The Carnival Master jf-4

by Craig Russell

  Fabel got out and stood beside Scholz. There was a moment’s silence as the two men watched a long barge drift by, a flag at the stern flapping in the dark.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’ Scholz said quietly, without taking his eyes off the barge. ‘I walk in on you and that guy from the BKA and you look as if I’ve caught you with your trousers around your ankles… Then I find out you’ve been carrying out private investigations in my city while I’m otherwise occupied. I’d like to know what the fuck is going on, sir.’

  Fabel sighed. ‘When I told you that I’d crossed paths with Vasyl Vitrenko you said it was a dangerous path to cross. Well, it was. It ended up with two officers dead and one very seriously injured. She only just made it. Her name is Maria Klee and she was my top officer… in fact, she should have been in line to take over from me. But although the physical stuff healed she’s had mental problems. Maria’s on extended sick leave. She’s had a major breakdown and was supposed to be receiving treatment. The problem is that I think she’s down here trying to find Vitrenko single-handed.’

  ‘I see…’ Scholz turned to Fabel. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

  ‘You have your own priorities.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do. And I am not fucking about here. I have a murderer to catch. This guy is going to kill again, in just over two weeks’ time, unless I can get to him first. I called on your expertise in good faith.’

  ‘I know that, Benni.’

  ‘But you’ve had this other agenda going on all the time. To be honest, I feel sorry for your officer, but it’s really not my problem. I thought I had your undivided attention on my case.’

  ‘Let’s get this straight, Commissar… I am here to give you all the support you need. But I am also concerned about my officer and I will continue to try to locate her. That doesn’t mean you’re only getting a half-hearted effort from me.’

  ‘Oh, wait a fucking minute…’ Scholz’s face became suddenly animated. ‘I get it now… this is my business, isn’t it? No wonder we couldn’t trace the female cop or immigration officer who was questioning Slavko Dmytruk before he got hacked to bits in the restaurant kitchen. That was her, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I think it might have been. That doesn’t mean it was.’

  ‘Right…’ Scholz turned and headed back to the car. ‘First thing tomorrow, you and I are going to have a chat with my boss.’

  Scholz had said nothing on the five-minute drive back to Fabel’s hotel. Fabel paused before getting out of the car.

  ‘Listen, Benni,’ he said. ‘I meant what I said. I’ll help you nail this serial, and I can’t stop you going to your boss about Maria. But all that will do is hold up both cases.’

  ‘Your personal missing-person hunt isn’t a case. Mine is.’

  ‘Whatever way you want to put it. But we are beginning to make progress in this Karneval Cannibal case. Do you really want me to be tied up in some inquiry?’

  ‘What are you proposing?’

  ‘My priority here is just the same as yours – to catch this lunatic before he kills again. But your resources would make it much easier for me to track down Maria before she gets herself into serious trouble. But the deal is that we nail this son of a bitch first.’ Fabel grinned. ‘Come and have a drink at the bar and we can discuss it.’

  Scholz stared ahead, his hands still resting on the steering wheel. ‘Okay… and you’re paying.’

  2.

  As he had done every morning, Fabel took a taxi from his hotel across the Severinsbrucke bridge and into the Kalk area of the city where the Cologne Police Presidium was situated. It was a brighter morning and, as the taxi crossed the Rhine, Fabel was able to look along the river’s length to the ironwork arches of the Sudbrucke rail bridge. Several long barges drifted along the Rhine, some heading south into the heart of Europe, others north to Holland and the rest of the world. He tried to imagine a time before cars, high-speed trains or lorries: Scholz’s analogy of a medieval version of an autobahn was fitting. There was something timeless about this river, today’s barges carrying on a tradition that was almost as old as European civilisation.

  When Fabel arrived at the Presidium, the security-desk officer smiled and sent him straight up without an escort. He found it odd to walk into a different Murder Commission without being fully a visitor any more. It was almost, but not quite, as if he worked here and the thought brought to mind the offer that Wagner and van Heiden had made: is this what it would be like to have a Federal Republic-wide brief?

