Fatal Lies

63

They were seated in the disused classroom.

“Does my uncle know that you are here?” said Kiefer Wolf to Rheinhardt.

The inspector did not reply.

“I doubt that he does,” Wolf continued. “In which case, I can assure you that I shall be writing to him again.”

“Just answer my question.”

“The investigation is over. Uncle Manfred told me so. Inspector Rheinhardt, I believe you are acting without authority.”

“That is an extremely insolent remark.”

“No, Inspector, it is merely an accurate one.”

The boy folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. The line of his thin lips twisted slightly, suggesting modest satisfaction.

“There were cuts on Zelenka's body,” Rheinhardt persevered. “How did they get there?”

“I don't know,” said Wolf.

“I think you do.”

“Then you are mistaken.” Wolf made a languid movement with his hand and added, “Inspector, I would very much like to present myself for rifle practice. A Tyroler Kaiserjager is coming this afternoon to give us special instruction. I have been selected to represent Saint Florian s at the end-of-year shooting tournament against Saint Polten and the headmaster was anxious that I should attend.”

“I am afraid that you will have to stay here until I am satisfied that you are telling me the truth.”

“The headmaster will be very displeased.”

“For the last time, Wolf, what do you know about those cuts?”

“Nothing, Inspector.”

The boy's complexion was clear and his skin as smooth as alabaster. He seemed preternaturally calm.

“Very well,” said Rheinhardt. Turning to his friend, he called out, “Herr Doctor?”

Liebermann, who had been patiently waiting by the window, picked up his black leather bag and crossed the room. He sat in front of Wolf and smiled.

“Do you study botany here?” he asked.

The boy's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Yes… we have had a few classes.”

“And what did you learn about?”

“The structure of plants… the different families.”

“Then perhaps you were introduced to the perennials of the Solanaceae family? They can be found in the local woods and meadows.”

“I am afraid I cannot remember,” said Wolf. “It is not a subject that interests me.”

“Even so, I suspect that you would recognize the name of at least one of the Solanaceae.” Liebermann inserted a dramatic pause before proclaiming: “Belladonna!”

The young doctor raised his eyebrows, encouraging a response.

“Yes,” said Wolf. “Of course I recognize that name. But what of it?”

“The plant grows from a thick fleshy root-about this high.” Liebermann sliced a horizontal plane through the air. “It has a dingy purple-brown bell-shaped flower, and smooth black berries that ripen in September.”

The neutrality of Wolf's expression was interrupted by a series of brief, flickering emotional responses that oscillated between perplexity and amusement. He was about to speak, but Liebermann silenced him by wagging an admonitory finger.

“I understand,” Liebermann continued, “that belladonna acquired its appellation in the Middle Ages, when young women employed the plant's extracts to dilate their pupils.” Liebermann observed Wolf's blank visage and added for clarification: “So they would seem more beautiful.”

“Herr Doctor,” said Wolf, “as I have already said, I am not very interested in botany.”

“I promise you, my purpose will soon become clear.” Again, Liebermann smiled. “Now, where was I? Oh yes… it was not only a favorite of young women-it was also valued by men of dubious morality whose intention it was to seduce them.” Wolf rocked his head to one side, and a scintilla of interest nuanced the vacancy of his steady gaze. Liebermann continued. “You see, it was soon discovered that if belladonna was secreted into a young woman's drink, she would become remarkably compliant, forgetting virtue and agreeing readily to suggestions of an improper nature. She would become- as it were-less inhibited. Belladonna was also found to have medical applications. The great tenth-century Persian physician Avicenna recommended belladonna as an anesthetic-and it has been intermittently used by surgeons ever since. For example, only a few years ago some colleagues of mine at the university published a fascinating paper on the development of a new pre-anesthetic. By combining one of the alkaloids of Japanese belladonna with morphine, they were able to induce a somnolent state in their patients, which they designated ‘twilight sleep.’ Now, while undertaking this research, my colleagues noticed something very interesting: patients in twilight sleep would often mumble. However, if asked questions, they were able to reply-and these replies were perfectly coherent. Moreover, all answers to questions were somewhat literal-and invariably honest.”

Liebermann made a steeple with his fingers and added: “This finding has led many to speculate as to the wider uses of Japanese belladonna and morphine. For example, this new pre-anesthetic might be of immense value to the police, who, on encountering reluctant witnesses, would be able to administer it as a kind of truth serum.”

Liebermann leaned forward, undid the hasps of his leather bag, and pulled out a long narrow box. It had an attractive polished walnut finish and brass fittings. Turning a small key, Liebermann lifted the lid and turned it toward Wolf so that he could examine the contents. Inside, resting in a molded depression lined with green velvet, was a large metal-barreled syringe with an unusually long needle. Next to it was a small bottle, filled with a grayish liquid.

Liebermann removed the bottle, lifted it up, and swirled the contents.

“Japanese belladonna and morphine,” he said softly.

Wolf swallowed.

“If you would be so kind as to remove your tunic and roll up your shirtsleeve,” Liebermann said. “Then we can begin.”

Wolf tried to stand, but as he did so his shoulders met resistance. Rheinhardt had positioned himself behind Wolf's chair and immediately forced the boy back down again. Wolf's head spun around.

“You can't do this!”

Rheinhardt s grip tightened.

