"I thought Siegfried's place in Zurich had been completely destroyed," said the Chief.
"Yes, well, it had been in official report-type language, but I've been around long enough to know that there are few absolutes in this world. There is almost always something left. In this case the Zurich cops were thinking in terms of records and valuables when they filed their report. A pile of half-burned tattoo designs wasn't high on their agenda. I assembled all the samples of the tattoo together and had blowups made of its various features. I took those, samples of Siegfried's work, and a collection of photographs of Balac's work to Paulus and asked him to tell me if he thought either of the two had originated the design."
"Where did you get the photos of Balac's pictures?" asked the Chief.
"Mostly from Der Bund," said the Bear. "As I mentioned, it's written about him on many occasions, and there was a lot more stuff in the file than what it published. There was an added bonus of some color slides one photographer had taken in addition to the black-and-white stuff, apparently with the idea of selling them to a magazine. Der Bund, as you may know, doesn't run color. As it happens, I needn't have bothered. Paulus knew Balac's work intimately. He was extremely shaken by what he discovered, and that led to his" — he paused, not wishing to use the word confession with all it unpleasant connotations — "desire to put us fully in the picture."
"My God," said the Chief, "do I understand you correctly? Did Paulus actually identify the tattoo found on the terrorists as having been originally designed, drawn, by Balac?"
The Bear smiled. "Indeed he did," he said. He glanced at Henssen. "There are some things even the most advanced computers miss."
Henssen grinned. "Pattern recognition. Give us another five to ten years, and you'll eat those words."
"We've got the fucker," said the Chief excitedly. "Heini, you're a genius."
"I'm not finished." The Bear removed a small piece of cardboard from a file and passed it across to the Chief. "Balac's visiting card," he said. "Take a look at the logo. He uses it on his notepaper and catalogs, too."
The Chief looked at the card and then at a blowup of the logo that had been mounted beside an enlargement of the tattoo. The resemblance was striking, the circle of flowers almost identical in conception and execution, the only difference being the letter in the center of the circle. On the tattoo it was an ‘A.’ On Balac's card, it was a ‘B.’
"The murdering, arrogant bastard," said the Chief. "He's rubbing our noses in it."
"He's a clever murdering, arrogant bastard. That logo has been distributed thousands of times on brochures, catalogs, headed notepaper, and who knows what else. It has even appeared on posters. It's so much in the public domain that it proves nothing. Anyone could have copied it. Further, in Paulus's professional opinion, the letters ‘A’ and ‘B’ have been designed by different people. Balac didn't design the ‘A.’"
The Chief looked depressed. "This guy doesn't miss a trick."
"Like Icarus," said the Bear, "he likes to fly close to the sun. Sooner or later, no matter how smart he is, that's going to be fatal. Thanks to Paulus, I think it's going to be sooner."
22
Fitzduane played the tape that he'd made of the first half of their interview with Paulus. He plugged the miniature tape recorder into a battery-powered extension loudspeaker. Immediately the sound was crisp and clear, and the listeners were transported to that small office in the museum and the strained voice of Paulus von Beck. Fitzduane stopped the tape at the point previously agreed upon with the Bear. There was silence in the room.
"For the first time," said the Bear, "we've actually got a live witness who can tie Balac in with some of the key elements of the case. It's no longer supposition. We now know that Balac was involved with Erika von Graffenlaub on an intense and regular basis. We know that he was the original seducer of Rudi and Vreni. We know that he made use of drugs in a manner similar to the Hangman. It's all getting closer."
"There's a difference between running orgies, even if they do involve underage kids, and killing people," said Charlie von Beck. "God knows I'd like to believe we've got a case. If you put everything together, I guess we have, but it's far from a sure thing. There could be an innocent explanation for almost everything we've got so far. You've put forward one hell of a clever hypothesis, I'll grant you, but that final firm link is still missing."
The Bear looked around the room. It was clear that most of the team agreed with the magistrate. The Chief looked indecisive. The Bear was glad he'd taken time to build his argument point by point. Once the discussion stage was over, they would be back in harm's way. They had to avoid another Muri. The needed a united team convinced of what it was doing if they were to come up with an angle that would result in success.
"Both Hugo and I," continued the Bear, "felt that Paulus's reaction indicated rather more than that he was gay and had played around with group sex, even if some borderline minors were involved. This is a tolerant town if you're discreet, and whereas the Rudi / Vreni thing isn't the stuff fairy tales are made of, they weren't exactly prepubescent children — that would have been serious. No, Paulus was actually afraid, afraid for his life. Why? What does he know or surmise that brings him close to panic?
"Most of you here know what an interrogation is like. A good interrogator often learns more from atmosphere and body language than he does from the actual words used. After a while he gets so immersed in the mood of the whole thing that he begins to sense meanings, almost to be telepathic.
