JF01 - Blood Eagle Read Free Page A

couldn’t come up with any hard evidence.’
    ‘So Klugmann got off with a slap on the wrist.’
    ‘Yes. And now he works in an Ulugbay-owned stripclub.’
    Fabel smiled. ‘And as a pimp.’
    ‘Like I say, that’s what the local police suspect … and more.’
    ‘I can imagine,’ said Fabel. A former special-forces policeman would be incredibly valuable to Ulugbay: muscle and inside information. ‘Should we look at him as a suspect for this?’
    ‘He needs checking out but no, I doubt it. Apparently, he was in genuine shock when the local uniforms got here. We talked to him briefly at Davidwache. He’s a tough-looking son of a bitch but he clearly hadn’t worked out a credible story. Just kept saying he was a friend and had called around to see her.’
    ‘Do we have a name for her?’
    ‘That’s the thing,’ Paul answered. ‘I’m afraid we have a mystery woman on our hands. Klugmann says he’s only ever known her as “Monique”.’
    ‘Is she French?’
    Paul half smiled, looking at Fabel to see if there was any sign of irony in his expression; he had heard of der englische Kommissar’s reputation for a British sense of humour. No irony. Just impatience. ‘Not according to Klugmann. Sounds like a professional name to me.’
    ‘What about her personal effects? Her identity card?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    Fabel noticed the bedside cabinet had already been dusted for prints. He pulled open one of the drawers. There was an oversized dildo and four pornographic magazines, one of which specialised in bondage. He looked back at the body: the wrists and ankles were tied tightly to the posts of the bed by what looked like black stockings. The choice had been practical and improvised rather than erotic and premeditated; nor was there any other evidence of the usual paraphernalia of bondage. The next drawer held more condoms, a large box of paper tissues and a bottle of massage oil. The third drawer was empty except for a pad of writing paper and two ballpoint pens. He turned to the head of the forensic team.
    ‘Where’s Holger Brauner?’ he asked, referring to the forensic department’s chief.
    ‘He’s on leave till the weekend.’
    Fabel wished that Brauner had been on duty. Brauner could read a crime scene like an archaeologist could read a landscape: seeing the traces, invisible to everyone else, of those who had passed by before. ‘Can one of your guys bag all of this stuff for me?’
    ‘Of course, Herr Hauptkommissar.’
    ‘There was nothing else in this bottom drawer?’
    The duty forensics chief frowned. ‘No. Anything we removed for examination and dusting has been replaced. There was nothing else.’
    ‘Have you found her appointment book?’
    Again the technician looked puzzled.
    ‘She’s been a hooker but not a street girl,’ explained Fabel. ‘Her customers will have been by appointment, probably made by phone. She must have had an appointment book.’
    ‘Not that we’ve found.’
    ‘My guess is that, if she had one, it was in here,’ said Fabel, nodding to the open third drawer. ‘If we can’t find it elsewhere then it’s my guess our guy took it with him.’
    ‘To protect himself? You think she’s been done by a client?’ asked Paul.
    ‘I doubt it. Our guy – and this is our guy – wouldn’t be so dumb as to pick someone who has prior knowledge of him.’
    ‘So this is definitely the same guy who did the Kastner girl?’
    ‘Who the hell else could it be?’ answered Werner, nodding towards the corpse. ‘This is obviously his signature.’
    A silence fell between them as they each sank into their own thoughts about the implications of this being the work of a serial killer. They all knew that they would not close the gap between themselves and this monster until he had killed again. And more than once. Each scene of crime would yield a little more: small investigative steps paid for with the blood of innocent victims. It was Fabel who broke the silence.
    ‘Anyway, if our