Free The Werewolf of Bamberg by Oliver Pötzsch Page A

many other buildings in the lane, the house seemed no longer occupied. Its windows were nothing but dark, gaping holes. The dead girl didn’t look more than sixteen or seventeen, with long red hair that encircled her head like a flame. She was wearing nothing but a simple, close-fitting linen dress, now torn and soaked with blood. Her throat was slit wide open and her eyes stared blankly into the night sky.
    “Do you see the yellow scarf?” Bartholomäus pointed to a piece of cloth crumpled up in a corner. “The sign of the Bamberg prostitutes. The Green Market is nearby in the Rosengasse, and that’s where the prostitutes usually ply their trade. Evidently the girl and her client weren’t able to agree on the price.”
    “And for that he slits her throat?”
    Bartholomäus shrugged. “These things happen. In former days the executioner here in Bamberg was concerned about the prostitutes and protected them, but in recent years the women do that themselves. I keep telling them they ought to at least work under the protection of the whorehouse on Frauengasse, but some just want to work for themselves.” He examined the corpse. “I’m sure I’ve seen this one here before. Had her nose up in the air and took only rich clients.” He looked down at her with contempt. “Well, she certainly was pretty, and it’s too bad what happened to her.”
    Jakob Kuisl bent down and scrutinized the cut on her throat. It wasn’t smooth but ragged, as if the wound had been inflicted by a heavy tool or a claw, and blood was still seeping out. The Schongau hangman noticed a strange, barely perceptible odor that reminded him of the urine of predatory animals and wet dogs.
    “That’s strange,” he mumbled. “The wound is actually too large to have been made by a knife. It’s almost as if an animal—”
    “Now you’re starting in with that, too!” Bartholomäus groaned.
    Without answering him, Jakob took the lantern from his brother’s hand, went up the steps again, and examined the ground. He bent down and held up a piece of the young woman’s ripped clothing.
    “She was probably attacked here,” he said to his brother, who had come along behind him. Jakob pointed to some prints in the muddy ground. “There was a struggle, the girl ran . . .” He hesitated. “No, that’s not right. Look at the marks on the ground here. Evidently the murderer struck her down, grabbed her by the arms . . .” He returned to the steps. “Then he carried her down the steps and calmly slit her throat. But this odor . . .” Kuisl shook his head, trying to figure out what it was. He couldn’t think what these smells reminded him of.
    Except what was the most obvious, and at the same time the most improbable . . .
    “What odor? I can’t smell anything—but you always had a better nose for these things.” Bartholomäus shook his head. “In any case, she’s dead. We’ll have to alert the guards.” He stumbled over one of the splintered staves. “Damn it, they’ll probably make us take the girl to the potter’s field outside the city in my cart. We’ll have to forget about the horse carcass,” he added, hobbling away. “So let’s get over to the guardhouse near city hall as soon as we can and let them know. The sooner we can get this behind us, the better.”
    Jakob took a close look at his brother. He was puzzled about the rush. It seemed to him that for some reason Bartholomäus wanted to put this matter to rest as quickly as possible. Did he fear the criticism of the guards? Once again Jakob looked down the staircase, where the poor woman was lying in her own blood. Then, with a grim expression, he followed the light of his brother’s lantern.
    It looked like they’d be transporting not a horse cadaver but the corpse of a young girl through the city. It couldn’t be said that the auspices for his brother’s wedding were favorable.

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    T HE HOUSE OF THE B AMBERG HANGMAN , MORNING , O CTOBER 27, 1668 AD
    W HEN