"Any successful investigation requires luck as well as man-hours. And so far the tide of fortune seems again and again to have favored the Hangman. Whether by accident or design or a mixture of both, he seems to have been just ahead of us most of the time. He had Ivo killed before we could talk to him. Siegfried, the tattoo artist, went the same way. Vreni was saved, but she can't or won't talk about her experiences. Ericka von Graffenlaub, who might have cracked under interrogation, is dead. Lodge either wasn't there or escaped before we arrived. And so it goes on. We're dealing with a shrewd and lucky man. But no one is lucky all the time. Very early into the questioning of Paulus, but Hugo and I had the feeling that here was the essential like we were looking for. You can decide for yourselves."
Fitzduane moved the tape recorder selector switch to ‘play.’
"This is an edited version," began the Bear.
"Play it," said the Chief.
There was a slight hiss, and the Bear's recorded voice could be heard. "Paulus, he said, "you've stated that your relationship with Balac started about five years ago."
"Yes."
"Is it still going on?"
"Not... not exactly," said Paulus hesitantly.
"I don't quite understand," said the Bear, his voice gentle.
"It's not so easy to explain. The relationship, as it were, changed; it came to an end. But from time to time he calls me, and I go to him."
"Why, if it's over."
"I... I have to. He has... he has a hold on me."
"An emotional hold?"
"No, it's not like that. He has photographs and other things he his threatened to send to the police."
"We don't care about your sex life," said the Bear. "What kind of photographs are these?"
There was silence again and then the sound of sobbing, followed by an editing break. The conversation started again in mid-sentence.
"...embarrassing, terribly embarrassing to talk about," said Paulus in a strangled voice.
"So the von Graffenlaub twins weren't the only underage kids involved," said the Bear.
"No."
"How old were they?"
"It varied. Normally they were in their mid-teens or older — and that was all right."
"But not always?"
"No."
"What age was the youngest?"
There was silence yet again, and then an encouraging noise from the Bear could be heard. Reluctantly Paulus answered. "About twelve or thereabouts. I don't know
exactly."
There was a crash as Charlie von Beck threw his coffee mug to the ground. His face was white with anger. Fitzduane stopped the tape. "The idiot, the stupid, irresponsible, disgusting idiot!" shouted the examining magistrate. "How could he?"
"Calm down, Charlie," said the Chief. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I hope that mug was empty."
Charlie von Beck smiled in spite of himself. The Chief waited until he was sure von Beck was in control, then gave Fitzduane the signal to proceed.
"Where did these sexual encounters take place?" said the Bear's voice.
"Oh, various places."
"For instance? In your house, for example?"
"No, never in my house. Balac always like things done his way. He likes a certain setting, and he likes to have the things he needs, his drugs and other things."
"So where did you go?"
"I didn't always know. Sometimes he would pick me up and blindfold me. He likes to play games. Sometimes he would pretend I was a stranger and we were meeting for the first time."
"Did you ever go to Erika's apartment?"
"Yes, but not so often. Mostly we went to Balac's studio down by the Wasserwerk."
"You mentioned that Balac likes a certain setting," said the Bear. "Could you describe it? Why was it important?"
"He likes rituals, different kinds of rituals," said Paulus, his voice uncertain and strained.
"What kinds of rituals?"
"Like... like a black mass, only not the real thing. More like a parody of a black mass but with black candles and mock human sacrifices. It was frightening."
Fitzduane broke in. "Could you describe the rooms where this happened?"
"There were several such rooms. They were all decorated the same way, with purple walls and black silk hangings and the smell of incense. Sometimes we were masked; sometime the other people were masked."
"Tell me about the sacrifices," said the Bear. "You said mock human sacrifices?"
"The idea was that the victim should die at the moment of climax. It was something that Erika, in particular, liked. She had a knife, a thing with a wide, heavy blade, and she used to wave it. Then she brought a cat in and killed it at just that moment, and I was covered in blood." There was the sound of retching, cut off abruptly by an editing break.
The Chief signaled for Fitzduane to stop the tape. He looked shaken, the full implications of what he had been hearing finally beginning to sink in. "And next came people," he spat. "It's making me sick. Is there much more of this?"
"Not a lot," said the Bear. "I'll summarize it for you if you like."
The Chief steepled his hands, lost in thought. After perhaps a full minute he looked up at the Bear. "It's just hitting home. It's so incredibly sick... so perverted... so evil."
"We asked about the knife," said the Bear. "Balac told Paulus that he'd had it specially made. It was a reproduction of a ritual sacrificial knife used by a pagan cult in Ireland. He'd seen a drawing in some book and taken a fancy to it. Apparently he has a library of pornography and black magic and the sicker aspects of human behavior. He uses these books to set up his games. The more elaborate rules are written down in what he calls ‘The Grimoire.’"
"A grimoire is a kind of magician's rule book, isn't it?" Kersdorf broke in. "I seem to remember running across a case involving a grimoire many years ago. Again the whole black magic thing was essentially sexually motivated."
"Who else was involved apart from Balac, Erika, and these kids?" asked the Chief. "Did he recognize anyone, or was he the only adult supporting player?"
"There were others," said the Bear, "but they were always masked. He said he thought he recognized some of the voices." The Bear gave a list of names to the Chief, who shook his head. He wasn't altogether surprised at the ambassador mentioned, but the other names were from the very core of the Bernese establishment.
