Fatal Lies

56

Haussmann and the driver were standing in the courtyard listening to Albert, whose rambling speech concerned his involvement with what the young men assumed must be a famous military campaign.

They had been waiting by the carriage, smoking and discussing the driver's intention to marry a flower girl called Fannchen in the spring, when the old soldier had appeared under the archway. He'd beckoned them into the courtyard and suggested that they might continue their conversation in the cloisters, where they could escape the wind and derive more pleasure from their tobacco. The two young men had been touched by the old man's thoughtfulness and, not wishing to offend him, had accepted his hospitable suggestion. Albert had lowered himself onto his favorite bench, hawked a soapy pellet of chartreuse phlegm onto a flagstone, and touched his medals with shaky liver-spotted fingers. The sensation of silk and metal between his thumb and forefinger had evoked memories of his youth and he had subsequently embarked on an epic (and seemingly interminable) tale of martial folly and eventual salvation.

The old soldier's reminiscences were incoherent and digressive, but the two young men listened politely. He spoke of the Austrian occupation of Buda and Pest, a dreaded Hungarian general called Gorgey a bloody siege, a meeting with the czar, and the arrival of two hundred thousand Russian troops.

“We would have been in trouble without them,” said Albert, gazing across the courtyard at the chapel but obviously seeing something quite different-a host of ghostly Cossacks, perhaps, heaving into view over a flat steppe. “We were overconfident,” he continued. “We underestimated Gorgey! A terrible misjudgment, that's what it was-a terrible misjudgment. Thank God for the old czar! God bless him! Although-it has to be said-he was only helping out because of the Poles. See, they'd sided with the revolutionaries, and that had him worried-”

A door suddenly opened with considerable violence, banging against the wall. The deputy headmaster appeared, looking harried and overwrought. He tripped, recovered his balance, and came to an undignified, stumbling halt. Looking anxiously from side to side, he caught sight of Haussmann's group and froze. The attitude that he struck was unnatural, as if balancing on the tips of his toes in readiness to jump. Becker's elbows were crooked at an acute angle and held away from his torso, extending his gown transversely like the wings of a bat: these peculiarities of posture and dress created an illusion of supernatural visitation-something hellish preparing for flight.

The deputy headmaster, however, did not make a vertical ascent. Instead, he composed himself and marched purposefully toward the small gathering.

As he approached, the old soldier stood to attention.

“Permission to report… invited these security office gentlemen inside, sir, because of the wind. And then I-”

“Very good, Albert, very good,” said Becker brusquely, holding his hand up to show that he did not require further enlightenment. Then, turning toward Haussmann, he said, “If I am not mistaken, you are the inspector's assistant?”

“Haussmann, sir.”

“Yes, that's right, Haussmann… I remember you, of course. Inspector Rheinhardt wishes to see you immediately. Albert, take these young men to the infirmary, please.”

Haussmann's companion looked somewhat embarrassed.

“Not me, sir. I'm just the driver.”

“No,” said Becker. “You are to go too.”

“Me?” said the driver, touching his chest in disbelief.

“Yes. That is what Inspector Rheinhardt said: ‘Tell my men to come up here at once.’

“Has someone been injured, sir?” Haussmann asked.

“No.”

“Then what is he doing in the infirmary?”

“At this precise moment, I believe he is conversing with Nurse Funke. Now, I trust you will excuse me, gentlemen. Albert, the infirmary, please.”

Becker bowed, turned sharply on his heels, and walked off toward the courtyard entrance. Albert muttered something under his breath. It sounded like an obscenity, but was rendered unintelligible by the abrasive grinding of a persistent cough.

“Permission to report,” he uttered between rasps. “This way, sir.”

Haussmann did not follow the old soldier but stood quite still, watching the receding figure of the deputy headmaster. He felt uneasy, troubled. Why did the inspector want the driver? Did he need to lift something heavy? And there was something about that message… “Tell my men to come up here at once.” It wasn't the sort of thing that Rheinhardt would say. Rheinhardt almost always phrased his orders as if he were simply making a polite request: “Would you be so kind… I would be most grateful if…”

“Are you coming?” It was the driver.

Haussmann did not reply. His gaze remained fixed on the deputy headmaster, whose pace seemed to be quickening. Once he was through the archway, the wind caught his gown and it rose up, billowing and flapping. Haussmann cocked his head to one side. He thought he could hear something-a tonal inflection-that dropped with the soughing. At first he wondered whether he was imagining things, but then it came again, this time more clearly: voices-a faint cry.

“Haussmann…”

“Haussmann…”

“Deputy headmaster! Dr. Becker!”

Through the archway, only the sky and hills were visible. The bellying sail of the deputy headmaster's gown was gone.

Haussmann ran.

“Dr. Becker…”

He could hear the jangling of the horses’ bridles, the distinctive clop of restive hooves. He ran beneath the arch, and cursed as he saw Becker climbing up onto the driver's box. A whip cracked, and the carriage began to move. Haussmann rounded the statue of Saint Florian and reached out, his fingers almost touching the back of the escaping carriage. But it was too late. The horses were gathering speed and the gap widened.

“Dr. Becker,” he called out, helplessly.

The carriage pulled away-and Haussmann reluctantly abandoned his pursuit. Bending forward, with his hands resting on his thighs, he tried to catch his breath. He was immediately startled by the sound of Inspector Rheinhardt calling his name.

“Haussmann!”

The assistant detective stood up and spun around. But there was no one there.

“Haussmann!”

He looked up-and gasped in disbelief.