In Matto's Realm: A Sergeant Studer Mystery (27 page)

And while Nurse Knuchel, conductor of the Randlingen brass band (remember, no dancing while
they were playing!), taking Studer's silence for
approval and hoping for a conversion, went on about
the Kingdom of God and redemption, Studer was racking his brains so furiously that the skin on his forehead
wrinkled - which Knuchel took as another sign of
pensive introspection.

He was all the more surprised, therefore, when
Studer bade him a curt farewell and trotted off at the
double. His shoulders were hunched ...

The corridor above Dr Laduner's apartment smelt
of dust and nothing else; the smell of medicaments
and floor polish was completely absent. On the left was
a series of rooms. Servants' quarters. Some doors were
locked, the last was ajar.

The first thing Studer saw when he opened it was an
accordion. Then, lying on old suitcases and chests,
greasy paper and scraps of bread ... Someone must
have been staying in the room for quite some time.
When had he left? He felt the pieces of bread ... They
weren't very stale. Yesterday?

And once more he recalled the attempted break-in
at the administration office, after which Gilgen had
committed suicide because he was afraid he would not
be able to stay silent.

But there was another person apart from Gilgen
who had gone to buy something from the porter. Not
cigars, not tobacco ... chocolate.

Irma Wasem. She had been in the central block during those critical five minutes. He must ask her if she'd
seen anything.

But when the sergeant dialled the number of the
female 0 Ward from Laduner's study and asked for
Nurse Wasem, he was told it was her Sunday off and
that she was unlikely to be back before evening. When the voice at the other end asked who was calling,
Studer simply hung up. A nice life these girls had,
nothing but days off.

The afternoon dragged on ... Dr Laduner had got
out of bed. He was sitting on the couch in his study
drinking gallons of coffee - because of his sore head,
he explained. He had a large bandage round his forehead and the back of his head.

But his answer to all Studer's questions about who
had hit him or what he was doing in the boiler room
was silence. A stony silence. He had even lost his
smiling mask. He looked tired and disheartened.

The afternoon dragged on and on. A real Sunday
afternoon, with accordion music - this time clearly
coming from the wards - yawns, boredom ...

It was time he wrapped up this case ...

Around half past six Studer said he was going out
and told Fran Laduner not to wait for him before starting their evening meal, he really couldn't say when
he'd be back. At the porter's lodge he went in and
asked Dreyer where Gilgen's house was. A little outside
the village, he was told, quite near to the river that was
about a mile away from Randlingen.

The avenue with the sour green apples again. The
twilight was grey. It must have been some instinct that
was taking Studer to Gilgen's mortgaged house. It was
the last of a row of similar detached houses with steep
roofs. They all appeared to be empty; only one had grey
smoke rising up into the twilight. Studer examined the
names on the letter boxes. Finally: Gilgen Furrer, Nurse.

He walked round it, tried the handles on all the doors.
Locked. There were asters in the garden, the endives
were still small. It was a tidy garden, no weeds ...

Studer decided to wait. He could have gone back to
the clinic to ask after Nurse Wasem again, but he didn't. Sure-ly, as Dr Laduner would say, the house
seemed to be unoccupied.... Seemed to be. What was
it that gave him the feeling there was someone in
there. A curtain moving slightly?

He went out of the garden and a little way back down
the road that ran alongside the estate. There was a
bush, big enough for him to hide behind. A look
round, then Studer slipped behind it. He sat down ...
he might be in for a long wait ...

The twilight thickened and night started to fall. In a
sky of bottle-green, like Matto's fingernails, one star
appeared, shining as blue as the lamp in the dormitory
of 0 Ward. Then came darkness. Black. There was no
moon.

Steps. A sharp tap-tap, like high-heeled shoes. Carefully Studer peeped out from behind his bush. A
woman was coming along the road, turning round frequently, as if she was afraid she might be being followed. Outside Gilgen's house she stopped, looked to
the left, looked to the right, then went into the garden.
She knocked at the door, waited. Slowly the door
opened. In the quiet of the night Studer could hear
the woman's voice clearly.

