The Bat(61)

The guillotine was raised again and the drum roll started, getting louder and louder as the lights were lowered.

Watkins leaned over. ‘So blondes get killed on the stage, too?’

The drum roll continued. Harry looked around: people were on the edge of their seats; some were bent forward with gaping mouths, others had their hands over their ears. Generations of people had sat like that for more than a hundred years, allowing themselves to be delighted and terrified by the same show. As if in answer to his thoughts, Watkins leaned over again.

‘Violence is like Coca-Cola and the Bible. A classic.’

Still the drum roll continued, and Harry noticed this was taking time. It hadn’t taken so long for the blade to fall before, had it? The executioner was worried; he shuffled forward and peered up at the top of the guillotine, as if there were something wrong. Then all of a sudden, without anyone doing anything apparently, the blade whizzed down. Harry stiffened involuntarily, and a gasp went through the auditorium as the blade hit the neck. The drum stopped at once, and the head fell to the floor with a thud. A deafening silence followed, before a scream rent the air from somewhere in front of Watkins and Harry. Alarm spread around the theatre and Harry squinted through the gloom to see what was going on. All he could see was the executioner backing away.

‘Oh my God!’ Watkins whispered.

A sound emanated from the stage, as though someone was clapping. Then Harry saw. From the neckband of the beheaded Queen a spine protruded like a white worm, slowly nodding the head up and down. Blood was spurting from the gaping hole and splashing onto the stage.

‘He knew we were coming!’ Watkins whispered. ‘He knew we were onto him! He even dressed up as one of his fucking rape victims!’ He leaned into Harry’s face. ‘Shit, shit, shit, Holy!’

Harry didn’t know what was making him feel so queasy, whether it was the blood, the tasteless collocation of ‘fucking’ with ‘rape victims’, or simply the man’s evil breath.

A red pool had formed which the executioner skidded in as he, apparently still in shock, ran forward to pick up the head. He fell to the floor with a bang, and two of the clowns ran onto the stage screaming at each other.

‘Get the lights on!’

‘Up with the curtain!’

Two of the other clowns ran on with the stage curtain and all four stood looking at one another and the high ceiling. A shout was heard from behind the stage, there was a flash from the lighting rig and a loud bang, and the theatre descended into total darkness.

‘This stinks, Holy. Come on!’ Watkins grabbed Harry’s arm and made to move.

‘Sit down,’ Harry whispered, pulling him back into his seat.

‘What?’

The lights came on, and the stage, which only a few seconds before had been a mess of blood, heads, guillotines, clowns and curtains, was empty, apart from the executioner and Otto Rechtnagel who stood at the edge of the stage with the Queen’s blonde head under his arm. They were met with a roar of wild cheering from the audience, to which they responded with deep bows.

‘Well, bugger me,’ said Watkins.





28


The Hunter


IN THE INTERVAL Watkins permitted himself a beer. ‘That number almost did for me,’ he said. ‘I’m still bloody trembling. Perhaps we should get the bastard now. This waiting is making me nervous.’

Harry shrugged. ‘Why? He’s not going anywhere, and he doesn’t suspect anything. Let’s stick to the plan.’

Watkins discreetly pressed the walkie-talkie to check he was in contact with Lebie, who, to be on the safe side, had stayed seated in the auditorium. The police car was already in position at the back door.

Harry had to concede that the finessing of the guillotine number was effective, but he was still pondering why Otto had exchanged Louis XVI for the blonde woman no one would have identified. Perhaps he had counted on Harry using the free tickets and being present. Was this his way of playing with the police? Harry knew that it was not unusual for serial killers to feel more and more confident as time passed without an arrest. Or was he begging for someone to stop him? And of course there was a third possibility – they had quite simply modified the trick.

A bell rang.

‘Here we go again,’ Watkins said. ‘I hope no one else will be killed this evening.’

Some way into the second act Otto appeared dressed as a hunter and crept across the stage with a pistol in his hand while peering up into trees that had been rolled in on wheels. From the foliage came some birdsong which Otto tried to imitate as he took aim at the branches. The crack of a gun was heard, a small puff of smoke rose and something black fell and hit the stage with a thump. The hunter ran over and to his surprise lifted up a black cat! Otto took a deep bow and left the stage to scattered applause.