More Beer

6

As we stood outside the door of the Public Prosecutor’s Office, I began to feel queasy. Kollek and Barbara Bollig were both dead, and if Kessler stuck to his story that he had had no idea about any of it, his calendar was my only piece of evidence. And that didn’t seem like a whole lot.

Kessler knew this. He gave me a threatening smile.

“Kayankaya-mark my words, you’ll regret beating me up.”

“I only regret that I didn’t snuff you.”

Slibulsky had preferred to stay in the car. He said he had met enough magistrates to last him a lifetime.

It was almost ten o’clock at night. Lubars had been reluctant to come to his office at such a late hour. I knew him well, and he rather liked me, whatever that was worth. He was a public prosecutor, first and foremost. As soon as I mentioned Kessler to him on the phone, he regretted that he had agreed to come.

Finally he arrived, his hair none too well combed, and not wearing a necktie. He was of average height, bloated, and red-faced. He greeted us, briefcase in one hand, a bunch of keys in the other. “Good evening-good evening, Mr. Kessler. Please excuse my getup. But I thought I was done for the day …”

Kessler laughed tolerantly.

“Right, right. I could think of more pleasant ways to spend an evening too, but …”

He cast a withering glance at me. We entered Lubars’s office. A handsome desk, two visitors’ chairs. While I planted myself in one of them, Kessler said, “Tell me, Mr. Lubars, how is your wife? I heard she was ill?”

At the word “ill” he looked at me and showed his teeth.

“Thank you, thank you, she is doing better. Please be seated.”

Kessler sat down in the chair facing me. Lubars slid behind his desk, put on his glasses, and folded his hands.

“I hope we can clear this up as quickly as possible. Both Mr. Kessler and I have had a strenuous day.” They nodded to each other.

I asked myself how much influence Kessler had in the system. Perhaps it was due to his friendship with “M”?

“Now then, Mr. Kayankaya, when you called you said that you would bring in a murder suspect.” He coughed discreetly, glanced at Kessler. “But surely that was some kind of joke?”

Kessler said, with an impassive expression, “Sometimes my young colleague tends to hyperbole. It does get him into a lot of trouble.” When he said “trouble,” he wasn’t looking at me, for a change, but at Lubars, whose smile was pained.

“Please tell me about your suspicions, Mr. Kayankaya.” Then he mustered his courage and said to Kessler, “There’s got to be something to it-otherwise you wouldn’t have volunteered to come, Mr. Kessler.”

The detective superintendent waved his hand in a gesture of magnanimity. He said, in a low, paternal voice, “I thought it would be best to get the matter cleared up once and for all, in the presence of a higher authority. So the young colleague can return to the firm ground of reality.”

Lubars nodded and gave me a questioning look. I cleared my throat and tried to marshal my thoughts. I was in a lousy situation, and it didn’t help that I knew it. Three hours ago I had been sitting pretty, holding a trump card: Kollek. Now I had nothing but trash cards, and it was time to lay them on the table. To stave off defeat, I decided to start out by bluffing. “Kessler, you’ve lost this game, and you know it. And I would like to ask you to kindly keep your mouth shut, and give Mr. Lubars a chance to listen to me in peace and quiet.”

Kessler made an astonished face and looked at Lubars.

“Do I have to-”

“Please, Mr. Kayankaya, let’s hear it!”

Lubars was desperately moving things around on his desktop and avoiding both our eyes. The blotches on his face had turned a deeper red. I started my tale. I told him about Anastas, about the mysterious fifth man, the ice-cold widow, Schmidi, and so on, finishing with my theory of what had happened on the night of the murder.

Kessler sat in his chair looking cool, with a faint smile on his face, his head cocked to one side. Once in a while he scratched the back of his hand. Lubars seemed immersed in thought. Only his eyes kept darting glances at Kessler and me. Now he came to attention. “So you are saying that five people participated in the plot?”

“Six, to be exact. What alerted me at first were the statements given by one of the camping couple, the woman, and by old Mrs. Bollig, who runs the refreshment concession of the plant. Both of them said they had heard shots, and they confirmed that the shots were fired at Bollig before the explosion. Against these statements, we had Barbara Bollig’s claim that her husband left the house only after the explosion. If one assumes that Kollek’s accomplices had no interest in snuffing Bollig, and that it was impossible for Kollek to sprint back to the house just before the explosion in order to take Bollig out into the factory grounds and shoot him there, only one possibility remains: Barbara Bollig herself lured her husband out of the house on some pretext, and shot and killed him in a spot close to that pipe.”

“If one assumes …,” said Kessler.

Once again I told him to be quiet. Lubars took the ballpoint pen he’d been chewing on out of his mouth and asked, “Why would Barbara Bollig shoot her husband?”

