Craig Russell - The Carnival Master

‘I’m sick,’ he repeated. ‘A pervert. I don’t deserve to live… I can’t stand this chaos…’ The blade flashed in the dim street light as it arced first upwards, then down – towards Ansgar’s abdomen. Ansgar was hurled off his feet as Fabel slammed into him. The impact threw Ansgar against the wall and the knife fell with a clatter.

‘No, you don’t,’ said Fabel as he turned Ansgar onto his belly and twisted his arms behind him, clasping the handcuffs shut. ‘I’ve lost one already that way.’

‘So who’s our killer?’ asked Scholz. ‘I am seriously fucking confused. We have positive proof that it was Ludeke who raped Vera-cum-Andrea in ’ninety-nine, yet now we find Ansgar Hoeffer loitering outside her apartment and he’s ready to make a confession.’

‘A confession to what, we don’t know yet,’ said Fabel.

‘Well, I think we can hazard a guess… The search of his apartment has turned up this pile of goodies.’ Scholz indicated a cardboard evidence box on his desk. ‘And we’ve done a quick check of his computer. Three guesses what his favourite website is?’

‘ Anthropophagi? ’

‘In one,’ said Scholz.

Fabel looked through the contents of the evidence box. A few magazines, DVDs, older VHS tapes. Fabel read some of the DVD titles, all of which were variations on a theme: Flesh-Eating Zombie Women, Cannibals of Lesbos, Food for the Demon Women.

‘What’s up?’ asked Scholz. ‘Seen something you want to borrow?’

‘There’s something wrong here. Doesn’t fit. Let’s go talk to him. In the meantime, I think Tansu should stay outside Andrea Sandow’s place, just until we hit midnight. Have you updated her on what’s happened?’

‘Yep… she says this better not interfere with her going to the party…’

Fabel looked Scholz up and down. ‘By the way,’ he said, with a grin. ‘I think you should maybe think about changing out of your skirt before we question him…’

Fabel found himself feeling genuinely sorry for Ansgar Hoeffer. He sat in the interview room pale and sad, his cheek bruised from its encounter with the wall that Fabel had rammed him into.

‘Why were you outside Andrea Sandow’s apartment?’ asked Scholz.

‘I wanted to see her. I needed…’ He let the thought die.

‘Needed what?’ asked Fabel.

‘I have this thing…’

‘About cannibalism?’ asked Scholz. Ansgar looked up, surprised.

‘How did you know?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Ansgar,’ said Scholz. ‘You know what this is all about. You know why you’re here. And anyway, we’ve seen your dirty-film library.’

‘I didn’t think I was doing anything illegal…’ Ansgar looked at the detectives pleadingly.

Scholz was about to say something but Fabel cut him off. Everything fell into place.

‘Ansgar,’ said Fabel urgently, ‘do you know who Vera Reinartz is?’

‘No…’

‘I didn’t think you would. But you know Andrea Sandow?’

‘I only know her as Andrea. Andrea the Amazon. I hadn’t seen her since it happened. Then, the other week, just by chance… so I followed her. Found out where she worked. Where she lived.’

‘When did you first meet her?’

‘I only met her the once. Three years ago. I hired her through an escort agency. A la Carte. I paid her…’

Scholz exchanged a look with Fabel.

‘You paid her. What did you pay her to do, Ansgar?’

‘I can show you…’ Ansgar stood up, loosened his belt and turned sideways so that Fabel and Scholz could see as he eased his trousers and shorts down to expose his buttock.

Tansu sat in the car and watched the lit window of Andrea’s apartment. She was bored and could think of a dozen better ways to spend Women’s Karneval Night. But this was what she had become a policewoman for: to watch and protect. It gave her comfort that whether it was Ludeke or Hoeffer who was the killer, the chances were that the streets were safe tonight. Andrea would be safe tonight.

Something, someone passed across the window. Tansu gave a small laugh. She was imagining things. She could have sworn it had been… No, that was mad. The light went out. Tansu picked up her radio. No. There was nothing to report. What she had thought she had seen didn’t make sense. Andrea was probably just turning in, hoping to put Women’s Karneval Night behind her. Tansu decided to check it out anyway.

The street was still thronging with people and Tansu dodged round clumps of revellers to reach the entry of Andrea’s apartment building. She buzzed up and waited a minute for a reply that didn’t come. She was just about to buzz again when a group of partygoers came down the stairs. Tansu caught the door before it swung shut behind them and made her way up the stairwell.

Tansu knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked louder.

‘Andrea!’ she called through the closed door. ‘Andrea! It’s Commissar Bakrac from the Criminal Police. Let me in!’

Again no response, but this time Tansu heard sounds from inside the apartment. Her heart began to pound: what if she had really seen what she thought she’d seen at the window? She unholstered her service automatic, clicked off the safety and held it pointed to the ceiling. ‘Andrea… I think you are in danger. I’m coming in.’ Tansu stepped back and took a deep breath. She swung her boot at the door. Then again. The lock splintered and the door flew open. She could see along the apartment’s hall but the rooms off it lay in darkness. She debated about taking precious seconds to call for back-up. But Andrea could be dead by then. She edged along the hall, her back pressed against the wall. She knocked a hanging photograph from its hook and it crashed onto the floor. Tansu glanced down and saw that it was a picture of a young woman: pretty, with long brownish hair and a floaty summer dress. Vera, before she had made a mess of her body with weightlifting and steroids. Before she had become Andrea. Before that bastard Ludeke had screwed her up.

‘Andrea?’ Tansu swung into the door frame of the first room, sweeping the darkness with her gun. Nothing. But she had heard Andrea in the apartment. She had heard someone. She stepped quickly back into the hall. The door to the next room was closed. She reached forward for the handle, but the door swung suddenly open and a figure took two strides into the hall and slammed straight into Tansu. The Clown’s sudden appearance stunned her for the fraction of a second it took him to grab the wrist of her gun hand. She staggered back but the Clown’s grip remained vice-tight. He slammed her hand hard against the door jamb again and again until her grip yielded and her gun clattered to the floor. Tansu swung her free fist at the Clown’s painted head but he blocked it with a rock-hard forearm. She struggled fruitlessly to free her other hand. The Clown snatched her by the throat and rammed her against the wall with terrific force. The impact winded Tansu and she struggled to refill her airways. The Clown slammed his fist into her belly, just below the diaphragm, robbing her of the meagre air she had clawed back into her protesting lungs.

The Clown let go of her throat for a moment and Tansu felt something being looped around her neck. And as he tightened the ligature, all Tansu could do was stare into his face.

His grotesque clown face.

Fabel and Scholz ran along the corridor and took the lift to the car pool.

‘It’s going to be like driving through sludge,’ explained Scholz. ‘We’ll take one of the big MEK vans and go with lights and sirens. Hopefully the Red Sea’ll part for us.’ Scholz tried again to raise Tansu. Nothing. ‘There are units in the area on their way as well. You knew, didn’t you? How did you know?’