I love you. Kiss Therese and Mitzi for me-and tell them how much I love them too. My heart, my all, my everything! You have given me so much more than I ever deserved. Eternally yours, Oskar
“Do you think it's enough?” asked Rheinhardt.
“If you had time enough to write a whole book,” Liebermann replied, “you could not say more.”
“Perhaps you would like to…”
Rheinhardt offered Liebermann the notebook-but the young doctor did not take it. What could he write, and to whom? There was no obvious recipient. Trezska was his lover-but were they really in love? His relationship with his father had never been very good. His mother adored him, but he always experienced her presence as vaguely suffocating. He was very fond of his youngest sister… but he could hardly write to her alone.
The imminence of death exposed an uncomfortable truth: there was no one special in his life. In his firmament, there were no stars that constellated true happiness, no bright lights to compare with Rheinhardt's wife and daughters. For a brief moment, he found himself thinking of Miss Lyd gate, of the times they had spent in her rooms discussing medicine and philosophy, of the companionate closeness they had shared.
Another piece of masonry fell.
“Hurry, Max,” Rheinhardt urged.
Attempting to conceal his embarrassment, Liebermann said, somewhat presumptuously: “Put the notebook away, Oskar-we're not going to die!”
“What makes you say that?”
“Oh, just a feeling!”
“Max, you are an exceptionally contrary fellow.” Rheinhardt put the notebook and pencil back into his pocket, adding softly: “But I hope you are right.”
“Look!” said Liebermann, pointing down.
Osterhagen had reappeared, followed by a column of boys who were bearing the weight of a long flagpole on their shoulders. They came to a halt by the statue and, guided by the lieutenant's stentorian directions, raised the pole up. Then, releasing it from the vertical, they allowed it to lean toward the ledge.
“Don't let it fall,” Osterhagen barked. “Gently… gently…”
Rheinhardt and Liebermann reached out and, grabbing the shaft, lodged the tip firmly against the central mullion.
“We're saved,” said the inspector, smiling.
Liebermann watched as Rheinhardt slid down. His landing was accompanied by cheers and boyish laughter. The young doctor followed, making an equally swift descent. Within seconds of his feet touching the ground, Liebermann was startled by a loud crash. The ledge had finally worked itself loose, and lay in pieces on the ground.
58
THE WOODMAN RELEASED THE CATCH and pulled the carcass from the metal trap. He was about to add the animal to his carrying strap when he heard the sound of an approaching carriage. Its low rumbling rapidly increased in volume, until the air reverberated with the skipping beat of galloping horses. Through the trees, he could see the vehicle hurtling down the road at breakneck speed. The driver was half-standing, lashing his geldings, a black cloak flying out horizontally from his shoulders. The incline was steep, and the carriage veered from side to side. It was a reckless, uncontrolled descent. The din diminished as the carriage passed behind the hillside; however, within seconds there was a sickening crashaugmented by an unholy chorus of terrified equine voices. This dreadful cacophony was suddenly extinguished, leaving in its wake an eerie, hollow silence.
Attaching the carcass to his strap, the woodman reset his trap and set off down the hill. He walked to the muddy road and followed the deep ruts that widened where the carriage had skidded. The ground was pitted with hoof marks and littered with ripped-up clods of black earth. The woodman trudged around the bend and saw that the parallel furrows terminated abruptly at the edge of the road.
At the bottom of a ravine was the carriage, its rear wheel still turning slowly. The horses were lying on top of each other, their heads projecting from their bodies at unnatural angles. Some distance away was the crumpled body of the driver.
The woodman continued along the road until he found a point where he could make a scrambling descent. Once he was on the floor of the ravine, he walked back and inspected the driver's body. The man wasn't breathing, and blood was oozing out of a gash at the back of his head. Working quickly, the woodman removed the gown and slung it over his shoulder. He then paused, contemplating the corpse. He tested the man's weight with one enormous hand.
Yes, he could manage it, of course he could. But it was not quite dark, and they would soon be out looking for this man-the people from the village, the people from the school.
It was unwise-an unnecessary risk.
Even so, he thought. Zhenechka will still be pleased with the black cloak.
He set off into the undergrowth, clutching his booty, and feeling somewhat regretful.
It was a shame to leave all that horse meat.
59
Frau Becker was seated on her chaise longue, a handkerchief clutched in her left hand. She was wearing a black blouse decorated with printed roses-each blossoming from a green stem with two leaves. The collar was fastened with a large oval brooch, on which raised ivory figures promenaded against a terra-cotta background. Her dress was made of satin and ended a little short of her soft doeskin boots, revealing a sliver of her maroon stockings.
Rheinhardt and Liebermann were seated opposite, while Haussmann stood by the door.
“As he poured the vinegar,” said Liebermann, “Zelenka thought that he would be observing the effect of a weak acid on a range of innocuous compounds-sugars and salts. He did not know that your husband had replaced one of the test substances with cyanide, probably potassium cyanide. When vinegar and cyanide react, they produce hydrocyanic gas-one of the most poisonous gases known to man. Zelenka would have been killed instantly-and afterward the gas would have dissipated in the atmosphere.”
Frau Becker held the handkerchief to her nose and sniffed.
“Zelenka's body was discovered by Professor Gartner, who immediately rushed to inform the headmaster. Professor Eichmann was at that moment engaged in a meeting with your husband. Some attempts to revive Zelenka were made-but these proved unsuccessful. Professor Gartner was very distressed, and the headmaster subsequently went to summon the school doctor. Your husband would have had ample opportunity to remove the cyanide-which he then disposed of on his way to Nurse Funke s lodge. Hydrocyanic gas was an inspired choice of poison. It is virtually undetectable at autopsy- apart from a little congestion in the lungs, perhaps, but nothing more. Dr. Becker had assumed that in the absence of any alternative explanation, the pathologist would conclude that Zelenka had died from an unspecified natural cause. And this-of course-is exactly what happened. However, your husband is clearly a very fastidious gentleman. Even though his plan was exceedingly clever, it was not perfect. He detected one minor flaw. Hydrocyanic gas leaves a smell in the air-a faint bitter almondlike odor-that might serve as a clue.”
Liebermann paused, and allowed the fingers of both hands to touch, each digit finding its twin in a serial sequence.
“Unfortunately, perfectionism-when taken to its extreme-is always self-defeating. You may recall that just before Zelenka s death, your husband asked you to buy him an almond tart.”
Frau Becker looked puzzled.
“Which you purchased,” Liebermann continued undeterred, “from Demel's.”
The young woman's eyes suddenly opened wide.
“How did you…,” she whispered.
“The smell of almonds in the laboratory,” Liebermann went on, “might have aroused suspicion; however, your husband reasoned that if there was an obvious source of such a smell, it would seem less conspicuous. He kept the almond tart concealed in his desk, and, while he was removing the cyanide, he deposited the pastry next to Zelenka's body.”