The Soul Breaker by Sebastian Fitzek

Author:Sebastian Fitzek [Fitzek, Sebastian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838934569
Published: 2021-08-04T23:00:00+00:00

2:18 a.m.

‘Mr Ed,’ Yasmin groaned.

Caspar, who had come to the same conclusion, felt ashamed because the sight of the mutilated creature left him completely unmoved.

Perhaps it was only a stray. Perhaps it isn’t Mr Ed at all, he thought, trying to appease his guilty conscience. Perhaps he was reacting so unemotionally because he’d been expecting something far worse.

No, it isn’t that.

‘Shall we take it out of there?’ Bachmann asked irresolutely.

It doesn’t add up.

‘The Soul Breaker cut off his paws, didn’t he?’ Yasmin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dog’s remains. She didn’t seem to mind the sickening smell, either, because she bent even lower over the chest. Much to his unspoken relief, Caspar had to make room for her.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘the skin has been pulled over its right ear and its paws are missing. Good God, what kind of sick pervert would do such a thing?’

‘Rassfeld,’ said Bachmann. To the nurse’s horror, he extracted a flat bone from the chest. ‘Here, take a look.’

Yasmin and Schadeck stared at the porter in bewilderment.

‘This is the dog’s hip bone. Rassfeld sawed it off personally, but there’s nothing perverted about it.’

Caspar nodded. He was beginning to understand why he’d remained so unmoved. Why he hadn’t mourned Mr Ed’s death. It was because…

‘It isn’t Mr Ed at all,’ said Bachmann. ‘Rassfeld sometimes works down here with his students, as I told you. This was a demonstration piece.’ He tossed the bone back into the chest and shut the lid. ‘The dog was run over. A vet supplied it to us.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘You didn’t look closely enough, Yasmin. Mr Ed was a mongrel, this one’s a Labrador, and the stuff that smells so bad is formalin. The animal’s floating in it, it’s completely bloodless – all its bodily fluids have been replaced. Even if the Soul Breaker is a taxidermist, he couldn’t have done all that in the time.’

‘B-but…’ Yasmin said haltingly. ‘What’s he trying to tell us?’

‘Nothing. Don’t you understand. He wants to—’

‘—kill us,’ said Greta from the other end of the room. It didn’t sound like her voice at all. She was whispering now.

Everyone turned to look at her. No one asked any questions – it wasn’t necessary. The ninth refrigerated locker, now open, demonstrated what the old lady had been doing while they were wasting time on a dog’s cadaver.

‘Is he… I mean, is that him?’ Greta asked, pointing down. She no longer looked undaunted. Her forehead was deeply furrowed and her complexion had taken on a greenish tinge in the merciless overhead lighting. Caspar was afraid she would be sick. Then, as he took a step towards her, he revised his opinion: she would probably be all right, but he wasn’t so sure about himself. He gulped to keep down the meagre contents of his stomach, which were already trying to force their way up his gullet. Then he looked more closely at the head protruding from the lowest refrigerated locker.

Yes, it was him.

Rassfeld hadn’t been a good-looking man in life, but death had made a monster of him.

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