I told the tale of Oliver Bollig, explained how long it had all been in the making. While I was doing so, I remembered that Kliensmann was still in that straitjacket in his office. Served him right. Finally I said, “There is a witness to my version. The night watchman saw a lot of it happen, and Barbara Bollig and Kollek bought his silence with fifty thousand marks. Which he is now spending in Paraguay.”

With a glance at Kessler, I added, “As Superintendent Kessler informs me.”

Kessler studied his fingernails and remarked casually, “Fred Scheigel was summoned to court as a witness. Since he wanted to leave the country, he had to ask for special permission. I just happened to hear about it.”

“What if he decides he’d rather stay in Paraguay?”

“It’s not my job to worry about that.”

Lubars, wide awake now, adjusted his eyeglasses. After a moment’s silence, he said, “All right. And where is this Barbara Bollig?”

Kessler looked triumphant.

“She is dead,” I said.

The public prosecutor shuffled his feet under the desk and shook his head in disbelief. “Tell me more.”

“She was poisoned. As we speak, the guilty party is turning herself in to the police authorities in Doppenburg. But that’s another story. I’ll save it for later.”

Lubars shook his head again, but before he was able to respond, I went on to talk about Schmidi.

“Like the other conspirators, Schmidi believed that Kollek was a true comrade. Only after I pointed out to Schmidi how strange it was that the fifth man was still at large while his four buddies had been tracked down and arrested in only three days, he got suspicious. Obviously Schmidt had been a party to the plot, and he also knew how to get in touch with Kollek, He probably asked Kollek what was up, and Kollek had an idea. He realized that he had to get rid of Schmidi, and decided that the best place to do so would be in my apartment. Kessler must have told Kollek that I was trying to track him down. So he lured Schmidi to my place. Then, by a stroke of luck, he found my gun, shot and killed Schmidi with it, and was pleased with himself. Here’s the gun.”

I tossed my Beretta on the desk.

“The corpse is still sitting on my couch. A flyer that was distributed in Frankfurt that evening, stuck under the windshield wipers of Kollek’s car, proves that he was in the city that night.”

Carefully, with both hands, Lubars picked up the Beretta and looked at it as if it could whisper something into his ear.

Then he asked, “Fingerprints?”

“I’m sorry, but I still had a lot of errands to run, the kind where I look to have that thing on my person.”

He closed his eyes as if all this were just too much for him, and put the gun aside.

“Don’t tell me this Kollek is dead too. Or else why didn’t you bring him along?”

“That’s right. Kessler plugged him a little while ago.”

Kessler raised his arms in regret and said in a tone of voice that mimicked remorse, “He was trying to avoid arrest. Unfortunately, I slipped on the rug. A stupid affair.”

With a quick glance at Lubars, he added, “I’ll probably be transferred.”

“I see, I see,” said the public prosecutor, not knowing what else to say. Then, when he found something: “It all sounds quite plausible. But how do you arrive at the accusation that Mr. Kessler has had an involvement with this matter that goes beyond his professional duty?”

I lit a cigarette and prepared Lubars for things to come by placing Kessler’s calendar on his desk. It gave me courage.

“You remember the uproar about the Rhein Main Farben plant?”

Lubars looked irritated, as if I had been about to tell him a joke.

“Those were the people that sold mustard gas to Iraq, and soon after wanted to open a branch factory in Vogelsberg. Because of recent events, many people opposed the idea, and the Rhein Main Farben bosses had to come up with something to change what Kessler refers to as ‘public opinion’ in this nice little book. Nothing changes public opinion in this country more effectively than two sticks of dynamite, a murdered employer, and a grieving widow. Well, maybe the sad death of some dogs … In any case, such a deed calls for revenge, and the best avenger is one who despite such tragic setbacks continues the lifework of the deceased. In this case, the field of chemical industry. So by all means, let’s have the new factory in Vogelsberg. That was Kollek’s and Kessler’s plan.

“Kollek also saw this as a wonderful opportunity to take care of his private affairs with the Bolligs. His suggestion to make Friedrich Bollig the martyr was taken up with alacrity, since the firm is insignificant and has no major economic connections. So Kollek, with Kessler’s assistance, recruited those four boys to set things in motion. But what Kollek didn’t know-since he didn’t have access to this little calendar of Kessler’s-was that he too was slated for liquidation sooner or later. Tonight he was liquidated.”

Without looking at either Kessler or Lubars, I picked up the calendar, opened it to the relevant page, and pushed it across the desk again.

“Kollek got paid for his part in the plot. I don’t know where he and Kessler first met. Kollek came to Frankfurt in sixty-nine. He may have taken care of things for Kessler on previous occasions, or he may have been an effective informer. All I know is that they knew each other.”

Then I tried to describe the conversation I had heard through the Bollig villa’s kitchen window in as much detail as I could. Kessler was poker-faced. His eyes had become dark, narrow slits. Only his right index finger tapped quietly on the armrest of his chair. Lubars’s hands shook as he picked up the calendar. Then he swallowed and said, “Who is M?”