“Take off your tunic and roll up your shirtsleeve… You heard what the good doctor said, Wolf.”

Liebermann made a great show of taking the syringe from its case and drawing off the contents of the bottle.

“You must keep very still,” said Liebermann calmly. “Or-I'm sorry to say-this will be quite painful. Now, your tunic, please.”

“No,” said Wolf, his face contorting with horror. “No… You can't.”

“Come now,” Liebermann interrupted. “Don't be alarmed. The experience of twilight sleep is not unpleasant-so I am told. Patients describe a warm, floating sensation… liberation from earthly concerns.”

Again Wolf attempted to get up, but Rheinhardt held him fast.

“Very well,” said Liebermann. “If you won't remove your tunic, I'll just have to proceed without your cooperation.”

The young doctor aimed the syringe at Wolf's upper arm. He moved the shiny cylinder forward along a horizontal trajectory. Its progress was slow and stately-like a silver airship gliding over the Prater.

Wolf's eyes became fixed on the sharp point of the advancing needle.

“For God's sake, stop!” the boy cried. “I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything.” Beads of perspiration had appeared on his forehead. “But you're wrong about Zelenka. I swear it. You must believe me… I never…” He hesitated before adding, “Touched Zelenka.”

“Then who did?” Rheinhardt asked.

“If you want to know more about Zelenka,” said Wolf, “then you should talk to Herr Sommer.”

Liebermann lowered the syringe.

Wolf's expression was pained, as if this revelation had cost him dearly. He fell silent-and the silence became protracted.

Liebermann noticed a subtle change in the boy's expression. The fear in his eyes was diminishing, like the steady trickle of sand vacating the upper chamber of an hourglass, and was being replaced by what could only be described as a look of calculation. Liebermann jabbed the syringe back into Wolf's view, and was reassured when the boy started.

“No,” said Wolf. “That won't be necessary.”

“Why Herr Sommer?” Rheinhardt pressed.

“They were lovers,” said Wolf.

“ What?” said Rheinhardt, his voice rising an octave.

“Zelenka and Herr Sommer… They…” Wolf hesitated, failing to complete his sentence.

“How do you know that?” Liebermann asked.

“They were seen together last summer. By Freitag.”

“Who?”

“Freitag. Another cadet. He saw them walking together up the Kahlenberg.”

“Couldn't it have been a chance encounter?” said Liebermann.

“No. You see, they were being intimate… in the little cemetery.”

“I see,” said Liebermann.

The young doctor opened the walnut box and placed the syringe carefully inside. He let the lid fall, allowing it to make a loud thud.

“You have been remarkably discreet, Wolf,” said Liebermann.

The boy looked at him quizzically.

“What I mean is,” Liebermann continued, “had you chosen to make this revelation earlier, Inspector Rheinhardt would have transferred his attentions-at least in part-from you to Herr Sommer. Yet you didn't say a word. If it wasn't you who inflicted those wounds on Zelenka-and you believe that Herr Sommer is party to such knowledge-why didn't you make this revelation before?”

“I didn't want Herr Sommer to get into trouble.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is useful.”

“How is he useful?”

“We have… an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?”

“I had promised to keep his relationship with Zelenka a secret, and in return he agreed to falsify my examination results.”

“Your examination results!”

“Why are your examination results so important to you?” Rheinhardt interjected. “So important that you are prepared to blackmail one of your masters!”

“I'm no good at mathematics, and I'll need a good pass to gain admission into preferred branches of the military.”

Rheinhardt let go of Wolf's shoulders and slumped down on an adjacent chair. He looked tired-and somewhat bewildered by the boy's cunning.

“I am prepared to accept,” said Rheinhardt, “pending an interview with Herr Sommer, that you were not responsible for Zelenka's injuries. However, what about Perger? What did you do to him?”

Wolf breathed in sharply. “It wasn't that bad…”

“What did you do?” Rheinhardt repeated.

“I threatened him. That's all.”

“Why?”

“Perger knew all about Zelenka and Herr Sommer. Perger and Zelenka were as thick as thieves. I knew that you would eventually get Perger to talk… so I pushed him around a bit. If Herr Sommer was disgraced, I wouldn't get what I wanted.”

“Do you know where he went-Perger?”

“No,” said Wolf. “No… no, I don't.”

Rain had begun to fall, and the windows resonated with its gentle drumming.

“Apart from Perger and Freitag,” Rheinhardt continued, “did anyone else know about Herr Sommer's…” The Inspector hesitated. “Herr Sommer's relationship with Zelenka?”

“No.”

“We have no proof, then, other than your word-and Freitag's, of course.”

“I am telling the truth,” said Wolf, darting a nervous glance toward the walnut box on Liebermann's lap.

“What if Herr Sommer denies your allegation?” said Rheinhardt.

“I have something in my possession that once belonged to Zelenka,” said Wolf. “Herr Sommer was very keen to get hold of it- very keen.”

“A dictionary?” said Liebermann.

“Yes,” said Wolf, surprised.

“A Hartel and Jacobsen dictionary?”

“Yes. I thought there might be something incriminating written inside-but there isn't. I've checked.”

“Where is it?” said Rheinhardt.

“I've hidden it,” Wolf replied.

“Somewhere in the school?”

“Yes.”

“Then you had better go and get it,” said Rheinhardt. “Immediately.”