"I think you can come out and walk with me for a
while. It's better talking outside. I've brought you
something to eat."

A man's voice replied. "If you think so."

The couple came out of the garden and went down
the road towards the river. Studer let them get a little
way ahead, then followed them cautiously. His caution
was unnecessary; the night was very dark. He could
only see the others because the woman was wearing a
white dress. The river whispered as it flowed. The
moon rose over the horizon. It looked like a huge slice
of orange. Its light was very soft.

"Did everything go all right?" the woman asked

And the man answered, "The cop didn't catch me."

Studer smiled in the dark. The leaves of the alders
and willows were a shimmer of grey in the colourful
moonlight. The river flowed sluggishly, murmuring
dark words no one could understand.

"What happened yesterday?" the woman asked.
"Weren't you being a bit careless, Pierre?"

"I ran into the cop when I went to see Dr Laduner.
Pity Gilgen's dead, he was a good man."

Silence. The woman was leaning against the man. In
front of them was a small area of sand, which glittered
in the light of the moon coming through the branches.

"Didn't you ever feel jealous, Pierre?" the woman
asked. How a voice could change! Studer had heard it
when it was moist with tears. Now it sounded energetic.
And at the same time warm and tender.

"Jealous?" It sounded astonished. "Why jealous? I
trusted you. You told me you were only going out with
the Director so as to get him to change his mind about
me. I'm not so stupid as to believe everything people
tell me, you know, but why should I not have believed
you?"

"You were right, Pierre ... D'you know what that cop
thought? He thought I wanted to become Fran Direktor. Oh, these cops. Just a load of big-mouths, that's
all."

"No," said Pieterlen, the classic case, "he's actually quite a decent bloke. He's stuck by Laduner. If he'd
wanted he could have caused him all sorts of problems
by now."

"Do you like Laduner better than me?" Irma Wasem
asked. It was the kind of question women like to ask.
Studer listened sympathetically. There was something
about the whole business he found heartening, though
he couldn't have said why. He recalled what Dr
Laduner had said: "And why shouldn't we have an idyll
within these red walls, once in a while?" In a case like
this it was nice to be proved wrong. Even Dr Laduner,
the great psychiatrist, had been mistaken. The lassie
was all right. She stuck by her boyfriend. Though, of
course, women were odd sometimes, you couldn't
always believe what they told you. But in this case Irma
Wasem seemed to be being honest, and he'd been well
wide of the mark when he'd seen her as a calculating
young miss with an eye to becoming the Director's
wife. The one who'd been taken for a ride was Herr
Direktor Ulrich Borstli, but since he was dead and
buried it presumably didn't matter much to him.

"You know what?" said Irma Wasem. "I think it would
be best if you didn't stay in Gilgen's house any longer. I
went to see my brother today. He's the same age as you
and he's OR I've brought his certificate of domicile
for you. Go to Basel with it and register under his
name. In a week you can get a passport and go to
France. I've a sister-in-law who lives in Provence, you
can go and stay with her. I'll write to you then. After all,
it's only the clinic that's looking for you, I don't think
Laduner will have said you're a danger to the public,
so the police won't exert themselves too much trying
to find you."

"I wouldn't have been able to stay in Gilgen's house
any longer anyway. That other bloke's making a racket the whole time. I don't think I was ever as mad as him.
He's got a gun as well and he keeps threatening to
shoot himself. And thank you. Y'know what? I'll walk
all night and get a train in Burgdorf in the morning."

"Have you any money?"

"No ... Can you let me have some? I'll send it back if
I can earn any."

Irma Wasem told him not to talk rubbish. She even
used Studer's favourite word, Chabis. Studer heard the
rustle of banknotes.

"I'll come and see you in Basel, if I can manage it,"
said Irma. Then it was quiet for a long time, apart from
the murmur of the river. A light breeze was playing
with the alder leaves.

"Bye," said Pieterlen, the classic case.

"Take care," said Irma Wasem.

And with that the two shadows disappeared into the
darkness.