I was able to help him. “Well, that’s not too hard to figure out. The Mayor of Frankfurt is also the legal adviser to Rhein Main Farben. His wife owns a handsome packet of shares in that outfit. So M. stands for the Mayor. Kessler hasn’t spent much effort on coding his notes here. The Mayor was the connection to Rhein Main Farben; he may have been the instigator of the whole thing. In any case, it was he who got Kessler started on the plot.”

Slowly Lubars laid the calendar aside. He was clearly looking for a hole to hide in. He bent forward and said, with great effort,

“Mr. Kessler … What do you have to say to that?”

For a while Kessler didn’t say anything. Then he laughed for a while, sounding like a hysterical old woman. And then he stopped and said, quite calmly, “What could I have to say to that? It is incredible.”

Lubars mumbled, “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

I stood up, furious. “Stop playing games! It’s all in that fucking book! Or do you think the Superintendent just scribbled that in there for fun? What about Kollek’s address?”

I pounded on the desk in front of Lubars.

“Why is it in there? Or can’t I read? Or can’t you read? Or can’t anybody here read anything anymore? Tell me-are those cooking recipes or love letters? Tell me!” I was roaring. “Yes, it is incredible, as you gentlemen just noted! But it is verified by this fucking page, in this fucking book, and this book happens to belong to this fucking superintendent, and it’s his fucking incredible story … But is it my fault that it’s incredible?”

I rounded on Kessler. “And if you keep on staring at me like that, like some overstuffed carp, I’ll punch your nose through your head so it leaves a hole for the daylight to shine through!”

Then I picked up the next handy object, a full ashtray, and threw it against the wall. After that I sat down.

For at least two minutes the only sounds in the room were my heavy breathing and Lubars’s quiet cough. Someone said, “Mr. Kessler?” someone answered, “Yes.” I didn’t give a damn. I had done my bit, let them sort it out. I closed my eyes and thought about mild summer evenings in the grass, champagne in my head, and a flock of nut-brown girls in heaven. In the meantime, Kessler presented his version. The notes concerning M related to private matters, and Kollek’s address had come to his notice in the course of the investigation. After all, he too had been looking for the fifth man. And Lubars said, “Aha, I see.”

I opened my eyes when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Lubars’s,

“Mr. Kayankaya, I must ask you to tell me the name of the suspect in the murder of Barbara Bollig.”

I took my time lighting a cigarette.

“And if I don’t?”

“Please don’t damage your position any more than you already have. Otherwise I’ll have to arrest you as an accessory to murder.”

I stood up and let the smoke trickle slowly through my lips. I pointed my cigarette at Kessler, who was about to put on his overcoat.

“And what about him?”

Lubars took a deep breath that made his nostrils flutter.

“Mr. Kayankaya, I must warn you to keep such bizarre accusations to yourself in the future. I do not know how you arrived at such incredible conclusions, but I advise you to concentrate on a correct chain of evidence when you deal with another case. Mr. Kessler has been kind enough to refrain from a libel action.”

The tip of his tongue briefly touched his upper lip.

“Do you understand me?”

I felt petrified. Only when Kessler wanted to pick up his calendar, I bounded to the desk and grabbed it before he could get to it. Fists on hips, he snapped at me, “My calendar, please. You won’t get a chance to steal it a second time.”

Without undue haste, I pocketed the little book. He came at me, tried to grab me. I rubbed my chin. “If you touch me, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

He desisted. Lubars closed his eyes. Kessler said, “I must ask you not to leave town during the next couple of weeks. Your theory about the murder of this Schmidi does not sound convincing. It happened in your apartment, with your gun, and you did not notify the police. I am the superintendent in charge, and I will investigate your statement carefully. My calendar, please. Or,” he cast a reproachful glance at Lubars, “would you prefer to stay here? I have all kinds of things on you, and the only reason I’m letting you go is to give you a chance to come to your senses and forget about your crazy story.”

It was true, he could have nailed me. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to attract as little public attention as possible. I didn’t feel like spending a night in a cell. I tossed the calendar on the floor in front of his feet. And that was that.

Leaning against the desk, I murmured to myself, “Great, Kayankaya.”

Long after Kessler had left with an ironic salute, I was still standing there. Lubars went to his desk, shuffled some papers, and finally said, “I am sorry, Mr. Kayankaya.” After he had let those weighty words sink in, he went on, “It may well be that your story was close to the truth-but you see, the Mayor … A couple of ambiguous entries … that’s not enough … And with such an accusation, I would be putting my head on the chopping block.” He sighed, and repeated, “I am truly sorry.”

I contemplated my shoes. “Why are you so afraid of Kessler?”

He picked up his briefcase, and we left the office.

“Well, he has a lot of influence, and …” He locked the door, turned, looked at the floor. “It is well known that he and the Mayor are very close.”