well.’

‘The guards…’ she said desperately. ‘Outside…’

‘It’s all right,’ again Buslenko soothed her. ‘It’s taken care of.’

Maria heard someone coming in through the door.

‘Olga?’ Maria gazed confused at Sarapenko, who stood in the doorway. She was carrying a sniper’s rifle that looked more like a piece of scientific equipment than a weapon. It had a heavy night-vision sight mounted on it and its barrel was elongated by a flash eliminator and silencer.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Maria. ‘The police… where are the police?’

‘We clear up our own mess,’ said Buslenko, pocketing Maria’s automatics. He placed his arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the door.

‘Vitrenko…’ Maria’s voice was faint and shook with the tremors that were beginning to take control of her body. ‘Where is Vitrenko? He was supposed to be here…’

Maria started to shake uncontrollably. She felt as if her legs could no longer support her. The story outside the door was easy to read. Both guards lay dead, each with bullet wounds to the body and head. The second guard still held his machine pistol and his eyes gazed up dully at the dark clouded sky. Maria had read somewhere that that was how snipers always took out a victim: a bullet to the body to bring them down, then one or two to the head to finish them. She looked at Olga, who still held the precision tool of her sniper’s rifle. It was an odd skill for a Kiev city policewoman to have.

‘Stay here,’ said Buslenko. ‘I’ll fetch my car. Olga, I’ll drop you at Maria’s car and you can drive it back to Cologne. I want no evidence that we have been here.’

‘What about housekeeping?’ asked Olga, nodding at the bodies.

‘We’ll get these two inside. I’ll send someone out to clean up. But we’d better get away from here first.’

‘You’ll send someone?’ Maria’s voice was weak. She sounded dully confused. ‘Who do you have…’

‘You’re in shock, Maria,’ Olga handed the sniper’s rifle to Buslenko. She took a syringe from her pocket and removed the protective sheath from the needle.

‘Why have you got that with you?’ asked Maria, but she was too shaken and weak to resist as Olga bunched up the sleeves of Maria’s coat and the jumper underneath. Maria felt the sting of the needle in her forearm.

‘What…?’

‘It’ll relax you,’ said Olga and already Maria felt a warm sleepiness swell through her body. She felt as if she were already asleep, but remained on her feet. Her shaking had stopped.

‘I thought I was going to die…’ she said absently to Olga, who didn’t answer.

‘I’ll get the car,’ Buslenko said and ran across the field towards the road.

Maria felt completely relaxed, devoid of any fear or anxiety, as she watched Buslenko’s shrinking figure and realised that she had seen him run across a field very like this one, a long time ago. It was funny, she thought as she felt Olga’s grip tighten on her arm, that she hadn’t recognised him before; that it was only from a distance, like on the surveillance monitor, that she knew for sure who he was.

I am going to die, after all, thought Maria and turned to Olga Sarapenko, smiling vacantly at the irony of it all.

9-11 February

Fabel was surprised to look up and find Benni Scholz standing next to him.

‘What are you doing here?’ Fabel said, closing the dossier. ‘Oh, this is Herr Wagner of the BKA…’

Wagner stood up and shook hands with Scholz.

‘We’ve met before,’ said Scholz. Wagner frowned. ‘That Internet fraud case – two years ago…’

‘Oh yes…’ said Wagner. ‘Of course… How are you?’

‘The best,’ Scholz grinned, but looked at the blank covered dossier on the coffee table. ‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?’

‘No… not at all,’ said Fabel. ‘I was just taking the opportunity to chat with Herr Wagner about a Hamburg case we’re both involved with. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Well… as a matter of fact I called by on business. As you know I was tied up almost all morning in this bloody Karneval committee meeting, but I got Tansu and Kris to check out some of those leads on Internet sites your technical guys put together But you weren’t around this afternoon…’

‘Ah, yes… sightseeing, if I’m honest.’

‘I see… anyway, we’ve got something. There’s a website hosted from here in Cologne. It’s called Anthropophagi and it’s devoted to all things relating to cannibalism. Not overtly sexual content, but if you dig deeper there is some pretty sick stuff in there. And there’s a chat room. We don’t know who actually runs the site, but we know the company that provides the server space, design, etc. I thought we could go over there tomorrow.’

‘Sounds good. Sure you won’t have a drink?’

‘No, thanks. You see, that’s not all. I wondered if you wanted to take a little trip with me. You’ll be pleased to know that we’ve also followed your suggestion and trailed every reported assault or incident involving biting. There’s something you and I should take a look at…’

The hotel contrasted sharply with the plush and trendy one they had just left. It wasn’t that it was shoddy or seedy, rather that it was at the budget end of the market. The kind of place where tourists on a tight budget or the lower class of business traveller would overnight. It was, as Fabel realised he already knew, also a place where you could pay in cash and not be asked too many questions. Scholz pulled up outside the main door and as he and Fabel got out a doorman approached, clearly to complain that he wasn’t allowed to park there. Scholz silenced him with a flash of his Criminal Police ID. He turned for a moment when he noticed Fabel pause and look up at the hotel.

‘Everything okay, Jan?’

‘What? Yeah… sure.’

‘There was the report of a disturbance here a few weeks ago,’ Scholz explained to Fabel. ‘The patrol car was effectively turned away – the hotel said it had all blown over and their own people had dealt with it. Sorry to have troubled you and all that crap. Truth is these places don’t want their clientele to see the lobby full of uniforms. Puts them off their dirty weekends.’

Scholz slapped his gloved hand down on the chest-high reception desk and grinned at the male receptionist.

‘Cologne Criminal Police,’ he said. ‘I want to speak to Herr Ankowitsch, the manager.’

A tall, slim man appeared at reception. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked Scholz. Then, seeing Fabel: ‘Oh, hello again, Herr Fabel… I didn’t expect to see you twice in one day. Is this about the same matter?’

‘No… not related at all…’ Fabel said. He ignored Scholz’s frown.

‘We’re here about an incident on January twentieth,’ said Scholz, turning back to Ankowitsch. ‘You called the police about a disturbance.’

‘Oh, that… that was all dealt with at the time. Something and nothing. A woman was heard to scream from one of the rooms and came running out. But she didn’t want to press charges.’

‘Yes, I know all that. What I want to know about is what she said had happened to her. According to the police report, she claimed someone had bitten her in the arse. Bitten her badly.’

Ankowitsch grinned. ‘Yes, she did, as a matter of fact.’

‘This isn’t a laughing matter. We’re here in case this event is connected to a couple of murders we’re investigating. Now, no bullshit – was she a hooker?’