The Valkyrie Song jf-5

by Craig Russell

  ‘That’s the only answer?’

  ‘It’s the only answer we want,’ said Anna. ‘The only other explanation is that it was someone working within Muliebritas itself who placed it.’

  ‘Not impossible,’ said Fabel, ‘given that Muliebritas is a NeuHansa-owned publication.’

  ‘Like I say, we’re in trouble if it is an insider. Then they’d know about the set-up tomorrow.’

  Fabel made a grim face. ‘God, I hope not.’

  ‘Should we call it off?’ asked Anna.

  He thought for a moment before shaking his head decisively. ‘I don’t know who placed this ad, but it’s not the Valkyrie. It’s someone trying to establish contact. We’ve got a week and a half before the first Monday of the month, which was supposed to be the prearranged meeting time if that notice appeared. I’ve spoken to the BKA Federal Crime Office and the Halberstadt police and they will help us set up surveillance for that date. Let’s just hope we nab her tomorrow instead.’

  Fabel worked late. He went through all the arrangements with the team methodically, then went through them again twice more before letting his officers go. He sat in his office until eight p.m. He again went through the transcriptions of the interviews that he, other officers and Susanne had had with Margarethe Paulus. The overwhelming feeling he got from reading them wasn’t horror or anger or revulsion, just a profound sadness.

  The Valkyrie Project had been the child of another time, another mindset. Another Germany. In its cold, calculated ruthlessness, the Valkyrie Project had been conceived without any thought for the girls who were selected. Their lives, their dreams and their hopes were to be totally disregarded. They were instruments of the state and nothing more. In many ways, the Valkyrie Project had been typical of every action carried out over forty years by the Stasi.

  All the girls’ dreams had been stifled. There was something in that. Flicking through the interview transcripts, Fabel found what he was looking for: a scrap of conversation, in between the hard questioning.

  Principal Chief Commissar Fabel: Why did they pick you and the other girls?

  Margarethe Paulus: We all had something they wanted. Or a mix of things. We were all sporty, we all did well at school, we were all loyal to the Party. Can I have some water?

  Interview break while water is brought for interviewee.

  Principal Chief Commissar Fabel: You said all the girls were sporty. What was your sport?

  Margarethe Paulus: Everything. Especially athletics. But not good enough for serious competition. It was different for Anke, though.

  Principal Chief Commissar Fabel: Anke Wollner? Why was that?

  Margarethe Paulus: Anke and Liane both had special talents. Liane was great at languages, for example. And debating. But Anke’s talent could have got her into the Olympics. She was a world-class junior skier. And an excellent shot, of course. Her speciality was the Nordic biathlon. But that was all stopped when she was inducted into the project.

  Fabel snatched up his desk phone. When the hotel reception answered he asked to be put through to Karin Vestergaard’s room.

  ‘Karin? It’s Jan. Listen, I’m on to something. Of the other two Valkyries, Anke Wollner is our most likely candidate to be the one that Drescher set up as his pension plan, right?’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘Margarethe Paulus said in an interview that Anke had a promising career as a world-class athlete cut short by her induction into the Valkyrie Project.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘The Stasi could make all of her records disappear… wipe all trace of the name Anke Wollner off the face of the earth, just as they did with the other two girls. But not if she is on record outside the GDR. If, at any point, she went with a team into another country, even if it was another Warsaw Pact state, then she’ll be on record. Maybe even a photograph…’

  ‘It’s a long, long shot, Jan,’ replied Vestergaard. ‘Her name might have been on record somewhere at some time, but it’s no use to us. Why do I get the feeling that that’s not the only reason you’re calling me?’

  ‘The Jorgen Halvorsen murder. It took place in Drobak, near Oslo?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘The other thing that Margarethe told me was that Anke’s speciality was winter sport. Cross-country skiing, Nordic biathlon, Nordic combined, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I still don’t get-’

  ‘Imagine if you were a world-class junior winter sportswoman, growing up in the GDR late seventies, early eighties. What would be the biggest event — the one to make the biggest impact on your consciousness?’

