Page 9 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘What about you, Ann? Are you making an effort? Or are you still frying burgers instead of going to university?’
‘I’ve already told you, Dad. We’ve got other problems to deal with right now.’
Ten other problems, to be exact. Ten girls that the killer kidnapped and took to a variety of secluded spots in the Greater Berlin area. He brought them to woods, industrial sites or abandoned construction sites, where there was always a hut, a shed, a cellar or some deserted room that was ideal for his purposes. Ludwig said the girls died of blood loss from deep cuts, according to forensics. I don’t know any more than that; Ludwig’s keeping the details from me and there’s no more to be got from the papers. They say only that the police are withholding certain details for reasons related to the investigation.
‘Dad, there’s a killer running around freely out there. All he has to do is change his methods or hunting ground and he’ll be able to continue committing his crimes unchecked, because you’re in prison for him, and for the rest of your life too. If you don’t cooperate, the truth won’t come to light and—’
‘Truth. Most of us experience the world only in the way that their own perspective allows. “Man is. . .”’
‘“. . . the measure of all things.” Protagoras, I know.’ Now I understand Ludwig’s despair. Time for another attempt; I’ll try him with a mind game. More girls are going to die because he’s obstructing the investigation with his silence. ‘They’re wasting their time on you when they ought to be hunting the real killer. Do you realise what that means?’ My father doesn’t react; his drugged expression drives me crazy. ‘It means you’ll be complicit if another girl dies.’
Nothing.
‘Please, Dad! I know it’s hard. But if you don’t want to talk to the police or Ludwig, then at least talk to me. I’m still your Beetle, aren’t I?’
He gives no more than a faint smile. A smile that’s unfamiliar, as if he’d copied it from someone else because he’s forgetting how to do it himself. He must be dreadfully exhausted by all this. Where are you, Dad? I want to ask the stranger. And: don’t you remember us?
Walter and his Beetle.
That’s not just the plaits and goodnight stories, tea and chocolate to help with tummy aches, or an alibi when a moped has been scratched. It’s Walter explaining to his Beetle why she hasn’t got a mummy anymore like the other children do. Treating Beetle’s wounds and not allowing her to lie torpidly in her cardboard coffin. Teaching her how to be happy again. Walter, who has always been there for his Beetle, and Beetle, who now realises it’s time to return the favour. Because they’re a team, an exclusive club– lined up against the rest of the world if necessary.
‘I’m sorry,’ a prison officer interrupts us as he enters the room. ‘Your time is up.’
My father has to go back behind bars. Hugging him as tightly as I can, I whisper, ‘I love you, Dad.’
‘In that case, stop frying burgers, Ann,’ he replies with that crooked, unfamiliar smile. ‘You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. Don’t throw it away on my account.’
I nod and I mean it. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got another job now. I’m going to get you out of prison.
Ditermination. (Ann, 7 years old)
Ditermination means you really want something bad. You feel it tingling in your body like if you had ants under your skin. And your hart beats fast and exsitedly. But its not bad and it doesnt hurt. Your hart is just exsited about what will happen if your ditermination works. Becaus then you get what you want and your happy.
I don’t know what to do with myself, only that I need to move, bring my body into line with the activity of my brain. So I stomp around in circles in the prison car park, waiting for Ludwig who’s having another conversation inside. He’s offered to drive me home after meeting Dad, which I’ll happily take him up on as it’ll save me having to take the underground. I never used to notice how many people use the time on public transport to read the newspaper. But I do now, as my father’s on every other front page.
The fact that the suspect in custody is a university professor has leaked out and the press are using it to make sensational comparisons.They’ve already made reference to the Russian Oleg Sokolov, a highly respected historian who specialised in the Napoleonic era. Sokolov taught at St Petersburg University before he chopped up his young lover and disposed of the pieces in the Moyka. Or Hannibal Lecter, who isn’t even a real person, quite apart from the fact that he’s a psychiatrist rather than a professor. And he ate his victims, for heaven’s sake. Nonetheless, in every case, it’s the same killer profile, one which merely makes the crimes even more sinister. It’s a man of intellect and prestige. Not a degenerate killer who acts on impulse, who doesn’t know what he’s doing, but a highly intelligent monster with a sophisticated plan. ‘Professor Death!’ one newspaper proclaimed only a few days ago, its article speculating about barbaric experiments and not shying away from making the most vulgar parallels to concentration camp doctors.
All this is absurd, of course, but ubiquitous too. The craving for sensationalism is eating its way through the city like acid. It’s corroding people’s eyes and reason, and with every day, the calls get louder to publicly unmask the man disguised in the photo and finally bring him to court.
‘I hope you didn’t have to wait long!’ Ludwig hurries over to me. His left hand is swinging his briefcase; his right is already feeling for the car keys in his coat pocket.
‘Only a few minutes.’
‘That’s good,’ he says, opening the car and putting the briefcase on the back seat. ‘Get in.’
‘There’s something I wanted to ask you,’ I say as we drive out of the car park.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Are you doing any deals with the department of public prosecution in the background?’
‘What? What makes you think that?’
‘Well, you said the DPP already knows that I’ve discussed the case with Dad. That sounds to me a bit like you’re in cahoots.’
‘They would have found out from the video footage anyway, so, yes, I thought it better to straighten things out in advance. And before you ask, it was also agreed that you should be able to meet your father without supervision today.’
‘Why?’
