The Carnival Master jf-4

by Craig Russell

  ‘Fabel,’ said van Heiden gently, ‘it’s more than a case of lost confidence and post-traumatic stress. Frau Klee has had a complete breakdown. We all know that otherwise she would be your successor. I hate to say this about an officer of Frau Klee’s ability, but I very much doubt if she has a future in the Murder Commission.’

  ‘I think that I should have a say in that,’ said Fabel.

  ‘But you won’t, Chief Commissar,’ van Heiden said. ‘By the time Frau Klee returns from sick leave you will be long gone. Your choice, Fabel. Not mine. Anyway, I’m sure we can put Frau Klee to good use elsewhere in the Polizei Hamburg.’

  Fabel said nothing. Eventually Wagner broke the embarrassed silence. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, Herr Fabel, you have a natural talent for complicated murder cases. And your last case was rather… high profile to say the least. Your reputation now extends far beyond Hamburg. Whether you like it or not, you have earned a name within the police community throughout Germany as the most experienced and successful investigator of complex and multiple murder cases.’

  ‘I certainly don’t think that I have any special qualities or credentials,’ said Fabel. ‘It’s more to do with bad luck… having four serial-murder cases in our jurisdiction. And the fact that I have a good team behind me and have had a few lucky breaks.’

  ‘We all know luck has had nothing to do with it, Fabel,’ said van Heiden.

  ‘Listen, Herr Fabel,’ said Wagner. ‘There are a number of murder cases that come up every now and then in different parts of the Federal Republic that, for one reason or another, are more complicated than the usual run-of-the-mill killings.’

  ‘Serial killers, you mean.’

  ‘No… well, yes, but not exclusively. Everything is changing. We now routinely come across all kinds of more complex cases. Killings with some other dimension to them… political, organised-crime-related, professional murders. That kind of thing. Also cases where the geographical scope of the crime exceeds the boundaries of any single Federal State and the operational scope of any single police force. A contract killer in Bremen might be working for a gangster in Leipzig, for example. Or we might find ourselves faced with a serial killer who uses the autobahn network to kill across the Federal Republic. Or it could simply be that a case is so complex or unusual that the local force simply has no frame of reference for their investigation.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with me?’

  ‘Well, as you know, the usual form with cases that extend across the Federal Republic is that the State Prosecutor of the Federal State where the first killing took place takes charge and the BKA provides coordination between the investigating forces. But we live in a much more complicated world. It isn’t just business that is globalising. The Internet is providing a worldwide resource for sex criminals and organised crime is blind to national, far less federal borders.’

  ‘The BKA want to set up a special unit to deal with such crimes.’ Van Heiden took over. ‘A Super Murder Commission, so to speak. And they want you to head it.’

  ‘You would still be based here at the Hamburg Police Presidium,’ explained Wagner, ‘and you would still handle Hamburg cases as you have for the last fifteen years, but you would also be given additional staff and resources with which to build the special unit. Whenever there was a case that required your particular skills and perspective, your unit would respond.’

  ‘I’m very flattered but-’

  Van Heiden cut Fabel off. ‘This is not about flattery. And it’s not just about you. This is an opportunity for the Polizei Hamburg to gain Europe-wide – even worldwide – recognition as a centre of excellence in murder investigation, in much the same way as the Legal Medicine Institute in Eppendorf is a global leader in forensics.’

  ‘But surely this unit would be a BKA unit?’

  ‘You would remain a full serving officer in the Polizei Hamburg,’ explained Wagner, ‘but seconded to the BKA. There would be an increase in salary to reflect the increase in responsibility. If you wanted, we could leave things the way they are here, but use you in a, well, consultative role in other parts of the country.’

  Fabel took a moment to consider what was being said. ‘This is all very interesting, and it is an exciting challenge for any ambitious officer. But not me. I’m trying to get away from death on my doorstep. Not to take to the road to see more of it. I’m sorry, gentlemen.’ Fabel stood up. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

  ‘It really is a unique opportunity,’ pressed Wagner.

