‘Yeah,’ said Fabel. ‘But I got the idea that my presence was making things worse.’
‘Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? You look pretty washed out after last night.’
‘Maria…’
‘By the time you get back I’ll have chased up the uniforms and we’ll see if we’ve got any leads on her whereabouts,’ said Scholz. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you chill out? After all, you’ve just completed your last murder case.’
Fabel smiled wearily. ‘Maybe you’re right. I could do with a rest.’
Fabel accepted a lift in a patrol car back to his hotel.
‘Can you drop me at the end of Hohestrasse?’ he asked the driver. ‘I’d like to do some shopping.’
Although some stores were open, the spirit of Karneval had seized the city fully and Fabel understood why these were called the ‘Crazy Days’. He quickly gave up hope of finding a souvenir for Gabi, his daughter.
His cellphone rang.
‘I’ve had a report from one of the uniforms,’ said Scholz. ‘It seems that Maria Klee checked out of a second hotel on Saturday the fourth. No joy with any of the other hotels. She seems to have dropped out of sight completely. Are you sure she’s not back in Hamburg?’
‘Hold on a minute…’ A noisy group of street entertainers bustled past and Fabel edged out of their way. ‘No, there’s no way. I’ve got Anna Wolff, one of my team, checking regularly that Maria doesn’t resurface… wait a minute…’ The entertainers had gathered around Fabel, one of them juggling three gold balls. ‘Do you mind?’ said Fabel. ‘I’m trying to have a conversation.’ He noticed that they were dressed all in black, each wearing exactly the same type of mask: not the usual Karneval mask but more like the type worn during the Venetian Carnivaclass="underline" full-face, gold, genderless and empty of expression. The juggler gave a mime-artist shrug and moved back.
‘As I was saying,’ said Fabel, ‘I would have heard if Maria had resurfaced in Hamburg. I’m getting really worried, Benni.’
‘Don’t be – I’ll keep on it.’
Fabel snapped his cellphone shut and the group of entertainers swamped him again. The juggler leaned in close, tilting his blank gold mask from side to side as if examining Fabel.
‘Clear off – I’m not interested.’ Fabel was now annoyed.
‘Want to see a good trick?’ asked the juggler. Fabel thought he detected an accent in the juggler’s voice. Suddenly he felt the others grasp his upper arms tight and push him against the wall.
‘I know a very good trick…’ Still the mime-act tilting of the mask from side to side. ‘I can make a mad-bitch Hamburg cop disappear.’ Fabel struggled but the others, laughing jovially, gripped him tight. He felt a knife point pressed into his side, beneath his ribs. He looked past the masked jugglers at the shoppers walking past in Hohestrasse. There was no help to be called for. He would die before his cry was heard. You always die alone, he thought.
The jugglers did a jester dance in front of him. Fabel couldn’t work out if it was to keep the pretence going for the sake of passers-by, or if it was for his benefit.
‘I can make anyone disappear,’ said the juggler through the gold mask. ‘Anyone. I could make you disappear, right now.’
‘What do you want, Vitrenko?’
‘Why do you think I am Vitrenko? We are many here.’
‘Because you’re an egomaniacal fuck and this is how you get your kicks,’ said Fabel. ‘Because you have to make a big show of everything. Just like the way you killed all those people in Hamburg. Just like the way you made sure I was a witness to you murdering your own father.’
The juggler leaned his mask into Fabel’s face again. ‘Then you know your bitch friend will suffer before she dies. I’ve got her. I want the dossier. Deliver a copy, complete and unexpurgated, or Maria Klee will be delivered to you piece by piece.’
‘I can’t just get a copy of the dossier. It has to be signed out before anyone can even read it.’
‘You’re a resourceful man, Fabel. You are finished with the police – what does it matter to you? But if you fail to deliver a full copy of the dossier to me, I will deliver Maria Klee to you in one-kilo pieces. And I will use all my skill to make sure that she will be alive for most of the butcher work.’
‘When?’ asked Fabel.
‘Let’s keep things festive. Rose Monday. During the processions. Wait on the corner of Komodienstrasse and Tunisstrasse and someone will collect it from you. They will be wearing a mask like this.’
‘I’ll only give it to you.’
‘You don’t even know what I look like now. It could be anyone behind one of these masks.’
‘I’ll know. Just like I knew today. If it isn’t you, then I won’t hand over the dossier.’
The juggler’s laugh was muffled by the mask. ‘You want me to walk into a trap that’s so obvious?’
‘You’re sick enough to see it as a challenge. There’ll be no trap. Give me Maria and we’ll both stay out of your business. For good.’
‘Do not disappoint me, Herr Fabel. If you wish I can have a portion of Frau Klee delivered to your hotel to prove that I have her. And to underline my intent…’
‘I believe you’ve got her. Don’t hurt her and I’ll do as you ask.’
‘Good. But let me warn you that if there is any suggestion of a police presence, Frau Klee will be carved alive. No metaphor. You understand?’
Fabel nodded. He was shoved violently and crashed onto the ground. A couple of passers-by helped him to his feet in time to see the last of the masked men skip into the mass of the crowds.
3.
Maria’s heart began to pound as soon as she heard the heavy clunking bar mechanism of the cold store door. It all depended on whether it was The Nose or Sarapenko who came in with the meal. Not that it could be called a meaclass="underline" they had kept her on the minimum calorie intake to dull her mind and weaken her resistance. The near-starvation diet combined with the irregular switching on and off of the light was intended to disorientate her. The door slid open. She didn’t look to see which of them it was. The decision to act or not act, to kill or not kill, would have to wait until the very last moment. She knew the routine: the tray would be left outside on the floor and whoever had brought the meal would stand back from the doorway, sweeping an automatic round the room before training the gun on Maria.
Maria remained on her knees, clutching the hollow of her belly, gasping for breath.
‘I’m sick…’ she said, still not looking up. It was the only way to go: she knew that Vitrenko would have given them strict orders to keep her alive until whatever use he had for her had been fulfilled. She heard the sound of boots approaching.
‘I have medicine…’ gasped Maria. ‘In my coat… please help me.’ She didn’t want the door to close; for her guard to contact Vitrenko for instructions. She was presenting a problem and a solution at the same time. She was counting on her stuff still being there. The tablets in her coat were the anti-anxiety pills that Dr Minks had given her. The boots didn’t move: feigning sickness was an obvious ploy. Maria had predicted this doubt of the guard’s and she clamped her hand to her mouth as if about to vomit. Unseen, she slipped her ring finger into her mouth and throat. The hair-trigger reaction. There was little left in her stomach from the meagre meal of God knew how many hours before, but enough splashed onto the cold store floor to suggest that she was genuinely ill. Maria slumped onto her side, her eyes closed. She heard the footsteps approach again and a boot jabbed her in the ribs. Maria had so detached herself from her body that she didn’t even flinch at the kick. A pause while the guard calculated the risk: just how much of a threat could Maria pose, even if she were conscious? Then the sound of a weapon being reholstered. She felt fingers jab into her neck to check her pulse.
It was then that Maria opened her eyes. Wide. She stared directly into Olga Sarapenko’s face. Maria saw the alarm in Sarapenko’s eyes as she realised that she was looking at something that was no longer human.