Eternal Life (10 page)

Brenner got to Engljähringer’s shortly before eight. And now it was already past nine. Outside, pitch black.

“Will you have another?” Engljähringer the schoolteacher says. Offers an encouraging smile. But this was already his third now. And her third. Maybe a good sign, Brenner thought.

“You do know how people talk, that Clare is, how do they put it so nicely here? A
Nebenzu
,” the schoolteacher says.

“A
Nebenzu
?”

“An illegitimate child of Vergolder’s.”

Now, though. A
Nebenzu
. Brenner didn’t let anything show. Except for pouring himself another amaretto STAT:

“He seems, so, all over the place—”

He noticed that he was slurring his speech now. Because he’d had a beer earlier at the Feinschmeck.

“He seems, so, all over the place—somehow’s got his finger in every pie.”

Nine oh-seven is what time it was. Needless to say, Brenner wasn’t looking at his watch. Because, then, maybe
Engljähringer would ask him if he needed to leave. But on the VCR behind Engljähringer he saw that it was nine oh-seven. Now, in the next fifteen minutes, something had to happen, one way or another.

And it just had to be the mention of Vergolder at just that moment that rattled Brenner. Just had to start thinking of Vergolder instead of Engljähringer. With his finger in every pie, just had to go thinking. Engljähringer must’ve noticed, though, that Brenner was having a problem, because she was smiling so nicely at him now. Or did it just seem that way to Brenner on account of the four or five amarettos.

“You could be in the pictures for pearly whites,” he says now.

But just before this, you could hear a car pulling up and parking in front of the building, and now somebody was ringing Engljähringer’s doorbell.

“That’s just my boyfriend,” Engljähringer the schoolteacher says. She had dark hair, white skin with translucent freckles, and blue eyes with white flecks in them, roughly like a Bavarian check table cloth.

Just her boyfriend.

Brenner rated that as a bad sign. And then, all of the sudden, as Engljähringer was going into the foyer to let her boyfriend in, Brenner got a real panic-stricken feeling. Maybe this, too, was from the amaretto. Suddenly Brenner feared that it was Vergolder. That he’d turn out to be Engljähringer’s lover.

Brenner couldn’t have imagined anything worse just then. But then, it did get worse.

He heard her boyfriend’s voice, but he didn’t recognize it. And then he heard how the schoolteacher gave him a kiss hello. And then he came in. And then, it was Mandl the local reporter. But it took all his might for Brenner to keep himself from breathing too heavily, this time from rage.

As Brenner took the narrow mountain road up to Vergolder’s the next morning, his thoughts were still on Mandl: how Mandl’s tie seemed even greener than the last time he’d seen him. Even though, by that point, only two candles were still burning in Engljähringer’s living room. And that must’ve had something to do with how red Mandl’s face was, because red and green, needless to say, a nice contrast.

“What are you looking for here!” Mandl shouted.

And Brenner says softly: “I look everywhere, Mandl.”

“You look everywhere. But you don’t find anything.”

“You know what I’d like to find? You, with your mouth shut.”

“My mouth, eh? I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut again. Give Vergolder my best. Tell him I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for a long time now. How come you got kicked off the force.”

The schoolteacher was trying hard—damage control, as it were. She tried to calm Mandl down. But it was already out. And now, on his way to Vergolder’s, Brenner still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Why would Vergolder shield him. And if the police
considered Vergolder a suspect, why wouldn’t the
Pinzgauer Post
write about it. That must’ve pleased Vergolder. And especially since it wasn’t Brenner, wasn’t his idea, but Nemec, it was his thing, the suspicion about Vergolder.

That last stretch before you get to Vergolder’s is so steep that Brenner had to stop a couple times. Twelfth of September, and already so warm at this hour of the morning that you immediately break out in a sweat.

And Brenner didn’t like it one bit when he had to do anything strenuous in the morning. Because his time of day didn’t really begin until the afternoon. Two, three o’clock, that was Brenner’s kind of time. But now, as he arrived at the parking lot in front of the Vergolder castle, he looked at his watch, and it seemed a little uncanny to him for a second there. Because nine oh-seven. It had been practically twelve hours exactly, on the dot, since Mandl had turned up at Engljähringer’s apartment.

