The Stranglers Honeymoon

27

Münster contemplated the man who had just sat down on the visitor chair.

He was tall and thin. Round about thirty-five, by the look of him, with a narrow, horsey face on which he was trying to grow a sort of reddish-brown beard with limited success. His mouth was thin and indecisive, and his eyes were wandering incessantly behind a pair of metal-framed spectacles.

‘Your name?’ asked Münster.

‘I would prefer to remain anonymous,’ said the man.

‘Your name,’ said Münster again.

‘I. . Mattias Kramer, but I’d prefer it if this. . if it were possible to. .’

‘To what?’ wondered Münster.

‘If this conversation could be treated with discretion. My situation is far from easy.’

‘I see,’ said Münster. ‘If you say a little about it, and why you have come here, we can see what we can do about it.’

Kramer adjusted his spectacles, and swallowed.

‘Would you like something to drink? A cup of coffee, perhaps?’

‘No thank you. No, that’s not necessary. Can you promise me that what I say won’t be made public? It would be. . It would be catastrophic for me if my wife got to hear about it.’

Münster leaned back in his chair and allowed a few seconds to pass.

‘I can’t give you any guarantees,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you understand that. Our duty as a police force is to combat crime, and if you tell me anything that-’

‘It’s nothing criminal,’ interrupted Kramer fervently. ‘Certainly not. It’s a private situation, but it would ruin me if. . well, if it became public knowledge.’

‘I see,’ said Münster. ‘Tell me why you have come to see me — I obviously have no desire to make life difficult for you.’

Kramer cleared his throat and hesitated for a moment.

‘Tomas Gassel,’ he said eventually.

It took a second or two for Münster to recognize the name.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘Pastor Gassel, who had an accident in September.’

‘Of course. I know about that.’

‘I saw something about it on a television programme last night. I’ve been meaning to contact you several times during the autumn, but haven’t been able to raise enough courage. But when I saw the picture of him last night, and heard what they said, I realized that I really must talk to you.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Münster.

‘We had a relationship.’

‘A relationship?’

‘Yes. Tomas was homosexual, I don’t know if you are aware of that.’

Münster nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We know about that. So you are also homosexual, are you?’

‘Bi,’ mumbled Kramer, looking down at the floor. ‘I’m bisexual. That’s much worse.’

Münster waited. Found a blank page in his notebook and wrote down Mattias Kramer’s name. It was not exactly news that it was more difficult to be bisexual than homosexual, and the way his visitor looked just now confirmed the truth of the matter. He seemed to have no idea how to sit up straight on a chair, was shuffling around non-stop, and he was examining every inch of the floor as if he had dropped something and was desperate to find it.

‘I’m married and have a little daughter,’ he said in the end. ‘We live in Leerbach.’

Münster made a note of that.

‘Go on,’ he said.

Kramer pulled himself together and straightened his back.

‘My wife knows nothing about any of this,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know myself when we got married, it has just sort of crept up on me. I can’t do anything about it, it’s a sort of murky compulsive drive and there is no way I can protect myself from it.’

‘I can understand that it is difficult,’ said Münster. ‘So you had a secret relationship with Pastor Gassel?’

Kramer sighed.

‘Yes. We have known each other for about a year — or had known each other, I suppose I ought to say. We met occasionally, and. . well, it was sufficient for me if I could give vent to my feelings in this respect every other month or so. Or less than that — I don’t expect you to understand me, I’m just giving you the facts.’

‘Of course,’ said Münster.

‘Whenever I think about it, and about my family, I sometimes get the feeling that I want to put an end to it, once and for all, somehow or other. My only hope is that it will pass. I mean, it didn’t start until I was an adult, so perhaps there’s a chance. .’

He fell silent. Münster observed him for a while, thinking things over.

‘You don’t need to apologize any more,’ he said. ‘I understand your problems. But perhaps you could explain how you are mixed up in the death of Tomas Gassel instead? That’s presumably why you’ve come here.’

Kramer nodded several times and adjusted his spectacles again.

‘Of course. Sorry. I just wanted you to be clear about the background. Anyway, that evening. .’

‘The second of October?’ asked Münster.

‘Yes, the evening he died. I was on my way to meet him. My wife thought I was attending a course, but that wasn’t the case. I was on that train to Maardam in order to meet him.’

‘The train that ran him over?’

‘Yes. It was horrendous. He was supposed to meet me at the station, and instead. .’

His voice started shaking. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.

‘Instead, he ended up on the tracks?’ said Münster.

Kramer nodded and put the handkerchief away. Then he buried his head in his hands for a few seconds before straightening his back and taking a deep breath.

‘It was so horrendous,’ he said again. ‘I got off the train. I’d been in one of the rear coaches, and when I stepped down onto the platform and started walking towards the station building I realized immediately that something had happened. People were screaming and running around and bumping into one another. . And a woman grabbed hold of my arm and wept and told me what had happened.’

‘How did you find out that it was Tomas Gassel who was the victim?’

‘It took a while. At first I was looking for him among all the crowds of people — he was supposed to be meeting me, after all. And in the end. . in the end I saw him.’

