‘But you nearly didn’t find it the first time,’ said Fabel.
‘And that was the cleaning woman’s fault. She had partially bleached it and it had been pushed well into the seam at the base of the bath. My guess is that the killer left it somewhere more obvious.’
‘You can’t seriously be suggesting that we are dealing with a forensic technician?’
Grueber shrugged. ‘Or maybe he has read extensively about forensic techniques.’
Fabel stood up. ‘I’m going in to the Presidium…’
‘If you want my opinion,’ said Grueber, pouring Fabel a second cup of tea, ‘you should rest up for the remainder of the day. Whoever this killer is, whether or not he has experience of forensics, he’s smart, and he likes to prove it. But, as we both know, these people are never as smart as their egos tell them they are. He’ll slip up soon. Then we’ll get him.’
‘You reckon?’ said Fabel dismally. ‘After last night I can’t be so sure.’
‘Well, I really do think you should stay here and rest. The fresher you are, the more likely you are to think straight.’ Fabel gave Grueber a sharp look and the younger man held up his hands defensively. ‘You know what I mean… Anyway, like I said before, make yourself at home. In fact… follow me…’
Grueber led Fabel out of the kitchen, along the corridor to a large bright room which Grueber had converted into a study. The walls were lined with bookcases and there were two desks: one was clearly a general working desk with a computer, notepads and files on it; the other was used as some kind of workbench. What caught Fabel’s attention was a clay model head, punctuated at regular intervals, like points on a grid, with small white pegs.
‘I thought this room would interest you – this is where I do my moonlighting. And most of my research.’
Fabel walked over and examined the clay head. ‘I heard about this,’ he said. ‘From Holger Brauner. You’re quite an expert on reconstruction, I believe.’
‘I’m happy to say that I’m kept reasonably busy with it in my spare time. Most of what I get is archaeological, but I’m hoping to use it more in a forensic context. When a body is discovered and is too decomposed for the usual means of identification.’
‘Yes – we would find that very useful. Is there a skull under this?’ asked Fabel. Despite his tiredness he could not help but be intrigued. He could see how Grueber had been building up the layers of soft tissue onto the bone. First the main muscles, then the smaller tendons. It was a perfect representation of a human face stripped of its outer layer of fat and skin. There seemed to Fabel to be an anatomical precision about it. And, in a strange way, it was beautiful. Science becoming art.
‘Yes,’ said Grueber. ‘Well, no, not the original. The university sent me a cast. They make a mould in alginate and the cast they create is an absolutely perfect reproduction of the real skull. That’s what I base my reconstructions on.’
‘Who is it?’ Fabel examined the detail of Grueber’s work. It was like looking at one of Da Vinci’s anatomical drawings.
‘She’s from Schleswig-Holstein. But from a time when there was no concept of Schleswig-Holstein or Germany and the language she spoke would not have been related to German. She would have been a Proto-Celtic speaker. She most likely belonged to the Ambroni or Cimbri. That would mean that her native tongue would be closer to modern Welsh than anything else today.’
‘It – she – is beautiful,’ said Fabel.
‘She is, isn’t she? I reckon I’ll have her finished in a couple of weeks. The only thing I have left to do is to add the soft tissue over the muscle layer. That’s what gives living form to the model.’
‘How do you judge the thickness of the tissue?’ asked Fabel. ‘Surely it’s pure guesswork.’
‘Actually, it isn’t. There are guidelines for the thickness of facial tissue for each ethnic group. Obviously, she might have been fat, or particularly thin. But she comes from a time when there was not a surplus of food, and everyday life was much more strenuous than it is today. I think I will manage to get pretty close to what she looked like two thousand, two hundred years ago.’
Fabel shook his head in wonder. As with the image of Cherchen Man that Severts had shown him, he was being offered a window on a life that had burned and been extinguished two millennia before he had been born.
‘Is it mainly bog bodies you work on?’ he asked.
‘No. I’ve reconstructed soldiers killed in the Napoleonic Wars, plague victims from the late Middle Ages, and I get a great deal of work to do on Egyptian mummies. I enjoy them the most – because of their antiquity, I suppose. And the exoticism of their culture. It’s funny, I often feel a bond with the surgeon-priests who prepared the bodies of their kings, queens and Pharaohs for mummification. They were preparing their masters for reincarnation, for rebirth. I often feel that I am fulfilling their task… giving life again to the mummies they prepared.’
Fabel remembered the archaeologist Severts saying something almost identical.
‘The most important thing for me,’ said Grueber, ‘is that what I create should be accurate. Truthful. I do this for the same reason I studied archaeology in the first place, why I chose to become a forensics specialist. The same reason you and Maria chose to become murder detectives. We all believe the same thing: that truth is the debt we owe to the dead.’
‘After last night, I don’t know why I do it any more, if I’m honest.’ Fabel said. He looked at Grueber’s earnest, concerned face. Fabel had been so concerned about Maria, but he could not imagine her being with anyone who would be better for her.
‘Take a look at this.’ Grueber pointed to the side of the reconstructed head, above the temple. ‘This muscle is the first we apply, it’s the temporalis. And this…’ He pointed to a wide sheet of muscle on the forehead. ‘Is the occipitofrontalis. These are the largest muscles in the human head and face. When this killer takes a scalp he cuts around the full circumference of the cranium.’ He picked up a pencil and, without touching the surface of the clay, indicated a sweep across the muscles that he had described. ‘It is comparatively easy to remove a scalp. By cutting through the full dermis all the way around, it can be pulled free with little effort. The scalp basically sits on top of the muscle layer and is anchored by connective tissue. The last two scalps have been taken that way, but he cut much deeper with Hauser, the first victim. Remember he looked almost as if he was frowning? That was because the occipitofrontalis was severed, causing his brow to droop.’ Grueber threw the pencil down on the table. ‘He’s getting more proficient. Our scalp-taker is perfecting his craft.’
For a moment, Fabel was again transported back to the night before, to his apartment. To the example of his ‘craft’ that the killer had left for him.
‘Like I said,’ said Grueber. ‘This guy is not as clever as he thinks he is. I know it’s not much, but at least it proves he doesn’t always do everything perfectly.’ Grueber sighed. ‘Anyway, I thought you might be interested in my library. Maria told me that you studied history. As you know, I’m an archaeologist by training – please help yourself to anything you want to read while you’re here. I’ll have to head in to work… there are a few things I need to tie up and I haven’t had as stressful a night as you.’
After Grueber had gone, Fabel sat and studied the partially reconstructed head. It was as if he were willing it to speak, to flex its fleshless muscles and move the mouth to whisper the name of the monster he was hunting. Grueber himself must have been loaded to afford a place like this. The furnishings were mainly antique and contrasted starkly with the computer and other equipment in the room, which were clearly expensive and state-of-the-art.