Page 44 of Anatomy of a Killer
‘Go on, I can pretty much guess already.’
‘Although they’re not ruling anything out, they’re moving further towards the idea that this is a copycat crime. I’m sorry, Ann.’ He does actually manage to sound concerned. ‘They’re saying it’s the most probable—’
‘“Everything that is merely probable is probably false,”’ I interrupt him, smiling when he looks baffled. ‘A quote by René Descartes. He wasn’t just a philosopher, but a mathematician and scientist too. For him, doubting everything was the basis of all knowledge.’
‘You mean I know that I know nothing?’
I shake my head. ‘Wrong guy. That was Socrates. Who, by the way, actually said: “I know that I don’t know.” Your version comes from a mistake in translation. Socrates never claimed he knew nothing. Instead he questioned what it meant to know.’
‘Jesus!’ Jakob laughs. ‘Maybe you ought to have studied philosophy rather than German.’
‘I did to begin with, for four semesters. But the world becomes unpleasant when you only ask questions rather than simply living life. It’s enough to have one person in the family doing it.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘Didn’t you find out in your research? She died of cancer when I was six.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘My mother’s dead too. She died last year, following a stroke. I really miss her.’
I sigh. ‘I miss mine too, even though I hardly have any memories of her. But I think that’s quite normal. I mean, our parents determine a large chunk of our identity, don’t they?’
‘So if– and this is purely hypothetical, so don’t flip out and lock me in the boot again– your father was convicted beyond all doubt of being the ribbon murderer—’
‘I wouldn’t only lose my father, but my identity too.’
Jakob scribbles something; I appear to have given him a quotation for his article. ‘I understand,’ he says, but he doesn’t, he can’t. For him these are just words, whereas for me my entire existence depends on it. Who would I be– what would remain of me?– if everything I’ve been up till now turned out to be a lie?
Security. (Ann, 9 years old)
Security means you don’t have to worry even if something bad happens. Like when you lie awake in bed at night and there is thunder and lightening outside, but you know nothing is going to happen because Daddy has made sure that we have a lightening conducter. Without this the lightening could hit our house and then my room might burn down and I might die. But I don’t believe that is going to happen. Because of the lightening conducter and because Mummy is already dead. People can’t keep dying in the same family otherwise there would be nobody left.
Although Jakob took over the driving when it started getting dark, we haven’t sped up. We keep having to stop so he can take a pee. He suspects he got a touch of hypothermia during the night but he’s refraining from any reproachful looks. We get to Schergel just after half past nine. The village sits between the mountains, as if encircled, a deep hole that’s very difficult to climb out of once you’ve fallen in. We follow the only road that snakes past houses set far apart from each other. Barely any streetlamps, an oppressive darkness that baffles me. I’d expected light, all sorts of light. Light in the houses, light from the searchlights, flashing blue lights. But there’s not the slightest indication that a child has disappeared from here, presumably kidnapped by a dangerous serial killer.
‘Are we really in the right place?’
Jakob just grins. Of course this is the right place– it’s what the sign said, and what the satnav says too.
We keep driving down the road until we come to more houses, arranged around a circle, the centre of which is marked by a long, scrawny maypole without a crown. The heart of the village. Parked here are half a dozen patrol cars and police minibuses. But where the hell is the activity? People swinging their torches in all directions, search dogs excitedly tugging on their leads, desperate calls for Sarah?
Nothing of the sort. Only a village that looks as if the night-time bell had already been rung.
‘What now?’ I ask. Jakob points at the large building on the other side of the circle: an inn. At least there appears to be some sort of life, bathed in a yellow light, behind its leaded windows. Shapes of people moving through the room.
‘I come from a village like this originally,’ he says, parking the jeep outside a small grocery opposite. ‘Life is very different from in the city. Usually there’s great cohesion amongst the people, which has its advantages. On the other hand, it gives rise to a sort of hostility to anything that comes from outside.’
‘You mean they might not welcome the police here?’
‘No, not that. It’s just they might not help with the search to the extent that you would expect, because they see the disappearance of a child here as a stain on the village. It doesn’t fit with the way they perceive themselves, it dents their pride. After all, it’s precisely what differentiates them from a big city like Berlin: being sheltered, safe, people looking out for each other.’ Switching off the ignition, he turns to me. ‘Somewhere there’s always an Auntie Erna leaning out of the kitchen window, playing village sheriff.’
‘Wow, it’s great to know you don’t have any prejudices.’ I take my mobile from the rucksack and see I’ve missed several calls en route. Two from Big Murphy’s, another from Michelle, who’s also sent me a message. I ought to have been back at work today, on the late shift starting at four.None of the others know anything. I’ve told them you’re sick. Take a few days off and have a think about whether you want to continue doing the job. Michelle.Then Ludwig, who tried calling about an hour ago, no doubt to find out my whereabouts. He’s no idea we’ve come to Schergel; he’d give me hell if he knew.
‘Is everything okay, Ann?’
‘Yes.’ I quickly slip the mobile back in my bag. ‘I’m just amazed at you, I really am. I mean, as a journalist you should always be neutral and impartial, shouldn’t you?’