  ‘Listen, Herr Wagner, I appreciate the offer. I really do. But it’s time for me to move on.’ Fabel paused for a moment. ‘I’ve lost my way. When I first became a policeman, it was all very simple. I saw where I stood in the world, and that place was between the ordinary citizen and those who would do them harm.’

  ‘That’s a pretty good definition of what it is to be a policeman,’ said van Heiden. ‘And it’s as true today as it was when you joined.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Fabel, with a sigh. ‘But over the years… well, it’s got more complicated. More abstract, I suppose you could say. The people I’ve hunted, the things they’ve done… I never saw myself getting involved with all that darkness.’

  There was a pause. Then Wagner said, somewhat uncertainly: ‘I mentioned earlier that I was only too well acquainted with Vasyl Vitrenko… I know that there is a certain amount of… well… unfinished business between you. I meant what I said about knowing Vitrenko well. He and his new partner Molokov are by far the most powerful figures in people-trafficking in Europe. They are selling women and children from Eastern Europe and Asia into sexual and other kinds of slavery. And they are using Germany not just as a prime market but as a gateway to the rest of the West. We have set up an interdepartmental task force dedicated to finding and taking Vitrenko out of action for once and for all. If you reconsidered your position, then your first task could be to help us nail him.’

  ‘Why is it that everyone seems to feel they have an insight into what motivates me? What do any of you know about what happened out there when Maria was stabbed?’ Fabel fought to keep the anger that flashed in him under control. ‘This is real life, not some corny American movie. I don’t burn with a desire for revenge and I’m not looking for some kind of final showdown. Vitrenko is not my problem. Not any more.’

  ‘That’s not the way we do business,’ said Wagner and Fabel could see he had irked the BKA man. ‘I’m not interested in personal grudges. I thought that as a professional investigator you would want to close a case that you have been so deeply involved in. And, from our perspective, you have a lot to bring to the table. No one has ever come so close to capturing Vitrenko as you and Frau Klee. Your insight could be invaluable. What I can also tell you is that we are much, much better off in terms of intelligence on Vitrenko than we were when you last crossed paths with him. For the first time ever we have an inside source on the Vitrenko-Molokov organisation and we’ve built the most comprehensive dossier ever compiled on him. With the help of our associates in the Ukrainian police militia we have succeeded in casting some light into the shadows. He’s running out of places to hide.’

  Fabel returned Wagner’s gaze blankly, but he found himself wondering what was in the dossier. The truth was that as far as Fabel was concerned Vitrenko had ceased to be a person, a human being. He was a spectre.

  ‘The Vitrenko Dossier has cost lives to compile, Herr Fabel. Much of the intelligence has come from Ukrainian undercover operations as well as from our own resources. We believe Vitrenko is aware of the dossier and would give anything to get his hands on it.’

  ‘Why? It would only confirm what he can probably guess we know,’ Fabel asked in spite of himself.

  ‘Vitrenko is obsessive about loyalty. There are two versions of the Vitrenko Dossier. The master dossier and the working dossier. The main reason is that there is a limit to the intelligence we can share with our Ukrainian colleagues, which I know frustrates them. But the simple fact is that there is still
a considerable amount of corruption within the Ukrainian security apparatus, added to which even the Ukrainians don’t know how many of Vitrenko’s people have infiltrated their own ranks. That’s why the working dossier is the one that all members of the task force work with. It gives all the most important intelligence but doesn’t identify the sources, which the master dossier does. But even if Vitrenko got his hands on just the working dossier, there would be enough clues in there for him to identify our sources within his organisation.’

  ‘But surely there aren’t any? Vitrenko’s men are fanatically loyal to him.’

  ‘That’s very true. But when he merged his operation with that of Valeri Molokov, he compromised his security. Molokov has less noble ideas about his chosen profession. Like Vitrenko he is ex-security services, in his case Russian rather than Ukrainian, but he is a good old-fashioned gangster, plain and simple. There is no grand philosophy uniting his men. Just greed and violence.’ Wagner paused, as if waiting for a reaction from Fabel.

  ‘Well, as I said – Vasyl Vitrenko, his operation, his associates… it’s all someone else’s problem now,’ said Fabel.

