Alphabet House (42 page)

Bryan tilted his head and tried to caress her knee with his cheek. Attempting to control herself, she whispered pleas for forgiveness without listening to his reassurances. By now Lankau was breathing almost soundlessly in the corner. The calm before the storm, thought Bryan, and nodded up at Laureen. He had no illusions. This was the act where the culprits bid each other farewell. Judging from Laureen’s mildness and sudden irrational quietness, he was sure she knew it, too. Now they were going to die. The past twenty-four hours hadn’t been kind to their executioner, either.

It had to end soon.

‘Time’s up, friends!’ he finally said, clapping his hands as he got up.

Bryan turned towards him. His eyes were as moist as his wife’s, who hardly dared look up. ‘You can still manage to avoid making a bad mistake,’ he said. ‘My wife and I don’t wish you any harm. I just want to find Gerhart Peuckert. He was my friend. He was an Englishman, just as we are. My wife followed after me to Freiburg. I knew nothing about it, I assure you. She hasn’t done anyone any harm. If you let us go we’ll help you.’

‘You can’t quit, huh?’ Lankau shook his head and bared his nicotine-stained teeth. ‘You? Help me? With what, may I ask? You know what you are now? You’re pathetic!’

‘When they find Stich, they’ll find a number of things that link him to you. You’ll be interrogated. They’ll go through all Stich’s belongings. Who knows what they may find? Maybe you and your family need to move somewhere else. Somewhere far away from here. Very far away. And perhaps we can help you with that.’ Bryan saw a momentary element of doubt creep into Lankau’s nasty smile. ‘Can you be sure Stich hasn’t left anything that could incriminate you?’ he added.

‘Shut up!’ Lankau roared, jumping out of his chair. His kick made Bryan’s body turn a half-somersault.

Laureen’s gaze was rigid as Bryan rolled towards her. She gasped for breath, wide-eyed but hardly looking at him, trying to control her breathing. Bryan knew immediately that this wasn’t caused solely by fear. Had that been the case, she wouldn’t be restraining herself.

She would be screaming and crying.

Bryan tried to read her lips. Barely moving, they were whispering inaudible words. He couldn’t make out what they were. Then she bit her lip, a sign of despair. She rolled her eyes upward as if in resignation, then let them drop a couple of times in quick succession.

Bryan sensed her desperation as Lankau made a move to approach them. ‘I’m sorry, Laureen,’ he burst out, noticing
Lankau had stopped. ‘I should have been more open with you. I should have told you everything. About the hospital in Freiburg and about James…’ The shake of her head made him stop short. She didn’t want to hear it. She knocked her knees together and Bryan followed the movement. Then it stopped and Bryan’s eyes reached the floor.

Behind her bound feet lay the Kenju. Just three feet away.

She must have just noticed it.

Lankau was standing behind him. Bryan turned around and looked up at him with haughty defiance. ‘You’ll come to the same end as Stich, you fat pig. And a good thing too, when you won’t listen to reason!’ The gob of spit he aimed at Lankau never made it past his chin, but there was no mistaking the intent. Lankau returned the greeting with still another kick, so that Bryan rolled against Laureen’s legs.

Just as he’d expected.

As he lay gasping for breath, he drew the gun imperceptibly forward with the right arm that was tied behind his back. He could use only his index and middle finger. Then Bryan heaved himself a bit upright, and with the help of Laureen’s nudging toes managed to edge the weapon behind him and over towards his left side where his arm was tied in front. A moist, sweaty feeling was spreading down his arms. Lankau had begun breathing heavily again.

‘Do you think I’m a fool, von der Leyen?’ he said, touching the root of his nose where the wound had already stopped bleeding. ‘I don’t believe a damn bit of the nonsense you’re trying to make me swallow. Of course it’s possible that this stick of English bamboo is your wife, and it’s possible that you call yourself Underwood Scott these days. After all, there are plenty of us who changed identities after the war. But von der Leyen you were, and von der Leyen you remain. The question is what I’m going to do with you. I can’t just let you disappear. Or can I? I’m no spring chicken any more. I don’t take the kind of chances I used to. We must do the right thing.’

‘We? Don’t expect any help from us!’ Bryan leaned further to the side, gasping once more as his face contorted with pain. Finally, drained of strength and submissive, he lay down on the floor on his left side. Precisely so the gun was just under his elbow.

The expression on Lankau’s face was inscrutable, dark and calculating. ‘What if there really is someone who knows you’re here tonight? You’re probably just lying again, as usual. But what if there isn’t? What then? Am I going to break your neck or drown you in the pool? And what about that skinny spectre there? Shall I take her out to the wine press to join little Petra? Does your hotel porter know she’s here too? I doubt it!’

