The Carnival Master

9.

They had just finished dessert when Scholz’s cellphone rang. He held up his hand in apology to Fabel and then engaged in a short exchange with the caller.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘Another case I’m working on. That was one of the team letting me know that we’ve hit another dead end.’

‘A murder?’

‘Yep. Gangland stuff. A kitchen worker was sliced up with a meat cleaver.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry – it wasn’t this restaurant.’

‘You get a lot of organised-crime killings?’

‘Not particularly. And especially not of late. This one is Russian or Ukrainian mafia.’

Fabel felt an electric tingle at the back of his neck. ‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. The Vitrenko-Molokov gang muscled their way in here about a year ago. Secretive bunch – all ex-army or special police. We think that the poor schmuck who got killed was caught passing information on to an official. But that’s the problem. We can’t find any department which was talking to the vic.’

‘Why do you think he was involved with an official?’

‘He was seen talking to a smartly dressed woman the day before he was topped. It was clear that she was immigration or police. But that’s what the call was about. She definitely wasn’t one of ours.’

‘Oh…’ Fabel sipped his coffee and desperately tried to look relaxed as he watched Cologne through the window. Maria. He turned to Scholz and held his gaze for a moment.

‘Were you about to say something?’ asked Scholz.

Fabel smiled. And shook his head.