The Carnival Master

2.

Benni Scholz was growing to hate Karneval. There were hotels just outside the city that had started to offer sanctuary from Cologne’s carnival madness and compulsory bonhomie: places where order remained unchallenged and where a serene sanity was guaranteed until Lent. He had never before understood why some people sought out these places, or why many Cologne families took a holiday away from the city at Karneval time. Benni had always felt that, as a Kolner, Karneval defined who and what he was. But now, with deadlines looming and the police Karneval committee hounding him with e-mails, texts and phone calls, Scholz found himself wishing he had been born in Berlin.

But now there was something else to add to his stress. He had just over three weeks until Women’s Karneval Night. He knew that the Karneval Killer would strike again. Another woman would die unless they got a lead on the murders of the previous two years. Files lay scattered across his desk and in an untidy arc on the floor. Scholz had the feeling that there was something he wasn’t seeing in the available evidence. He had learned about serial killers. At least the theory. But this was the first time he’d ever been involved with a case and he felt out of his depth. He had called the Polizei Hamburg again, but had been told that the Murder Commission boss, Fabel, was leaving the force and really wasn’t interested in taking on Scholz’s case. He was going to have to think the Karneval Killer case through again, alone, without the assistance of some Hamburg supercop. Fuck him, thought Scholz, stuck-up Fischkopp. Scholz had been to Hamburg only a couple of times. Beautiful city, shame about the people. And the food was crap: all they ate was fish or that shit Labskaus.

He turned from the files and looked out of his office window in Cologne’s Police Presidium but didn’t see anything of the city that lay grey dark under the moody winter sky. Scholz turned his thoughts from the murders he was investigating back to his other problem: getting this bloody Karneval float and costumes organised. Scholz had studied so many books and researched so much stuff on the Internet about Karneval. Its origins, its significance, what had changed and what had stayed the same throughout the centuries. Maybe that was where he was going wrong: he was over-thinking it all.

It was while Scholz was in this doubly darkened mood that the phone rang. He was surprised to hear that it was the Hamburg cop, Fabel.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be leaving the force?’ said Scholz. ‘I didn’t think I’d hear from you.’

‘I am supposed to be leaving the force and you are hearing from me,’ said Fabel. That famous northern charm, thought Scholz.

‘Have you looked at the files I sent up, Herr Fabel?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘And you’ve got a cannibal on your patch, in my opinion,’ said Fabel.

‘Shit…’ said Scholz. ‘So the piece of arse he takes away… it goes straight into the pan, you reckon?’

‘I would have put it a little more technically than that, Herr Scholz, but effectively yes. He’s probably cooking his trophy and consuming it. There are contradictions in his offending pattern, but my guess is that he is a sexual cannibal. His consumption of the flesh is probably accompanied by either involuntary ejaculation or active masturbation.’

‘I guess that would be enough to get you chucked out of McDonald’s.’ Scholz laughed at his own joke. There was silence on the other end of the line. ‘Have you had experience of this type of offender before, Herr Principal Chief Commissar?’ Scholz adopted a more sober and official tone.

‘Similar,’ said Fabel. ‘But your killer seems fixated on the run-up to Karneval. I’m guessing it has some symbolic significance for him.’

‘Him and the entire population of Cologne, Herr Fabel. You don’t have Karneval up there in Hamburg, do you?’

‘No. We don’t.’

‘Karneval is more than you see on the television. It’s not just fancy dress and reciting lame Buttenrede comic monologues in front of the Elferrat. Sorry, the Elferrat is the eleven elected members of the Karneval committee…’

‘I know what the Elferrat is, Herr Scholz,’ said Fabel drily. ‘I’m from Hamburg, not Ulan Bator.’

‘Sorry… anyway, my point is that Karneval defines what it is to be a Kolner. It’s part of our soul. It’s an emotional experience that can’t be explained, only experienced. The fact that this nut-job focuses on Karneval is no surprise. It just tells me that he’s a born Kolner.’

‘I think there’s more to it than that,’ said Fabel. ‘But we can discuss this when I come down to see you.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve cleared it with the Polizei Hamburg. I’ll drive down on Friday. I should be there sometime between two and three p.m. Can you fix me up with a hotel? Nothing too fancy. I’m afraid your people will be picking up the tab.’

What else could you expect from a northerner? thought Scholz. ‘Fine…’ he said cheerily. ‘No problem.’