Fatal Lies (5 page)

‘Here,' said Mathias, handing Rheinhardt the magnifying glass.

The lens showed that the white lines were in fact tiny weals: raised ridges of pale flesh.

‘What is it? A dermatological disease?'

‘No, Rheinhardt. It's scar tissue. The skin has been slashed with a razor. The wounds have healed over now – but the manner in which they have healed suggests they were repeatedly reopened.' Mathias's magnified finger appeared beneath the glass. ‘The uppermost incision was once infected.'

‘Could these cuts have been self-inflicted? I have heard of prisoners injuring themselves to relieve boredom.'

‘Only if he is left-handed – a right-handed person would instinctively cut contralaterally, thus inflicting wounds on the left
pectoralis major
.'

‘I'm afraid I do not know which was his preferred hand.'

Mathias examined the boy's thumbs and then squeezed Zelenka's upper arms.

‘He was right-handed,' Mathias said with absolute certainty. ‘His right thumb is slightly larger than the left, and his right biceps is more developed.'

‘Very impressive, Herr Professor.'

Mathias did not acknowledge Rheinhardt's compliment and his
expression suddenly changed from one of confidence to perplexity. He lifted Zelenka's left arm and allowed it to swing out over the edge of the table.

‘I thought I could feel something odd.'

A few centimetres below the boy's armpit was a square of bloody gauze. Mathias eased the dressing away, revealing another network of cuts. Unlike those on Zelenka's chest, these had not healed. The lines of the criss-cross pattern were black and scabby. Mathias closed his eyes and explored the wounds with his fingertips. They trembled over each crusty laceration, like those of a blind man reading Braille. He then pressed the flesh until one of the cuts opened.

‘Quite deep,' he said softly.

Rheinhardt scratched his head.

‘Have you seen wounds like this before?'

‘No,' said Mathias, ‘I haven't.'

Rheinhardt puffed out his cheeks and let the air escape slowly.

‘Is there some connection between these wounds and the boy's death?'

‘There could be. For example, his blood might have become poisoned. But we must proceed further with the autopsy to find out.'

‘Of course.'

‘Hold him down, will you?'

Rheinhardt grimaced and gripped Zelenka's cold, waxy shoulders.

Mathias removed the boy's shoes and socks. He then loosened the youngster's belt and pulled off his trousers. Beneath these, Zelenka was wearing knee-length drawers with a button overlap and drawstring waist.

‘Excuse me,' said Mathias to the corpse, tugging at the under garment and exposing the boy's genitals.

‘God in heaven!' cried Rheinhardt.

Another square of bloody gauze was stuck to the boy's upper thigh.

The two men looked at each other.

‘Haussmann!' Rheinhardt called.

The door opened and his assistant stepped over the threshold.

‘Sir?'

‘We shall be needing the services of a photographer again.'

THEY HAD PERFORMED
some popular songs by Carl Loewe – ‘
Edward
', ‘
Prinz Eugen
', ‘
Archibald Douglas
' – and were tackling his setting of Goethe's
Erlkönig
. It was a competent piece of
Lieder
writing, although somewhat melodramatic. Even so, the two friends surrendered their musical sensitivities to the spirit of the work, and Liebermann was pleasantly surprised. Rheinhardt's baritone was particularly expressive, finding qualities in Loewe's arrangement that had previously escaped the young doctor's notice. When the final chords descended over a mysterious, rumbling bass, Liebermann was thrilled by the effect.

‘Bravo, Oskar,' said Liebermann, clapping his hands together. ‘Exceptional. I haven't heard a better performance on the concert platform.'

Rheinhardt considered feigning modesty, but decided that this would be ungracious.

‘Yes, it
was
rather good. The
Heimlich
passage in particular.'

‘Indeed – I was utterly convinced. Chilling. Chilling!'

Rheinhardt rifled through the music books and found a volume of Schubert: ‘
“Der Doppelgänger”?
'

‘Yes, why not?'

