Craig Russell - The Carnival Master

‘Hi, Ansgar!’ Scholz called over. Fabel and Tansu followed him across the street.

‘Remember the restaurant I took you to – the Speisekammer?’ Scholz said to Fabel. ‘This is Ansgar Hoeffer, the chef. The best in Cologne if you ask me and that’s saying something. How are you, Ansgar?’

‘I’m fine… you?’ Ansgar answered. He was a tallish man with a high-domed head. His sparse hair had been trimmed bristle-short. His eyes seemed large and doleful behind his glasses. But what struck Fabel most about him was that he looked decidedly uncomfortable.

‘The best,’ said Scholz. ‘What are you doing in this part of town?’

Ansgar again looked flustered for a moment. ‘Oh, I had a few things to do. How was your meal the other night?’ Ansgar addressed his question to Fabel.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I meant to introduce you…’ said Scholz. ‘Ansgar, this is Principal Chief Commissar Fabel of the Hamburg Police. He’s down here… on a course.’

Fabel and Ansgar shook hands. ‘It was excellent,’ said Fabel. ‘We both had the lamb ragout. Delicious.’

After a brief exchange of more small talk they went their separate ways, Ansgar walking off towards the city centre with a purposeful stride.

‘Great cook,’ said Scholz as they reached his car.

‘Mmm…’ said Fabel, but he looked back in Ansgar’s direction and noticed that Tansu was doing the same.

In the car Scholz didn’t start the ignition.

‘Well, that was on the bizarre side of weird,’ he said. ‘She looks like some kind of bad drag act. What the hell is all that about?’

‘What she went through would be enough to knock anyone off kilter,’ said Tansu. ‘My guess is she’s rejecting her own femininity. No matter what she says, I think she blames herself for what happened to her.’

‘No,’ said Fabel. ‘She blames Vera Reinartz for what happened. As though Vera was a different person. Did you notice how often she referred to her past self in the third person?’

‘It’s the name these letters were signed with that interests me,’ said Scholz. ‘Peter Stumpf. I’m now convinced that whoever attacked Andrea is our killer. You were right all along, Jan.’

‘Actually, it was Tansu who came up with it first.’

‘This is a nice lyrical touch,’ said Scholz, ignoring Fabel’s correction. ‘A local reference. Out to the west of Cologne there’s a town called Bedburg. Peter Stumpf was Bedburg’s most famous resident. Or infamous. He lived there in the sixteenth century. The Beast of Bedburg – one of the first serial killers recorded in Germany. He also had the most horrific execution ever recorded.’

‘So Andrea’s rapist and tormentor is referencing this Peter Stumpf. Why does that make you believe he’s our Karneval Cannibal?’

‘Because that’s exactly what Peter Stumpf was. A cannibal. He was supposed to have eaten dozens of victims. He also claimed he was a shape-shifter who had sold his soul to Satan for the ability to turn into a wolf. Stumpf said he preferred to remain in human form to rape his victims before turning into a wolf to eat them. Maybe our killer believes he has transformed a rapist to a cannibal.’

‘I think that’s stretching it, but I agree – he may be trying to say he undergoes some kind of transformation. Maybe it’s the clown disguise. What’s more important is that it means we have his DNA from the attack on Vera… or Andrea. You said Stumpf had the worst execution on record. Is that significant?’

There was something grim in Scholz’s wry smile. ‘Our priest told us about it in Sunday School. A little horror story to lighten the catechism lessons. Peter Stumpf was a rich farmer who confessed freely and without torture to having been a necromancer and black wizard since childhood. He claimed to have been visited several times by the Devil who gave him a magical belt that would give him superhuman strength in exchange for his soul. The price of this superhuman strength, however, was more than Stumpf’s soul – the belt turned him into a wolf. He admitted to tearing apart and eating scores of victims: men, women, children. He had a particular taste for pregnant women, apparently. Two meals in one. After the trial they strapped him to a wheel and broke his arms, legs and ribs with the blunt side of an axe. You see, they believed that, as a werewolf, there was a danger of him returning from the grave, so breaking his limbs would prevent him doing that. Then they ripped chunks of flesh from his body while he was still alive, using red-hot pincers. As a finale, they beheaded and burned him. True mortification of the flesh.’

‘But it didn’t work,’ said Fabel grimly. ‘It would appear that Peter Stumpf has come back to life.’

Fabel got the impression that Scholz had allowed Tansu to come along for the Peter Schnaus interview only because it would have been out of the way to drop her off at the Presidium first. Scholz had called ahead to make sure that Schnaus would be in before heading along Aachenerstrasse. Buschbell was to the north of Frechen, he had explained, and therefore it was easier to avoid the town itself.

‘Incidentally,’ said Scholz, ‘Bedburg is out this way too – the home of the infamous Peter Stumpf.’

Buschbell and Frechen were only nine kilometres from the city centre and Fabel had been aware of a continuous urban landscape. Buschbell, however, was more open and tree-lined and clearly on the edge of the Cologne conurbation.

‘How did Schnaus sound on the phone?’ asked Fabel.

‘Guilty,’ said Scholz. ‘What of I don’t know yet, but he sure was sheepish to hear that the police were coming out for a chat.’

They pulled up outside a reasonably expensive-looking house with more garden than Fabel had seen in Cologne since he first arrived. It was the home of a high-middle-income earner. Not the dwelling of a millionaire, but substantial enough to indicate a respectable bank balance. Added to which there was the regulation Mercedes E500 in the drive.

As they made their way to the front door, it was clear that Scholz’s mind was on something else. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I don’t really like this idea the two of you have come up with… It’s far too risky…’

‘My idea,’ said Fabel. ‘I asked Tansu if she would do it as a favour-’

‘Like I said, I don’t like it,’ interrupted Scholz, ‘but I’ll go along with it. But I’ve got a few conditions. We’ll talk about it after we’re through here.’

The front door opened before they had a chance to knock. A man of about forty stepped out, drawing it to behind him. He was a little under two metres tall, athletically built and reasonably good-looking. A perfect fit for the description given them by Mila, the escort who’d been bitten.

‘Commissar Scholz?’ he asked Fabel.

‘No, that’s me,’ said Scholz. ‘Herr Schnaus?’

‘Yes. What’s this about? My wife and kids are here and-’

‘It’s about the website you run,’ said Fabel.

‘Oh…’ Schnaus looked crestfallen. ‘I rather thought it would be. Listen, I’ve told my wife this is to do with business.’

‘What exactly is your business?’ asked Fabel.

‘Computer software.’

Fabel looked over at the car in the drive and at the house once more and considered the decision he’d taken about his future.

‘Okay, we’ll play along. For now. Is there somewhere private we can talk?’

‘My study…’ Schnaus led them into the house and along a wide hall. The study was roomy, bright and contemporary. There was a large desk with two expensive-looking computers on it. Two more sat on workstations on the other wall.

‘You run your site from here?’ asked Fabel.