Page 4 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘Look, I’m really very sorry, but you must be mistaken. My daughter was at home all evening. We were playing chess.’
And you always let me win at chess, because you didn’t want me to feel like a loser. You know me so well, Dad. And I know you.
That’s why it’s a shock every time.
Pixellating the face doesn’t make it any easier.
They write about you and seem to be so sure of what they’re saying.
I’m halfway home, standing by a newspaper dispenser, staring at tomorrow’s edition of one of the largest Berlin newspapers, lit up by a streetlamp. The front page carries a report about how the E. family is planning to spend the Christmas holidays, now that the suspected killer, the man who is presumed to have done all those terrible things–you!– is finally in prison, or at least in custody. They will be putting up a Christmas tree for the first time in three years, Jörg E. (43) says. He is crying and smiling simultaneously, the editor adds. At the bottom it says: ‘Continue reading on page 3.’ I don’t know if I want to. Recalling this episode from 2014 is enough. The first time you wanted to have a real tree and were planning to go to Blumenthal woods to cut one down. That same year was the first Christmas the E. family spent without their ‘darling little Saskia (8)’. She’d been abducted a few days earlier by an unknown person. She was found dead in a hut in the first week of January. In Blumenthal woods.
A coincidence, I know, Dad.
You’re not a killer.
They’re so dreadfully mistaken, but they refuse to see this. They’d rather keep spreading their lies, their godawful lies.
Anger. (Ann, 7 years old)
anger is invissible like air and creeps into you when you get very angry. you start with a lump in your throat and you breath like a bull. your hart starts beating very fast and you grind your teeth so you calm down, but it doesn’t work because anger is stronger than you and it explodes in your body and because you cant cope you start moving your arms and legs and hitting and kiking. thats the only way to get the anger out of your body and to be left in piece. I was angry once at my MUMMY but I didnt hit her because she was sik. you mustnt hit someone if there sik. shes dead now sadly.
Someone shouts, ‘Ann!’ and puts their arms around my waist. I’m swept off my feet and I kick at thin air, where before there was the newspaper dispenser. All the same I keep kicking. I’m not going to stop; I can’t stop. I’m determined to destroy the lies, even if all I can do at the moment is target a newspaper dispenser.
‘Ann!’ the voice calls out again and the grip tightens around my waist. ‘For Christ’s sake, what are you doing?’ I’m spun around. ‘Stop it!’
I’m going to do nothing of the sort; I mean to fight, destroy.Metal crunches, plastic shatters and paper tatters. Until I gradually lose my strength.
‘It’s okay, it’s all right,’ the voice says. Jakob’s voice– Jakob again. He gently releases me from his grasp, now that I’ve finally calmed down. In silence we first look at each other, then at what used to be a newspaper dispenser. The frame is bent, the box is battered and there’s a crack in the acrylic viewing window. The newspapers lie shredded in the slush.
Exhausted, I shuffle off to the nearest porch; I need to sit down. The steps are cold and wet, but I don’t care; I’m sweating and panting as if I’d just completed a marathon. In the cycle lane in front of me is Jakob’s red jeep, the driver’s door open. He sits beside me. Judging by his expression he wants to know what just happened, but doesn’t have the right words on his lips. I’ve no idea what to say either. How can I explain this outburst, this other Ann he’s never seen before, who attacks newspaper dispensers like a madwoman? Apart from telling him the truth, of course. Have you ever wondered whether the man in the paper, the one they call the ‘monster’, has any family? Yes, he does, Jakob. Me. I’m the daughter of the supposed ribbon murderer, who is alleged to have abducted and killed nine little girls over the past thirteen years. I was there when they arrested him. I was visiting him that Thursday evening, six weeks ago. We’d ordered pizza and opened a bottle of red wine. When the doorbell went we thought it was the deliveryman. But it was a SWAT team, a dozen men at least. They pounced on my father, handcuffed him and took him away. They were going to take me too and have me give a statement, but I had an asthma attack. And what was I meant to tell them anyway? He’s innocent, you fools! He’s been in custody ever since and they’re linking up their ludicrous chain of evidence, which is supposed to end in a noose around his neck. That’s why I’m so furious, Jakob. I’m furious and I’m absolutely terrified.
I don’t say any of this; I say nothing. Because it’s pointless. Zoe didn’t understand either, even though we’ve known each other for three years and even lived together. It’s not that she thinks my father’s guilty, she says, absolutely not. And she’s really sorry, but she’s just got this bad feeling about it. It won’t be long before the journalists pitch up and lay siege to our flat, she says. All the whispers at university and the fact that she’s got two younger siblings around the age of those girls who were killed.Please, Ann, don’t be cross with me. No, Zoe, not at all, it’s fine.
‘Are you all right now?’ Jakob asks.
I mumble something.
‘Okay, good.’ He puts out his hands and straightens the collar of my old, thickly padded denim jacket. It’s Dad’s jacket and I can sink in it, not only physically. Sometimes, when I take it off the hook, I imagine he’s just removed it and hung it up there. And when I put it on, I fancy I can still feel a residue of his bodily warmth.
Instinctively I knock Jakob’s hands away.
‘Sorry,’ he says, startled. ‘I was just trying—’
‘No, no, it’s okay.I’msorry. I’m just a bit sensitive today. What are you doing here, anyway?’
He shrugs.
‘I drove past Big Murphy’s again, hoping you might’ve changed your mind. But I saw your colleague, who said you’d already left. So I headed back home, and then. . .’ He nods at the road– presumably to indicate he’d driven past by chance– and then at the wreck of the newspaper dispenser.
‘I don’t know what came over me. Maybe a bout of Christmas depression that got slightly out of hand.’
I try to distract him with a smile, but Jakob remains uncomfortably serious.
‘You lied to me, Ann,’ he says. His words are like a bucket of cold water in my face.
I blink frantically. ‘What?’
‘Your daughter.’