‘You saw him?’

‘Yes, as they lifted him up off the track. What was left of him. For Christ’s sake. .’

Kramer blinked several times like an owl in the sunlight, then buried his head in his hands once more — and Münster could see from his shaking shoulders that he was crying.

Poor bastard, he thought. How has he managed to survive, for Christ’s sake?

But perhaps that was what bisexual people had to come to terms with? Surviving. Mind you, they were not the only category of human beings who had to do that.

He waited until Kramer had pulled himself together. Asked again if he would like a cup of coffee, but received only a shake of the head in reply.

‘Then what did you do?’

Kramer flung his hands out wide.

‘What could I do? At first I thought I was going out of my mind, but then all the shutters went up and I didn’t feel anything at all. I found a hotel and checked in for the night. Didn’t sleep a wink. The next day I went back home to Leerbach.’

‘And you never thought of getting in touch with us?’

‘Of course I did, as I said. I haven’t thought of anything else since it happened. All this horrendous autumn.’

Münster thought for a while.

‘How did you get to know each other?’ he asked. ‘You and Pastor Gassel.’

Kramer reduced his mouth to a narrow slit as he thought about his response.

‘At a club,’ he said. ‘Here in Maardam. There are clubs like that. . for people like us.’

His voice had a trace of desperate pride, and Münster could see that in spite of everything, he felt relieved. Coming to the police station and telling them what he knew had somehow endowed him with a degree of human dignity. But it was only a few seconds before he remembered the quandary he was in.

‘What’s going to happen now?’ he asked grimly.

‘What do you mean?’ Münster asked.

‘What are you going to do with me?’

‘We’ll have to see,’ said Münster. ‘I have a few questions for you first. Despite the fact that you were in shock, did you have any thoughts about how your friend ended up on the track under the train?’

Kramer shook his head.

‘No. I have no idea. . But I saw what they were inferring on that television programme last night. That’s awful — can that really be what was behind it all?’

‘We’re far from certain about any such link,’ said Münster. ‘It’s just one of several possibilities.’

‘What are the others?’

‘Well, only two really,’ said Münster. ‘That he committed suicide. Or that he fell.’

Kramer livened up.

‘He certainly didn’t commit suicide — he would never do that. He knew that I was on that train, he was a strong and considerate person who would never. . No, it’s out of the question: he would never do anything like that.’

‘You are quite sure about that?’

‘One hundred per cent,’ said Kramer. ‘I’ve always taken it for granted that it was an accident. . That he stumbled, or something of the sort.’

‘But did you have any other thoughts, after that television programme last night?’

Kramer looked confused for a moment.

‘Well, yes. . I suppose you could say that I did. But it sounds so incredible. Why should. .? Who would. .?’

‘He never said anything about feeling threatened, or anything like that?’

‘No, certainly not. . But then we spoke so rarely. Only when we were arranging to meet.’

‘Did he ever mention the name Monica Kammerle?’

‘No.’

‘Or Martina Kammerle?’

‘No, certainly not. But we didn’t see much of each other, you must understand that we didn’t have that kind of relationship.’

‘Okay, I do understand that,’ said Münster, ‘but I’m asking these questions so that we can exclude certain possibilities, that’s all.’

‘I see,’ said Kramer.

‘What about Benjamin Kerran?’ asked Münster.

‘Eh?’

‘Have you ever heard the name Benjamin Kerran?’

‘Never,’ said Kramer.

Münster paused and leaned back on his chair, his arms crossed.

‘What’s going to happen now?’ asked Kramer again when the pause became too long.

‘We’ll have to see,’ said Münster. ‘You can go home, and we might get in touch again if we need any more information.’

‘No, don’t do that,’ protested Kramer, looking as if he were about to burst into tears. ‘You promised to be discreet. Can’t I ring you instead?’

Münster nodded and produced a business card.

‘Fair enough. Give me a ring towards the end of next week. But I must ask you to provide me with your address and telephone number, just in case. But you don’t need to worry: I have no intention of making things difficult for you.’

Kramer sighed in relief. Borrowed paper and pencil and wrote down his contact details.

‘Can I go now?’ he asked when he had done that.

‘Of course you may,’ said Münster. ‘But I would like to ask you a few questions that are really none of my business.’

‘Really?’ said Kramer, looking surprised. ‘Such as?’

‘Do you have any more lovers apart from that one? Male lovers, I mean.’

Kramer stood up and looked as if he was wondering whether to be offended or not.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’

‘And you haven’t acquired any more after Tomas Gassel?’

‘No.’

‘So you haven’t been unfaithful to your wife since he died?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Kramer. ‘Why are you asking about that?’

Münster thought for a moment.

‘I don’t really know, to be honest,’ he said. ‘Human interest, I suppose. And a certain degree of concern about your family. Anyway, thank you for coming to tell us about this, herr Kramer.’

He held out his hand. Kramer grasped it with both his and shook it energetically, before hurrying out through the door. Münster leaned back on his chair.

Huh, he thought. So now we know why the priest was at the station.

But how does that help us?

He spun round on his desk chair and looked out of the window. Still no sign of any rain.