Frank Tallis - Deadly Communion

After a prolonged silence, Liebermann inquired: ‘Did you sleep well?’

Erstweiler rolled his head from side to side.

‘No. I woke up several times … one of the other patients on the ward became distressed. He was shouting something about the Hungarians coming. I managed to get to sleep after he was removed, but woke again from a bad dream.’

‘Oh?’

‘I say bad, but that’s only how it felt at the time. Now that I think about it, the dream was really rather silly.’

‘Were you frightened by the dream?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was it about?’

Erstweiler sighed.

‘When I was very young, my parents had an English friend, Frau Middleton, who used to tell my brother and me fairy stories. Some of them were already familiar to us, but others were unfamiliar. I suppose these latter stories must have been of English origin. One of them concerned a boy without any money and some magic beans — have you come across it?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Well, the dream I had was very much like this English fairy story — except I was the boy. The dream was quite confused, though, especially the beginning.’

Liebermann remained silent, hoping that this would be sufficient to make Erstweiler continue. The strategy was unsuccessful. Erstweiler reverted to his earlier concern. ‘What was wrong with that patient? The one who was taken off the ward? What did he mean by “the Hungarians are coming”?’

‘Your dream, Herr Erstweiler? What happened in your dream?’ Liebermann urged.

Erstweiler rotated his hand in the air for a few moments and then let it drop onto his chest.

‘There were trams and large buildings and a man with a cow, who I spoke to — he might have sold me the beans — and suddenly I was the boy in the story and the beans had grown into a huge beanstalk which rose up into the sky. I climbed the beanstalk and found myself on a cloud, and on the cloud was a huge castle. I entered the castle but was frightened by the sound of an ogre, stomping around and crying out that he could smell the blood of an intruder — my blood. In one of the rooms I discovered mountains of treasure and a goose laying golden eggs. Not eggs the colour of gold, you understand, but eggs made from gold. I picked the goose up and ran from the castle, pursued by the ogre. I slid down the beanstalk and the ogre followed, but he wasn’t as quick as me. When I got to the bottom I chopped the beanstalk down with an axe-’ Erstweiler suddenly broke off, his forehead glistening with perspiration.

‘Yes?’ Liebermann prompted.

‘And the ogre tumbled to the ground.’

‘Did he die?’

‘Yes, he …’ Erstweiler paused before completing his sentence with a stutter ‘… d-d-died.’

‘You escaped, then,’ said Liebermann. ‘And with the goose.’

Erstweiler showed no signs of relief.

‘Herr doctor, why are we talking about a ridiculous childish dream? Surely there are more important things to discuss. I had hoped you would be applying yourself to the task of convincing me that the appearance of my doppelganger was nothing more than a hallucination. At least then I might allow myself a glimmer of hope, the prospect of peace.’

‘The two may be connected — the dream and the hallucination.’

‘Impossible!’ Erstweiler cried.

The anger invested in this explosive denial was sufficient to convince Liebermann that he was correct. After an extended hiatus Liebermann said: ‘I went to see Herr Polster, at The Chimney Sweep.’

‘Did you?’

Erstweiler twisted awkwardly on the rest bed in order to make eye contact with Liebermann.

‘Yes,’ said the young doctor. ‘He remembered the conversation you referred to. But he didn’t think he had spoken to your doppelganger. He was confident that he had spoken to you.’

‘That’s hardly surprising, is it?’ said Erstweiler, sighing. ‘What did you think he would say?’

Rheinhardt was shown into the accountant’s office by a middle-aged woman wearing a high-collared blouse.

‘Herr Frece,’ she said: ‘Inspector Rheinhardt to see you.’

‘Ah, thank you, Anselma,’ said the accountant. He was balding, red-faced, and possessed a large stomach that pressed against his waistcoat. ‘Please, do sit down, inspector.’ Rheinhardt caught sight of a framed photograph on Frece’s desk, showing a matronly woman and two children. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Rheinhardt shook his head. ‘That will be all, Anselma.’ When the secretary had gone, Frece smiled and added: ‘How can I be of assistance?’

‘Herr Frece, I understand that you are acquainted with a young lady called Bathild Babel. Is that correct?’

Frece pursed his lips.

‘Fraulein Babel … Fraulein Babel …’ He muttered. ‘No. I’m afraid that name isn’t familiar to me.’

Rheinhardt sighed.

‘You are mentioned in her address book.’

‘Bathild?’ said Frece, cupping his ear and feigning deafness. ‘Did you say Bathild Babel?’ He stressed the syllables of ‘Bathild’ in a peculiar way.

‘Yes,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘Bathild Babel.’

The accountant shifted in his chair.

‘Yes, yes … I do know someone of that name. I’m sorry, my hearing isn’t very good.’

‘And what is the nature of your relationship?’

‘She is a client.’

‘I see. Could I see her documents, please?’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible …’

‘Why not?’

‘Because …’ Frece searched the ceiling for a convincing answer, but the cornicing failed to supply one.

‘Herr Frece,’ said Rheinhardt firmly. ‘If you continue to be uncooperative, I am afraid we will have to continue this interview at the Schottenring station.’

‘Please — no,’ said the accountant. ‘I’m sorry. That won’t be necessary.’ He opened a cigarette box with trembling fingers and struck a match. After lighting the cigarette, he drew on its gold filter. His exhalation dissipated the cloud of smoke that hung in front of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry, inspector … a man in my position. It was a mistake … I never should have …’ His voice trailed off.

‘Where did you meet her?’

‘With respect, inspector, why should my peccadilloes be of interest to the police? I don’t understand.’

Rheinhardt glared at the accountant.

‘Where did you meet her?’ he repeated.

‘In Frau Schuschnig’s hat shop, behind the Town Hall. I was buying a hat for my wife. Bathild was very forward.’ Rheinhardt listened as Frece spoke of his illicit meetings with Bathild Babel, in private dining rooms and cheap hotels. At its conclusion, Frece pleaded: ‘Inspector, if my wife were to find out she would be mortified. She hasn’t any idea. My marriage would be over.’ The accountant reached out and turned the family photograph towards Rheinhardt. ‘I have two children. Richarda and Friedo. I beg you to be discreet — if not for my sake, then for theirs.’

Rheinhardt chewed the end of his pencil.

‘Did she ever speak of her other …’ Rheinhardt thought clients was too strong a word and chose a less offensive substitute ‘… admirers?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Her other gentleman friends,’ said Rheinhardt.

The accountant looked indignant.

‘I was her only …’ Frece was unable to finish his sentence, given Rheinhardt’s world-weary expression. He might as well have said out loud: You can’t possibly be that naive! Frece’s shoulders fell. ‘No,’ the accountant continued. ‘She didn’t mention anyone else.’

Rheinhardt made a few notes and when he looked up again Frece was staring into space.

‘What is it?’ Rheinhardt asked.