to grow in the bright blue iris of each corrupt eye, and her smile was no longer wholly confident as I hauled up her skirt and started to tug her pants down.
‘Oh, I could tell you lots of stories like that,’ I said darkly. ‘The sort of stories that policemen tell their daughters. Horrible gruesome stories that give girls the kind of nightmares which their fathers can be glad of.’
‘Stop it,’ she laughed nervously. ‘You’re frightening me.’ Certain now that things weren’t going quite to plan, she reached desperately for her pants as I yanked them down her legs, exposing the fledgling that nestled in her groin.
‘They’re glad because it means that their pretty little daughters will be much too scared to ever go into a strange man’s house, just in case he should turn into a wicked troll.’
‘Please, mister, don’t,’ she said.
I smacked her bare bottom and pushed her away.
‘So it’s lucky for you, princess, that I’m a detective and not a troll, otherwise you’d be ketchup.’
‘You’re a policeman?’ she gulped, tears welling up in her eyes.
‘That’s right, I’m a policeman. And if I ever find you playing the apprentice snapper again, I’ll see to it that your father takes a stick to you, understand?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, and quickly pulled up her pants.
I picked up the pile of old shirts and towels from where I had dropped them on the floor, and pushed them into her arms.
‘Now get out of here before I do the job myself.’ She ran into the hall and out of the apartment in terror, as if I had been Niebelung himself.
After I’d closed the door on her, the smell and touch of that delicious little body, and the frustrated desire of it, remained with me for as long as it took to pour myself a drink and take a cold bath.
That September it seemed that passion everywhere, already smouldering like a rotten fuse-box, was easily ignited, and I wished that the hot blood of Sudeten Germans in Czechoslovakia could have been as easily dealt with as was my own excitation.
As a bull you learn to expect an increase in crime during hot weather. In January and February even the most desperate criminals stay home in front of the fire.
Reading Professor Berg’s book, The Sadist, later on that same day, I wondered how many lives had been saved simply because it was too cold or too wet for Kürten to venture out of doors, Still, nine murders, seven attempted murders and forty acts of arson was an impressive enough record.
According to Berg, Kürten, the product of a violent home, had come to crime at an early age, committing a string of petty larcenies and enduring several periods of imprisonment until, at the age of thirty-eight, he had married a woman of strong character. He had always had sadistic impulses, being inclined to torture cats and other dumb animals, and now he was obliged to keep these tendencies in a mental straitjacket. But when his wife was not at home Kiirten’s evil demon at times grew too powerful to restrain, and he was driven to commit the terrible and sadistic crimes for which he was to become infamous.
This sadism was sexual in its origin, Berg explained. Kürten’s home circumstances had rendered him predisposed to a deviation of the sexual urge, and his early experiences had all helped to condition the direction of that urge.
In the twelve months that separated Kurten’s capture and his execution, Berg had met frequently with Kürten and found him to be a man of notable character and talent. He was possessed of considerable charm and intelligence, an excellent memory and keen powers of observation. Indeed, Berg was moved to remark upon the man’s accessibility. Another outstanding characteristic was Kurten’s vanity, which manifested itself in his smart, well-cared for appearance and in his delight at having outwitted the Dusseldorf police for as long as he had cared to do so.
Berg’s conclusion was not a particularly comfortable one for any
‘Oh, I could tell you lots of stories like that,’ I said darkly. ‘The sort of stories that policemen tell their daughters. Horrible gruesome stories that give girls the kind of nightmares which their fathers can be glad of.’
‘Stop it,’ she laughed nervously. ‘You’re frightening me.’ Certain now that things weren’t going quite to plan, she reached desperately for her pants as I yanked them down her legs, exposing the fledgling that nestled in her groin.
‘They’re glad because it means that their pretty little daughters will be much too scared to ever go into a strange man’s house, just in case he should turn into a wicked troll.’
‘Please, mister, don’t,’ she said.
I smacked her bare bottom and pushed her away.
‘So it’s lucky for you, princess, that I’m a detective and not a troll, otherwise you’d be ketchup.’
‘You’re a policeman?’ she gulped, tears welling up in her eyes.
‘That’s right, I’m a policeman. And if I ever find you playing the apprentice snapper again, I’ll see to it that your father takes a stick to you, understand?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, and quickly pulled up her pants.
I picked up the pile of old shirts and towels from where I had dropped them on the floor, and pushed them into her arms.
‘Now get out of here before I do the job myself.’ She ran into the hall and out of the apartment in terror, as if I had been Niebelung himself.
After I’d closed the door on her, the smell and touch of that delicious little body, and the frustrated desire of it, remained with me for as long as it took to pour myself a drink and take a cold bath.
That September it seemed that passion everywhere, already smouldering like a rotten fuse-box, was easily ignited, and I wished that the hot blood of Sudeten Germans in Czechoslovakia could have been as easily dealt with as was my own excitation.
As a bull you learn to expect an increase in crime during hot weather. In January and February even the most desperate criminals stay home in front of the fire.
Reading Professor Berg’s book, The Sadist, later on that same day, I wondered how many lives had been saved simply because it was too cold or too wet for Kürten to venture out of doors, Still, nine murders, seven attempted murders and forty acts of arson was an impressive enough record.
According to Berg, Kürten, the product of a violent home, had come to crime at an early age, committing a string of petty larcenies and enduring several periods of imprisonment until, at the age of thirty-eight, he had married a woman of strong character. He had always had sadistic impulses, being inclined to torture cats and other dumb animals, and now he was obliged to keep these tendencies in a mental straitjacket. But when his wife was not at home Kiirten’s evil demon at times grew too powerful to restrain, and he was driven to commit the terrible and sadistic crimes for which he was to become infamous.
This sadism was sexual in its origin, Berg explained. Kürten’s home circumstances had rendered him predisposed to a deviation of the sexual urge, and his early experiences had all helped to condition the direction of that urge.
In the twelve months that separated Kurten’s capture and his execution, Berg had met frequently with Kürten and found him to be a man of notable character and talent. He was possessed of considerable charm and intelligence, an excellent memory and keen powers of observation. Indeed, Berg was moved to remark upon the man’s accessibility. Another outstanding characteristic was Kurten’s vanity, which manifested itself in his smart, well-cared for appearance and in his delight at having outwitted the Dusseldorf police for as long as he had cared to do so.
Berg’s conclusion was not a particularly comfortable one for any
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