  ‘The eighty-four Winter Olympics in Sarajevo or…’

  ‘Exactly, or the eighty-two Nordic Skiing World Championships in Norway. And the venue was the Holmenkollen Ski Centre in Oslo. Like I said, this is just another bit of wild speculation, but what if the Valkyrie is Anke? Maybe she got a little nostalgic, wanted to see the place she dreamed as a kid that she might compete in one day. Or simply had to kill a little time before she got down to killing Halvorsen?’

  ‘I’ll get on to the Norwegian National Police,’ said Vestergaard. ‘Holmenkollen is a visitor centre and museum now — maybe they’ve got CCTV.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Thanks, Karin. Like I said, it’s a long shot, but if it gives us a face…’

  Fabel called Susanne on her cellphone. She was already on the Munich train and they chatted for a while. He told her he was going to pick up something to eat on the way home and get an early night. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

  Fabel ate at a cafe-restaurant in Altona Altstadt before going home. He felt like taking a shower but decided to leave it until the morning: he was tired and wanted to get to sleep and was worried that a shower would revive him too much and keep him awake. It was about ten-fifteen when he fell into a deep, deep slumber.

  He had no idea how long he had been out. The boundary between sleep and wakefulness was blurred. He had become vaguely aware of Susanne warm and next to him. He felt her breasts against his back, then her mouth and tongue on his neck; her hand on his flank, his thigh, his belly. Her hand was now around him: caressing, stroking, bringing him to life. His wakefulness and his arousal stirred together.

  Then his confusion.

  Susanne was away. He had spoken to her on the phone. He felt her tongue in his ear. No, not her tongue. Not Susanne’s. He was now, suddenly, fully awake. He tried to spin around to see who was in the bed with him when something drew tight across his throat. He couldn’t breathe and his head felt suddenly light. He reached up and was rewarded with a further tightening of the garrotte around his neck.

  ‘Lie still,’ she whispered into his ear. As a lover would. ‘Lie still or you’ll die.’ The pressure around his throat eased, yet she still held him in her other hand, stroking. ‘I don’t want to kill you,’ she whispered. A low, breathless whisper. ‘But I will if you don’t do as I tell you. Do you understand?’

  Fabel tried to speak, but the garrotte had stifled his voice. He nodded his head.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  He nodded again. He felt the light-headedness ease with the loosening of the ligature. His mind raced and he thought about struggling, fighting for his life. But he knew that she would strangle him as soon as he moved.

  ‘I am a Valkyrie.’ Her voice was soft and warm in his ear. Still her hand worked on him. ‘But I am not the one you are looking for. Do you understand that?’

  Fabel was confused. He moved his hand up to his throat. She gave the garrotte another twist. Fabel felt the throb of his pulse in his neck below the ligature, but not above it. Just pins and needles. The dark world of his bedroom becoming darker. Red-black darker.

  ‘I said: do you understand that?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I was — am — Liane Kayser. I am not Anke Wollner. Anke is the one you want, not me. I did not work for Georg Drescher. Since the Wall came down I have lived my own life. I have done my own thing. I am not a profes
sional killer. Or, at least, I am not a professional killer any more. And anything I might have been involved with is not your concern. But I want you to understand that I still have all of the skills they taught me. I could finish you right now — you do understand that, don’t you, Jan?’

  Fabel nodded again.

  ‘I’m going to ease the garrotte so you can talk. If you do anything stupid I will tighten it again, but this time all the way. It has an inertia slide on it. That means I can tighten it fully and walk away: the ligature will be fastened tight and you won’t be able to do anything to stop yourself strangling to death. Even I won’t be able to release it if I tighten it fully. Do you understand?’

  Once more, Fabel nodded. Feeling the ligature ease again, he gasped for breath. She was still touching him below. Stroking him.

  ‘Take your hand off me!’ His voice was urgent and raspy.

  ‘Why?’ she said. ‘You seem to be enjoying it.’

  ‘Take your hand off me now.’

  She let her hand slip away after one last long, lingering stroke.

  ‘When you tell them… when you make your report — will you tell them about that? About how you were hard for me? About me touching you down there?’

