Victor O'Reilly - Games of The Hangman

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The Bear stopped his march and scratched his head. "I think I'm lost."

The pause gave Fitzduane the chance to catch up. He leaned against the wall while the Bear consulted his notebook with the aid of a match. He was thinking that if the Bear continued in this hyperactive, hypercheerful mood, it might be a good idea to slip a downer into his morning orange juice before both of them had heart attacks.

There was a long, furious burst of what sounded like automatic weapons fire, and Fitzduane dived to the ground. The section of the wall against which he'd been leaning a split second before fell into the corridor, and a piercing white light shone through the gap in the wall. Fitzduane half expected the archangel Gabriel to make an appearance. Instead, a dust-covered figure clad in a zippered blue overall and carrying a heavy industrial hammer drill in both hands like a weapon climbed through the aperture, trailing cable behind him. He didn't appear to have wings. Head to one side, the figure surveyed the hole in the wall critically and then nodded his head in satisfaction, entirely oblivious of the 9 mm SIG automatic Fitzduane was aiming at his torso.

"Ha!" said the Bear triumphantly. "I wasn't lost after all." He looked down at Fitzduane. "Don't shoot him. This is Charlie von Beck's cousin Paulus, Paulus von Beck. He's a man of parts: the museum's expert in brush technique, a successful sculptor, and I don't know what else. He's also the reason we're here."

Fitzduane made his weapon safe and reholstered it. He still hadn't gotten his shotgun back, and it irked him. He rose to his feet, brushed dust from his clothes, and shook hands with von Beck. "Demolition or sculpture?" he asked. "Or were you just carried away screwing in a picture hook?"

Paulus left them in his office drinking coffee while he went to clean up before going to the restoration studios to examine the contents of the file the Bear had brought with him. When he returned, Paulus had discarded his sculptor image. The overalls had been replaced by a charcoal gray suit of Italian cut with creases so sharp it seemed clear that the art expert kept a steam press in his closet. His silk was hand-painted.

Paulus was older than his cousin. He had a high-browed, delicately featured face set off by a soft mane of wavy hair, and his eyes were a curious shade of violet. He looked troubled. Fitzduane had the feeling that the Bear might have stumbled across more than he'd bargained for. Paulus's demeanor was not that of a dispassionate expert; somehow he was a player.

"Sergeant Raufman, before I answer the questions you have put to me, I would be grateful if you would answer a few points I would like to raise. They are relevant, I assure you."

"The Bear's tone reflected the art expert's sober demeanor. "As you wish. We police are more accustomed to asking questions rather than answering, but I shall do what I can." There was the slightest emphasis on the word police. It was as good a way as any of warning Paulus to think carefully before he spoke, thought Fitzduane.

"Thank you," said von Beck. The warning had been understood. He took his time before he spoke. He straightened a small bronze bust on his desk while he collected his thoughts. He tidied the papers in front of him into an exact symmetrical pile. He cleared his throat. Fitzduane felt like taking a walk around the block while von Beck dithered.

"My first question: Do your inquiries have to do with the recent wave of killings in this city?"

The Bear nodded. "They do."

Von Beck exhaled slowly. "My second question: You have asked me to comment on a certain artist's work. Do you suspect the artist of being involved – centrally involved – with these killings?"

It was the Bear's turn to hesitate. "Yes," he said finally.

"You don't think that he could be involved only peripherally, an innocent victim, if you will?"

"Anything's possible," said the Bear.

"But you don't think so?"

The Bear gave a deep sigh. "No. I think our friend is involved from his toes to the tip of his paintbrush. I think he's a ruthless homicidal nut with a perverted sense of humor, who should be eliminated as fast as possible before he contaminates any more lives. I think you should stop playing verbal tiddlywinks and tell us everything you know or suspect. I'm running out of patience. This is a murder investigation, not some parlor game."

The color drained from von Beck's face, and he looked as if he were going to be sick. "My third question," he said, "and then I will tell you what you want to know: If I tell you everything, can I trust your utter discretion? No leaks to the press, no appearing in open court, no involvement at all, in fact, other than my giving you a statement?"

"This business about priorities," said the Bear. "We have a mass killer on the loose. If I have to parade you around the streets of Bern with a rope around your neck to checkmate our friend, then that's what I'll do. On the other hand, you're a cousin of a trusted colleague. If I can help you, I will. We're after the shark, not a minnow."

Fitzduane broke in. "To be frank, Herr von Beck, I think you have already decided to tell us all you know, and we respect that. It takes courage. But there is something else to think about apart from public duty. Basic survival. Our murderous friend has a habit of cleaning up after himself. He doesn't like to leave a trail of witnesses. They seem to enjoy brief life spans after they have served their purpose. It just might be a good idea to help stop our friend before he kills you."

Von Beck now looked truly terrified. "I know," he said. "I know. You don't have to say any more." The Bear and Fitzduane waited while Paulus von Beck composed himself.

"Before I give you my professional opinion," said Paulus, "I had better explain the full extent of my relationship with Simon Balac. I am a homosexual. Bern is an intimate city where people of similar interests and persuasions almost inevitably tend to know one another. The artistic community is comparatively small. I got to know Balac – everyone calls him Balac – well. Nearly five years ago we became lovers."

"Your being homosexual or even having an affair with Simon Balac is neither here nor there to the police," said the Bear. "Your sex life is your business."

"I'm afraid that is not all there is to it," said Paulus. "You see, Balac is a strong personality with what one might call varied… exotic tastes. He has a strong sexual drive, and he likes diversions. In his company one finds oneself swept along, eager to please, willing to try things, to do things that normally one would not contemplate. He is a brilliant artist, and the foibles of such men must be tolerated, or at least that is what I used to tell myself. If I am to be truthful, I was swept up in the sheer sexual excitement of it all, the tasting of forbidden fruit.

"Balac enjoys women sexually as well as men. He enjoys group sex in all its variations. He likes children, sexually mature children but still way below the age of consent. He likes to initiate, to corrupt. He makes it incredibly exciting. He uses stimulants – alcohol, various drugs – and above all his own extraordinary energy and charisma."

"The von Graffenlaub twins, Rudi and Vreni?" asked Fitzduane.

"And Erika?" added the Bear.

"Yes, yes," said Paulus.

"Hmm," said the Bear. "You'd better tell us all of it. Does Charlie know any of this?"

Paulus shook his head firmly. "He knows I'm gay, of course, but nothing else. He's a good friend and a kind man. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t."

"I'm afraid he'll have to know now," said the Bear. "You do understand that, don't you?"

Paulus nodded.

It was midafternoon before they emerged from the museum. While the Bear debated whether to go to satisfy his audibly growling stomach – he had decided he was sick of fish – Fitzduane asked the one question that had been bothering him since von Beck had shown he could walk through walls. "Is it normal in Switzerland to chop up the core structure of the museum in the interest of artistic expression?"