‘So how did she get the name “the Angel”?’ asked Dirk Hechtner.
‘There was massive media interest in the case at the time, as I’m sure everybody remembers,’ said Fabel. ‘When I turned up at Davidwache last night I was greeted by Sylvie Achtenhagen and her camera crew. As you know, Frau Achtenhagen has become quite the celebrity herself, with her own news-magazine show on HanSat. But ten years ago no one had heard of Sylvie Achtenhagen. At that time she was a young and very ambitious new reporter for one of the public broadcasters. She built her reputation on her coverage of the murders and she ended up getting to do an hour-long special on the case. I have to admit she handled the whole thing very cleverly, even if she was way off with her conclusions. Basically, Achtenhagen gave the whole thing a feminist twist. Her take on it was that almost exactly one hundred years after Jack the Ripper, a female Ripper was doing pretty much the same thing in Hamburg. We’ve all heard the saying that Hamburg is the most easterly suburb of London … anyway, Achtenhagen exaggerated the similarities between the two cities. She also drew parallels between the cases: both involved the use of a surgically sharp blade, mutilation of the bodies and the removal of trophies. In the case of Jack the Ripper those trophies were sometimes the genitals; in the case of the
Angel they were exclusively the genitals. Both series of murders took place in red-light districts: Whitechapel in London, the Kiez in Hamburg. And, of course, both series of murders seemed to be within the context of prostitute and client.’
‘The Angel was – is – definitely a prostitute?’ asked Werner.
‘It looks likely. Or pretending to be one. Anyway, Sylvie Achtenhagen turned this idea on its head; there was a hint that while Jack the Ripper represented the age-old repression and abuse of women, the Angel represented their liberation. Total crap, of course, but it captured the imagination. It came close to making the Angel a feminist icon. Achtenhagen managed to imply – very subtly, mind – that it was the victims who were the aggressors.’
‘And Sylvie Achtenhagen’s documentary was the first to describe the killer as “the Angel”?’ asked Anna.
‘Achtenhagen planned to make a name for herself with her hour-long TV special. She succeeded. But she also made a name for the killer. The “Angel of St Pauli” caught the public’s imagination and it stuck.’ Fabel threw the marker down onto the conference table. ‘What I resented about what Achtenhagen did is that it cemented the idea of a female avenging angel stalking the streets of Hamburg looking for male victims. While that is maybe the case, the truth is we have only one witness account of one of the victims being seen in the company of a youngish blonde prostitute shortly before the supposed time of death. Apart from that, for all we know the killer could have been a man. And the precision and method of the throat cut could suggest a military or even special-forces background. But Achtenhagen succeeded in closing the public’s eyes to anything other than an iconic female vigilante.’
‘I don’t know …’ Werner winced. ‘The castration thing. To kill another guy is one thing … but to slice off his todger. My money’s on it having been a woman …’
‘All right, settle down,’ Fabel said to suppress the laughter
that broke out. ‘Like I said, I think it’s more likely that the Angel was a prostitute. From what I’ve gleaned from the original case files, the Angel was suspected to be an Aileen Wuornos-type serial killer. A woman, abused as a child, who turned to prostitution and carrying out revenge killings against clients. But whether male or female and whatever her motives, the so-called Angel was very, very careful not to leave forensic evidence or to give any clue to his or her identity. And that makes me very doubtful about the Angel disclosing her identity to Westland as an announcement that she is rising from the ashes. Which brings me to what I think is our most likely prospect …’ Fabel slapped his hand onto the board next to the word COPYCAT.
‘The Angel of St Pauli exists as a concept, if perhaps not as a reality. A powerful concept that has maybe caught more than the general public’s imagination. I think it’s entirely possible that Westland’s murder is the work of the Angel by inspiration rather than execution. There are fundamental differences between his murder and the original killings: the killer didn’t carry out a post-mortem castration or take a trophy …’
‘That could simply be because she was disturbed,’ said Werner. ‘Christa Eisel found Westland still alive and bleeding out fast. If she hadn’t applied pressure he wouldn’t have made it to the ambulance. Maybe the killer heard Christa coming.’