  Van Heiden and Wagner exchanged resigned looks.

  ‘Would you at least think it over?’ asked van Heiden. ‘I am prepared to hold your position open for a further three months. Senior Commissar Meyer has agreed to head the department in the interim. After that, I will have to replace you.’

  ‘You can replace me now, Herr van Heiden. My mind is made up.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Wagner. ‘I accept what you’re saying, but in the meantime I wonder if you would look at this for me.’ He handed Fabel a thick file. ‘Just for your opinion. I understand that you won’t want to be involved directly, but if you could look at it I’d be obliged. Just for ideas.’

  ‘What is it?’ Fabel took the file and eyed it suspiciously.

  ‘It’s from the Polizei Nordrhein-Westfalen… There’s a Criminal Commissar Scholz working out of the Police Presidium in Cologne. He asked me if you would consider going down there to help with this case, but I understand now that that is out of the question.’

  Fabel gave a cynical laugh. ‘I see… a little bit of bait to see if you can reel me in.’

  ‘I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t be disappointed if this case intrigued you enough to consider visiting Cologne and lending a hand. But I respect your decision. Nevertheless, I know that Herr Scholz would appreciate any comments or advice, Principal Chief Commissar Fabel.’

  ‘Okay…’ Fabel stood up, tucking the file under his arm. ‘I’ll take a look. But, as I said, that’s all I can promise.’

  Van Heiden walked Fabel to the door. They shook hands.

  ‘We’re going to miss you,’ van Heiden said. ‘I have to tell you that I don’t see you as a computer salesman.’

  Fabel smiled. ‘Educational software, Herr Criminal Director. For universities around the world.’

  ‘Whatever it is, you’re not cut out for it. You’re a policeman, Jan. Whether you accept it or not.’

  CLOWN DIARY SECOND ENTRY. UNDATED.

  CHAPTER TWO

  17-19 January

  1.

  Taras Buslenko sat in a steam bath in the Lukyanovka district of Kiev. There was only one other bather in the huge, porcelain-tiled steam room: a fat business-type whose paunch hung over his towel. Buslenko looked down at his own body and wondered if he too would end up fat and out of shape. An aged body was something he could never imagine for himself. His physique was hard and sculpted. A weapon. He ran his fingers over his scars. The most recent was the one on his shoulder, puckered with stitches and curved around the ball of muscle as if someone had tried to slice open an apple. The most noticeable was the bullet wound, enlarged by removal surgery, to the left of his stomach. He gave a half-laugh. It was no wonder he could not imagine his body older: the chances of him living that long were remote.

  The steam bath was vaulted and Turkish in style. The walls and the floor were finished in ornate tiles and the bath itself had a distinctly Ottoman feel to it. The only things that reminded Buslenko that he was in Ukraine were the large porcelain panels, each identical, that punctuated the patterned tiles. The panels showed a man sitting cross-legged, Turkish fashion, under a tree, his weapons hanging from its branches. The man smoked a pipe and played a bandura. It was a representation of Cossack Mamay, Ukraine’s national hero. Mamay was the legendary – probably mythical – protector of the Ukrainian people. The ultimate patriot.

  The fat businessman on the far side gave a weary sigh, rose stiffly and left. After a few minutes three other men entered: a heavy-set middle-aged man and two younger men, both with the same hard, lean, muscled look as Buslenko. The two bodyguards sat near the door on the other side of the steam room. The older man sat down next to Buslenko.

  ‘You missed him,’ Oleksandr Malarek said, not turning to face Buslenko.

  ‘If he was there at all, Deputy Interior Minister.’

  ‘He was there. You know that.’

  ‘Yes. I know that. Someone was on the take. One of ours. Someone broke my cover and allowed Vitrenko to organise an escape route.’

  ‘Yes. Someone did,’ Deputy Minister Malarek said without looking at Buslenko. ‘It was Major Samolyuk.’

  ‘The head of the assault team?’ Peotr Samolyuk had been a Sokil unit commander with fifteen years’ service. Buslenko had always considered him a solid man. ‘Shit. Have you interrogated him? He could be the best lead we’ve got.’