"There were also some young male prostitutes involved from time to time," said the Bear. "He gave me several names, first names. One of them was Klaus. The description fits; it was Minder. Another was the Monkey. Knowing he was involved in the same games as Minder, Ivo went after the Monkey and, I guess went too far trying to make him talk. Ivo, the poor little bastard, was trying to find Klaus Minder's killer. Sir Ivo, indeed. He found out too much, and his quest got him killed."
"Heini," said the Chief, "I really don't think I want to hear any more. The question is, how do we pick up this psycho without losing more people?"
"We've got some ideas on that score," said Fitzduane. "We thought we might take a tip from the ancient Greeks."
* * * * *
They were on a secluded testing range that was part of the military base at Sand. The man in combat fatigues had the deep tan of someone who spends a great deal of time in the mountains. Paler skin around the eyes indicated long periods wearing ski goggles. He was a major, a member of the Swiss Army's elite grenadiers, and a counterterrorist expert. He normally advised the Federal Police antiterrorist unit but wasn't against practicing his craft at the cantonal or indeed city level. His specialty was explosives.
"You haven't thought of blasting in, I suppose?" he said diffidently. "There would be fewer constraints in relation to the charges used, and I'm told it's quite a common technique when you want to gain access. Armies have been doing it for years when they don't feel like going through the door." He grinned cheerfully.
"Very funny," said the Bear. "If we blast in, we won't do anyone standing near the entry hole much good."
"And since one of those people is likely to be me," said Fitzduane, "I don't think a hell of a lot of your suggestion — though I'm sure it's kindly meant."
The major looked shocked. "My dear fellow, we won't harm a hair of your head. We can calculate the charges required exactly. Just one little boom, and lo, an instant doorway."
"I once knew an explosives freak in the U.S. Special Forces," said Fitzduane. He was known as No-Prob Dudzcinski because every time he was asked to do something with explosives, no matter how complex, he would reply, ‘No problem, man,’ and set to work. He was very good at his job."
"Well, there you are," said the major.
"He blew himself up," said Fitzduane, "and half an A-team. I've been suspicious of explosives ever since. I don't suppose you want to hear his last words?"
"No," said the major.
"Besides," said the Bear, "our target is partial to burying Claymores and similar devices in the walls, which could be set off by an external explosion. We want a shaped charge that will blast out and at the same time muffle any concealed device."
A truck ground its way in low gear toward them. Well secured in the back was what looked like a rectangular packing case the size of a large doorway, but only about fifteen centimeters thick. The truck drew up near them and stopped. Three soldiers jumped out, unlashed the packing case, and maneuvered it against a sheet of 1.5 centimeter armor plate bolted to the brick wall of an old practice fortification.
"It's quite safe to stand in front of the packing case," said the major, "but the normal practice is to follow routine safety regulations." Fitzduane and the Bear needed little encouragement. They moved to the shelter of an observation bunker set at right angles to the packing case. They were joined by the three soldiers. The major brought up the rear, walking nonchalantly, as befitted his faith in his expertise. All in the bunker put on steel helmets. Fitzduane felt slightly foolish.
The major had a pen-shaped miniature radio transmitter in his hand. "You're familiar with the principle of a shaped charge, or focused charge, as some people call it?" he asked.
Fitzduane and the Bear nodded. The shaped charge concept was based on the discovery that the force of an explosion could be tightly focused in one direction by putting the explosive in a container of an appropriate shape and leaving a hollow for the explosion to expand into. The explosive force would initially follow the line of least resistance, and thereafter momentum would take over. The principle had been further refined to
the point where explosives could be used in a strip form to cut out specific shapes.
"I'd be happier if we were cutting through one material," said the major. "Armor plate alone is no problem, but when materials are combined, funny things happen. In this case the charges are on the rear of the packing case. In the center we have Kevlar bulletproof material reinforced with ceramic plates; we can't use armor plate because it would make the whole thing too heavy. At the front we have left space for a painting, as you requested. To view the painting, you don't have to open the entire crate, which could be embarrassing. Instead we've installed hinged viewing doors."
"As a matter of interest," said Fitzduane, "will the painting be damaged by the explosion? We're going to have to put something fairly valuable in there if we are to get our target's attention, and knowing the way you Swiss operate, I'm likely to end up getting the bill if the painting is harmed."
The major sighed. "Herr Fitzduane, I assume this is your idea of a little joke, but whether it is or not, you may rest assured that your painting will be unscathed. The entire force of the explosion will be focused against the wall. The canvas won't even ripple. Watch!"
He pressed the button on the transmitter. There was a muted crack. A door-shaped portion of the steel plate and wall fell away as if sliced out of paper with a razor blade. There was no smoke. Dust rose from the rubble and was dissipated by the wind.
Fitzduane walked across to the front of the packing case and opened the viewing doors. In place of the painting was a large poster extolling the virtues of Swissair. It was unscathed. He turned to the major, who was standing smugly, arms folded across his chest. "You'd have been a wow in Troy." He looked at the packing case again. "I think we can improve our act. How familiar are you with stun grenades?"
* * * * *
Fitzduane 01 - Games of The Hangman Page 40