Bryan tried to get some life back into his numb left hand. Once he got hold of the pistol, he’d only get one chance. And he mustn’t let it pass.

‘Where is Petra?’ came Laureen’s surprising question. She seemed composed now and was looking straight at Lankau for the first time.

‘How about that, little lady? I thought you’d never ask. Kind of strange, considering the two of you were such good friends. Ever since childhood, right?’

‘I’ve never set eyes on her before today. Where is she?’

‘Do you know what? I think all that concern should be rewarded. You shall be reunited, so to speak. In a kind of unique and figurative sense to be sure, but better than nothing.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Bryan coughed so hard that his whole body shook. As he worked his fingers for all he was worth.

‘There’s a main electricity switch right out there in the pantry. I’ve turned it off. Perhaps you noticed the light in the yard wasn’t on when you returned?’

Bryan looked at him. ‘And …?’

‘And that switch is the main switch for the bungalow, the garage and the wine press that’s standing in the middle of that wing.’

‘The wine press? What do you mean?’

‘Come on, you know. Those things you drop bunches of grapes into. The grapes circle around and around so nicely until they’re mashed. Quite a practical appliance, I must say.’

‘You bastard!’ Laureen blurted out. She lunged forward in the chair as though trying to attack Lankau. Her eyes were glowing with fury. ‘You don’t mean to say that Petra…?’ Then her body went totally limp and she began to sob.

‘No, I don’t. However, if I flip the switch out there it’ll be a different matter.’ His face grew darker. ‘But that’s going to have to wait a bit. I haven’t quite finished with her, not that it’s going to matter in the end.’

‘Laureen, take it easy!’ Bryan leaned his head against her legs and tried to caress her by moving it from side to side. ‘Things won’t get that far. Did the two of you come here together?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she’s not in collusion with the others?’

‘No!’

Bryan looked up at Lankau. A bit of feeling was starting to return to the index finger of his left hand. It wouldn’t be long before he’d make his attempt. The timing had to be perfect.

‘What has Sister Petra done to any of you?’ he asked.

‘That’s something I can only answer after you’re gone from here,
Herr
von der Leyen. I’m afraid you’ll never know.’ Lankau laughed. ‘Bad timing!’ he said in English. ‘Isn’t that what you call it where you come from? But whatever she’s done, the outcome will be the same.’ He turned around. ‘You see, one of my friends has a nice kennel near Schwarzach. I’ve got three choice Dobermans there. Bad hunting dogs to be sure, but very good guard dogs when necessary. What a pity I don’t have them here this weekend. Then we could get everything over all at once.’

Laureen looked down. Bryan was lying quite still at her feet. She worked to control her breathing. This was no time to scream.

‘Three dogs like that, they’ve got good appetites,’ Lankau continued, baring his discoloured set of teeth again. ‘They’d certainly be able to eat someone little Petra’s size within a couple of days, never mind someone as skinny as you. And if they don’t manage it all in one go, there’s certainly no lack of freezers here.’

The doorbell rang just as Gerhart was about to leave Kröner’s house. Its sound reached his ears with diabolical force and the urge to cringe was hard to suppress. On the other side of the door everything was quiet. Someone was waiting there for it to be opened.

And then a miracle happened.

Suddenly, for the few seconds he basked in the comforting sound of Petra’s voice outside the door, he existed. The corpse in the bathtub a few steps away was revived in life and soul. The nightmare was exorcised. At the sound of that voice the gruesome resolve he’d been nurturing in every fibre of his body, the vengeance, and the struggle against the years of mistrust and systematic maltreatment, vanished altogether.

The moment of bliss was brief. Reality returned as he realised treachery could still be lurking nearby. Her next words felt like being stuck with an awl. The language she spoke provoked pain and fear in him. Each word and every syllable made him more hypersensitive and vulnerable. It was the spirit of evil, come to life. Gerhart bowed his head and covered his ears. The other woman’s voice was sharper, enhancing his anxiety. It was bold and direct. Gerhart stood still with his hands clasped to his ears, counting the seconds until their voices died away.

The image of the small, fair-haired woman who meant so much to him began to flicker and become distorted. The eternal smile was suddenly difficult to recall. Increasing giddiness made him back up along the wall. Finally he squatted down in a corner of the hallway, leaning his head against the oaken door.

Gerhart felt like going home. There he could find food. There he could sleep. His home was the sanatorium.

There he was safe.

He shook his head and began to whimper. What he had just heard wouldn’t go away. Could he trust anyone ever again? Who wanted to hurt him?

There was still the broad-faced monster that had abused him for so long. Kröner was no longer there to parry the hefty man’s blows. This would please Lankau. Gerhart had seen it so often. The man was forever lying in wait, his eyes radiating evil. A devil that tyrannized everyone around him, except Kröner and Stich. And now they were gone.