But it wasn’t Mandl who was ringing a doorbell unannounced today, no, it was Brenner. And if, say, Mandl had been surprised twelve hours earlier, then it was Brenner who was surprised now, though not unpleasantly. He couldn’t quite believe that Vergolder answers his own door.

You’ve got to picture it, the place looked like some grand manor house—if a proper butler had been standing in the doorway, that would’ve surprised Brenner less. Or, let’s say, a maid at least. But not so, just Vergolder himself standing there, blue tracksuit, and says:

“Grüss Gott!”

“Maybe I should have called ahead,” Brenner says. A bad
conscience suddenly grabbed hold of him because Vergolder was being so friendly.

“I’m not in the phone book,” Vergolder says. And now he looks Brenner deep in the eyes. Because Vergolder, he was the type of guy—now how should I explain this to you. He liked to look at a person in this way that would’ve made you think, Here comes his most profound life lesson—Vergolder’s gold, as it were. And that was exactly how he had his gaze trained on Brenner now, like the coach of a kids’ soccer team, let’s say, who says to his mini-men: “And one thing you must never, ever, forget!”

And after a few seconds Vergolder says:

“Believe it or not. Costs two-hundred and seventeen schillings not to get in the phone book.”

For a moment Brenner didn’t know what he should say to that, but Vergolder had already turned halfway around, and he says perfectly straight now, I mean, not as kindly, not with this kindhearted look of the kids’ coach, but perfectly straight:

“Frankly, I’ve been expecting a visit from you.”

But Brenner couldn’t get Vergolder’s eyes out of his mind now.

He’d had to deal with Vergolder twice when he was a cop, and really, Vergolder looked the same as ever. But that’s exactly what it was. It wasn’t anything strange that was bothering Brenner, no, but something familiar about his face.

Maybe some imperceptible resemblance to his nephew Lorenz. But how’s that work, two more different types you
can barely imagine. On the one hand, Vergolder, who, at seventy, was still bursting with energy and entrepreneurial verve. His snowy white hair, his tanned ski instructor’s face, his squinty millionaire’s eyes. On the other hand, and nearly a generation younger, Lorenz, with those resigned old eyes of his.

And then the house. If you can even call it a house. Castle more like, a few hundred meters above the lake, and from up here you could see the whole lake and the whole city of Zell.

But inside, how should I put it, you’d almost be disappointed. Given the outside, you would’ve expected more. They’d renovated the castle to such an extent that you’d have thought you were in a civil service apartment. And maybe, in the end, it’d struck Vergolder that way, too. Because Brenner was thinking now, Maybe that’s why he’s got so much old furniture stuffed into this place, so that it doesn’t look like a civil service apartment from all the renovating. Because wherever he looked, Brenner saw a heap of antique furniture.

And as Vergolder led him further into the castle, there got to be more and more antique furniture. It was almost too much for Brenner. He had to look where he was going, make sure he was following Vergolder exactly, because everywhere he looked, he was stepping over a Madonna or a saint, he had to pay attention that he didn’t step on anything.

Now, you should know, Brenner had a terrible sense of direction. And this, after twenty years on the force. You’d like to think a person might come to learn a thing like that,
but no dice. Typically, all it takes is two turns, and he doesn’t know where he is anymore—I mean, no talk of directions. And as Vergolder dragged him through a few hallways and up two, three staircases full of antiquities, needless to say, he immediately lost all sense of orientation.

But then, he knew where he was all over again. Because the living room has a window, and the window alone was as big as his whole civil service apartment. And so the detective saw Lake Zell, and really, all of Zell below him, I mean, splendid, you’ve got to admit.

And so he’d found his way back again. He couldn’t quite see the Glockner Dam across the way, but right next to the Mooser Dam he saw something gleaming in the sun, and that was the funicular station at Heidnische Kirche.

“Have a seat!” Vergolder says.

But the living room, too, or, the living hall, let’s call it, was completely stuffed full of antique furniture. And that’s why Brenner didn’t know all over again, where am I supposed to sit down.

Instead he went over to the window and turned his back to Vergolder, because he was looking out the window. Maybe just so that he wouldn’t have to be constantly looking at the heap of antique furniture, which was really getting to feel oppressive. And while he’s looking out the window, he says:

“What’s with the bogus alibi that you gave the police—did you not want to protect yourself?”