  Her hand was back on him and Fabel grabbed her wrist. She rewarded him by shutting off his air supply.

  ‘Let me go,’ she said. Again the ligature eased when he complied. ‘Will you tell them? They’ll ask you if you were hard. If you were enjoying it. They’ll ask you if you did anything to encourage me doing that. If you invited me into your bed, even if you didn’t know who I was. Then there’s your partner, Susanne… will you tell her? There will always be doubt. People will talk behind your back. There will always be a nagging doubt in the back of Susanne’s mind.’

  She removed her hand.

  ‘That’s what it’s like for women. All the time. Every time a woman or a girl is raped or sexually assaulted.’

  ‘That’s crap.’ The ligature made Fabel’s voice high and tight. ‘I know the truth. I don’t need this half-assed demonstration. I’ve seen so much violence against women that I know what it’s really like.’

  ‘But did you enjoy it, Jan?’ She kept her voice a whisper. A seductive hiss in his ear. Did she think he’d recognise her voice? wondered Fabel. ‘A little hand relief? Did you know that in Victorian England society women would faint all the time? It wasn’t considered unusual. It was put down to “female hysteria”. It was a genuine phenomenon. And do you know what it was all about?’

  Fabel didn’t answer. She jerked on the garrotte around his throat. ‘I asked you a question.’

  ‘No,’ said Fabel, his voice a rasp.

  ‘Sexual repression. Women in Victorian England were not allowed to enjoy sex. They were made to feel dirty if they did. So the phenomenon of “female hysteria” became an accepted medical fact. Do you know how they cured it? A doctor would perform a pelvic massage until the woman underwent what they called a hysterical paroxysm. In other words, the family doctor would offer hand relief. Can you believe that? And all the time Victorian Englishmen were using prostitutes on a scale that dwarfs anything going on today. We weren’t much better here in Northern Germany. At least they knew a bit more about sex in the south.’

  ‘You didn’t come here to talk about Victorian English or Wilhelmine German sexual kinks. What do you want?’

  ‘Lie on your belly. Do it.’ Fabel complied. She forced his head sideways, facing away from her. ‘If you see my face,’ she explained, ‘I’ll have to kill you. I came here about the notice in Muliebritas.’

  ‘What notice?’ said Fabel, his cheek buried in the pillow.

  ‘You know what notice.’ She twisted the ligature tight. Tighter than she had before. When she released it Fabel gasped for breath, his lungs screaming for the oxygen.

  ‘The quote from Njal’s Saga,’ he gasped. ‘Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Did you place it?’

  ‘No.’

  The ligature tightened again.

  ‘Did you place it?’

  Incapable of speaking, Fabel shook his head and again she turned his air supply back on.

  ‘If you didn’t place it, then who did?’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Fabel’s voice was still small and tight.

  ‘You said something about tomorrow. What is in Muliebritas that has to do with tomorrow?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. I won’t tell you. And anyway, you don’t want to know. It’s to do with Anke. About catching her. If I tell you, you become part of it all.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I won’t interfere. I want you to catch her. I want this all to be over so that I can get on with my life again.

  ‘Listen to me, Fabel…’ She still whispered in his ear, but this time there was nothing seductive in her tone, just a hiss of menace and threat. ‘You’re a policeman. You’ve seen so much over the years. You’ve seen so many women battered, raped, strangled, abused. So many girls and women whose last moments were spent in terror. And unimaginable horror. But you can imagine it, can’t you? You have to imagine it. You’ve looked at what other men can do to women and you’ve asked yourself that dark, dark question: am I capable of that? So much pain, so much fear. And there have been times you’ve been filled with that dark, dark fear: what if it happened to my daughter, to my partner, to my mother… Well, listen to me and remember what I tell you: the Valkyrie you’re looking for is Anke. Not me. Leave me alone. Don’t come looking for me. Don’t even start looking for me. If you do, I will target every woman close to you. Your lover, your daughter, your mother — I will make them victims. I will make them suffer before they die. Do you understand?’ She tightened the ligature again. ‘I can’t hurt them if I’m dead or in prison, so I’ll make sure I get to them before you get to me. If I get the slightest hint that you’re on my trail, I’ll come after them. Put your hands behind your head.’

