words to describe what she had observed? The Devil’s name, I realised, was never far away in Königsberg. I had heard Satan invoked already with great familiarity by Koch, by the maid of Herr Rhunken, by Doctor Vigilantius, and by the soldiers remaining in the Fortress. Was it nothing more than a superficial reflection of the fierce religious sectarianism for which the city was renowned throughout Prussia? The Pietists were a dominating influence in Königsberg; the University was packed with members of the sect. Their reading of the Bible led the Pietists to believe that eternal salvation could only be achieved by personally wrestling with the Devil and his temptations. They had even invented a specific term for it. