Deadly Communion

15

LIEBERMANN JUMPED OUT OF the cab and told the driver to wait. He was standing in a cheerless road facing a decrepit terrace of low buildings. A crudely painted sign leaning up against railings directed visitors down to The Chimney Sweep. Liebermann adjusted his coat and descended a flight of concrete stairs which led to a green door. He rested his palm on one of the sunken panels and pushed — it yielded easily. A draught of warm air escaped, carrying with it a mélange of smells: alcohol, tobacco, paraffin and sweat. He stepped into the gloom and surveyed his surroundings. A low vaulted ceiling was supported by stone columns that were so wide and numerous that it was barely possible to see the furthest walls. Wooden tables were packed closely together, and around these sat a clientele of solitary, silent patrons. Paraffin lamps suspended on ceiling hooks did little to mitigate the gloom of the shadowy interior and somewhere, concealed in the darkness, was an invisible musician improvising a mournful lament on an accordion.

Squeezing himself between the tables, Liebermann made his way to the bar, which consisted of nothing more than planks supported by two trellises. A hefty man was standing behind this ramshackle construction, wiping beer steins with a cloth and hanging them on pegs that had been hammered into the wall. He had a wide, swollen nose, set in a broad face. His hair was brushed back from his forehead and his untrimmed beard hung over the top of his apron.

‘Herr Polster?’ Liebermann asked.

The publican stopped wiping the stein and squinted.

‘Do I know you?’

‘No. You don’t,’ said Liebermann. ‘Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Liebermann. I’m a doctor.’ The publican inclined his head. ‘I was wondering whether you would be willing to answer a few questions concerning one of my patients who — I believe — comes here regularly: Herr Erstweiler?’

‘Norbert?’ said the landlord, ‘I haven’t seen him recently. Is he all right? What’s happened to him?’

‘Unfortunately, Herr Erstweiler is not very well. He has been admitted into the General Hospital.’

‘Why? Nothing serious, I hope.’

Liebermann did not want to divulge the details of Herr Erstweiler’s medical condition and, observing the redness of the publican’s nose, diverted the man’s attention with an obvious ploy. Placing a tower of silver coins on the makeshift bar Liebermann said: ‘Whatever you recommend — and one for yourself, of course.’

‘Oh, thank you very much, sir,’ said the landlord. Herr Polster turned and filled two enormous steins with a dark, frothy liquid that issued from the tap of a small barrel.

‘Bavarian,’ said the publican. ‘Prost!’

They clashed their steins together and Herr Polster took a long draught. He paused, smacked his lips, and then gulped the rest down before flicking the hinged lid of his stein closed.

‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’

Liebermann — who had drunk more temperately — was nevertheless able to answer with sincerity: ‘Yes, it is very good indeed.’

‘Expensive. But you get what you pay for, eh?’

‘Quite so,’ Liebermann agreed, sampling again the woody, aromatic beer. He then added casually: ‘Herr Erstweiler told me he never comes here on Wednesday evenings.’

‘That’s right. Usually he doesn’t.’

‘But he did once.’

‘Yes.’

‘And would you say he acted out of character that evening?’

‘I should say so!’

‘In what way?’

‘Norbert isn’t a great drinker. He comes in, has a few, and then leaves. But on this occasion, this one Wednesday night, he got well drunk! Not horribly drunk, you understand, but drunk enough to say things he didn’t mean to. And when I saw him next, he acted as if nothing had happened. I don’t know whether he was just embarrassed, or whether he’d really forgotten everything. It happens sometimes — although, thinking about it, he didn’t drink that much. Still, if you’re not used to it, eh? You should see the state some get into. God in heaven! I have to pick them up off the floor and leave them outside in the gutter!’

‘What did Herr Erstweiler say — that Wednesday evening?’ The landlord looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Will you have another one?’ said Liebermann, nonchalantly pointing to the small barrel of Bavarian beer.

Herr Polster’s troubled expression was erased by a wide, foolish grin.

‘You’re a gentleman, sir, a true gentleman.’ Liebermann produced some more coins while Polster thrust his stein under the tap. ‘And will you be wanting another one for yourself, Herr doctor?’

‘Not just yet. You were saying …’

‘Oh yes, that Wednesay evening …’ Herr Polster raised the stein and poured half the contents down his throat. ‘Well, he said a lot of things — but he spoke mostly about his landlord’s wife. He went on about how beautiful she was and how she wasn’t appreciated by her old husband. And then he got more drunk and said other things. And these other things became more earthy, if you know what I mean? At the time we had a good laugh. When I saw him again — the next time — I reminded him of some of the things he’d said, and he reacted very strangely. And then he got quite annoyed … I suppose he was just embarrassed. I felt sorry for him. He doesn’t strike me as the type to have had very much luck with women. He’s a shy man. And he wouldn’t consider going to a …’ The publican winked in lieu of supplying a euphemism for brothel. ‘It must be difficult for him. Naturally. Living in a house with an attractive young woman. He’s only human.’

Liebermann finished his beer.

‘Herr Polster, I have one more question, which at first you might think odd, but I would be most grateful if you would give it your most careful and serious consideration. My question is this: are you absolutely sure that the man who came here that Wednesday night was — without question — Herr Erstweiler?’

The publican frowned.

‘I don’t understand? What do you mean? Are you asking if it could have been an impostor?’

‘Let us say someone who strongly resembled Herr Erstweiler.’

Herr Polster shook his head.

‘No, it was Norbert! No doubt about it.’