  Fabel did as he was told. He felt something sting his neck. Something cold in his veins. The darkness of the bedroom deepened. He left the world.

  7

  This time wakefulness came on him like an explosion. Sudden, complete, raw.

  Fabel threw himself from the bed and slammed painfully onto the floor. He leaned against the wall and pulled himself up until he was standing on shaking, unsteady legs. He looked around the bedroom wildly, seeking out every shadow. Stumbling to the wall switch, he flooded the room with painfully bright light.

  She was gone. He found his trousers and scrabbled through the pockets until he found the key for the secure cabinet where he kept his automatic. He took the safety off and snapped back the carriage before leaving the bedroom, going through the whole apartment, room by room, switching on the lights and sweeping each room with his gun. It was only when he was sure he was alone that he went into the bathroom and surrendered to the nausea that had churned in his gut since his first moment awake. Whatever she had injected into him had left him with a thundering headache and a sick feeling that didn’t clear even after he had vomited.

  Fabel moved over to phone the Presidium but checked himself. There was something he had to do first. He went back into the bathroom and took a long shower.

  Holger Brauner wasn’t on call and it was Astrid Bremer who turned up. A uniformed unit had been first to arrive, and they had insisted on knocking up every one of Fabel’s neighbours to find out if they had seen or heard anyone coming into the building.

  ‘That’s totally unnecessary,’ Fabel had complained. ‘The woman who broke in here is too professional to allow herself to be seen coming or going.’

  The young uniformed Commissar had smiled politely and indulgently and, with total disregard for Fabel’s rank, had gone ahead and done what he felt ought to be done. And he was quite right, thought Fabel reluctantly.

  ‘Why on earth did you have a shower?’ asked Astrid Bremer. ‘You of all people should know better than that. She might have left DNA traces on you.’

  ‘What’s that supposed t
o mean?’ snapped Fabel.

  Bremer seemed taken aback by Fabel’s vehemence. ‘Nothing — just that if she had a garrotte around your neck, she was pretty close to you. Forensic distance, I mean. She might have left something behind.’

  ‘I needed to freshen up. That’s all.’ The door opened and Fabel nodded to Werner as he came into the room. ‘I felt groggy after whatever she pumped into me.’

  ‘I see…’ Bremer searched his expression. ‘Are you okay now?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You look shaken up, Jan,’ said Werner. ‘The on-call police doctor is here. He wants to check you out.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m okay.’ Raising his voice only turned up the volume of pain in Fabel’s head. ‘Okay, maybe he should give me a once-over.’

  ‘We need to find out what she injected you with,’ said Bremer. ‘The police doctor will want to do that, but I’d like to do my own tests — do you mind if I take a blood sample?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Fabel impatiently. ‘Take it.’ He rolled up his sleeve.

  ‘You’ll have to provide the doctor with a second blood sample for an HIV test. Standard practice for any Polizei Hamburg officer who’s been stuck with a needle. Obviously it’s meant for accidents when searching drug users, but it’s regulations…’

  Bremer took her sample. ‘Do you know which other rooms she was in? Apart from the bedroom, I mean?’

  ‘What are you getting at? Do you think I entertained her beforehand?’

  ‘Take it easy, Chef,’ said Werner. ‘Astrid’s only doing her job.’

  ‘I wasn’t getting at anything, Herr Fabel,’ said Bremer with sudden formality.

  ‘I’m sorry, Astrid.’ Fabel rubbed his neck. ‘It’s been a trying night. What’s the time?’

  ‘Five-twenty,’ said Werner.

  ‘Shit. Once I’m done with the quack you and I will have to get over to the Presidium. We’ve got to get everything set up for the sting in the Alsterpark.’

  ‘Are we going ahead with that?’ asked Werner. ‘I mean, I know what she told you, but it would be a pretty safe bet to assume that your lady visitor was the Valkyrie.’