Fatal Lies

66

Liebermann gazed out of the carriage window.

The day was at its end and the hills had become shadowy and indistinct. He noticed the light of a fire-a speck of orange in a sea of darkness-and wondered who might be out there at this time. The temperature had dropped, and the landscape was looking particularly inhospitable.

“Cigar?”

Rheinhardt leaned across and offered him a Trabuco.

“Thank you,” said Liebermann. The young doctor struck a vesta and bent forward, allowing the end of his cheroot to touch the flame. “I still can't believe I was so slow-witted,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “I should have realized the significance of Zelenka's injuries as soon as you showed me the mortuary photographsparticularly those crural lacerations!”

“I must confess,” Rheinhardt responded, “I did not know that people did such things.”

“Then you should read the late Professor Krafft-Ebing's Psycho-pauiia Sexualis. It contains several cases of a similar type. For example, number forty-eight details the circumstances of an unfortunate gentleman whose young wife could only achieve sexual satisfaction if permitted to suck blood from a cut made on his forearm. The Psychopathia also contains numerous accounts of vampiric lust-murder.”

“Vampiric lust-murder?” Rheinhardt repeated slowly.

“Oh, yes… case nineteen: Leger-a vine dresser. He wandered in a forest for eight days until he came across a twelve-year-old girl. He violated her, tore out her heart, ate it, drank her blood, and buried her remains.”

Rheinhardt shook his head. It was remarkable how medical men- when confronted with the worst excesses of human behavior- could describe such horrors in the same impassive tone that they also employed when enumerating the symptoms of pleurisy or indigestion.

“What would make a man do such a thing?” Rheinhardt asked.

“A postmortem conducted by the great Esquirol,” Liebermann replied, “found morbid adhesions between the murderer's cerebral membranes and the brain.”

“Could Sommer suffer from similar adhesions?”

“I very much doubt it-he is no murderer. His predilection for blood is probably best construed as a kind of fetish… posing no more of a threat to society than another man's insistence that his mistress should always wear a short jacket.” Liebermann drew on his cigar and became pensive. “I cannot recall whether Krafft-Ebing ever reported hemo-erotic tendencies in an individual whose sexual orientation was already inverted. If not, then a thorough study of Herr Sommer might make an original and instructive contribution to the literature. What will happen to Herr Sommer now?”

“His final words to you were very powerful-and I could see that you were moved by his appeal. However, the fact remains that the man abused his position. He assaulted a pupil-for that is how the authorities will view his degeneracy. He spread malicious rumors about Zelenka and Frau Becker-which had fatal consequences. He was prepared to falsify Wolf's examination results, and he submitted an article to the Arheiter-Zeitung, the sole purpose of which was to confuse a police inquiry. I would say, without fear of exaggeration, that Herr Sommer's prospects are not good. Incidentally,” Rheinhardt continued, tilting his head to one side, “how did you discover that the Arbeiter-Zeitung article was written by Sommer?”

“When we first visited Herr Sommer, I observed his name-Herr G. Sommer-painted by the door. The article in the Arbeiter-Zeitung was by Herr G. This coincidence did not escape my notice. Perhaps Herr Sommer was unable to stop himself from signing the article with his own initial because of some strange compulsion-or perhaps he just made a thoughtless error, a slip.” Liebermann rested his cigar in the ashtray, which was positioned in the carriage door. “Or perhaps,” he continued, “Herr Sommer reasoned that no one would expect a man intent on deceit to implicate himself by employing his real initial-and he therefore acted counterintuitively as a subtle ruse. Whatever the psychic mechanism underlying his action, he succeeded in rousing my curiosity. Human beings are always revealing their secrets in the little things that they do.”

The young doctor shrugged and recovered his cigar. He then held up the cheroot and smiled, as if to say, There will even be a reason why I put this down only to pick it up again!

“Had Herr Sommer not written his article,” Liebermann continued, “things might have turned out very differently. After all, it was Herr Sommer's article that resulted in your reassignment to the Saint Florian case.”

“Indeed,” Rheinhardt replied. “Zelenka's death would have been attributed to natural causes, and the investigation would have ended quite prematurely.”

Rheinhardt twirled his mustache and emitted a pensive growl.

“What?” Liebermann asked.

“I was just thinking. It's odd, isn't it, that my reluctance to abandon this case was due-at least initially-to Zelenka's youth? I found it difficult to accept the death of a…” He hesitated before saying “child.” Then, pronouncing the words with bitter irony he added: “The death of an innocent! And yet… This same angelic-looking boy…” His sentence trailed off into an exasperated silence.

“Professor Freud,” said Liebermann softly, “does not believe that we humans ever enjoy a state of grace-a period of infantile purity. He is of the opinion that we can observe presentiments of adulthood even in the nursery. The toddler's tantrum prefigures murderous rage… and even the contented sucking of a thumb may provide the infant with something alarmingly close to sensual comfort and pleasure.”

“I find that hard to accept,” said Rheinhardt.

“Well-you are not alone,” said Liebermann, grinning.

When Liebermann entered his apartment, he discovered that his serving man-Ernst-had left an envelope for him, conspicuously placed on the hall stand. Liebermann opened it and discovered a note inside. He recognized the small, precise handwriting immediately. It was from Miss Amelia Lyd gate: an apology-and an invitation.