Fatal Lies

34

Bernhard Becker sat behind his desk, gazing uneasily at his two guests. His pupils were enlarged and his fingers were drumming on his blotting paper.

“Inspector,” said Becker, “you must understand, my dear wife is a very sensitive woman. She is compassionate and easily moved to sympathy. I believe that Zelenka took advantage of her…” He hesitated for a moment and added, “Kind nature.” Becker peered over his gold-rimmed spectacles. “Of course bullying takes place at Saint Florian's. I don't deny it. But such behavior is commonplace in military schools, and it is no more a problem for us than it is for Karlstadt or Saint Polten. Zelenka led my wife to believe that terrible things happen here… extraordinary things. But this is simply untrue.”

“Did you read Herr G.'s article in the Arbeiter-Zeitung?”

Becker smiled-a haughty, disparaging smile.

“Yes. The headmaster showed it to me.”

“And?”

“It is utterly absurd,” said Becker. His tightly compressed lips suggested that he was disinclined to elaborate. For a moment he toyed with a spoon, which was standing in an empty glass on his desk.

“When we spoke last,” said Rheinhardt, “you did not mention that Frau Becker had a particular fondness for Thomas Zelenka.”

The deputy headmaster's expression became severe.

“Why should I have? It's entirely relevant.” From the tone of his voice it was clear that Becker had meant to say the exact opposite. He maintained his defiant expression for a few moments, but this gradually softened into doubt as he recognized his error. “ Ir relevant!” He blurted out the correction as if emphasis and volume would negate his blunder. “Let me be candid, Inspector,” Becker continued. “I knew that Zelenka's death would cause Poldi much distress-and I saw no purpose in bringing her to your attention.”

“You wished to spare her a police interview?”

“Yes, Inspector, I did. And I believe I was correct to do so. Your surprise visit achieved nothing-as far as I can see-save to remind Poldi of Zelenka's demise, which made her tearful all week!”

“I am sorry,” said Rheinhardt. “Obviously, this was not our intention.”

“Well,” said Becker, harrumphing as he stroked his forked beard.

“I trust,” interjected Rheinhardt, “that you will convey our sincere regrets to Frau Becker.”

Becker grumbled an assent and added: “If you intend to interview my wife again, you would perhaps be courteous enough to request my permission first?”

“Of course,” said Rheinhardt.

At that point there was a knock on the door, and Professor Gartner appeared.

“Ahh,” said the old man, with timorous uncertainty. “Deputy Headmaster, Inspector Rheinhardt.” He did not acknowledge Liebermann. “I am sorry to interrupt, but could I have a quick word- Deputy Headmaster? It's about my report to the board of governors.”

“Excuse me,” said Becker, rising from his chair and leaving the room.

As soon as the door closed, Liebermann reached forward and snatched the empty glass from Becker's desk.

“What are you doing?” asked Rheinhardt.

The young doctor did not reply. Instead, he sniffed the contents, and held the glass up to the window. The weak sunlight revealed a viscous puddle of liquid at the bottom. He then ran a finger around the inside of the glass, collecting a patina of white residue, which he licked off.

“Bitter-followed by the slow emergence of aromatic flavors…”

“That's his medicine,” said Rheinhardt. “He took some when I was here before. He gets headaches.”

Liebermann wiped the inside of the glass with his finger again, and rubbed the residue into his lips and gums.

“I know what this is.” He replaced the glass and adjusted the spoon so that it was standing in exactly the same position as when Becker had left. “And I certainly wouldn't prescribe it for headaches. It's-”

Liebermann fell silent as the door opened and Becker reentered the room.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” said Becker curtly.

Liebermann straightened his necktie and smiled winsomely at Becker as he sank back into his chair.

For reasons not clear to Rheinhardt and Liebermann, the deputy headmaster launched into a tedious homily on fraternity, explaining how it should be considered the most cardinal of virtues. Occasionally he lapsed into ponderous rhetorical German, and Rheinhardt suspected they were listening to a set speech that he had bored many a schoolboy with during countless morning assemblies. In due course, the inspector took out his fob watch and declared that time had positively flown by-and that they were now in great danger of being late for their appointment with Herr Sommer.

“Would you like me to call Albert to escort you?” asked Becker.

“No. I think we can find our own way.”

“Good. Herr Sommer lives in the fourth lodge-on the ground floor. You will find his name on the door.”

“Thank you,” said Rheinhardt.

The two guests got up to leave. However, the inspector hesitated a moment and said, somewhat tentatively, “Might I ask, Deputy Headmaster, where you and your wife met?”

Becker frowned and replied “Styria.”

“Indeed?” Rheinhardt prompted.

“I met her while I was on a summer walking holiday. She was…” He swallowed before proceeding. “She was a waitress-at one of the guesthouses.” A slightly pained expression twisted his mouth.

“Forgive me for asking a delicate question,” Rheinhardt continued, “but has Frau Becker asked you for more money recently-in addition to her usual housekeeping?”

The deputy headmaster's cheeks reddened with embarrassment and anger.

“Our domestic arrangements are a private matter.”

“I'm sorry,” said Rheinhardt. “I did not mean to offend.”

Aware that they had now very much overstayed their welcome, Rheinhardt and Liebermann removed themselves from the deputy headmaster's office with unceremonious haste.