Rheinhardt placed the book on the music stand – but it was not open at the right page. Instead of ‘
Der Doppelgänger
', the song title was – once again – ‘
Erlkönig
'.

Liebermann smiled at his friend and pointed out the error.

‘Oh, I'm so sorry,' said Rheinhardt. But the Inspector did not correct his mistake. Instead, he looked mischievously at his companion and said, ‘What do you think?'

Schubert's setting of Goethe's ‘
Erlkönig
' had a notoriously taxing part for the pianist: relentless octaves and chords played by the right hand and executed at breakneck speed.

Liebermann flexed his fingers.

‘My wrist feels a little tired, but I think I can get through it.'

‘Excellent.'

Liebermann launched into the torturous triplets of the introduction. Immediately the atmosphere in the room altered, a musical spell was cast and they were both transported.

Storm clouds and the descent of darkness.

Merciless cold.

A galloping horse – its frantic hooves throwing up clods of turf.

‘Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?'

Who rides so late through night and wind?

A father and his son.

The boy buries his face in his father's cloak. When the father asks him what is wrong, the child replies that he has seen the Elf King.

Liebermann attacked the keys of the Bösendorfer, manipulating the pedals to create an expansive – almost orchestral – sound.

The father tells the boy that he is seeing mist, but the Elf King is calling – and the boy clutches even more tightly at his father's cloak.

‘Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind.'

Be calm, keep calm, my child.

Rheinhardt's voice shook with authentic terror. Liebermann glanced up to see his friend gazing into the distance – his eyes searching for a spectral crown and train. Inhabiting the skin of the doomed child, Rheinhardt cried out: ‘The Elf King has hurt me!'

Liebermann imagined an icy, clenched fist squeezing the child's heart. He struck a
pianissimo
chord – and, holding it, waited for the last, devastating line of the song to be delivered.

But it did not come.

Rheinhardt was still gazing into the distance, now seemingly insensible of his actual surroundings.

Liebermann waited patiently until the Inspector started again and finally produced the delayed
recitativo
.

‘In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.'

In his arms the child was dead . . .

The words were half spoken, loosely timed, and heavy with despair. The sound that Rheinhardt produced was hollow – empty and croaking. Thus released, Liebermann played the forceful two-chord cadence that brought Schubert's ‘
Erlkönig
' to a precipitate end. Its abruptness left a bleak silence – as if the music had been snatched away like the boy's life in Goethe's poem.

‘I do apologise,' said Rheinhardt. ‘I think my last entry was a little late.'

‘A little,' said Liebermann, ‘but your performance was . . .' He paused to select an appropriate superlative. ‘Operatic!'

As was their custom, the two men retired to the smoking room for brandy and cigars. After enjoying a few moments of quiet contemplation, Liebermann said: ‘This evening, you will – of course – be wishing to present me with the facts relating to the mysterious death of a young boy.'

Rheinhardt coughed into his drink. He had never quite got used to his friend's habit of telling him what he was about to say.

‘Your performance of Loewe's “Erlkönig”,' Liebermann continued, ‘was curiously committed, given that it is not great music. This suggested to me the presence of a memory – or memories – finding a sympathetic correspondence in Goethe's poetry. My suspicions were
confirmed when you placed Schubert's “
Erlkönig
” on the music stand instead of “
Der Doppelgänger
”. As Professor Freud has explained, such bungled actions often have a deeper significance.

‘Once again, your performance was compelling; however, by the time you had reached the final bars, the contents of your unconscious – stirred by Schubert's genius – were rising from the depths . . . you became distracted, and subsequently missed your entry. Indeed, you were so preoccupied that your silence lasted for two whole measures!'

‘Two?' said Rheinhardt, sceptically.

‘At least!' Liebermann insisted. ‘The “
Erlkönig
” describes the unnatural death of a child. One does not have to be a very great psychologist to connect the subject of Goethe's ballad with events that might have transpired in the real world. I simply supposed that your premature departure from the ball on Friday evening was for the purpose of investigating a child's death – and most likely under mysterious circumstances.'

