Korper auf dem bett

Posted by Barbanne on January 31, 2002 at 21:09:34:



Mein Name ist Kapitan Francks und ich bin ein Polizist.
I am a member of the Mortkommission, or homicide squad as you would say.
The call came through early one morning. A maid starting work in a block of serviced apartments in the Wolfsplatz had discovered a double homicide and my team were assigned the case.
I arrived soon after the first bundespolizei patrolmen had secured the scene.
The block was four stories high and contained large three and four bedroom flats for the very well off. The interior design throughout was in the art decor style. I showed my idnetification to the concierge and he sent me up to the third floor.
Apartment 309.
The patrol officer met me at the door.
"Herr Kapitan Francks," the policeman snapped his heels together and saluted with his upraised arm. I returned his salute and he said, "In here Kapitan."
We passed through a small entry hall and a spacious lounge room where a maid, presumably the one who had found the bodies, was having a fit of hysterics. She was being attended to by a woman in a formal black suit.
Patting the sobbing girl on the shoulder she rose and said, "Kapitan. Thanks goodness you are here. This has never happened here before."
"And you are madam?"
"Frau Heschler, the manageress."
"Thank you madam, be assured that we will resolve this matter quickly."
"But the General....................."
"General madam, what General?"
"This apartment Herr Kapitan is that of General Von Stroyberg."
Von Stroyberg!!!! One of Der Feuhrer's bright young men, although it was rumoured that the chancellor was somewhat displeased with him of late. This, if it proved true, made the whole thing political and very, very sensitive.
"Thank you madam. Trust me, my men will be both discreet and efficient."
She nodded and the policeman led me into the master bedroom.
A temple to lust!
A huge round bed with black silken sheets. Mirrored walls and ceilings and statuary and art works of a very specific and quite erotically pornographic nature.
On the bed side by side lay two nude, dead bodies.
Both were face upward.
Von Stroyberg I recognised. A tall, lean fit man in his mid thirties. He had a surprised look on his face, eyes wide open and one arm outflung as though he might have tried to ward something or someone off and his long legs were ever so slightly apart. His cock, large as a fire hose, lay coiled over his thigh. Even slack it was monstrous. Beside him lay the toter korper of a young woman. Early twenties, small breasts crowned with large nipples, flat tummy, wide hips, generous ass, slender legs and she too was gazing wide eyed at nothing. Her frizzily curly hair was bleached a yellow brass colour although the curls above her slit showed her true mouse brown. Her mouth was agape and her tongue drooled out. Her arms were flung apart, one resting across Von Stroyberg's chest. Her legs were spread lasciviously and her petal like slit glistened with the dead man's cum.
Both the man and the woman had been shot between the eyes with a small calibre bullet. There was almost no blood.
"Who is she?" I asked the policeman.
"Barbanne," he replied, " Prostituiertees, a prostitute."

I walked around the bed studying the position of the two tote korper, dead bodies, as well as looking for anything which might prove significant.
It seemed apparent that they had very recently finished the act of copulation and were maybe lying together in quiet post coital contemplation when their killer struck. The bullet holes in both foreheads showed powder marking that suggested the muzzle of the murder weapon was only millimetres from them when fired.
The girl had penetrating blue eyes and they were fixed on a spot far beyond the ceiling above her. I looked up and those blue eyes gazed back at me from the reflection above. The third ugly black hole above her eyes looked as deadly as it had proved to be. Her open, surprised mouth was coated in bright vermillion coloured lipstick and traces of this were on Von Stroyberg's dead cock as well as his groin and stomach. "Keen little cock sucker," I thought as I looked at her with renewed interest. Dark eye shadow and heavy mascara combined with those wide open blue eyes to reinforce the impression of surprised innocence on her dead face. On closer inspection I could see the evidence of dark roots where her brassy blondeness had started to grow out. Her cunt was spread and dark lipped and dribbling Von Stroyberg's semen. It had that well used, well worn and stretched look that a woman of much older years might have been expected to display.
"Poor little tart," I thought, "out for a quick deutschmark and look where it has gotten you."
I walked around the bed, looking back at the valley between Barbanne's splayed breasts at her tummy and the pronounced venus mound of her pudenda. She was, or rather had been, a nice little package and I imagined that she would have had few problems finding a steady supply of customers. Not now though, now she was just more dead meat for the leichenhalle and her only customer appeal would be to necrophiles.
I moved on to Von Stroyberg.
"Well General," I thought, "killer fuck eh?"
I smiled at my own sick humour.
My scene examiners were all over the place by now and I had to be careful to keep out of their way as they started processing the crime. A flash bulb fired again and again as a full photographic record of the corpses in situ was made. Two girls in protective crime scene clothing were taking scrapings and swabs and measurements.
Identification was no problem as the victims' papers were in their clothing where it lay scattered across the bedroom floor. Everyone knew Von Stroyberg and the girl had made no secret of who she was. The two crime scene girls were swabbing the woman's vagina and mouth and her hands and feet had been bagged. Vermillion polish on her toe and fingernails matched her garish lipstick.
I had seen enough and left the techs to tidy up and bag and deliver the bodies.

The next time I saw them was in the city morgue.
Von Stroyberg had been done first and time of death as well as the obvious cause had been established with no major surprises.
I had stood and watched as the girl had been photographed again, measured, inspected and then slit open, her breasts peeled away like an overgarment and then her guts had been removed and inspected and weighed and commented on. Her bullet wound had been inspected very closely and my theory that she had been shot at extremely close range was confirmed. Her face had been folded forward and the top of her skull removed, allowing the pathologists to examine her wrecked brain and track the bullet path through it.
Now she lay in front of me, reassembled and hastily and crudely stitched together and she looked violated but peaceful.
I had seen all there was to see.

I had a problem.
Der Feuhrer was in a rage.
One of his bright young Generals murdered along with a common prostitute.
It was not good publicity for a country needing all the good news it could get.
He had demanded that the killer be brought to immediate justice.
We were all working flat out.
Theories of Yankee assassins and quislings in the ranks abounded.
A thought had formed in my mind way back where unbidden theories lurk.
What, I wondered, if Von Stroyberg instead of being the primary target was the unfortunate victim who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A man whose death was decided by the bed partner he had chosen.
I researched the woman Barbanne.
Call girl to the stars.
Or so it appeared.
I studied her diaries and her appointment books and talked to the other prostitutes with whom she worked. One highly interesting fact emerged. Some six weeks before she turned up dead in Von Stroyberg's bed she had had an evening with Herr X, an appointment she had illustrated in her book with a swastika and five stars. I talked to her friends and colleagues questioning them relentlessly. It finally came out, admitted by another girl called Gretchen. On the night in question Barbanne had been summoned to the bed of the Supreme Commander, the Chancellor, Der Feuhrer himself, to help him with a problem he had with women in general and women in bed in particular. According to Gretchen, Barbanne had a keen sense of the ridiculous and could be very cuttingly cruel with those she found to be silly or incompetent. Gretchen did not know what exactly had occurred but she did know the evening was a disaster. Barbanne said nothing about it but did laugh when asked how it had been to bed the most powerful man in Europe.
I knew enough.

I requested a meeting with the Chancellor and told him that it was my belief that Von Stroyberg was not the intended victim, that the prostitute Barbanne was, that someone she cuckolded or someone whom she had crossed had been responsible for slaying her and then the General. I requested permission to dig deeper, to access all records and identify the person responsible for ordering this young woman's death.
I was told I was on the wrong track.
I insisted that what I surmised was correct.
The next day I was removed from the case and it was shut down.

Today I was informed that I am to be attached to a Military Police unit going to the Russian Front.