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culture, an icon for power and predation. The eagle could be his metaphor: observing, circling above, unseen by his prey, then swooping silently for the kill. It’s more likely that he is motivated by some deeply sublimated and abstracted sexual drive rather than extremist political ideology. This man isn’t a fanatic: he’s a psychotic. There’s a difference … although I must admit the religiosity of the e-mail – the sense of crusade – and the ritualised method of death bother me.’
    ‘Are we looking for some crazed neo-Nazi or not?’ There was an aggressive edge to Van Heiden’s voice.
    ‘I doubt it. I doubt it very much. The victims are not from non-German ethnic backgrounds, they are not the typical targets for neo-Nazi attack. But I cannot exclude it as a possibility. I think this is more likely to be a personal crusade …’ Susanne Eckhardt wore the expression of someone trying to remember where they’d left their car keys.
    ‘What is it, Frau Doktor?’ asked Fabel.
    Dr Eckhardt gave a small, almost apologetic laugh. ‘It’s nothing … or at least it’s nothing that would stand up to professional or even objective scrutiny …’
    ‘Please share it with us anyway,’ said Van Heiden.
    ‘Well, it’s just that this e-mail is a textbook example of a socially dysfunctional psychotic. I mean, it’s all there: sentiments of social dislocation and isolation, a perverted, crusading morality, identification with an elevated symbol of predation …’
    Fabel felt an electric ruffle through the hairs on his neck. Something else that was too right.
    ‘I don’t understand …’ Van Heiden had clearly missed the subtext. ‘You’re saying the e-mail is clearly genuine. That it was written by our killer.’
    ‘No … well yes …’ Eckhardt laughed again, exposing perfect teeth that glistened like porcelain. ‘I really don’t know what I’m saying. Just that if I had sat down to write a missive from a serial killer, I would have included all of these elements.’
    ‘You’re saying it’s fake? Or are you saying it’s genuine?’ The edge was back in Van Heiden’s voice. ‘I’m getting confused …’
    ‘It’s probably genuine. Two killings, two e-mails received. If it were a hoaxer or compulsive confessor, then his timing is too good to be true. I’m just making a point. No … an observation.’ Her eyes scanned the room for support. She found it: Fabel was nodding thoughtfully.
    Van Heiden blanked her. ‘This last … escapade – do we have anything more to go on, Fabel?’
    ‘This one bothers me particularly,’ said Fabel. ‘There are a number of anomalies. In fact, there are a number of things we simply don’t know about the victim.’
    ‘Like her identity …’ said Van Heiden. Fabel couldn’t tell whether or not he was being sarcastic.
    ‘We’re working on that.’
    Van Heiden flicked through the pages of the report. ‘What about this former Mobiles Einsatz Kommando guy that was involved with her? I don’t like the idea of an ex-Polizei Hamburg officer running a prostitute. The media would love that.’
    ‘Unfortunately we’ve had to let him go,’ said Fabel. ‘But we’ve put a tail on him. He’ll be watched twenty-four hours a day. I am certain he’s withholding evidence, but there’s nothing we can prove.’
    ‘Have you seen his service record?’
    ‘I’ve just had it called up,’ said Fabel, sitting down and leaning against the table. He slightly exaggerated the casualness of his pose: he knew his informality rattled Van Heiden and he enjoyed irritating him. ‘I haven’t had much time to look at it yet, but it would appear that Klugmann was a star recruit who showed a great deal of promise until the drugs charge. Before he joined the Polizei Hamburg he served as a Fallschirmjäger …’
    ‘A paratrooper?’
    ‘Yes. Perfect grounding for the Mobiles Einsatz Kommando,’ Fabel gave a small laugh. ‘Practice for doing all of your thinking with a