Bernhard Schlink - Self’s Murder

“He had known her as Frau Samarin and Gregor’s mother, and any documents concerning the Brocks could only have been in the silent partner’s file. Along with this passport he might also well have found some other documents that he didn’t give me. Not to mention that he found something else that he did bring me: money that was to be laundered at the bank. That money made me miss finding the passport for quite a while. What I initially thought was that Schuler had threatened Samarin with exposing his money-laundering racket and had consequently signed his own death warrant. But all the while, he had signed his death warrant by revealing to Welker that he knew Samarin’s true identity. What Welker did then was to switch Schuler’s pills. That wasn’t a fail-safe way of killing him, but it was worth a try. If it succeeded, it would get Schuler out of the way; if it didn’t, there was always time for a second attempt. Welker wasn’t in a hurry. He knew how loyal Schuler was and that he wouldn’t immediately go to Samarin with what he had found out. But it worked. Schuler was in a bad way, became disoriented, and drove into a tree. And yet Schuler was alarmed by fact that he was feeling worse and worse, so he quickly brought me what he had found: the money and the passport.”

“Blood-pressure medication?” Herr Nägelsbach said. “I admit to being a hypochondriac, Reni is one, too, and I’m interested in medicine. But I had no idea you could kill a person with blood-pressure medication.”

“You can’t actually kill anyone with it,” Philipp explained, “but if you’re on Catapresan and suddenly stop taking it, you run the risk of blackouts. The only question is how Welker could have known…”

“He studied medicine,” I said. “After he finished his studies, he sacrificed his medical career to the bank.”

“What happened then?”

“You mean after Schuler’s death? As you know, Welker shot Samarin, leading us to believe that he had been overwhelmed by pain, sorrow, and anger. But the truth is that he shot him with a cool hand and in cold blood. He wanted to get rid of Samarin, the silent partner’s heir, the lackey who all of a sudden wanted a say in the bank, the man with dangerous connections who was blackmailing him, the man with the lucrative connections who was standing in his way.”

They sat there in silence for a while.

“Why are you telling us all this?” Philipp asked.

“Don’t you find it interesting?”

“It is interesting. But to be perfectly honest, it’s the kind of thing I’d have preferred not to know,” Philipp said. I must have looked at him as if he were mad. “Don’t get me wrong, Gerhard. I’m a practical man. I’m interested in things you can do something about: operating on a heart, fixing my boat, cultivating my flowers, making Füruzan happy.” He laid his hand on hers and looked at her so devotedly that everyone laughed. “But we simply can’t not do anything!” Philipp continued. “We got involved, we helped Welker, we… Well, if it hadn’t been for us, Samarin would still be alive!” I understood Philipp less and less. “Didn’t you say that the world we thought was Samarin’s world and which we now know to be Welker’s, isn’t your world and that you don’t want to give up your world without a fight? Isn’t any of that true anymore?”

“That was different,” I replied. “Back then we thought Welker was in danger and wanted to help him. Who do you want to help now? Who’s in danger? Nobody. And as for the world no longer being… Perhaps I went a little overboard. What I meant was about danger and helping.”

Frau Nägelsbach eyed me quizzically. “Only a few weeks ago you were against-”

“No, I wasn’t against informing the police. I only felt that your husband and Philipp both had to agree what they would do. The possible consequences were more serious for them than they’d have been for me.”

Philipp shook his head. “My contract with the private hospital is as good as sealed. But what would happen if there were a scandal?”

“I’m afraid, Herr Self, that we missed the right moment, if there ever was one,” Nägelsbach said. “Back then the lead was fresh and we were good witnesses. Today we’re bad witnesses. Why did we keep silent for so long? Why are we speaking up now? Furthermore, it was dark, we didn’t see Welker shoot Samarin, there were no prints on the murder weapon, and Welker will deny everything. As for Schuler’s murder, things look even bleaker. A public prosecutor might make a case against Welker for money laundering, but it wouldn’t be easy.”

Nobody said anything, and in the silence I felt as if everyone was waiting for me to officially drop the subject, to leave them alone. But I couldn’t. “We know Welker has two murders on his conscience. Doesn’t that interest us? Don’t we have some kind of obligation?”

Nägelsbach shook his head. “Haven’t you heard of the presumption of innocence? If Welker can’t be convicted, he can’t be convicted. It’s as simple as that.”

“But we-”

“Us? We should have gone to the police right away. We didn’t, and now it’s too late. Do you remember what I told you when this happened? How can you think I would ever agree to our taking justice into our own hands?”

The silence in the room was oppressive until Philipp could no longer bear it. “Herr Nägelsbach-Rudi, if I’m not mistaken? Rudi, if I may call you that. Would you like to join Gerhard, me, and an old friend of ours in a game of Doppelkopf every two weeks, or perhaps even once a week?”

Nägelsbach was uncomfortable. He is a man of old-fashioned, formal politeness. He tends to recoil at over-familiarity. Being addressed by his first name took him aback, and he was put out by the abrupt change of subject. But he made an effort. “Thank you, Philipp. That is very kind of you, and I would be delighted. But I do insist that when any of us holds the two aces of hearts-”

“That they will be the piglets.” Philipp laughed.

“Gerhard?” Füruzan said, so solemnly that Philipp stopped laughing and the others sat up.

“Yes, Füruzan.”

“I’ll come with you. Perhaps I can lend a hand when you bump off Welker or set fire to his bank. As long as you don’t do anything to his children, okay?”

Brigitte came at eleven. “Where are your friends? You didn’t have a fight, did you?” She sat down on the arm of my chair and laid her hand on my shoulder.

“Yes and no.”

We had parted amicably enough, but our conviviality had suffered a bump, and we had all been a little awkward when saying our good-byes. I told Brigitte what I had reported to my friends, what I had hoped for, and how they had reacted.

“Oh, Gerhard. I see their point and I also see yours, but they… Why don’t you go to the police and at least get Welker on money laundering?”

“He’s got two lives on his conscience.”

“What about his wife?”

“We’ll never know that for sure. Everything points to the fact that she really had an accident and that he wasn’t the one who-”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m quite aware that he ought to be convicted for murder. But there’s not enough to convict him on. It’s not as if he’s the only criminal running around free when he ought to be in prison. Do you want to hunt them all down?”

“They’re nothing to me, but Welker-”

“What’s Welker to you? Tell me. Your paths crossed, and that was that. I’d understand if there’d at least been a personal connection between you.”

“Quite the opposite: if there was something personal, then I really wouldn’t have the right to…” I fell silent. Years ago, in Trefeuntec, I’d taken justice into my own hands. Was I now trying to prove to myself that I had done that on principle, and that I was not out to settle a personal score, either then or now?