Page 57 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘I don’t know,’ Jakob says, sighing. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘We mustn’t let ourselves get led astray! You could call Brandner’s secretary and find out if Sarah’s said anything yet. And then I think we ought to talk to Schmitti and Nathalie again. Even if they don’t know what Sarah meant by the castle, dragon and princess, they can tell us whose Sarah’s friends are. Children don’t share everything with adults, but they might with their best friend.’
‘Sure, I don’t mind,’ Jakob says, fishing his mobile from his trouser pocket. ‘Let’s see if we strike lucky, it’s already gone eight o’clock.’
I stand up and move to the window.
In spite of the cold, the people are bravely keeping up their vigil outside the butcher’s. Is it fear? The fear of being next? Curiosity? The feeling of not wanting to be idle, of needing to do something even if it’s only hanging around outside?
Behind me I hear Jakob asking about Sarah, before grumbling several times. ‘Okay, I understand,’ he says, then enquires about the general state of the investigation.
Meanwhile I watch some of the people outside head for the inn. Brock’s meeting, I recall.We want to discuss the precautions we should take, and make a plan of how we can help the police clear this up, his wife told us this afternoon. And:As the mother of the victim, her presence would help people realise how serious the situation is.
Now Kerstin is dead. Did she really leave her traumatised child on her own in the hospital just hours after she’d escaped from her abductor? Could her own state of mind at that moment really have been more important than her daughter, who she thought she’d lost for ever? I don’t want to think that Kerstin would still be alive if she’d stayed with Sarah– but that’s what runs through my mind. I turn to Jakob, who’s just said goodbye and is taking his phone from his ear. He opens his mouth to start speaking but I’m quicker.
‘What if the killer wasn’t after Kerstin at all? What if he just found out that she was back from the hospital and so assumed that she had Sarah with her? I mean, it wouldn’t occur to anybody that a loving mother would abandon her child in a situation like that. He wanted Sarah! He wanted to take her back! And when she wasn’t there, he lost it. Think about it: the meat hook. He didn’t take it along as a murder weapon, he grabbed it on impulse at the butcher’s, a knee-jerk reaction when he realised his original plan wouldn’t work.’
‘It’s possible,’ Jakob agrees, pointing to his mobile. ‘The girl still hasn’t spoken since her mention of the castle. Not even when she was told her mother had died. . .’ He shakes his head. ‘She’s now on sedatives and tomorrow she’ll be transferred to the children’s psychiatric department. They’ve also located her father, who’s on his way. By the way. . . I suppose you know that a few months after his second period in rehab, Steinhausen spent quite a while as an inpatient in a psychotherapy clinic?’
‘What? When?’
He nods. ‘From February to November 2006. A specialist clinic in the Allgäu.’
I grab my rucksack, which is on the floor beside the desk, and open it in such haste that the bag of sliced bread and tin of cat food fall by my feet. Nathalie’s things I’d packed in there and must have forgotten to give back to her. Leaving them where they are, I pull out Ludwig’s folder and the notes we’ve made about the murders, including the timeline.
‘You said 2006?’ My eyes dart from the piece of paper in my hand to Jakob.
‘Yes. After the second attack by Larissa’s stepfather, he suffered post-traumatic stress disorder, nightmares, paranoia, the whole works.’
‘In 2006?’ I ask again, just to be sure. Whoever killed those girls must have a few gaps in his CV, is what I told Eva three days ago. And a gap, a complete year that passed without a girl dying, is precisely what happened in 2006. I put the sheet of paper under Jakob’s nose. ‘So? Believe me now?’
The air in the dining room is stale: too many bodies crammed together. Sweat and bad breath, the windows already fogged up. Jakob and I are standing at the back, by the door that connects the dining room with the stairs to the guest rooms. I can’t make out if people from outside or other journalists have turned up. But I do see Nathalie, standing on the opposite side of the room by the exit. The way her eyes keep darting around like a timid animal makes her seem nervous. Brock looks unusually tall behind his bar. Jakob, who’s got a better view, says he’s standing on an upturned beer crate. When Brock rings the bell, the angry murmur subsides. First: Kerstin Seiler, one of their own, whose life has been gruesomely cut short. Then: Schmitti, who’ll now be choosing a coffin rather than an engagement ring.
‘The man responsible for this is known as the “ribbon murderer”. For more than a decade, he’s terrorised Berlin and now it seems it’s our turn. But, ladies and gentlemen, we’re not going to accept that. We’re not going to lock up our children. We’re not going to barricade ourselves away for fear that he might break into our houses as he did into Kerstin’s. We’re not going to let ourselves be slaughtered like defenceless livestock.’ The mob starts baying its agreement; Brock can only bring the meeting under control by ringing his bell again. ‘From this evening, a village guard will begin their duty. We will conduct patrols both day and night. To assist the police, we will also set up an office where observations and suspicions relating to Sarah’s abduction and Kerstin’s murder can be recorded. Totally discreet, of course.’
‘If he hasn’t already done so, Steinhausen’s going to pack his things and clear off now,’ Jakob whispers into my ear.
‘Or he’ll have the time of his life running rings around this pompous crowd,’ I reply.
‘Pompous?’ He shakes his head. ‘Highly dangerous, if you ask me. They’re going to get completely manic about it now. How long is it going to be, do you think, before they lose control of the whole thing and start tearing each other apart if they can’t find the guilty party?’
‘You’re right. Steinhausen’s hardly going to turn himself in.’
‘Shhh,’ the woman beside us says, pointing to the bar. She’s urging us to listen to Brock, who’s just begun reading out a list of names for the patrols. I crane my neck towards the exit. Nathalie’s still here, but seems on the verge of leaving.
‘Be back in a sec,’ I say to Jakob, and head for the door behind me. As well as leading to the stairs, the corridor also goes to the rear exit that I took last night during my blackout. I have to hurry because although I’ve avoided the scrum in the dining area, I still have to make my way around the building.
‘Nathalie!’
Walking quickly, she’s already halfway across the marketplace.
‘Please wait!’
She has no intention of that and instead keeps going, even faster now, it seems. I speed up too, breaking into a run until I finally catch up with her behind the butcher’s.
‘What do you want?’ The hostility in her voice takes me by surprise.
‘I just wanted. . . er. . . I’m really sorry about Kerstin.’
