Page 35 of Anatomy of a Killer
Ah, yes, your mistake. You believe Larissa must have had a particular significance because she was the first one.
Yes.
No.
No? She had no particular significance?
Of course she did! They all did! I can remember every single name and every face. I know their family backgrounds, whether they had siblings or pets, and what their favourite subjects at school were. They were happy to tell me all of this quite openly because they sensed I was really interested. For the brief moment when our lives overlapped, there was nothing more important to me than each of those girls. The trust they felt outweighed the fear, the unease, their parents’ warnings. I mean, that’s what we drum into our children from an early age, isn’t it? Never go with strangers. But are we adults any better? We go out, have one glass too many and all of a sudden end up in bed with someone who just happened to be in the same place at the same time.
Is this part of your motivation? Is it about people’s gullibility? Or were you trying to punish parents you didn’t think had looked after their children well enough?
No, those are merely findings. By the way, I’ve just remembered you had a few problems when you were younger.
What are you getting at?
So much for not having any skeletons in the cupboard. You were charged with criminal damage because you slashed your teacher’s tyres. Twenty hours of community service and a counselling session with the juvenile court service, am I right?
So? That was just a moment of stupidity. I was naïve and I was in with the wrong crowd.
I think it might be quite similar.
What are you talking about?
Well, you mentioned needing strength to cut through skin. It might be similar to slashing a tyre. Although it has to be said that I’ve never slashed anyone’s tyres.(clicks his tongue several times)That really is pointless and unnecessary.
Ann
Berlin, 26 December 2017
It’s shortly after half past nine in the evening and I’m back in Brandner’s office at police HQ. This time I seem to be arousing a different sort of pity in him, for in addition to the coffee I’ve been given, the inspector has also placed a tin in front of me. The writing on the lid spitefully wishes me a ‘Happy Christmas’. I open the tin if only to be able to put the lid upside down.
‘My wife baked them,’ Brandner says, giving me a strained smile over his desk. Although I feel queasy, I poke around inside the tin and plump for a lebkuchen with chocolate icing. Ludwig’s here too. Not long after I tore the balaclava from the intruder’s face, he returned with our dinner. He was the one who called the police. Now he’s sitting beside me, his arm across the back of my chair, which I take to be a sign of his protectiveness. He’s got a bad conscience, just like Brandner, who’s not sharing his wife’s baked masterpieces without good reason.Get bettersoon, my arse. In addition to the red ribbon on our oleander and all my research, now I’ve been attacked too, and injured in the process. My right shoulder is bruised and there’s a cut on my right brow. It’s a really impressive-looking wound; each time the men catch a glimpse of it, they’re reminded to go easy on me.
‘The thing with the files might be a problem,’ Brandner says, waiting until I’ve finished eating. As if I hadn’t picked out a lebkuchen but a sedative that takes a while to work. ‘Who knew you had the folder?’
‘Only my friend Eva, no one else.’
The inspector holds back his displeasure as best he can; the only thing he doesn’t have under control is his twitching jaw.
‘What are you thinking, Martin?’ Ludwig asks him.
‘Well, there are a number of possibilities as to who could benefit from such information. From that bunch of souvenir hunters who auction supposed crime scene material online, to relatives who think the investigation is proceeding too slowly. Then the press, of course, eager to boost sales figures with hitherto unpublished details. Or even—’
‘The real murderer, trying to find out if you’re on to him and how close you are,’ I say, finishing his sentence.
Brandner just gives a curt, sullen nod, before turning to Ludwig once more. ‘I don’t have to tell you what I think of your having let her get hold of these documents.’
‘No,’ Ludwig replies. He neglects to mention how exactly the folder came to be in my possession.
‘And are you sure that nothing else was stolen, Frau Lesniak? Neither from the study nor from the rest of the house? Just the files?’
I shrug, giving myself a sharp pain on my right side.That’s going to be a nice bruise, said the doctor who had to make a note of my physical condition for the records.
‘Not that I’m aware.’
Brandner mutters. ‘The fact that the folder was the only thing stolen suggests the intruder had deliberately targeted it. But this doesn’t fit your claim that nobody could have known about it.’
‘Nobody apart from Eva Harbert,’ Ludwig corrects him, looking at me.