They’d got what they deserved.

Gerhart was about to count the row of boards in the wall panel, then stopped. He regretted nothing.

He stood up and began flexing all his muscle groups by turn. He had to be prepared. For Lankau and the other one. He wouldn’t think about Petra and her companion just now. That would have to come later.

First Lankau and then Arno von der Leyen. The one would lead to the other. It was so simple. As long as the two of them existed he’d never be sure of finding peace of mind. And that was the only thing he wanted. But how? At the sanatorium they would be able to fetch him and do things to him. They would do him harm and force him to return to the past. And they would succeed.

This was something he couldn’t allow.

In the past lay only evil.

Gerhart stopped exercising and let his shoulders drop. The ship’s clock chimed in Kröner’s living room. It was time to go.

Lankau was at his country house. Those had been Kröner’s last words. The little farmstead just outside of town. Surrounded by vineyards.

Gerhart couldn’t remember having walked so far before. Although he wasn’t tired, the feeling of emptiness was burdensome company. For countless years, as long as he could remember, he’d always had an assisting hand by his side.

The stars above him had carpeted the sky hours ago. The mist and darkness didn’t scare him. The moon lay snugly over the
landscape. The scent of the earth was strong. It would soon be harvest time.

An event Stich and Kröner would have celebrated.

Gerhart listened to his footsteps. He was out in the open. There was no way back. At every step his hatred of the two men increased. He pulled the wind jacket up around his ears.

At the time, Arno von der Leyen’s disappearance had been a source of great misery. But the years had worn the feeling down. And now, somehow, the man was back and had stirred up that misery again. Which was why he had to hate him.

Without him, everything would have been as before.

Petra would still stand out clearly in his visions.

There were lights on in the house. Lights in all the windows as if there were a party going on.

At the first gentle curve in the drive Gerhart threw himself into the roadside ditch and crawled forward on his stomach. It wouldn’t be the first time Lankau had amused himself by letting his dogs loose outside when he had guests. Then he could stand out in the courtyard with his hands on his hips, making the dogs grovel before him while his guests tried not break stride as they made for their cars.

His amusement had been hard to conceal.

It was completely quiet. Even the sounds of traffic on the main road had ceased. He gave a brief, high whistle. Sudden noises could make the largest and meanest of the dogs go berserk and bark hysterically. At the second whistle he felt sure the dogs were not outdoors that evening.

The ditch led directly around behind the outer buildings. Gerhart moved along the last, damp stretch and saw the courtyard open before him. It was not lit up as usual. Gerhart knew this was wrong. The light was always burning when there was someone in the house. A new feeling of nervousness spread over him.

One must never overlook Lankau’s signals.

The pantry light shone dull and faintly over the cobblestones. There were no parked vehicles. Not even Lankau’s.

He got up carefully and took a good look around. There could easily be someone observing him behind one of the small rectangular windows in the various sections of the wooden bungalow. In one quick sideways movement he reached the door to the tool shed.

Gerhart had been there many times before. Compared with the clinical and orderly occupational therapy he was subjected to at the sanatorium, this room was an El Dorado of untidiness, flickering visual impressions, garden tools and other work implements, plus odds and ends of used materials. A short-handled knife whose blade had been honed down to practically nothing usually hung in the corner.

It was still razor-sharp. Gerhart leaned against one of the supporting beams as he felt along its edge. He breathed calmly. The contours around him were emerging in three dimensions.

The knife was not his only weapon. When he confronted Lankau he would act submissive and calm, as always. He would make the mountain of flesh feel safe and superior. He would get him to tell about Arno von der Leyen. Quietly and calmly.

Not until then would he start speaking normally. Gerhart was sure he could. The words were coming to him now almost without hesitation. He felt his mind’s presence. The pills were no longer separating him from his ability to think.

Finally he would work Lankau up into his true odious self, where he was easiest to hate. And then he would strike. The moment and means would come. The dagger was there only if needed. Gerhart flexed his muscles again one by one and drew a deep breath, so that the almost extinguished scent of last season’s grape harvest permeated his senses.

The sound penetrated the darkness like a rat scurrying across gravel, but the accompanying groan was human. Gerhart clutched the knife. Was there something he had overlooked? Was
Lankau lurking in the darkness? He pressed himself against the beam and examined all the murky corners, one by one.

The next time he heard the sound he knew where it came from. The door was open to the room with the wine press. Had it been harvest time, this would have been unthinkable.

Gerhart stepped into the room and immediately saw the white figure lying on the screw of the wine press with pleading, terrified eyes. When they met his gaze, the fear in them softened for a moment.

It was Petra.

Gerhart stood stock-still.