  ‘Not a lead. A dead end. A very dead end. We found him this morning. He had been tortured and castrated before death. They stuffed his genitals in his mouth.’

  ‘He was going to talk? But he’d have gone to prison.’

  ‘We’ll never know. But if he had really been one of Vitrenko’s men they wouldn’t have done that to him. There is no betrayal in Vitrenko’s organisation. They don’t see themselves as criminals, but as a military unit with total loyalty to him. My guess is that Samolyuk took a massive bribe. Maybe he got greedy and asked for more to stay quiet.’

  ‘Unlikely.’ Buslenko still spoke to Malarek’s profile. A bead of sweat gathered and hung on the tip of the older man’s long nose. ‘No one would be stupid enough to try to menace Vitrenko.’

  ‘He’s in Germany,’ Malarek said, ignoring Buslenko. The excruciating death of Samolyuk was clearly of no further interest to him.

  ‘Vitrenko?’

  ‘Our sources tell us that he is operating from Cologne.’

  ‘I didn’t think we had sources on Vitrenko,’ said Buslenko.

  ‘We didn’t. We still don’t, not directly. We have informants who work for Molokov and that’s as close as we can get.’ Malarek wiped the sweat from his fleshy face with the palm of his hand. ‘Vitrenko is selling our people like so much meat, Major Buslenko. He is a traitor of the worst kind. He debases Ukraine by debasing our people. His main centres are Hamburg and Cologne. But he travels back to Ukraine regularly. Part of the intelligence we have gathered is that Vitrenko has had extensive plastic surgery. The photographs we have on file are now useless, according to our sources.’

  ‘Do you have any information on when he will next be back here? The next time…’

  Malarek turned to face Buslenko. ‘There won’t be a next time. Vasyl Vitrenko moves like a ghost. He has so many contacts and informers here that if he does come back, he’ll have evaporated into thin air again before we even know about it. That’s where you come in, Major Buslenko. Vasyl Vitrenko’s reign is an embarrassment to Ukraine. We cannot expect the world to take our new democracy seriously while we are seen as the cradle of the new Mafia. We need Vitrenko stopped. Dead. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘You want me to go to Germany without the knowledge or approval of the German government? That’s illegal. Both here and there.’

  ‘That’s the least of your worries. I want you to take a Skorpion Spetsnaz unit with you. And just to make sure there are no misunderstandings, this is a seek-and-dest
roy mission. I don’t want you to bring Vitrenko back to face justice. I want you to put him in his grave. I take it I have made my wishes completely unambiguous?’

  ‘Perfectly. And I assume that if we get caught you will deny all knowledge of us? That we will be left to rot in a German prison?’

  Malarek smiled. ‘You and I have never even met. There is something else… I want it done quickly. The longer it takes to organise, the more chance there is for Vitrenko to find out about it. Unfortunately he has more militia in his pocket than I care to think about.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I want you to be ready to go in a week or so. I know that gives you practically no time to select and brief a team, but it also gives Vitrenko less time to compromise it. Can you do it?’

  ‘I know someone who can help me put a team together. Discreetly. But not just Skorpions. I want a mix of background and skill.’

  Malarek shrugged. ‘That’s your thing. I just need to know if you can do it.’

  ‘I can do it.’

  After the Deputy Interior Minister and his bodyguards left, Buslenko sat alone in the steam bath and gazed again across the bath at the image of Cossack Mamay. Mamay stared out somewhat melancholically from his steam-wreathed porcelain panel, giving nothing away about how hard it was to be the Great Protector of the Ukrainian people.

  2.

  ‘This is a big step for you, Jan. I want you to understand that I do appreciate that.’ Roland Bartz sipped the sample of wine, swirled it in his mouth and nodded to the waiter who then filled both men’s glasses. ‘And I understand that resigning as head of a murder squad is a lot more complicated than most job handovers…’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting a long time now, Jan. I agreed to hang on till you tied up that last case of yours, but I really need someone to take over the foreign accounts now.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry for the delay. But, as I told you, I now have an official end date and I’ll be sticking to it. You won’t have to wait any longer.’ Fabel forced a tired smile.