  Tansu was on the phone when Fabel arrived. She had gathered her rich coppery curls up in a clasp on the back of her head and it exposed the line of her neck. Tansu was not particularly pretty and her figure was more than full, but there was something about her that Fabel, in spite of himself, found attractive. Sexy. She indicated Scholz’s office with a jab of her head and covered the mouthpiece of the phone for a second.

  ‘He’s waiting for you,’ she said. ‘But make sure neither of you leave until I have a chance to talk to you.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Fabel.

  Scholz was on the phone but gestured for Fabel to take a seat. From what Fabel could gather from Scholz’s side of the telephone conversation, it had to do with the Cologne Police Karneval float and Scholz was still not at all happy with its progress. It struck Fabel that this subject, more than the murders he was investigating, seemed to have Scholz wound up tight. He was not someone that Fabel would otherwise imagine ever becoming stressed.

  ‘Morning…’ Scholz said gloomily as he came off the phone. ‘You ready to talk to these Internet people?’

  ‘Yep. But Tansu said she wants to talk to us before we go out.’

  Scholz shrugged. ‘There’s another call we should make today. I did a bit of checking into the escort agency our chum at the hotel gave us last night. I think this will interest you quite a bit.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The A la Carte escort agency is operated by a certain Herr Nielsen, a German national. Tansu’s looking into his background. But the real owners are a couple of Ukrainians called Klymkiw and Lysenko. No criminal records but they are suspected of heavy involvement in organised crime. Particularly people-smuggling. So you won’t need three guesses who the organised-crime division reckon Klymkiw and Lysenko work for?’

  ‘Vitrenko.’

  ‘Exactly. The boys at organised crime have asked that we handle this with extreme care.’

  ‘You spoke to organised-crime division? I take it you didn’t say anything about Maria Klee?’

  ‘For now. And it was just our organised-crime guys. The Federal Crime Bureau don’t know we’re talking to Nielsen. But there’s a limit to how long I can withhold that. Anyway, as far as we can see, A la Carte Escorts operates legally and its girls pay the regulation tax. Or at least the ones who are officially on their books.’ Scholz grinned. ‘The trade in human flesh was first made fully taxable in Cologne, as you probably already know.’

  Fabel nodded. Cologne had been the first German city to levy income tax on sex-industry workers.

  ‘We’re quite proud of our role in pioneering a tax on sex. At first it was impossible to assess exactly how much any given prostitute earned…’ Scholz continued. ‘I mean, can you imagine a federal tax form with a section on how many blow jobs you performed and for what price in the last fiscal year? The tax boys calculated a possible range of earnings and came up with an average. So now there’s a flat-rate tax of one hundred and fifty Euros per month per hooker. I can tell you, even with all the undeclared earnings, Cologne has been raking it in. What I’ve always tried to work out is: does that make the Burgermeister a pimp?’

  Scholz’s musings were interrupted when Tansu came into the office.

  ‘At long bloody last I’ve got somewhere with Vera Reinartz, the medical student who was raped in ’ninety-nine.’

  ‘You’ve tracked her down?’ asked Fabel.

  ‘Yes… well, technically no, not Vera Reinartz, I sup
pose. But I now know why we couldn’t find her on any registered change of address. Vera Reinartz really doesn’t exist any more. She changed her name six years ago. A full legal change of name.’

  ‘She obviously wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and what happened to her,’ said Fabel.

  ‘That’s the strange thing,’ said Tansu. ‘I would have thought that she would have wanted to move as far away as possible. But she’s stayed right here in Cologne. Why change your name but not your location?’

  ‘I take it you have an address for her?’ asked Fabel.

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d try to see her today,’ said Tansu.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to be there, too,’ said Fabel. ‘And Herr Scholz, of course.’

  ‘Okay.’ Fabel thought he detected a little defensiveness in Tansu’s tone.

  ‘I’m pretty sure you’re maybe onto something and it could be the best lead we’ve got.’ Fabel turned to Scholz. ‘I’ve read what Tansu has put together on the case and I agree with her. I think there’s a strong chance that attack is linked to these murders.’