“Do have a seat!” Vergolder says.

But Brenner didn’t react, just kept looking out the
panoramic window—why the Historical Landmarks Preservation Commission allowed a window like that to get installed in a place like this, please, don’t even get me started. He only turned around when the maid brought the tea in. A slight, maybe sixteen-year-old girl that he’d seen in town a few times. Now, as long as the maid was there, Vergolder struck up a harmless tone.

“A tragic story, the death of my in-laws. But, you know what I console myself with? They met while skiing. Nineteen twenty-nine, on a ski trip to Vermont. And they died together in a ski lift. And then I think to myself: Maybe it was supposed to be that way, just so I can find some consolation in that.”

Vergolder lit up a cigarette, and Brenner thought, Interesting, ever since I’ve gone off cigarettes, I’ve only had to deal with people who are chain smokers. He waited for Vergolder to say something about the accusation. But, as soon as the girl left, he only put on his kids’ coaching look again and said:

“Why is it exactly that you’re not on the force anymore?”

But not what you’re thinking, that it was a question. No, more like an answer is how it sounded. And needless to say, it was, too. Because Vergolder knew for a fact why Brenner wasn’t on the force anymore. Just like Brenner already knew the answer to his own question, I mean, why the false alibi.

In truth Brenner was preoccupied with a completely different question now. This whole time he’d been asking himself, What is it about the millionaire’s tanned face that
bothers me so much. Not something strange but something familiar, maybe it was an imperceptible resemblance to his nephew Lorenz after all.

“Your alibi, the story about Lorenz. You didn’t want us to fall for it in order to protect yourself, no, it was to protect Lorenz.”

Vergolder had a peculiar look about him, like a person who’s just taken their glasses off and can’t see too much now. It seemed to Brenner like those nearsighted eyes of his didn’t fit in somehow with his millionaire’s face. Eyes, though, pure exaggeration. Just slits, that’s what they were, if you tried to guess what color they were, not a chance.

And the whole time he was running his index finger over his eyelids in a way that would’ve made you think, dead tired. He had thousands of very fine wrinkles around his eyes, practically crow’s feet, that’s what it’s called. Maybe you’re familiar with how mountain climbers, as they get older, or old smokers, they don’t mind this kind of upper-lip concertina. And so he was stroking his eyelids non-stop—you would’ve thought he was trying to iron out his concertina’s folds.

“I had them operated on two months ago. A wonderful thing. Since then I don’t need glasses anymore. But out on the slopes, just blinding, terrible.”

“You’ve always known that Lorenz wrote the threat letters. Best wishes from the Heidnische Kirche,” Brenner says.

“Don’t get sore at me, Simon,” Vergolder says. Because, you see, he was used to being able to call everybody by their
first names. The Lift Kaiser of Zell, it’d been a long time since he’d asked, may I call you by your first name.

“It’s no secret to anybody, what do you think you’re revealing, Simon,” Vergolder says, “everybody in Zell knew from the start. Only my Lorenz could come up with something like that.”

“And you saw to it that it got swept under the rug,” Brenner says.

“What rug?” Vergolder says. “What was I supposed to do? The tourists get nervous. What with the dam walls right over our heads.”

“So, Lorenz had to back up his threat. With a few dead bodies in the ski lift,” Brenner says.

“That’s exactly how it would’ve been spun. By morons like you, Simon. Except that Lorenz is the absolute last person on this earth who’d kill another person. Sure, he hears the grass screaming when it’s being mowed. But if he ever committed a murder, well, I’d volunteer to be the corpse!”

“Then he wouldn’t have needed your false alibi at all. Which you came up with for him when he had to give an alibi for you. And you wouldn’t have needed to pick him up in such a hurry from the psychiatric clinic, either, just so he wouldn’t go and tell me anything different. And you wouldn’t have needed to intercept the
Pinzgauer Post
, either, so that the newspaper would promptly forget the whole thing. If you were so convinced of his innocence.”

Vergolder placed his half-empty teacup on the silver tray and poured himself a fresh cup. Then he gave Brenner’s still-full cup a look of reproach. And then he looked at Brenner
like maybe the kids’ coach looks at the eight-year-old striker that he’s trying to drum some courage into before a game and says: