Page 37 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘I know you’re as unconvinced by my Steinhausen theory as Brandner and the rest of the force. But I also know I’m right. I can’t say for sure where this feeling comes from, only that it’s uncannily strong.’
‘You’re unmistakably your father’s daughter.’ Ludwig laughs. ‘For him, feelings have always been more important than facts too. It’s a miracle he turned into such a successful academic.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s not completely right. Feelings lead to deeds and deeds lead to facts, he always says. He regards them as the basis of everything. And he’s right about that, isn’t he? I don’t think there’s any question he’s asked me more often in my life than:What were you feeling?He would never be fobbed off, he always wanted to know precisely. When I was a little girl, I even had to write short compositions about my feelings and give them to him so he could see I really had engaged with them.’ I laugh too, but only briefly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it makes it even worse that someone like him– someone who’s always been so genuinely interested in others– is now locked away in a tiny, cold cell. And nobody’s asking whatheis feeling.’
‘He could save himself a lot of bother if he started talking, Anni. You’re behaving as if nobody wants to listen to him. But that’s not the case. On the contrary.’
‘You don’t understand him.’ I stub out my cigarette with brisk, ungainly movements. ‘None of you understand him. He’s a highly sensitive man. These charges have broken him.’
Leaning back, Ludwig crosses his arms.
Whereas I lean forwards over the table. ‘Marcus Steinhausen, Ludwig. The police are going to investigate him over the break-in. And you have to make sure their enquiry is thorough.’
‘You need sleep, my child.’
‘It’s not a question of whether he’s got an alibi for this evening. It’s whether he’s the ribbon murderer.’
Ludwig gets up and leaves the kitchen without a word of explanation. I check my watch– just before midnight. Barely four hours since I caught the intruder in our house. Ludwig’s right: I really need to go to bed.
No sooner am I on my feet than he comes back with two glasses containing a brown liquid. A single malt, I bet. From the globe bar in his library. As a child I was fascinated watching Ludwig flip back the northern half of the globe to take out one of the valuable bottles inside. He sets the glasses on the table, swapping them for the coffee cups. I sit down again without protest. A sip can’t hurt, not today– today warrants a huge gulp.
‘There’s something not right about the case as set out by the investigation team,’ I say, putting my glass on the table. I must have taken a larger sip than I’d thought– it doesn’t matter; I can hold my drink. ‘They’re missing something.’
‘Something that you’re going to find.’ His words surprise me as much as the smile that accompanies them. Until now, Ludwig has given me the impression that although he’s taking the break-in seriously, he’s not so convinced by my theories about Marcus Steinhausen. I nod all the same. Which feels strange. As if the weight of my head had increased; it’s as heavy as a stone I’m trying to balance on the thin, feeble spindle that used to be my neck.
‘The motive,’ I say, attempting to sound unfazed. ‘I’ve asked you about this before, but you didn’t give me an answer and I couldn’t find anything in the documents either. What reason would my father have had to kill ten little girls?’
Ludwig raises his glass to me once more and I join him in a sip, in the hope the alcohol will loosen his tongue.
‘Well?’
‘You’ve read the files. Which means you know the girls’ wrists were slit. The left one, as in your case.’ He leans towards me. ‘Although they can’t say for sure, the forensics team believe the killer used a knife with a very blunt blade. Do you have any idea how much strength is needed to slit the wrist of someone with a blunt knife?’
‘But that’s exactly my point, Ludwig! Nobody did it to me! There was no madman with a knife. It was me, myself!’
‘The left wrist, Anni,’ he insists. ‘Do you seriously believe in such coincidences?’
‘A few weeks after I started working at Big Murphy’s, I found out that my colleague was the mother of the first victim. So, yes, Ludwig! I do believe in coincidences! Unbelievable coincidences!’
‘Oh, my child,’ Ludwig says, his outline faintly blurring.
I blink a few times until my vision is sharp again. ‘And that’s still no reason,’ I say, sticking to my guns. This time I’m not going to give in.
Ludwig points his chin at my glass. I drink up– why not? ‘As an anthropologist, your father’s a scientist, Anni. And as a philosopher, he’s a thinker striving for answers to the fundamental questions in life.’
I want to object but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. Ludwig puts his hand on mine. ‘Death is also part of life.’
His face dissolves, everything dissolves. It’s as if everything before me is a painting which someone has poured water over. Colours run, flowing into one another, everything fluid. There’s something wrong with me; my weighty head slumps on to my chest. Once again I try to say something, but it feels as if my lips have been stitched together.
‘Anni,’ I hear Ludwig’s muffled voice. ‘You’ve got into something that isn’t good for you.’
Summoning all my strength, I manage to lift my head, which rolls around on my neck uncontrollably.
‘But trust me.’ All of a sudden his voice is by my ear, very close; it’s a whisper and a warm breath. When did he get up from his chair and wander around the table? ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’
Do you remember?
Six years ago, when Eva disappeared from the city overnight.
