Fatal Lies by Frank Tallis

Author:Frank Tallis
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781588367952
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

40

COMMISSIONER MANFRED BRÜGEL looked troubled. In his hands he held a letter.

“Well, Rheinhardt, this is all very difficult—very difficult indeed. But let me assure you, I would have wanted to talk to you had I received a complaint from any of the Saint Florian pupils. The fact that I am related to Kiefer Wolf is really of little consequence. You understand that, don't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The commissioner was visibly disturbed by the transparency of his own deceit. He coughed into his hand, mumbled something about professionalism, and then concluded his introductory remarks by repeating the word “good” three times.

Rheinhardt was accustomed to feeling a sense of foreboding whenever he entered the commissioner's office. But on this occasion the presentiment of impending doom was fearfully oppressive.

“Now, according to my nephew,” said Brügel, “you went to Saint Florian's on Thursday the twenty-ninth of January in order to conduct some interviews. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You interviewed my nephew—and several other boys.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Whom I presume you had previously identified as suspects?”

Rheinhardt crossed his legs and shifted uncomfortably. He could see where this line of questioning might lead and sought to divert the conversation elsewhere.

“Prior to interviewing the boys, I had spoken to Professor Eich-mann, the headmaster, about the Arbeiter-Zeitung article and—”

Brügel waved his hand in the air. “Yes, yes—we can discuss Eich-mann later.” He glanced down at the letter and continued, “The boys you interviewed—they were suspects?”

“Well, only in a manner of speaking.… They were boys who I thought might be able to tell us more about the bullying at Saint Florian's. If the Arbeiter-Zeitung article—”

Again, Brügel cut in: “And how did you identify these… these suspects?”

“With the help of Herr Dr. Liebermann.”

The commissioner snorted. “And how did Dr. Liebermann identify them?”

“He used a psychological technique to probe the mind of Isidor Perger, the boy who wrote those letters to Thomas Zelenka.”

“And what was this psychological technique?”

Rheinhardt grimaced. “He showed Perger”—Rheinhardt's expression became more pained—”inkblots… and asked the boy what he saw in them.”

“Inkblots.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And by inkblots, you mean… ?”

“Blots of ink… on paper, sir. I am sure Dr. Liebermann would be willing to explain how the procedure works.”

“That won't be necessary, Rheinhardt.”

The commissioner took a deep breath and was evidently struggling to contain himself. A raised vessel appeared on his temple, in which Rheinhardt detected the pulse of Brügel s fast-beating and furious heart.

“And is it true,” said the commissioner, in an uncharacteristically controlled voice, “that you accused my nephew of torturing Thomas Zelenka?”

For a brief moment, Rheinhardt found himself wondering whether it was not such a bad idea, at this juncture, to simulate a fainting fit. He could very easily relax his muscles and allow his ample frame to slide off the chair, after which he would be lifted onto a stretcher and conveyed to the infirmary, where he might rest, sleep perhaps, even dream of walking holidays in the Tyrol. On further reflection, he decided that he had better get the ordeal over with.

“Sir,” he said resolutely, “you will appreciate, I am sure, how a direct accusation will sometimes unnerve a suspect.

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