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Apr. 14th, 2007 03:15 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
axmxz.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
revolution_but"Ladies and gentlemen... we found him."
Or rather, my husband found him, in a story posted on one of the boards he frequents.
Apparently, as inventive as I thought I was getting with my Javert, life had got there first. I present to you Heiko Artkaemper, a German federal prosecutor, the "boss" of the capital crime section of Dortmund for the past fifteen years.
Here is the story.
(all original orthography has been preserved; the bolding is mine)
--------------------------------------------------
About two years ago I was emporarily working at the Prosecutors' Office in some German city. Being a lawyer in training a.k.a. an asshole in the making I was exposed to illustrous classes on a regular basis.
The classes in criminal law / procedure were held by a guy named Heiko Artkaemper. He's public domain enough, so naming names shouldn't cause any harm here. Plus, he's vain enough to be glad I told this story.
The man is quite a character, a mush of Colombo, Sunny Crockett, and Jack fucking Sparrow. Imagine a slightly dishevelled haggard 2-metres-tall insanely intense Gypsy look-alike, with a constant 5 o'clock shadow, and an Einsteinian shock of jet-black hair. The man lived on coffe and filterless Gauloises, wore insanely expensive suits fashionable waaay back in the 80's, when he was weighing about 20 kilo more from the looks of it, drove a British-racing-green Jaguar and fucked hot chicks half his age.
He was also married to his job, divorced from his original wife, and slightly insane. Usually there is a heavy personnel rotation in the more demanding sections of the prosecuting authorities, with single prosecutors rarely staying more than 2 years in a particularlu "hot" department. I thought it to be wimpy, but then I got my hands on some rather sensitive intranet passwords that allowed me to browse the archives of the sexual and paedo crime sub-section. Mind me, there was only court correspondence, mostly charges, no pictures, such hard evdence is filed as hard-copy, so what I read was second-hand accounts only.
It was enough to justify some stiff drinking that day.
Artkaemper is the boss of the capital crime a.k.a. "corpse" section for 15 years straight now. Tough nigger, this.
So the dogg shows up at what looks like a particularly freaky crime scene. Some fire-fighters were summoned to a fire in a cheap apartment block right opposite a strip-club in the more sleazy area of the city. They were in quite a shock, when upon extinguishing the fire they stumbled over a charred, smoldering corpse, sizzling with roasting fat, his wrists and ankles chained to the iron bed and the remains of a plastic sheet welded into his back.
The dental records and a sobbing woman with mascara smears all over a cheap face identified him as some corporate top-shot. A top-shot of weird tastes, for he liked to meet his I-don't-recall-whore-or-lover in such sleazy joints and fucking the weird way. His latest kink, according to the chick, was mutually spilling gasoline all over each other, while being blind-folded and bondaged. The gasoline cooling his skin gave him a hard-on, plus he got high on the fumes.
As you can imagine, this is a STRICTLY non-smoking kink.
And as you have already guessed, something went terriby wrong.
The chick claimed stupidity, or a spark from the electric installation, again, I don't remember. Our prosecutor's warning bells kicked off, so, just in case, he started a murder investigation.
Some time ago he jailed an evasive whore killer, and was in pristine terms with the local scene (claimed to have a "VIP discount" all over the red light district). So he went Bogart and boozed himself all the way into the darkest dens of depravation, catching the latest gossips from dominas and submissives alike.
The woman was charged with murder.
Now imagine the court hearing. You have a prosecutor, as pictured above plus the Batman cape of his trade, reading the extensively researched charges to general public (the case was pretty high-profile), citing the most illustrous patrons and workers of the strip-club next to the fire site as witnesses and describing in extenso the pecularities of the "gasoline fetish".
As it turns out, this was at the time the newest rage in the fetish scene, and it worked roughly as already described. But, Your Honors, the quantities of gasoline usually sufficient for a sexual act are measured in thimbles, maybe shot glasses, but NOT one-litre-bottles as in the case in question. Of course the defendant burst out with a fit of "how the FUCK can you cite this, without summoning some experts" (and well, good luck finding credible experts for THIS topic).
Artkaemper replied with a calm "Because I practiced this shit for a whole week with my woman".
The court went ape.
Now, that was the version of the story he told us in our first class. Initially, I didn't buy it, for it lacked the "Vietnam-vet" thousand-mile-stare, starting with the stench of fat sizzling over burning plastic he told it like a hilarious stand-up act. Then I visited his office once. It was under a false name tag ("To avoid visits from my customers, but y'know, the stupid janitor will SHOW you the fucking room if you ask him to") and sported an original church pulpit, crosses and all ("Lower back problems. A prison priest buddy of mine had a spare one").
And a whole fucking wall was plastered with newspaper clips, cut out of every major paper around. Half of them were moderate daily papers, focussing on the dubiosity of the guy's methods, and the "instrumentalization" of his (by now ex-) wife. The other half were tabloids, screaming havoc in font size 700 about the PERVERTED PROSECUTOR'S PETROL PRANKS, SICK SEX STORIES IN STATE SERVICE and the likes.
This story doesn't have a point, or a pointe, besides the fact that whenever I smell gasoline, I can't help but see this guy:
--------------------------------------------------
And in case you still have doubts:
Pardon me while I pass out from the awesome.
Or rather, my husband found him, in a story posted on one of the boards he frequents.