It was the best solution: Pieterlen, the classic case,
disappears. He deserved it. Nine years! Locked up
nine years for killing his child. And what had he been
through in those nine years? Making coffins in his cell,
then sewing buttonholes until he went mad because he
couldn't stand it any longer. Smashing windowpanes,
being force-fed, narcosis. Then waking up, coming
back from another realm, fleeing the land where
Matto ruled ... But didn't Matto rule the whole world
over?

There was that dream he'd had of the elegant
bombs, standing there like soldiers on parade, and
there was the voice on the radio, "Two hundred thousand men and women. . . "and the voice had sounded
no different from the voice of the patient in the corner, counting his imaginary herds and his imaginary
fortune ...

He should wish this Pierre Pieterlen luck. He was
going back to face the world, and all the dangers that
entailed. But perhaps Irma Wasem might succeed in
getting the classic case to understand that even a
labourer with philosophical pretensions has the right
to bring children into the world and be happy with
them. Happy! That was another of those words. Contented, perhaps.

To France. Good. Studer liked France. There was a
lot of disorder over there, and their politics were
sometimes - God help us! But still, the Germans did
say it was God's favourite country. Let's assume they're
right and wish Pierre Pieterlen the best of luck. If
Irma Wasem ever handed in her resignation, he'd
know what was up. Perhaps a little card with his
congratulations would be in order.

Anyway, it shouldn't be difficult to persuade Dr
Laduner that this was the best solution. Dr Laduner
had a lot to thank Studer for; Dr Laduner who was so
free with the bread and salt.

What had Pieterlen been? A bundle of files. And Dr
Laduner had brought the bundle of files to life.

But why was it on the evening of the harvest festival
that Pieterlen had run off? That would be explained
too. It was always the same in these cases: you groped
around in the dark, you did your utmost and then at
last you got hold of the end of the thread. And that was
that. One pull and the case untangled itself.

Arrest Pieterlen? Why? It was well known in Bern
that Studer could be cussed once he'd made up his
mind. He had been asked to cover Dr Laduner. Had he
not done that? Pieterlen's description had been circulated. Were his colleagues in Basel stupid enough to let
a classic case like that slip through their fingers? And
what if they were? He couldn't be everywhere at once.

Pierre Pieterlen, schizoid psychopath, you've been
deprived of your freedom long enough, try and make a
go of it. If you succeed, all the better. We're all poor
sinners. What did someone once say? Let he who is
without sin cast the first stone.

Studer went back along the road, deep in thought.
When he came in sight of Gilgen's house he slipped
quickly behind the bush he had used as cover before
... The door was wide open and light was flooding out
onto the garden path. The shutters on one window
downstairs were open.

But it was not the unexpected light that had sent
Studer scurrying behind his bush. There was a man
walking up the garden path. Studer recognized Dreyer,
the porter.

The sergeant crept up to the house and looked in
through the lighted window. There were three people
in the room. In one corner was the fair-haired young
man who had been crying on the couch in Laduner's
study. He had a Browning in his hand. Opposite him,
in a frozen posture, sat Staff Nurse Jutzeler. Then the
door was quietly opened. Dreyer entered the room,
pulled a chair over by the backrest and sat down beside
Herbert Caplaun.

Studer went in ...

On Monday morning, towards nine o'clock, Studer
came out of the guest room. He was carrying his battered pigskin suitcase. In the corridor he met Frau
Laduner.

Was the sergeant leaving? she wanted to know.
Studer took his watch out of his waistcoat pocket, nodded and said as far as he knew there was a train to Bern
at eleven, which was the one he intended to take.
Could he have a word with the doctor first?

Frau Laduner said her husband wasn't well, he was
still in bed. Still, if it was important she would go and
call him. There was an anxious look in her eyes.
Wouldn't the sergeant like to have breakfast first? she
asked.

Studer thought for a while, then he nodded deliberately. "If I might have a cup of coffee," he said. "But
after that would you be so kind as to let Dr Laduner
know I'll be waiting for him in his study. I've something to tell him and it will take about an hour. And
you can say I'll be happy to tell him the truth, if the
doctor wants to hear the truth. Would you mind using
those exact words?"