He sounded ashamed of himself, as though it were cowardice to wish to survive.
"Yes, we do," Vilmos said. “We all feel this way."
"So what happened two weeks ago when you talked to Franz?" I asked.
"I saw him walk by, and I snapped. I wanted to hurt him, maybe even kill him, but all I ended up doing was cursing him a little. Once I had vented some of my anger, I could see he was a victim too, just like Bruno. An innocent boy being put through hell. So I just walked away, thinking I was a dead man."
"Why would you think that?"
"I was sure Franz would tell the Lageralteste about me and the way I’d talked to him. I figured I'd soon get a visit from his goons, maybe the son of a bitch himself.
I thought of killing myself beforehand, figuring it would be an easier death, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Which was lucky, because Franz never breathed a word about me to the Lageralteste. Not only that, but he came to see me two days later to tell me I had nothing to worry about. To say how sorry he was about Bruno. We talked for a while. He told me about himself, and I told him about Bruno. And the day after that, he brought me some bread.”
A surge of excitement sizzled over my skin. "Why did he do that?”
"I told him how Bruno used to bring me bread, so Franz said he would do the same. In Bruno’s memory. Franz was a terrific boy. Every couple of days he would bring me a piece. You can imagine how much it helped. It was terrible what the Lageralteste did to him, what he did to Bruno and all the boys who came before.”
"Yes, it was,” I said. "I’m sorry about your nephew.”
"Bruno was a great kid. A beautiful kid. It would have been better for him if he’d been ugly. The way the Lageralteste treated him, the things he made him do, it would have been better for Bruno if he’d died. But he couldn’t die, which was my fault.”
"How so?" Vilmos asked.
Konrad’s jaw tightened. He was angry. Angry at himself. "Because as long as I lived, Bruno couldn’t kill himself, which I could tell he wanted to do. The Lageralteste had made it clear that if Bruno took his own life, I would be killed in the most horrible fashion. Apparently, one of the previous boys had done just that—escaped the Lageralteste the only way possible, by committing suicide. So after that, the Lageralteste made sure his boys knew that if they dared kill themselves, their families and friends would pay dearly.”
Which reminded me of what the Lageralteste had told me after I had persuaded him to spare Pista, the innocent prisoner with the bloody shirt. The Lageralteste had said that if I failed to find the real killer, he would brutally kill both Vilmos and me, and if either of us committed suicide beforehand, he would kill ten other prisoners in our place.
He must have made a similar threat to Franz. But who had he threatened to kill? I realized with horror that one of the people had to be Ludwig, the same man who had betrayed Franz. Only Franz hadn’t known that. He’d believed Ludwig was his closest friend. The Lageralteste must have gotten a real kick out of playing this cruel trick on Franz.
This was why Franz had told Ludwig to never talk to him again. And also why he’d sent a message to Aliz that she should forget about him. He had been trying to distance himself from them, to protect them.
I realized two other things, too. The first was that when Otto had told me that the Lageralteste had not killed all his boys, he had been thinking about the boy who had killed himself, not about Franz. The second was the answer to one of the questions that had been bothering me.
"You and Franz were supposed to meet the day he died, weren’t you?" I asked.
Konrad nodded. "He was supposed to bring me some bread, but I was ordered to go fix a broken wall in the quarantine camp. I’m a carpenter, you see. I missed our meeting, and only got back here at dinnertime. I looked for Franz, but I couldn’t find him. I figured he’d come see me the next day, but then I heard he was dead."
"You said he would bring you a single piece of bread. Was that always the case?”
"Yeah. He apologized a few times about it—said he was scared to bring more because someone might notice it gone. Like I said, he was a terrific boy. A brave boy."
My mind was racing, assumptions crumbling one by one like buildings in an aerial bombardment. It was disorienting, like being flipped over and having to look at the world upside down. My heart was skittering. I had to slow it down just to be able to begin examining the facts from a new angle.
"Are you all right, Adam?" Vilmos asked.
I nodded slowly. “I think so. I think it all finally makes sense."
35
We bade Konrad goodbye. He shook our hands and wished us all the best, and then Vilmos and I were alone again.
Vilmos said, “You know what happened, don’t you? You know who killed Franz?”
"Yes. I think I do."
"You’re not sure?"
"I’m almost sure. It’s just nothing like what I’d expected."
"So who is it? Who’s the murderer?”
I told him. I explained my reasoning. At first Vilmos was skeptical, but gradually he became as convinced as I was.
"But why would he do that?" Vilmos asked.
I thought I knew the answer, but I could not be entirely certain.
"What’s important, Vilmos, is that you stay out of it. I’m going to do this alone.”
"Do what?"
"Talk to him."
"What good would that do? It would only put you in danger. He might kill you, Adam."
"Perhaps. Which is why I want you as far away as possible. But I need to know for sure. It’s foolish, I realize that, but I can’t help it. I have to see this through."
"I still say you're making a mistake. A possibly fatal mistake.”
I smiled. "I can only hope that’s not the case. And we always have hope, don't we?”
Vilmos shook his head. “You’re a stubborn mule, you know that? You be careful, understand?"
"I will. I’ll see you later at the block.” Then I walked away, alone in my mad, perilous quest.
I found him outside his block, smoking a cigarette. Upon seeing me, he blew out a ring of smoke and said, "Want one, Adam?"
I hadn't had a cigarette in a long while, and the old craving lit up like a torch. He ignited my cigarette with his, and I suggested we stroll off together. Which we did, walking side by side and smoking like old friends.
After a minute, I asked him, "Was your family rich?”
He frowned at the question. "Dead poor. Why?"
"I was just wondering if you killed your mother and stepfather for the inheritance, or if there’d been another reason.”
He stopped and stared at me in shock, his cigarette suspended between two fingers en route to his mouth.
"Who told you about my mother?" Mathias asked.
"Otto. I don’t think he likes you all that much."
Mathias swore. “He has a big mouth, that one."
"He’s also crazy. And violent."
"Yes, he is. But why do you care about my mother?"
"I was just curious why you didn't tell me about her.”
He shrugged and took another drag. “I don’t like talking about her, that's all."
"Was that really the only reason? Or were you worried I might figure out something about your past? Something you wish to keep secret?"
His eyes narrowed to slits, and for the first time, I saw the killer in him. Not the crude, brutal animal the Lageralteste was, but a sleek, crafty, elegant predator. Vil-mos was right. I must have been mad to confront Mathias. But now it was too late to back out.