‘Maybe so, but a panicked escape doesn’t fit with the fact that no one was seen leaving the scene. Carstens Kaminski’s Davidwache team have spoken to almost every girl working the Kiez that night – and bear in mind that most of them sit watching the streets from their windows. Normally
any
unknown woman passing through the street would stand out. The problem we have is that it was an exceptional night in the Kiez, given this near-riot feminist protest. But, prior to the protesters’ invasion of Herbertstrasse, no one noticed a woman who didn’t belong wandering around. Also, Christa
Eisel swears no one passed her coming out of the square. But let’s say the killer
was
disturbed – it still doesn’t alter the fact that she eviscerated Westland instead of cutting his throat. What’s more, Westland was on foot, where all of the original victims were in their cars. And let’s remember we are nearly a full decade on from the last Angel murder. There are, however, specific similarities – particularly the expert use of a blade. For the moment my money stays on this being the work of a copycat.’ Fabel slipped a large printout from the folder on his desk. He stuck it up on the incident board. A woman of about thirty stared blankly out from the photograph. She was wearing no make-up and her blonde hair had been brushed back severely from her face. The image had the bleached, stark lighting of an official photograph.
‘This is Margarethe Paulus,’ explained Fabel. ‘I’ve just been sent her details by the BKA. Three nights ago, she escaped from a secure mental hospital in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern. I haven’t had a lot of time to go through all the details, but the main thing you should know is that she is a highly dangerous individual. She killed and castrated three men in nineteen ninety-four and would have been a prime suspect for the original Angel killings had she not already been locked up. And we have to bear in mind that her murders were spree, rather than serial. She is familiar with Hamburg, apparently, and was brought up in Zarrentin, in north-west Mecklenburg. Although it was in the former East, it’s only seventy kilometres from Hamburg. It’s highly unlikely, given that she only escaped three days ago, that she’s involved with these latest killings, but we have to keep an open mind. She would certainly be a candidate for a copycat killer. At the very least we need to be on the lookout for her.’
‘How did she manage to escape?’
‘Walked out of the main gate, apparently. She had complained of feeling unwell and an orderly and a nurse were escorting her to see a doctor. She broke the male
orderly’s arm before knocking him out, then stole the nurse’s uniform, electronic door key and identity card before locking her in a storage room, bound and gagged. It’s clear that Paulus is a highly organised type. Somehow she had managed to collect make-up and hair dye over God knows how long so that she could make herself look like this nurse.’
‘So she had targeted the nurse, rather than just grabbing an opportunity to escape?’ asked Dirk Hechtner.
‘Probably months in advance.’
Fabel spent the rest of the briefing going through what they had in the way of statements and the initial forensic evidence. He then allocated investigative tasks to each team member. After he had wound the meeting up, Werner loitered until the others were gone.
‘Let’s have it, Werner,’ said Fabel, gathering up his papers. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘Anna told me about your chat.’
‘My God, it didn’t take her long to find a shoulder to cry on.’
‘It’s not like that, Jan. I asked her how it had gone. She’s in shock, I think. So am I, truth be told.’
‘You think I’m making a mistake?’ Fabel asked.
‘I think you would have handled it differently if Anna had been a man, to be frank, Jan.’
‘Not that again, Werner. I don’t let gender influence how I deal with my officers.’
‘Well, whatever the reason, I think you should give Anna another chance. She’s put her neck on the line more than once for the sake of catching a killer.’
‘But don’t you see that’s the point? Anna has put her neck on the line. She nearly got herself killed twice doing exactly that. This isn’t the Wild West, Werner. I mean, I thought you would understand. If anything it’s you that’s kept me from
screwing up because you always make sure we follow procedure. There have been times when Anna has all but rendered evidence inadmissible because she hasn’t followed the State Prosecutor’s guidelines.’
