Jakob Arjouni: More Beer

“If one assumes …,” said Kessler.

Once again I told him to be quiet. Lubars took the ballpoint pen he’d been chewing on out of his mouth and asked, “Why would Barbara Bollig shoot her husband?”

I told the tale of Oliver Bollig, explained how long it had all been in the making. While I was doing so, I remembered that Kliensmann was still in that straitjacket in his office. Served him right. Finally I said, “There is a witness to my version. The night watchman saw a lot of it happen, and Barbara Bollig and Kollek bought his silence with fifty thousand marks. Which he is now spending in Paraguay.”

With a glance at Kessler, I added, “As Superintendent Kessler informs me.”

Kessler studied his fingernails and remarked casually, “Fred Scheigel was summoned to court as a witness. Since he wanted to leave the country, he had to ask for special permission. I just happened to hear about it.”

“What if he decides he’d rather stay in Paraguay?”

“It’s not my job to worry about that.”

Lubars, wide awake now, adjusted his eyeglasses. After a moment’s silence, he said, “All right. And where is this Barbara Bollig?”

Kessler looked triumphant.

“She is dead,” I said.

The public prosecutor shuffled his feet under the desk and shook his head in disbelief. “Tell me more.”

“She was poisoned. As we speak, the guilty party is turning herself in to the police authorities in Doppenburg. But that’s another story. I’ll save it for later.”

Lubars shook his head again, but before he was able to respond, I went on to talk about Schmidi.

“Like the other conspirators, Schmidi believed that Kollek was a true comrade. Only after I pointed out to Schmidi how strange it was that the fifth man was still at large while his four buddies had been tracked down and arrested in only three days, he got suspicious. Obviously Schmidt had been a party to the plot, and he also knew how to get in touch with Kollek, He probably asked Kollek what was up, and Kollek had an idea. He realized that he had to get rid of Schmidi, and decided that the best place to do so would be in my apartment. Kessler must have told Kollek that I was trying to track him down. So he lured Schmidi to my place. Then, by a stroke of luck, he found my gun, shot and killed Schmidi with it, and was pleased with himself. Here’s the gun.”

I tossed my Beretta on the desk.

“The corpse is still sitting on my couch. A flyer that was distributed in Frankfurt that evening, stuck under the windshield wipers of Kollek’s car, proves that he was in the city that night.”

Carefully, with both hands, Lubars picked up the Beretta and looked at it as if it could whisper something into his ear.

Then he asked, “Fingerprints?”

“I’m sorry, but I still had a lot of errands to run, the kind where I look to have that thing on my person.”

He closed his eyes as if all this were just too much for him, and put the gun aside.

“Don’t tell me this Kollek is dead too. Or else why didn’t you bring him along?”

“That’s right. Kessler plugged him a little while ago.”

Kessler raised his arms in regret and said in a tone of voice that mimicked remorse, “He was trying to avoid arrest. Unfortunately, I slipped on the rug. A stupid affair.”

With a quick glance at Lubars, he added, “I’ll probably be transferred.”

“I see, I see,” said the public prosecutor, not knowing what else to say. Then, when he found something: “It all sounds quite plausible. But how do you arrive at the accusation that Mr. Kessler has had an involvement with this matter that goes beyond his professional duty?”

I lit a cigarette and prepared Lubars for things to come by placing Kessler’s calendar on his desk. It gave me courage.

“You remember the uproar about the Rhein Main Farben plant?”

Lubars looked irritated, as if I had been about to tell him a joke.

“Those were the people that sold mustard gas to Iraq, and soon after wanted to open a branch factory in Vogelsberg. Because of recent events, many people opposed the idea, and the Rhein Main Farben bosses had to come up with something to change what Kessler refers to as ‘public opinion’ in this nice little book. Nothing changes public opinion in this country more effectively than two sticks of dynamite, a murdered employer, and a grieving widow. Well, maybe the sad death of some dogs … In any case, such a deed calls for revenge, and the best avenger is one who despite such tragic setbacks continues the lifework of the deceased. In this case, the field of chemical industry. So by all means, let’s have the new factory in Vogelsberg. That was Kollek’s and Kessler’s plan.

“Kollek also saw this as a wonderful opportunity to take care of his private affairs with the Bolligs. His suggestion to make Friedrich Bollig the martyr was taken up with alacrity, since the firm is insignificant and has no major economic connections. So Kollek, with Kessler’s assistance, recruited those four boys to set things in motion. But what Kollek didn’t know-since he didn’t have access to this little calendar of Kessler’s-was that he too was slated for liquidation sooner or later. Tonight he was liquidated.”

Without looking at either Kessler or Lubars, I picked up the calendar, opened it to the relevant page, and pushed it across the desk again.

“Kollek got paid for his part in the plot. I don’t know where he and Kessler first met. Kollek came to Frankfurt in sixty-nine. He may have taken care of things for Kessler on previous occasions, or he may have been an effective informer. All I know is that they knew each other.”

Then I tried to describe the conversation I had heard through the Bollig villa’s kitchen window in as much detail as I could. Kessler was poker-faced. His eyes had become dark, narrow slits. Only his right index finger tapped quietly on the armrest of his chair. Lubars’s hands shook as he picked up the calendar. Then he swallowed and said, “Who is M?”

I was able to help him. “Well, that’s not too hard to figure out. The Mayor of Frankfurt is also the legal adviser to Rhein Main Farben. His wife owns a handsome packet of shares in that outfit. So M. stands for the Mayor. Kessler hasn’t spent much effort on coding his notes here. The Mayor was the connection to Rhein Main Farben; he may have been the instigator of the whole thing. In any case, it was he who got Kessler started on the plot.”

Slowly Lubars laid the calendar aside. He was clearly looking for a hole to hide in. He bent forward and said, with great effort,

“Mr. Kessler … What do you have to say to that?”

For a while Kessler didn’t say anything. Then he laughed for a while, sounding like a hysterical old woman. And then he stopped and said, quite calmly, “What could I have to say to that? It is incredible.”

Lubars mumbled, “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

I stood up, furious. “Stop playing games! It’s all in that fucking book! Or do you think the Superintendent just scribbled that in there for fun? What about Kollek’s address?”

I pounded on the desk in front of Lubars.

“Why is it in there? Or can’t I read? Or can’t you read? Or can’t anybody here read anything anymore? Tell me-are those cooking recipes or love letters? Tell me!” I was roaring. “Yes, it is incredible, as you gentlemen just noted! But it is verified by this fucking page, in this fucking book, and this book happens to belong to this fucking superintendent, and it’s his fucking incredible story … But is it my fault that it’s incredible?”

I rounded on Kessler. “And if you keep on staring at me like that, like some overstuffed carp, I’ll punch your nose through your head so it leaves a hole for the daylight to shine through!”