Apparently, as inventive as I thought I was getting with my Javert, life had got there first. I present to you Heiko Artkaemper, a German federal prosecutor, the "boss" of the capital crime section of Dortmund for the past fifteen years.
Here is the story.
(all original orthography has been preserved; the bolding is mine)
--------------------------------------------------
About two years ago I was emporarily working at the Prosecutors' Office in some German city. Being a lawyer in training a.k.a. an asshole in the making I was exposed to illustrous classes on a regular basis.
The classes in criminal law / procedure were held by a guy named Heiko Artkaemper. He's public domain enough, so naming names shouldn't cause any harm here. Plus, he's vain enough to be glad I told this story.
The man is quite a character, a mush of Colombo, Sunny Crockett, and Jack fucking Sparrow. Imagine a slightly dishevelled haggard 2-metres-tall insanely intense Gypsy look-alike, with a constant 5 o'clock shadow, and an Einsteinian shock of jet-black hair. The man lived on coffe and filterless Gauloises, wore insanely expensive suits fashionable waaay back in the 80's, when he was weighing about 20 kilo more from the looks of it, drove a British-racing-green Jaguar and fucked hot chicks half his age.
He was also married to his job, divorced from his original wife, and slightly insane. Usually there is a heavy personnel rotation in the more demanding sections of the prosecuting authorities, with single prosecutors rarely staying more than 2 years in a particularlu "hot" department. I thought it to be wimpy, but then I got my hands on some rather sensitive intranet passwords that allowed me to browse the archives of the sexual and paedo crime sub-section. Mind me, there was only court correspondence, mostly charges, no pictures, such hard evdence is filed as hard-copy, so what I read was second-hand accounts only.
It was enough to justify some stiff drinking that day.
Artkaemper is the boss of the capital crime a.k.a. "corpse" section for 15 years straight now. Tough nigger, this.
So the dogg shows up at what looks like a particularly freaky crime scene. Some fire-fighters were summoned to a fire in a cheap apartment block right opposite a strip-club in the more sleazy area of the city. They were in quite a shock, when upon extinguishing the fire they stumbled over a charred, smoldering corpse, sizzling with roasting fat, his wrists and ankles chained to the iron bed and the remains of a plastic sheet welded into his back.
The dental records and a sobbing woman with mascara smears all over a cheap face identified him as some corporate top-shot. A top-shot of weird tastes, for he liked to meet his I-don't-recall-whore-or-lover in such sleazy joints and fucking the weird way. His latest kink, according to the chick, was mutually spilling gasoline all over each other, while being blind-folded and bondaged. The gasoline cooling his skin gave him a hard-on, plus he got high on the fumes.
As you can imagine, this is a STRICTLY non-smoking kink.
And as you have already guessed, something went terriby wrong.
The chick claimed stupidity, or a spark from the electric installation, again, I don't remember. Our prosecutor's warning bells kicked off, so, just in case, he started a murder investigation.
Some time ago he jailed an evasive whore killer, and was in pristine terms with the local scene (claimed to have a "VIP discount" all over the red light district). So he went Bogart and boozed himself all the way into the darkest dens of depravation, catching the latest gossips from dominas and submissives alike.
The woman was charged with murder.
Now imagine the court hearing. You have a prosecutor, as pictured above plus the Batman cape of his trade, reading the extensively researched charges to general public (the case was pretty high-profile), citing the most illustrous patrons and workers of the strip-club next to the fire site as witnesses and describing in extenso the pecularities of the "gasoline fetish".
As it turns out, this was at the time the newest rage in the fetish scene, and it worked roughly as already described. But, Your Honors, the quantities of gasoline usually sufficient for a sexual act are measured in thimbles, maybe shot glasses, but NOT one-litre-bottles as in the case in question. Of course the defendant burst out with a fit of "how the FUCK can you cite this, without summoning some experts" (and well, good luck finding credible experts for THIS topic).
Artkaemper replied with a calm "Because I practiced this shit for a whole week with my woman".
The court went ape.
Now, that was the version of the story he told us in our first class. Initially, I didn't buy it, for it lacked the "Vietnam-vet" thousand-mile-stare, starting with the stench of fat sizzling over burning plastic he told it like a hilarious stand-up act. Then I visited his office once. It was under a false name tag ("To avoid visits from my customers, but y'know, the stupid janitor will SHOW you the fucking room if you ask him to") and sported an original church pulpit, crosses and all ("Lower back problems. A prison priest buddy of mine had a spare one").
And a whole fucking wall was plastered with newspaper clips, cut out of every major paper around. Half of them were moderate daily papers, focussing on the dubiosity of the guy's methods, and the "instrumentalization" of his (by now ex-) wife. The other half were tabloids, screaming havoc in font size 700 about the PERVERTED PROSECUTOR'S PETROL PRANKS, SICK SEX STORIES IN STATE SERVICE and the likes.
This story doesn't have a point, or a pointe, besides the fact that whenever I smell gasoline, I can't help but see this guy:
--------------------------------------------------
And in case you still have doubts:
Pardon me while I pass out from the awesome.
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-14 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-14 11:23 pm (UTC)What a guy.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-15 02:50 pm (UTC)It's a shame more cops aren't like this; but then I suppose that is a large part of their appeal. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-04-15 05:12 pm (UTC)