The Killing of Emma Gross
Based on a true crime – the unsolved brutal murder of Düsseldorf prostitute Emma Gross – and the story of notorious serial killer Peter Kürten – the so-called “Vampire of Düsseldorf” – The Killing of Emma Gross is a gripping police thriller set during the dying days of Weimar Republic Germany.
Detective Thomas Klein's career is going nowhere until he gets a tip-off leading to the Ripper's arrest. But the killer's confession to the hooker's murder is full of holes, and Klein soon comes to believe this is one murder the killer didn't commit. Motivated by spite, ambition, or maybe even a long-buried sense of justice, finding out who really killed Emma Gross becomes Klein's obsession. Particularly when the evidence begins to point closer to home…
Part historical police procedural, part true crime thriller, The Killing of Emma Gross will particularly appeal to fans of Philip Kerr (the Bernie Gunther novels) and Andrea Maria Schenkel (The Murder Farm). Fans of Child 44, James Ellroy’s LA Quartet and Christopher Isherwood’s Berlin novels are also in for a treat. As is anyone else hankering for a damn good mystery.
bandage on my face. Finally, I cleared my throat. 'She's not buried,' I said, nodding at the shovel. 'Why did you tell me to bring this?' 'You'll see.' The Ripper's smile deepened as he crooked a finger and beckoned me to follow him still further into hell. 'Wait!' I called. He stopped and turned back, a puzzled look on his face. I made it to my feet and handed him the shovel. 'Not yet,' I told him. I knelt beside the girl's body and reached for my satchel. Which wasn't there, of course.
panties and blood-caked little faces everywhere. And Ritter, leaning back in the interview room needling me over withholding evidence when all he'd had to do was let me at Kürten from the start and then at least we could have found the girl earlier. At least that. Du Pont grabbed my right arm. I glared at him but he was looking at me with concern. Damn guts playing up again; must've shown on my face. 'So come on Tom,' he said, 'what did happen to your ugly mug? Is it anything to do with this St
to get information out of him. 'Seems well preserved,' I said. 'Kürten said she'd been in the ground since last summer.' 'It's the loamy earth, mostly. Lack of air, lack of worms, slowed decomposition no end. Also, you see this wax-like texture to the skin?' I nodded. 'Adipocere. It's an effect produced by certain bacteria that break down the tissue. Converts all the fatty acids to this.' He chuckled again. I wondered what he was laughing at, then decided it probably wouldn't help to know.
place. I put back the latch and tried to make it look as though it was still fastened to the wall. I had a matter of hours, at most, until someone discovered my two prisoners. A matter of hours would just have to do. Maybe then I could come back and find out who this green man was. 16 When I got back to Mühlenstrasse, the Schupo at the door took one look at my dust-covered clothes and barred my way. I had to show him my ID before he'd stand aside. Even then, the salute he threw me was
for Brandt at the Gerresheim Hospital down the road, too. By then it was after six am and I had a nice, ripe headache to lay beside my sore throat. Sick of walking at that point, I threw prudence to the wolves and took a cab south. Twenty-five minutes of desultory cabbie talk about the economy later, we pulled up outside the Moorenstrasse entrance on the north side of the academy hospital complex. I went in, found the main reception and repeated my now over-familiar spiel about Brandt. A