Rheinhardt produced a smoke ring, through which he observed the flames of the fire.

‘Well, Herr Doctor – you are absolutely correct. On Friday evening I did investigate the death of a child. A fifteen-year-old boarder at St Florian's Military School.'

‘St Florian's? Where's that?'

‘Up in the woods.'

‘Ah,' said Liebermann, showing evident signs of satisfaction. ‘That makes perfect sense.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘The “
Erlkönig
”. The father and son ride through a wood.'

Rheinhardt stubbed out his cigar.

‘Please, do continue,' Liebermann added.

‘St Florian's is situated close to the small village of Aufkirchen –
built on the site of a religious foundation of the same name. Some of the original building still survives behind the new Gothic façade – old cloisters, a chapel, and so forth. I've been told that the school attracts the less academically gifted sons of well-heeled families.'

Liebermann filled Rheinhardt's empty glass. The Inspector thanked him, and recounted the general facts of the investigation. He summarised the statements of Nurse Funke and the three masters: Eichmann, Becker and Gärtner. He then opened his holdall and removed a thick brown envelope. Inside were photographs which he passed to his friend.

The boy, Thomas Zelenka, lying on the infirmary bed.

A school laboratory.

The surface of a bench covered with bottles, dishes and test tubes.

They were not particularly clear photographs. Most were dark and grainy.

A notebook and an untouched pastry . . .

‘What kind of experiments was the boy doing?' Liebermann asked.

‘He was looking at the effects of mixing vinegar with certain chemical compounds. We took samples and had them analysed. The findings were unremarkable.'

‘And what did the school doctor have to say?'

‘Nothing. He arrived after the boy's body had been removed. A tree was blocking the main road, and his driver – like ours – got lost.'

The next image showed Zelenka's naked body in the morgue. Under the bright electric light, his features and physique were more clearly defined.

‘So, how did he die – exactly?'

Rheinhardt shook his head.

‘We don't know. Professor Mathias couldn't find anything wrong with him.'

‘He just . . . died?'

‘Yes.'

‘In which case, I would have expected Professor Mathias to assume the presence of a subtle pathological process and ascribe the boy's death to
natural causes
.'

‘Which is precisely what Professor Mathias did.'

‘Then why are you treating the boy's death as suspicious?'

Rheinhardt grimaced.

‘Natural causes! Can a boy of fifteen really die of
natural causes
?'

‘It is unusual, but
yes
, it can happen. One can speculate – tiny haemorrhages, deep in the brain, for example. They are exceedingly difficult to identify. A thorough microscopic analysis of transverse sections might reveal something – though one can never be sure. Then there are pulmonary anomalies . . .'

‘Look at the next photograph.'

Liebermann picked up the image and tilted it in the lamplight.

A metal ruler showed the lengths of several faint white lines.

‘What is it?'

‘Scar tissue. About here.' Rheinhardt indicated the location by touching his chest. ‘According to Mathias, the wounds have been repeatedly reopened with a razor.'

The following photograph was equally puzzling: a criss-cross pattern of darker lines.

‘Cuts,' said Rheinhardt. ‘Found on the boy's torso, under his left arm.'

Liebermann considered the image for a few moments before examining the final photograph, which showed the boy's genitals – pulled to one side by the pathologist's hand. The displacement of these organs revealed three deep incisions in the pale flesh of Zelenka's upper thigh.

‘Were any of the wounds infected?'

‘Mathias said that the scarring on the boy's chest shows signs of
past infection, but nothing recent. The other wounds are clean. You are no doubt wondering if these injuries are connected with his death. It seems not. The schoolmasters said the boy was perfectly healthy. He showed none of the symptoms associated with blood poisoning.'

‘What about blood loss?'

‘All the recent wounds had been dressed. There were no signs of excessive bleeding or dehydration.'