Alphabet House (39 page)

He began to tremble.

The room seemed cold. Everything around him was twisted out of shape. Reality and security were at odds. He studied his face in the cupboard’s mirror and saw a stranger.

It took no time to find the big bottle in the cupboard from which the malingerers had fed him so lavishly.

This time he just stuck it in his pocket.

The only visible traces of their encounter were the disarranged carpets throughout the house.

After straightening them, Gerhart returned to Kröner’s study. Here he picked up the deer-foot knife from the floor and placed it in the middle of Kröner’s desk. In the furthest corner of the room stood a slim basket made of strong plaited bamboo, filled with walking sticks and cardboard tubes. He surveyed the forest
of objects for a moment before sticking his hand almost all the way to the bottom. After fumbling for a few seconds he found what he was looking for. A small, slim tube wrapped in heavy brown paper. Kröner had often taken it out playfully to tease him when the malingerers held their drinking parties.

He stuck it inside his wind jacket and hugged it close.

As he was about to leave the house, the doorbell rang. He stood in the middle of the dark hall, devoid of all thought and feeling, until it stopped.

After the women had left Hotel Colombi, Laureen had suddenly begun to cry.

She was quite beside herself.

In an attempt to calm her down Petra had drawn her into a doorway. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find him in time,’ she said firmly, wondering whether she should slap her.

After ten minutes Laureen was herself again. ‘Where are you taking us?’ she asked, attempting a smile.

‘We have to speak to Wilfried Kröner. If we can’t get hold of Peter Stich, it’s Kröner we have to speak to.’

‘You sound worried.’

‘I’ve got good reason to be. We both do.’

‘Then is it wise to go visit him?’ The street was brightly lit. The Saturday shoppers had already filled the parking spaces. Laureen looked around. ‘It’s almost like Canterbury,’ she said distractedly. It was like a melancholy glimpse of a peaceful life several light years ago.

Laureen leaned up against a flashy, silver-grey car that was parked opposite Kröner’s home. Apart from an Audi and a single illuminated window, the house appeared deserted. ‘You can see cars like this parked in Tavistock Square,’ she whispered, mostly to herself. Looking embarrassed, she continued. ‘It’s the street where my husband’s accountant has his office.’ Petra nodded, then looked at the tall woman. She seemed off balance.

‘I don’t know whether it’s wise to visit him, but we’ll soon find out,’ said Petra after a while. ‘Did you see anything move by the door just now?’ she asked.

‘I can’t see the door at all from where I’m standing,’ answered Laureen.

After one of the neighbours nodded to them slightly suspiciously for the second time as he returned from walking his dog, Petra seized Laureen firmly by the arm and pulled her up towards the house. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone home, do you?’

‘I haven’t seen anyone.’

‘We’ll have to ring the bell, I’m afraid.’

‘And what if there
is
someone home? What could Kröner take into his head to do to us?’

‘I haven’t the slightest idea.’ Petra stopped and looked at Laureen severely. ‘But remember one thing, Laureen! If anything should happen, you’ve embarked on this mission of your own free will. Don’t tell me later that you didn’t know any better.’

When Petra rang the doorbell, she noticed the tall woman take a step back.

After having waited for some time, Petra was the first to break the silence. ‘I’m sure they’re all together, all three of them. They’re not here. I think Stich and Lankau must have picked Kröner up.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Because Kröner’s not at home and his car’s parked over there,’ she said, pointing towards the Audi.

‘Then where can they be?’ Laureen shuddered. She usually started freezing after nightfall, no matter the season, even though this was an exceptionally mild September evening.

‘I don’t know, Laureen. Don’t you get it? They’re usually together with their families on the weekend. And since they’re not at home now, one could imagine they were sitting in some restaurant, bawling
Im grünen Walde
or something. In fact they could be doing almost anything, anywhere. Assuming, that is, they really
are
with their families. But they’re not, I know it! Not this evening. They’re out on their own, God knows where.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘When I phoned from Hotel Colombi, Andrea Stich was alone at home. Peter Stich doesn’t go out in the evening without her. There’s a lot you can say about him, but he definitely doesn’t leave Andrea at home if those other bastards bring their wives along. On top of which Kröner’s wife’s car isn’t here. She must have been sent on a family visit or something. As for Lankau, I think he’s the type who’d send his wife off somewhere.’ She
nodded in agreement with herself. ‘No, I’m convinced the three of them are together right now.’

‘And Bryan? Where’s he?’

‘That’s right,’ she sighed, ‘and then there’s your husband. I’m certain he’s one of the reasons why they took off together.’ Petra fumbled with her purse. She wasn’t intending to answer any more questions.

For the first time that day she lit a cigarette. On being offered one, Laureen shook her head.

‘Does the house have another exit?’ Laureen asked.

‘Yes, there’s a door to the garden. But the driveway is the only way out of the grounds, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘It’s not.’

As Laureen disappeared around the corner of the house, Petra considered what they should do. Living in Freiburg would be difficult for her and Gerhart now. Their entire life together was founded on the relationship built up over the years between them and the three men. If the police were brought in, these fiends would know how to wriggle out of it. The real victims would be Gerhart, and thus herself as well. And yet, if they didn’t involve the police, the outcome could be violent for all of them. She was convinced that each of the three men could be tackled individually. But if they were together and the situation was getting out of hand, they would be dangerous. Extremely dangerous.

And now that precise situation was about to arise. The question was, what to do about it and where to begin? When it came down to it, it was Laureen’s husband they were trying to find, not hers. In fact she could just turn around and walk away. She could go visit Gerhart, as she should, then go home to her television, her books, her furniture and her tedious neighbours.

It was this train of thought that frightened Petra the most. She had been stuck in that rut long enough. So why not? What did she have to lose?

Judging by Laureen’s shoes, she’d ploughed her way through every inch of ground around the house. She had dirt up to
her ankles. ‘We can’t get in,’ she ascertained. ‘I’ve tried all the windows and the kitchen door as well,’ she continued, unaware of the figure that had just pressed itself silently up against the inside of the door frame only a few inches away from her, scarcely breathing.

Petra called Lankau from a phone box on the outskirts of the neighbourhood. There was no answer. For a moment Petra stood stock still, leaning against the telephone box. She was puzzled.

‘We’ll have to wait till tomorrow. They could be anywhere,’ she said.

‘But we can’t do that, Petra!’

Petra knew Laureen was right.

‘So you have no idea at all where they could have gone?’ Laureen continued. ‘Haven’t they got some haven where they can go and talk together? An office, a secluded building? Anything at all?’

The smile Petra flashed her was hard to read, but full of sympathy. ‘Listen, Laureen. Between the three of them, Lankau, Kröner and Stich own a house on pretty much every street in Freiburg. They could be anywhere. They could be back where we’ve come from for that matter. At the sanatorium, at Stich’s, or at Kröner’s place. They could be in Kröner’s summerhouse beside Titisee. They could be out on Lankau’s estate, or in Kröner’s boat at Sasbach on the Rhine. Or they could be on their way from one place to the other. Let’s wait till tomorrow.’

‘Now listen to me, Petra!’ Laureen took hold of her shoulders and looked at her earnestly. ‘This concerns my husband! I know there are many things that belong in the past. My husband has never mentioned anything of what you’ve told me. But, do you know what? There’s one thing I know for sure when I think about it. Whatever it is Bryan’s come here for, he’ll see it through to the end. He’s like that. And there’s one thing more, thank God: Bryan and I have been married for many years, and on
many counts we are extremely different. But in one way we’re very alike. We’re both dedicated pessimists. I always imagine the worst, and Bryan does too, in every situation. So up till now, everything he’s done is based on the worst possible scenario.’ Laureen stopped trembling. ‘What’s the worst imaginable situation right now?’

Petra was in no doubt. ‘That Stich, Kröner and Lankau try to erase all incriminating traces of the past in any way they can. With no scruples!’

‘Bryan will have thought of that, Petra. Maybe he never went up on Schlossberg. If he had the chance, maybe he went after them instead. Where can these malingerers be now? We simply have to find out. Because Bryan’s there too.’

‘That’s what I keep saying, Laureen! They could be anywhere and everywhere!’ She stared into space. She looked thoughtful and weary, and her voice was toneless as she continued. ‘But if we use the process of elimination, then Lankau’s vineyard could be an obvious possibility. They go there sometimes when they don’t want to be disturbed.’

‘Why there?’

‘Why do you think? It’s out of the way. There’s no one in the vicinity.’

‘Then try the phone there.’

‘I can’t, Laureen. Lankau safeguards his privacy. I don’t have the number. It’s secret.’

‘How do we get out there? Is it far?’

‘It takes twenty minutes on a bicycle.’

‘Where can I get a bike from?’

‘And it would take ten minutes if we take that taxi over there,’ Petra said, cutting Laureen short and waving her arms.

Despite his age and numerous handicaps, Lankau was still essentially a hardened soldier. He was in charge of the situation. After Arno von der Leyen left, there was little else to do but wait. He had got free, warned Stich and now he waited. The soldier’s greatest virtue.

There, under the cover of darkness, sitting beside the window facing the road, he’d often let his imagination take him places. The mountains in Bolivia were teeming with possibilities. A workforce thirsting for orders and impoverished, neglected plains that could be bought for a song. The River Mamoré had been his base of operations the last time he’d been hunting out there, surrounded by mulattos with dark faces and a subservient manner. It was then he had made his decision. The endless variety of vegetation; the promising mineral deposits; the beer joints in San Borja and Exaltación where the air melted and jukeboxes miraculously poured out scratchy virtuoso interpretations by Elisabeth Schwarzkopf of favourites from the homeland.

All this was to be his future.

Arno von der Leyen’s arrival had made this reality more tangible than ever. As soon as this was all over, he would take his final steps.

His last step to safety would be taken by treading softly.

Lankau smiled to himself. The unaccustomed sensation of sitting alone in a completely dark house appealed to him. It strengthened his resolve and his hatred, and the primordial force to be gained from concentration.

Not since he’d taken a nasty spill many years ago on a black run in Saint-Ulrich in the Dolomites had his body ached so much. His eye stung, his shoulder hurt, and several of the bloody scrapes were throbbing where the twine had ripped the flesh on his arms and legs. He had also banged the back of his head when the chair collapsed under him.

All in all, he was looking forward to paying Arno von der Leyen back in kind.

He would return, Lankau was convinced.

So he just waited, alternating between his present hatred and the dream of future experiences involving young
mestiza
women and the heavy scent of sugar cane, cocoa and coffee.

The house was just as Arno von der Leyen had left it. Now it lay in the evening darkness. A single lamp that was never switched off shone faintly in the courtyard. Occasional cones of light from car headlights gleamed suddenly along the road on the other side of the vineyard, illuminating Lankau’s hunting trophies and momentarily making them come to life.

As soon as the car slowed down on the main road, Lankau knew he would be receiving a visit. With a deep purr it stopped at the sign in the drive, its lights pointing straight at the house. A moment later it backed away and disappeared towards town.

Lankau took another bite of his apple and put it down on the windowsill, chewing lazily and contentedly. Withdrawing behind the curtain, he looked down towards the main road. The driveway seemed deserted. Perhaps it had merely been someone wanting to turn around, after all. But even though this was a strong possibility, he had to imagine the worst. Maybe the car had let someone out. At best it would be Kröner and Stich.

Endless minutes passed.

Finally hesitant steps crossed the yard, and only then did he catch sight of them. Hesitant, cautious silhouettes. The broad-faced man moved away from the window. He was puzzled. It was Petra Wagner and a strange woman. So Kröner’s mission had failed to meet with success.

Lankau groped carefully along the wall from window to window. Everything seemed safe and normal under the shadowy dance of the bushes lit up by passing vehicles.

The women had come alone.

He turned on the table lamp beside the sofa at the same moment as they tried the front door and eased it open.

‘Who’s there?’ he shouted, sticking a short, broad-bladed, double-edged knife inside the elastic of his knee-high socks.

‘Petra Wagner! It’s me, Petra! I have a friend with me.’ Lankau blinked when they switched on the strong light in the hall. As Petra stepped into the doorway she seemed to be holding up a finger to shush her companion. Ever since his confrontation with Arno von der Leyen in the Taubergiessen swamp, sudden changes of light had caused his sound eye to play tricks on him.

It made him doubt what he had seen.

‘Petra!’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘What an unexpected pleasure!’ The voice startled her. As soon as she’d located where it came from, she smiled apologetically.

Lankau’s stubby fingers swept through his thin, dishevelled hair. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’ he continued, holding out his hand.

It was she who did the talking, even when he bid the stranger welcome. ‘You must excuse our bursting in like this. This is my friend Laura whom I’ve told you about. The one who’s a deaf-mute.’ The stranger smiled and kept her eyes trained on her host’s mouth. ‘Did we disturb you?’ Petra put her hand to her breast. ‘Ugh, it was so dark in here when we came. It really gave me a fright just now.’

‘Now, now, Petra.’ Lankau stuffed his shirt inside his knee breeches. ‘I’d just dozed off. Don’t think anything of it.’

It wasn’t difficult to see that Petra and the strange woman were an incongruous pair. And just as undeniable was the fact that Petra had never mentioned she had a friend called Laura, let alone one that was deaf and dumb. On the whole Petra never mentioned anything about her private life that didn’t have to do with Gerhart. If she was in cahoots with Arno von der Leyen, then it was he who had sent her out here. Lankau accepted the possibility.

He could be lurking in the darkness, waiting.

‘I don’t have your telephone number here,’ said Petra. Lankau shrugged his shoulders. ‘And none of you were at home. I just took a chance.’

‘And here I am. So how can I help you?’

‘Are Kröner and Stich here?’

‘No, they aren’t. Is that all you wanted to know?’

‘You have to tell me what happened on Schlossberg.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I have to be sure that Arno von der Leyen is gone for good. Until I know, I can have no peace of mind.’

‘Really?’ Lankau smiled.

‘Is he dead?’

‘Dead?’ Lankau’s laughter was boastful and unpleasant. If Petra was trying to set a trap for him, she wasn’t going to succeed. ‘He most certainly isn’t.’

‘Well? Where is he now?’

‘I’ve no idea. Hopefully he’s sitting in a plane on his way somewhere far away from here.’

‘I don’t understand. He was so bent on finding Gerhart Peuckert. What
did
happen on Schlossberg?’

‘What happened? Why, you know that. He found his Gerhart Peuckert, didn’t he?’ Lankau smiled at her puzzled expression and spread his hands in the air. ‘The only thing that happened this afternoon was that my eldest son had a small brass plate engraved with the words, “In memory of the victims of the bombardment of Freiburg im Breisgau on 15th January 1945.” He fixed it to a small post that he stuck into the ground up in the colonnade.’ Lankau smiled, ‘He’s clever with his hands, my Rudolph!’

‘And what then?’

‘And when he removed it a couple of hours later, someone had laid a small bunch of flowers in front of it. Touching, don’t you think?’ Lankau said, grinning broadly. The women in front of him were looking him straight in the eyes. His experience was that two people are seldom capable of synchronizing a staged deceit, and certainly not two women. If Arno von der Leyen were waiting outside somewhere for the right moment to show up, the expression on the women’s faces would have given it
away. They would have been more alert, more shifty eyed. Shifty eyed and tense. Lankau felt convinced that he was alone with them at the vineyard. Which in no way altered the fact that they were not to be trusted. Only the almost imperceptible smile on Petra’s face looked genuine.

She appeared relieved.

‘When did Rudolph recover his brass plate?’ she asked with a smile.

‘Why do you ask, Petra?’

‘Because we were up there around six and we didn’t see anything.’

‘Then Rudolph must have tidied up after himself. He’s a good boy. And why were
you
there?’

‘For the same reason as we’re here now. We had to know what happened. In order to have peace of mind.’

‘We?’

‘I mean “I”, of course. So that
I
could have peace of mind.’ Petra’s grammatical correction came a bit too promptly for Lankau’s liking. ‘But something like that always has an effect on the people around you, like Laura in my case. That’s why I said “we”. Laura’s here on a visit. She’s living with me.’

‘How much does this Laura know, if I may ask?’

‘Nothing, Horst, absolutely nothing. You needn’t worry. She doesn’t understand much of what’s going on.’ Petra smiled just naturally enough to convince Lankau on this count.

‘Why didn’t you simply phone Stich or Kröner?’ Lankau drew closer, noticing how incredibly slender her neck was. Like Arno von der Leyen’s, the blood vessels were very close to the surface. ‘They could have told you what happened up there on Schlossberg.’

‘I tried. I’ve already told you. None of you were home. I phoned Stich but could only get hold of Andrea, and she said nothing. You know Andrea.’ Her gaze wandered over the walls and the trophies. Lankau had made sure there was nothing abnormal to see, apart from the untidy pile of splintered wood
beside the fireplace. If Petra had thought about it, she would have noticed Lankau’s throne in the middle of the room was missing. In separate bits the chair didn’t take up much space. ‘But where are Stich and Kröner, then?’ she asked at length. ‘Do you know?’

