In Matto's Realm: A Sergeant Studer Mystery (28 page)

"Yes, yes, I'll do that," she replied. "But in the meantime why don't you get some breakfast. The coffee's on
the table."

Studer kept his suitcase in his hand when he went
into the dining room. A pale sun, that only just managed to penetrate the mist, was shining. Studer drank and ate. Then he took hold of his case, which he had
put down beside him, stood up, went into the study, sat
down in an armchair and waited. He kept the case on
his knees.

Dr Laduner was wearing a grey dressing-gown over
his pyjamas. He had leather slippers on his bare feet.

"You want to speak to me, Studer?" he asked. The
white bandage round his head made his skin seem
even browner. He sat down, a weary expression on his
face, then put his hand over his eyes. He remained
silent.

Studer opened his suitcase and placed various
objects on the round table, which once, on an evening
that seemed long ago, had had a lamp on it with a
glowing floral shade. Beside the lamp had been the
files on Pieterlen, the classic case.

Dr Laduner took his hand away from his eyes and
looked at the table. Neatly laid out on it were the following objects: an old wallet, a sandbag that looked
like a huge grey salami, a piece of coarse grey cloth,
two envelopes, a piece of paper with writing on it and a
wad of hundred-franc notes.

"Very nice," said Laduner. "Are you going to present
these objects to a police museum, Studer?"

Before Studer could answer, the telephone on
the table rang. Dr Laduner got up. At the other end of
the line was an agitated voice. Laduner covered the
mouthpiece with his hand and asked Studer, "Do you
know where Dreyer, the porter, is?"

"If the Randlingen gendarme has carried out my
orders, then Dreyer's probably at the police station in
Bern by now."

Laduner still had his hand over the mouthpiece. His
smiling mask reappeared.

"Accused of?" he asked.

"Theft and murder," Studer replied in a matter-offact tone.

"Murder? The murder of the Director?"

"No. Of Herbert Caplaun." Studer's voice was so
calm that Laduner stared at him for a moment in
amazement. Then he took his hand away from the
mouthpiece and said, "I'll come down myself later.
Just now I have an important meeting ... No!" he
suddenly shouted, his voice cracking. "I haven't got
time at the moment," and slammed the receiver back
on the rest.

He sat down again, leaning back and closing his eyes
for a moment, then he bent forward and picked up the
objects on the table one after the other while Studer
gave his explanations in a low voice.

"That," he said when Laduner picked up the sandbag, "I found on the platform at the top of the ladder
to the furnace. And that," indicating the piece of cloth,
"was hidden under the mattress of Pieterlen's bed. The
wallet was behind those books there; I found it by
chance. It caused me a bit of a headache because I
found it immediately after Gilgen had been to see you,
Herr Doktor."

"And the envelopes?"

Studer smiled.

"One has to show," he said, "that one has been
trained in detective work." He lifted up one of the
envelopes. "Sand!" he said. Then the other. "Dust
from the hair of the body." He paused. "However, the
Director wasn't knocked down with the sandbag. He
simply ... But you can read it yourself, Herr Doktor."
Studer picked up the handwritten sheet, unfolded it,
then hesitated for a moment. "Maybe it's better if I
read it out myself," he said, cleared his throat and
started to read.

I, the undersigned, Herbert Caplaun, hereby declare that I
was responsible for the death of Dr Ulrich Borstli, Director of
Randlingen Clinic. On 1 September, at 10 pm, I rang Dr
Borstli, who was attending a party for the patients, and,
under the pretext that I had important information for him,
arranged to meet him in a corner of the courtyard at two
o'clock. At the same time I had asked him to bring the documents referring to the deaths in DI. That, however, was only a
pretext. I had learnt that the Director had contacted my father
in order to have me committed to a penal institution for a
period. I had obtained a sandbag and had decided to kill the
Director and hide the body in the heating plant. However,
things turned out differently. An argument arose and the
Director tried to hit me. I called out for help. In order to avoid
arousing attention, the Director ordered me to go into the heating plant with him. I followed him. He switched on the light,
then opened his file and showed me the copy of a letter to my
father. When I had read it, I became furious and raised the
sandbag. The Director stepped back, lost his footing and fell
down. I locked the door to the heating plant, but forgot to
switch off the light. During the days following I hid in Nurse
Gilgen's house.

