‘The concept of German identity … what is it?’

Fabel shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘And I don’t care. It’s a question that has caused Germany – caused the world – more grief and destruction than any other.’

‘Quite so,’ said Dorn. ‘The concept of German identity is a myth. A myth that our little Austrian house-painter amplified into a false history until Germany believed it. One of the most important lessons I have learned as a historian is that only the present exists. Only the present has an immutable, uncompromising form; the past is what we choose to make of it. History is shaped by our present, not the other way around. We have spent the last two centuries reinventing our past: reshaping our identity when all along we don’t have one. The fact is there is no German race. We are a rag-tag of Scandian and Slav, Celt, Italic and Alpine … a mishmash united by a language and a culture, not by ethnicity.’

‘What’s your point? What has this to do with these killings?’

Dorn smiled. ‘Do you believe that the god Tuisto was born from Germany’s soil? And through his three sons fathered the three pure tribes of Germans?’

‘Of course not. That’s pure myth.’

‘Do you believe in the god Wotan? Or the Norse pantheon of gods, headed by Wotan’s equivalent, Odin?’

‘No,’ answered Fabel. ‘Again that’s just mythology. Look, I don’t see that this has anything to do with …’

Again Dorn held up his hand to stop Fabel. ‘They are myths. Falsehoods. But, as you have already pointed out, believing in myths can be powerful and destructive.’ Dorn swiftly picked up the paper and threw it across to Fabel. ‘And he believes them.’

‘What?’ Fabel’s confusion was genuine. ‘Who?’

‘Your killer. Every time he kills in this manner he is making a reference …’ Dorn looked towards the ceiling, but his mind was clearly somewhere else. ‘He has spanned a thousand years … he has reached into the darkness of the past to pull out a fragment that makes sense of his present. It would be remarkable if it weren’t so obscene.’ Dorn snapped out of his reverie and looked again at Fabel.

‘Are you saying that there is some kind of mythological or historical link to these killings?’ Fabel asked.

‘The Blood Eagle.’ Dorn held Fabel’s gaze.

‘The what?’

‘The Blood Eagle. Your killer is not sexually motivated. He is religiously motivated. He is making sacrifices.’

‘Sacrifices? Blood Eagle? I’m sorry, Herr Professor, but what the hell are you talking about?’