‘No.’

Petra spread out her arms. She looked at the tall woman and back at Lankau, then gave a faint smile. ‘That’s a relief, at any rate. Thank goodness. Now I won’t have to worry about Arno von der Leyen any more. Could you please phone for a cab for us, Horst? We sent the other one away.’

‘Of course.’ The broad-faced man got up, wincing a bit. No matter how things developed now, there was still one unknown factor too many. The deaf woman would undoubtedly be missed if he got rid of them both. Maybe she had relatives. For the time being he would have to restrain himself, even though the opportunity was unique. Gerhart Peuckert and Petra Wagner could always disappear later on, if need be. A tragic little story, a worthy conclusion to a hopeless romance. A Romeo-and-Juliet tale in a callous, present-day setting. There was still time to write that conclusion. But the deaf woman wasn’t part of this chapter. He would have to let them go, for now.

‘By the way, where’s your car, Horst? How’d you come out here?’ She was very direct. It was unlike Petra.

The question was so simple. Lankau could have merely smiled and answered, ‘Just like you, Petra, dear.’ But in a moment of confusion he felt vulnerable and hesitated. Looking incredulously at the slender woman, he changed the subject.

‘You ask a lot of questions, Petra.’ They stared at one another for a few intense seconds before she smiled shyly and shrugged her shoulders.

‘Perhaps it’s your turn to answer
me
now,’ he continued. On meeting his dark stare the tall woman behind Petra moved back a step. ‘Why did you say you’d mentioned that woman before? It’s not true.’ As he moved quickly towards Petra, her expression changed. ‘Is she deaf at all? I’m quite sure I saw you shush her
just as you came in.’ Petra was light as a feather when Lankau took the final step towards her and shoved her aside. The lanky woman behind her put her arms across her face, handbag dangling at her elbow, but it didn’t help. A single blow and down she went without saying a word.

She could hardly have said anything anyway, lying there unconscious with a nearly dislocated jaw.

‘Where are you off to?’ Even before Petra reached the doorway, his fingers had locked around her wrist like a vice.

‘What are you doing, Horst? What’s come over you?’ she said, tugging at her arm. ‘Let me go, and for heaven’s sake, calm down.’ He released her and pushed her relatively gently towards the prone woman.

‘Who is she?’ he asked, pointing.

‘It’s Laura. We call her Laura, but her name’s Laureen.’

‘Take her handbag and give it to me!’

Petra sighed and slipped the bag off the woman’s limp arm. Lankau found it heavier than he’d expected.

Even before the bag was completely emptied, the little sideboard by the door was littered with objects. Lankau promptly thrust his hand into the pile and retrieved a reddish-brown purse whose size promised yet another source of treasure.

The purse contained a multitude of credit cards. Lankau fumbled through them. Sure enough, the woman’s name was Laureen. Laureen Underwood Scott. Lankau studied the name and address for a long time. It didn’t ring any bells.

‘Your friend is English,’ said Lankau, waving one of the credit cards.

‘No, she’s here from Freiburg. Of English extraction and married to an Englishman.’

‘Strange how many English people are popping up today, don’t you think?’

‘She’s not English, I tell you!’

Lankau turned the purse upside-down. Among the receipts he found a passport-sized photo. Petra held her breath. ‘She
seems to have a daughter,’ was all he said. ‘What’s her name? You know that, I presume?’

‘Her name’s Ann.’

Lankau looked at the back of the photo, mumbled, and went out into the hall to study it more closely under the ceiling light. ‘Where do you know this Laureen from? And why have you taken her with you?’ The broad-faced man suddenly turned on Petra, seized her arm and squeezed it.

‘Who is she, Petra? What’s she got to do with Arno von der Leyen?’ He squeezed harder, until she began to moan.

Fighting back her tears, she looked him defiantly in the face. ‘He’s nothing, you idiot, so let go of me!’

The struggle had been terribly unequal. The heavy man rubbed his neck and stretched it with effort. He knew this pain from the golf course, after an awkward stroke. It always went straight to his neck muscles. But the pain would go away within a few hours. The slender Petra Wagner had not provided enough resistance to his blow.

It had been like hitting air.