Randlingen, 5 September 19. Signed: Herbert Caplaun.

Witnesses to the signature:

Jakob Studer, sergeant in the Bern police force

MaxJutzeler, nurse.

Studer stopped. He was waiting. The silence lasted
for a long time.

Finally Studer said, "You will have noticed, Herr
Doktor, that your name is not mentioned in this
document. You requested my presence in order to be
covered by the police. I have tried to carry out my
assignment."

"And Caplaun's dead?" Dr Laduner asked. Studer did not look up, he was afraid of the smile that was sure
to be on the doctor's lips.

"It was an accident," said Studer, embarrassed.

"You mentioned a murder."

"Actually it was both. But it's a long story. And it's
one I'm not very keen to tell, because actually I'm to
blame for Herbert Caplaun's death myself."

"If I understand you correctly, Studer, your clumsiness has caused the death of two people: Nurse Gilgen
and Herbert Caplaun."

Stider said nothing. He pressed his lips together. His
face gradually went red.

The mocking voice continued. "You've been trying
to identify with me, Studer."

"Identify?"

"Yes, you wanted to take my place, play the psychiatrist, slip into my persona. . . "

"Persona?" There was another of those words.

Dr Laduner stood up. He took one object after
another from the table - ignoring only the wad of
banknotes - went over to a cupboard in the corner,
placed them inside, locked it, put the key in his dressing-gown pocket and then came and stood over Studer.

"The forced confession," he said, and his voice was
harsh, "will certainly be very useful. But you've made a
botched job of it, Studer, you've tried to do my job for
me. D'you understand? ... I took you in, I hoped you
would help me. And what did you do instead? Acted on
your own initiative! Without asking my advice. I
haven't asked how Herbert Caplaun came to die - it's
irrelevant anyway. But there's no point in going on if
you have problems understanding these foreign
words."

Studer's thin face grew even redder. He clenched his
fists; he knew that if he looked up and saw the doctor's smiling face, the face with the smile that was like a
mask, he would not be able to restrain himself. He'd
wipe the smile off his face! ... Who did the man think
he was? Studer had protected him, had done everything possible to avoid a public scandal - and this was
all the thanks he got?

"There are a few more things I'd like to point out,
Studer. Do you think I really was so stupid that I didn't
know from the start what had happened? Can you
really only understand things that are explained in
words of one syllable? We got to know each other in
Vienna. You were less ponderous then. Is it old age
that makes you so slow on the uptake? You learnt from
the nightwatchman that I had met Herbert Caplaun
just after two o'clock in the corridor of the heating
plant. Why did you not question me about it? Why did
you not tell me you'd found the sandbag - and the
wallet? Why did you insist on pursuing the investigation under your own steam? I'll tell you why. You saw it
as a trial of strength. You wanted to show the psychiatrist that a simple detective sergeant can have a talent
for psychology too. But you have to be careful when
you're dealing with minds, minds are fragile things.
And you haven't found out anything about Pieterlen
either? So you're a failure as a detective, too, aren't
you? You're a bungler, Sergeant Studer, a bungler and
nothing more."

Studer leapt up. That was too much!

He stood facing Dr Laduner in the classic boxer's
stance with only one thought in his mind: to smash his
fist into that smile. He drew his right arm back. Dr
Laduner had his hands stuck in the pockets of his
dressing-gown, he didn't move. Very quietly he said,
without the smile disappearing from his lips, "Sergeant
Studer, there is a Chinese proverb which is well worth taking to heart: `An angry fist cannot hit a smiling
face.' Just think about it, Sergeant."

Studer sat down. He was very pale. It was true, this
case was just like flying over the Alps. And now it was
over, over in a way that was humiliating. He felt so
immensely weary. Most of all he would have liked to go
to bed and not get up for four days. Four days? And
never get up again, more like it!

What was it Dr Laduner had said? An angry fist cannot hit a smiling face ...

Two men dead.