Werner sighed and rubbed a shovel of a hand over the grey stubble on his scalp. Fabel always thought Werner looked like a retired boxer or hardened sailor: his broken nose, picked up early in his career as a street policeman, his Hamburg Low-German way of speaking combined with his faintly scruffy way of dressing and his powerful build made him look like someone who was probably inclined to use muscle rather than brain. But no one had the eye for detail that Werner had. A tiny discrepancy in someone’s statement, some event that didn’t quite fit into the chronology of a crime, a forgotten scrap of evidence that changed the whole picture: these were the things that Werner caught when everyone else, including Fabel, had missed them. The truth was that Fabel relied heavily on Werner’s counsel, and it troubled him that his friend thought he was making a mistake over Anna.
‘Listen,’ said Werner, ‘I know you’ve been looking for a replacement for Maria Klee to partner me with. Team me up with Anna in the meantime. You could put Henk together with Dirk for a while. I think Anna and I could work well together. A good balance. Give it a go for a month or two. Then, if you still think she should go, fair enough.’
‘Have you talked to her about this idea of yours?’ Fabel asked suspiciously.
‘No. I promise. It’s just that she’s desperate to stay in the Commission, Jan. And Anna really would be a loss to the team. Another loss. She’s a good officer, Jan. She just needs to be brought into line. Let me have a crack at it.’
‘Okay, let me think about it,’ said Fabel.
‘Hard day?’
‘I thought you were asleep,’ said Fabel to the shadow in the bed.
‘I was. I asked if you’d had a hard day …’
‘The usual. Murder. Mayhem. Paperwork. You?’
‘The usual. I heard you have another celebrity murder on your hands. Are you sure you’re not doing them yourself, just to advance your career?’
‘Our career. I can see I’m going to have to bring you into this one,’ said Fabel. ‘That’s the deal: I’ll keep killing them to keep us both in work.’ He slid between the sheets. They were cool and clean on his skin. ‘By the way, have you seen my MP3 player lying around?’
‘No. You’ve already asked me. How did it go with Renate?’
Fabel sighed. ‘How does it ever go with Renate? She was as bitter as hell, as always. I don’t know how the hell she has managed to turn the whole situation around so that she’s the injured party. It was Behrens who dumped her. Not me.’
‘It’s a woman thing.’ Susanne still had her back to him. ‘If you can’t find
the
man to blame, find
a
man to blame. I hold you responsible for Hans Zimmerman not choosing me as his partner for our kindergarten parade.’
‘I knew there was something,’ said Fabel. ‘Anyway, Gabi is thinking about joining the police. Renate blames me and wants me to talk her out of it.’
‘Will you?’
‘No. Not talk her out of it. Give her an informed picture, yes. Talk her out of it, no.’
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’ Susanne’s voice was thick with sleep, but Fabel slid close to her, put his arms around her, cupped her breast in his hand.
‘I’d like to make up for the kindergarten parade …’ he said.
Jespersen had been relieved that the seat next to him on the plane was unoccupied. Jespersen liked to use travel time to sort things out in his head: to review, to do a bit of broader thinking. The Scandinavian Airlines flight to Hamburg’s Fuhlsbüttel Airport from Copenhagen had only taken a little over fifty minutes but, during that time, Jens Jespersen had been able to study the information he had obtained through Europol on
Erster Kriminalhauptkommissar
Jan Fabel.
Most of the information related to the consultative role Fabel was adopting for cases outside the Polizei Hamburg’s jurisdiction. He was being touted by Europol as a major expert in complex murder investigations. The ‘go-to guy’ as the Americans would call him. Jespersen didn’t like Americans much. He liked Germans less.
As the seat-belt lights came on and Jespersen put the file back in his case, he reluctantly admitted to himself that the German was probably the best person to talk to. Talk to about what? It suddenly struck Jespersen that he had come a long way to meet with the German and he didn’t really have that much to discuss. All he had was a remark made by a drug trafficker during a sting operation; a couple of potentially connected events that may be nothing more than so many coincidences; and a legend: a vague and most likely exaggerated spook-story from the dark ages of the Cold War.