  ‘And the killing the year after? Annemarie Kuppers, the girl who was beaten to death?’ asked Tansu.

  ‘That I don’t know about. It ties in with the savagery of the beating that Vera Reinartz took, but sits at odds with the other two killings. But I’m not ruling it out. The main thing is that if Vera Reinartz was a victim of our guy and survived, then she’s probably the only person who’s seen him.’

  ‘I’ll pin down her whereabouts and we can see her this afternoon or evening,’ said Tansu.

  They took Scholz’s VW. The address Scholz had for A la Carte Escorts was in Deutz so it took them only a matter of minutes to get there. The street was a mix of small businesses and apartment buildings. There was a restaurant, a bar, a delicatessen and a computer sales and repair store. Scholz referred to his notebook and led Fabel to a doorway between the computer shop and the deli. There were a number of business names listed on the buzzer panel.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Scholz. ‘ A la Carte Escorts. Second floor…’

  Everything had been done to communicate that this was a serious, professional business. Leo Nielsen was dressed in a sombre business suit and the offices of A la Carte Escorts could have been those of a civil engineer. There were no tarty types in reception and the receptionist herself was mousy and conservatively dressed. Nielsen almost carried the whole thing off and could have been any kind of businessman, except that his neck was as thick as his head and his shoulders strained against the material of his suit. In addition, there was a line down one cheek where the skin was paler than the rest of his face. Fabel guessed that Nielsen’s human-resource management experience had started with slapping loose change out of drug-dependent whores hanging around the main railway station.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ asked Nielsen in an unbusinessman-like way.

  ‘There was an incident,’ said Fabel. ‘In the Hotel Linden. One of your girls claimed that a customer had bitten her. Badly. We’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘We’ve been all through this already,’ said Nielsen with a weary sigh. ‘We… she isn’t interested in pressing charges.’

  ‘We understand that.’ Scholz sat on the corner of Nielsen’s desk and knocked a desk-tidy full of pens and an expensive-looking calculator onto the floor. ‘But – how can I put this? We don’t give a fuck. I want the name of the girl right now or I will go through every file, every client credit-card receipt and personally visit every punter who has dipped his wick in one of your whores.’

  ‘I don’t have to put up with threats.’ Nielsen maintained his composure and grinned at Scholz contemptuously.

  ‘No one is threatening anyone,’ said Fabel and looked meaningfully at Scholz. ‘We just need to get this girl’s name. She may have some important information relating to a murder case we’re working on.’

  Nielsen made a show of going through files on his computer. ‘Sometimes these girls don’t give us their proper names,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I hope this one did, Herr Nielsen,’ said Fabel, ‘or things could get difficult. Listen, we’re not interested in you or your business here. We’re not even interested particularly in this girl. It’s her client we’re after. But if you like, we could take a closer look at your operation here. Talk to some of your clients…’

  Nielsen glowered at Fabel for a moment, then yielded. ‘Okay. I’ll get her to contact you…’

  ‘No,’ said Fabel. ‘That won’t do. We need an address and we need to see her now.’

  Nielsen sighed, scribbled an address on his notepad and tore it out, handing it to Fabel. ‘She’s with a client. She’ll be through by the time you get there. I’ll tell her you’re on your way and to stay put. I’ll have her wait in the hotel lobby.’

  ‘I don’t think Herr Nielsen liked us,’ said Scholz, grinning as they made their way back to the car. ‘God, I’d like to take that place apart. I bet there’s a bucketload of misery hidden in those files. If our organised-crime guys and the Federal Crime Bureau are right, then A la Carte is one of the end-users of Vitrenko’s human trafficking operation.’

  Fabel thought back to the Vitrenko Dossier. He couldn’t remember seeing A la Carte amongst the list of premises tied into the trafficking operation. But, there again, there had been dozens. Whoever was providing the information to the Federal Crime Bureau was worth his weight in gold. Fabel had asked to see the full version of the dossier, but the name of the informant and all references that could possibly have given a clue to his identity had been removed.

  Scholz’s cellphone rang.

