“He’s got a sturdy constitution.”
“I really hope that he’ll pull through. Very much. Maybe we’ll need to use him again in the future,” he continues, his voice reflecting cold calculation. “You shouldn’t let things get so close to you,” he tries to cheer up his subordinate.
“I try my best not to.”
The Commissioner studies her carefully. “You look a bit pale.”
“It was a tough week.”
“You know what Franz’s told me? That you actually sat at this guy’s bedside the whole goddamn night!”
The Detective nods. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Why?”
“I…” She falters.
The Commissioner frowns. “You’d better not get… well, you know what I mean.”
“No, no,” the Detective is quick to assure him. “It was all strictly professional.”
“Right.” The Commissioner takes a file from a stack and starts turning the pages. He shakes his head. “Hauke Jablonski. A schizophrenic madman.”
“Strictly speaking he isn’t schizophrenic,” the Detective protests.
“Say that again?”
“He’s suffering from an imprinting identity disorder.”
“I still can’t believe that he actually decapitated Bansuri. And he chopped off his hands, too?”
“He didn’t stop at that. He also impaled the Imam’s head on a poker. Who can tell what he really saw? Hallucinations are part of his illness.”
“I don’t understand how he even got access to Bansuri. The Imam was surrounded by bodyguards.”
“Hauke neutralized half a dozen of security men.”
“Jesus! This psychopath seems to be impossible to control.”
“Only if you don’t catch him in the phases between his episodes. That’s when he’s susceptible to imprinting.”
“Imprinting,” the director repeats. “That was the plan, at least. Even though I don’t really know how it works,” he admits. “You once told me that another word for his illness was histrionic personality disorder.”
“This term is obsolete.”
“But there’s always a dominant personality, right? The man you see on a regular basis, I mean. Is the Pusher his—how shall I put it—original personality?”
“It’s his constant personality, remaining after each episode.”
“As compared to the other personalities that are obliterated during these episodes?”
“That’s how the doctor explained it to me.”
“Well, never mind. Your experiment… pardon the expression… was extremely successful. As risky as it might have been to take him off his meds, the strategy was highly innovative. To imprint him on two of the Salafists’ victims. Simply brilliant. What were their names again?”
“Lucas and Quasim.”
“You leaked their stories to him?”
“Hauke always hung out in the abandoned kiosk in Samariterstrasse subway station, leafing through the old cartoons and magazines that were gathering dust there. Thus, it wasn’t difficult to smuggle in the reports about the ISIS massacres that got him interested. Some photos of the people murdered and their bios did the job.”
“And he… well… identified with them?”
“The official term for it is imprinting, I think. They became integral parts of his personality.”
“And when did he see this group photo of Al Bansuri and the other ISIS thugs we had received, courtesy of the Federal Intelligence Service?”
“Four days after his medication was discontinued. When the imprinting phase was over, I thought that the time was right to steer Hauke’s hatred toward the killers of Lucas and Quasim. In the hope that he’d kill the Imam and the other Salafists to avenge them.”
“Brilliant. I can only repeat myself.”
“However, the angle with the crucifix on the playing cards wasn’t part of the plan. No idea why Hauke planted them at the scenes. The situation would have almost gotten out of control.”
The Commissioner turns the pages of the informer’s file. “Well, here in the medical test reports it says that Herr Jablonski is a character given to extremes. All or nothing, is the way they put it.”
“Hauke invests all he has into everything he does,” the Detective explains. “I tried to talk him out of the business with the poker cards. I even took him along to see the dead whorehouse manager. But the experience doesn’t seem to have gotten through to the rest of Hauke’s identities. I should have… the whole thing is… it’s really…”
“Natasha!” the Commissioner emphatically cuts in. “Stop looking so miserable. There are camera teams waiting in the lobby downstairs. The reporters want to interview you. You’re the city’s new hero.”
“Hero? You must be joking! I’ve betrayed almost everything I’ve ever believed in. All my ideals. When I started to work here…”
“Nonsense! The Ghetto scum has been taught a lesson. The Chancellor wants to see me later… and… you, too, of course. Wear a nice skirt suit with lapels wide enough for the decoration.”
“Decoration?”
“What else? Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“And Hauke?” the Detective quietly asks.
“What about him?” the Commissioner is surprised. “The public can’t ever know about him. He’s an informer…”
“…who deserves an award.”
“A drug dealer?” the Commissioner asks, not trusting his ears. “Natasha, Natasha, what are you talking about? What we need is heroic figures like you. Not some seedy pusher character. People want idols they can look up to. Who inspire them. Are you going to freshen up a little now?”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate…”
“A hint of blush and some of this new-fangled skin spray my wife’s recently started to use,” the Commissioner interrupts her. “Take my word for it, nobody has use for a broken hero.”
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt thanks to all who have supported me during the publishing process of this novella, especially my wonderful crew: Ingo, Michael, Sylvia, Ilona, Janet, and my dear mother. In memoriam to my dear father, Fritz Krepinsky.
I also send a huge thank you to my Lovelybooks rounds! It’s so great sharing with you!
In memoriam Franziska Pigulla, who has recited my novel Spreeblut with so much passion.
Best regards to everyone at Goodies, Westberlin, Oslo, Kala, and all the other Berlin cafés, where I hung out to write. SomaFM Dronezone is and will always be the best musical background when in my own (rental) home.
Like always I’m tremendously grateful to my readers, who have awarded me, an independent writer, with their trust. If you have questions or suggestions, please write to: info@nichtdiewelt.de.
Take care and stay safe!
The author
Karsten Krepinsky is a German author and lives in Berlin. He holds a PhD in biology. When not working for a start-up company in the field of neurosciences, his passion is to write mystery, sci-fi, and horror novels. A great source of inspiration to Karsten is the vibrant city of Berlin.
The translator
Karin Dufner, holder of an M.A. in American literature, has been working as a translator of fiction since 1989, seeing herself as a wanderer between the English and the German language. Her bibliography encompasses around 400 titles. Her ivory tower is located in the Düsseldorf area, Germany.