Studer pressed his fists into his eyes, as if he could
erase the scene that was haunting him: the riverbank -
one man pushing the other into the water. I could have
intervened, thought Studer, why didn't I? Why didn't
Jutzeler intervene? Has this Dr Laduner got us all
under a spell? Little Gilgen, who kept the signed photo
in the drawer of his bedside table, Schwertfeger,
Pieterlen, the classic case, and Caplaun, the neurotic?
Should I tell Laduner why Caplaun pushed the Director down the iron ladder? Or does our psychiatrist
know that too? I'm a bungler. OR Not everyone can
handle other people's feelings like a chemist does his
reagents. Should I point that out to Herr Doktor
Laduner? It wouldn't get me anywhere. The man's
bound to have an answer to that kind of objection that
would take the wind out of my sails. It's hopeless ...

"Do you know what you need, Studer?" Laduner
asked. The sergeant looked at him in surprise. The
doctor went to the door. "Greti," he shouted, "bring
our sergeant a kirsch, he's not feeling too good."

He came back, went over to the window and said,
"Perhaps alcohol should be counted as a psychotherapeutic medicine. At least that's what my celebrated colleague used to maintain and I wouldn't want to say he was entirely wrong. Drink up Studer, then you
can tell us what you know. You stay and listen too,
Greti."

Fran Laduner sat down on the couch. She clasped
her hands. Studer poured himself a glass of schnapps,
emptied it, filled it again and kept the drink in his
mouth for a while before swallowing it and clearing his
throat. Then he began.

"Little Gilgen committed suicide," said Studer, "out of
fear - but fear of what I couldn't work out. You're
about to arrest someone for stealing money and he
throws himself out of the window ... The question
was, what happened in the seven minutes during
which the money disappeared from the administration
office.

"Gilgen had no idea what the safe in admin was like.
He had two bundles of hundred-franc notes in his possession, but had no idea about the third. Therefore,
someone else had stolen them. Gilgen kept his mouth
shut. But he was afraid of being arrested. Why?
Presumably because the examining magistrate would
have forced him to come clean. Logical conclusion:
Gilgen was shielding someone.

"Who was in the corridor at that time? The porter
was in his lodge. Later Irma Wasem came to buy some
chocolate. I think we can assume Gilgen wouldn't have
kept silent to shield Dreyer. Who, apart from those
two, did he meet in the lodge?

"Pieterlen?

"We can discount Pieterlen. He had played the
accordion in the room with the window from which,
according to Schiil, Matto kept darting out and in. But
Pieterlen wasn't in that room any more. I'd seen him
in the corridor by the boiler room, when you were
knocked out, Herr Doktor. It wasn't Pieterlen who
knocked you out - there was someone else creeping round the corridors of the clinic. Who was this other
person?

"It would have been easier to find the solution if I
had listened more carefully to what Colonel Caplaun
said, but I was preoccupied with a moral dilemma of
my own."

Studer gave a shy smile, put his hand on Laduner's
arm and said, without looking up, "Why did you not
tell me Herbert Caplaun spent three months in 0
Ward?"

The doctor stayed silent. Fran Laduner cleared her
throat. Studer continued.

"I suppose everyone in 0 Ward knew Herbert
Caplaun was going to be your private patient. I presume he told them. I still don't know all that much
about the clinic, but there's one thing I can well
imagine: in all the long, empty days the patients will
chat, chat a lot, tell each other about their lives, their
hopes. . ."

Pause.

"Two warders in 0 ... two warders who have stuck by
you, Herr Doktor. The `young guard' if you like: Max
Jutzeler and little Gilgen. You gave Gilgen your photo.
I found it in the drawer of his bedside table. Do you
think it was difficult to guess who Gilgen met in the
porter's lodge, who he was trying to shield? ... Herbert Caplaun described how he came in by the main
gate and went into the porter's lodge ... Dreyer had
three bundles of hundred-franc notes in his hand.
What followed I've had to reconstruct since the two of
them refused to say anything. I imagine the porter had
put the fear of God into Herbert by threatening to
reveal how the Director had died. That was the point
when Gilgen came in. Caplaun probably had the
bundles of notes in his hand."

The third wad of banknotes was on the round table.
Studer picked it up and tapped the edge of the table
with it.