Fatal Lies

74

The circle of trees looked different by daylight, and Drexler was uncertain whether he had brought the constable to the right place.

“Just a moment,” he said, pausing to consider the landscape.

Drexler went over to a large gnarled trunk, and ran his fingers over the rough surface.

“What are you doing?” the constable called out.

“Looking for something.”

The face was less distinct than Drexler had remembered-but it was there nevertheless. An old graybeard, trapped in the timber: two knotty projections serving to create the illusion of a pair of weary, anguished eyes.

“Here,” said Drexler, pointing at the ground. “I buried him here.”

The constable marched over, swinging the shovel off his shoulder. He stamped the blade into the ground and angled it back, raising a wedge of turf. The ease with which the soil came up was conspicuous, suggesting recent disturbance. The constable grunted, and set about his task with renewed conviction. He was a strong, big-boned youth, and he tossed the earth aside with mechanical efficiency.

“Why did you do it?” he asked Drexler.

“It was an accident,” Drexler replied. “We were playing with a revolver… and it just went off. I didn't mean to do it.”

“If it was an accident, why didn't you tell the headmaster? Accidents happen…”

“I don't know. I panicked, I suppose.”

“And you carried him-the dead boy-all this way on your own?”

“No. I stole a horse and trap and got as far as the road.”

“That's odd. None of the locals reported a theft.”

“It belonged to the school. I returned the trap before anyone noticed it was missing.”

The constable shrugged, took off his spiked helmet, and handed it to Drexler. Then he wiped his brow and continued to dig. Gravid clouds had begun to gather overhead, and Drexler felt the first faint chill of rain on his cheeks. The hole deepened-but there was no sign of Perger's jute shroud.

“How far down did you bury him?”

“Not that far,” said Drexler, perplexed. “You must have just missed him… Try here.” He pointed to another spot.

The constable sighed, moved a little closer to the tree, and began to dig again. He interrupted his task to look up at the malignant sky.

“We're going to get soaked,” he said, swearing softly under his breath.

The shovel's blade met some resistance, and the constable caught Drexler's eye. However, the next downward thrust produced a loud clang that identified the obstruction as nothing more than a rock. Soon the constable had dug another hole, equal in depth to the first.

“I'm sorry,” said Drexler. “It was dark. It's difficult to judge distances when it's dark. But I can assure you, I buried him somewhere around here. I remember this tree. You see, it has a face in it… an old man.”

“An old man, eh?”

“Please, try here.” Drexler took two paces away from the tree and stamped his feet.

“I tell you what,” said the constable, handing Drexler the shovel. “Why don't you dig for a while?”

The young man recovered his helmet and stomped off to seek shelter under the thickest bough he could find.

Drexler began to dig frantically.

Nothing.

Clay, earthworms, stones, roots…

He started to dig another hole. Nothing. And another…

The drizzle had been succeeded by a persistent saturating downpour.

“All right,” the constable called out. “You've had your fun… I suppose you and your friends think this sort of thing is very funny. Well, you won't be laughing after I've given you the good hiding you deserve.”

“What?” said Drexler.

“Come here,” said the constable, beckoning with a crooked finger.

“This isn't a joke… This isn't a joke, you… you…”

Drexler threw the shovel to the ground and fell to his knees. He thrust his hands into the hole he had dug and clawed at the mud. His tears were invisible on his rain-soaked face.

“Perger!” he cried. “Perger?”

The constable's expression altered. He no longer looked angry, more startled and confused. A little shocked, even. Drexler tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but only succeeded in smearing his face with mud.

“Perger?” he shouted. When Drexler raised his hands, the constable could see that his fingers were bleeding. His eyes were shining with a terrible urgency.

“Take it easy,” said the constable, taking a cautious step forward. What was it the boy had said? An old man in the tree…

Maybe this wasn't a joke-maybe the boy wasn't right in the head. He certainly didn't look very well.

“I think we'd better get back to the station,” said the constable. “We'll have some tea, eh? Warm you up a bit? And then I think we'd better call a doctor.”