  ‘That was Tansu,’ said Scholz after he hung up. ‘She’s done a check on our chum Nielsen. He did a three-stretch in Frankfurt about ten years ago. Serious assault. Drugs-related. Nothing since then but he stinks of organised crime to me.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Fabel. ‘But not the usual Vitrenko foot soldier. It looks like our Ukrainian friend’s business is truly globalising. Maybe he’s franchising some of his operations.’

  ‘Tansu also says she’s been unable to speak to Vera Reinartz, or whatever she calls herself now, but she’s got both a business and home address for her. Tansu’s asked if we can meet her about four this afternoon. But first I think we should visit this Internet company. The hotel this hooker is in is on our way.’

  The hotel was one of the more luxurious kind that line the right bank of the Rhine. Fabel and Scholz waited, as agreed, near the entrance. The entire front of the reception area was glass-walled and Fabel marvelled at the panorama of the Hohenzollernbrucke bridge and, on the far bank, the Altstadt and the tower of St Martin’s. Of course, dominating it all was the looming presence of Cologne Cathedral.

  ‘Spectacular,’ said Fabel.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Scholz uninterestedly as he looked around the reception area. ‘This looks like our girl.’

  A young woman approached them with an expression on her face somewhere between apprehension and suspicion. She was dressed more soberly than Fabel would have expected but, when he thought about it, this hotel was not the kind of place to encourage her type of enterprise. As she approached Fabel noticed her shape: slim except for the pronounced swell of her hips. Exactly like the Karneval Cannibal’s victims.

  ‘Are you Lyudmila Blyzniuk?’ Scholz struggled over the surname.

  ‘Yes. But I never use my full first name. I’m known as Mila. What have I done? My papers are all in order.’

  ‘But you also go by the professional name “Anastasia”?’

  ‘Yes. I never give clients my real name. What’s this about?’

  ‘Let me see your identity papers.’ Scholz held out his hand.

  ‘What? Here?’ She glanced nervously at the reception desk. Scholz made an impatient gesture and Mila took her identity card and a couple of immigration papers from her handbag.

  ‘Maybe we should sit down somewhere a little more private…’ Fabel suggested, indicating a
group of low sofas by the window.

  ‘Mila, we want to talk to you about the incident with the client a few weeks ago. The man who bit you.’ Fabel tried to sound less confrontational than Scholz. ‘This is nothing to do with you or what you do for a living. We think the man who bit you is dangerous.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ said Mila, her expression still hard and resistant. ‘Everybody thought it was a big laugh. Me getting bitten on the… I forgotten the German word for it… on my sraka…’

  ‘Arse,’ said Scholz.

  ‘Yeah, big joke. I have a big arse and he bites me on it. Very funny. But he is a very bad man. Dangerous man. I had to have stitches. He was like an animal, not a human being. I saw his face afterwards, covered in blood.’

  ‘Let’s take this one step at a time, Mila,’ said Fabel. ‘Describe this man to us.’

  ‘He was about thirty to thirty-five, a little less than two metres tall. Medium build… he looked fit, like he worked out a lot. Dark hair, blue eyes. He was good-looking. Not the usual sort of client.’

  ‘What type of person was he? I mean rich, poor, educated or not?’

  ‘He was definitely educated and had money. I mean from the way he was dressed.’

  ‘He paid cash?’ asked Scholz.

  ‘Yes. And he gave me a little extra. I knew he had special requirements. The agency told me.’

  ‘That he liked to bite?’

  ‘That he liked big bottoms. Like mine.’

  ‘What happened? I mean at the hotel.’

  ‘We went up to the room and he asked me to take off my clothes. Then he started to touch my bottom.’ Mila talked as if she was describing an everyday occurrence, without the slightest hint of embarrassment. ‘Then he took his clothes off and I thought that would be it, that we would have normal sex. But then he pushed me onto the bed, very rough. I started to get worried, but he talked all calm and asked if he could bite me on the bottom. I thought he meant pretend bites. But then he attacked me, like he was an animal. He bit me really hard. I swear he was trying to take a chunk out of me…’