Philip Kerr - A Philosophical Investigation

‘He recommends that you consider your grammar. Well, of course “Philosophical Grammar” was the substance of Wittgenstein’s work between 1931 and 1934 and this was published posthumously, in the mid-1970s.

‘It’s interesting that he signs off as “yours bloodily”. That’s how Wittgenstein himself often signed off in his correspondence with friends and colleagues.’

Lang sucked some more at his cigar and then surveyed the darker brown end that had been in his mouth.

‘Next, you mentioned the possibility that he might wish to concentrate on killing those other VMN-negative men whose codenames are the names of philosophers. I think you could be right, Chief Inspector. Wittgenstein himself believed that in the Tractatus he had found all the answers to the problems of philosophy. That he had done away with all that went before. For instance, he believed he had disproved most of what Bertrand Russell had written. So it’s entirely characteristic that your killer should have eliminated him.’

Jake nodded and sucked hard at her cigarette. With no nicotine it was hard to find much satisfaction in anything other than the sensation of the smoke itself. Nevertheless, the sucking and blowing of smoke always helped her to concentrate.

‘From what you’ve heard,’ she said, ‘do you think it’s possible that he might have read Philosophy as a student?’

Lang smiled. ‘Chief Inspector, you’ve no idea the kind of strange people who apply to read Philosophy. Especially here, at Cambridge. To paraphrase Keats, they are the kind of people who would clip an angel’s wings. So, to answer your question, yes, it’s possible. And if a young philosopher wanted a role model, then Wittgenstein would certainly be your man. His work has a turbo-charged quality, rather like Nietzsche’s, and is always influential on students. That comparison with Nietzsche is useful because in the same way that he went mad, there’s a madness that’s also apparent in Wittgenstein’s writings. Remember that crappy old saying about the thin dividing line between genius and madness? Well, all his life Wittgenstein, who was certainly aware of his great abilities, was also terrified that he might cross that imaginary line and lose his mind. I can well see how he might have an extraordinary appeal for a mentally unbalanced individual as much as for a logician.

‘But it’s also worth remembering that Wittgenstein came to regard the early work contained in the Tractatus as fundamentally mistaken. Perhaps you should consider the possibility that the killer might similarly be persuaded of the error of what he is doing. He promised to communicate with you, did he not? Yes indeed, he seemed to imply that you and he might have some sort of a dialogue. That might present you with a real opportunity to argue with him and, utilitarian considerations notwithstanding, maintain a logical position at odds with his own. If he’s in any way sophisticated, he ought to respond to that challenge.’

Jake nodded thoughtfully.

‘I don’t suppose you might consider helping me out with that as well?’ she asked.

‘Frankly, I’d be delighted,’ he said. ‘I was rather hoping you would ask me. The idea of engaging a murderer in a philosophical dialogue is certainly an intriguing one. Contemporary philosophy in action, so to speak. But tell me, Chief Inspector, do you have any idea how he will make contact with you?’

Jake shook her head vaguely. ‘However he does it, you can bet he’ll be too clever for us to trace him. My guess is that he’ll try and use a portable phone from a car he’ll have stolen. If he called us while he was sitting in some multi-storey car-park in Central London it could take forever to find him.’

‘Then hadn’t we better give consideration to where you and I will be when he calls. If I’m to help you, then I ought to be at your side. And I regret that I am presently unable to leave Cambridge. At least for the next week or so, anyway.’

‘I don’t suppose that you have any video-conferencing facilities here?’ she asked. ‘A pictophone, maybe.’

The professor shook his head. ‘No, we do not. Trinity finances are no longer what they were. It’s the same for the whole university: thus we have monstrosities like Yamaha. Trinity has already been obliged to sell its unique wine cellar.’

‘Would you be willing to have a pictophone installed here, Professor?’ said Jake. ‘I can have my people set up a permanent telecommunications link between us. That way, when the killer calls, you can participate in our conversation.’

Sir Jameson Lang shrugged. ‘Just as long as I wouldn’t have to do anything technical. Unlike Wittgenstein, who was rather good with his hands, I have no practical skills whatsoever.’

‘All you’d have to do is press a button to open the conference.’

‘Very well then. I’d be happy to.’

‘Then I’ll arrange it immediately. The sooner the equipment is installed, the better.’

It was time for Jake to leave.

‘You can leave the disc with me, if you like,’ Lang suggested. ‘I’d like to listen to it again, if I may. There may be something that I missed. Incidentally, it might interest you to know that Wittgenstein had a real fascination for detective stories. The hardboiled, American variety. When you conduct your own investigations, Chief Inspector, it might be useful to remember that he himself placed little reliance on the so-called deductive science of Sherlock Holmes. He liked his detectives to be rather more intuitive. If one assumes that your killer is of the same frame of mind, trusting your own intuitions might ultimately prove to be very useful. To that end, I wonder if I could suggest something, while you’re here.

‘Perhaps’ — he said hesitantly — ‘perhaps, while you are here, you might like to take a look at Wittgenstein’s old rooms.’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Yes, I think you’ll find them interesting.’ He glanced round his own quarters and smiled. ‘They’re not at all like this, of course. No, he was much more simple. As a professor he would have been entitled to have something rather grander. You know he came from one of the richest families in Austria, and reacted against everything that reminded him of that former privileged, luxurious existence. Even to the extent of having a brief fling with Communism. I shan’t accompany you. I’ll probably give you his whole biography if I do. No, I’ll get someone to take you.’

The Master went to the telephone and called the Porter’s Lodge. Then he wished Jake goodbye.

By the time Jake re-crossed Great Court, a man in a raincoat, not the Chinese, but another man, was standing on the steps of the Porter’s Lodge to conduct Jake on her tour.

‘Right then, miss,’ he said, ‘I believe the Master said it’s K10 that you want to see.’ He led the way back out the Great Gate and onto the street. ‘That’s in Whewell’s Court,’ he explained as they passed through another ancient doorway set in a wall beside the post office. ‘So who was this bloke? The one who lived here?’

‘Ludwig Wittgenstein,’ she said. ‘He was a great Cambridge philosopher.’

The porter nodded.

‘Do you get many visitors wanting to see his old rooms?’ she asked, wondering if the killer might have made some sort of similar pilgrimage.

‘Well,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been here over ten years, and you’re the first in my memory.’

They came to the foot of a small staircase, with red-ochre painted walls.

‘It’s at the top,’ he said, going on ahead. ‘Saw a philosopher on the telly once. Near enough a hundred years old, he was. And the bloke says to him: Having lived for so long, do you have advice for mankind? Anyway the philosopher laughed and said that he did have some advice. He says: “Yes. Don’t ever help your own children.” What about that, eh? “Don’t ever help your children.” What a mean old bugger, eh?’ The porter laughed derisively. ‘Philosophers eh? What do they know about real life, I ask you.’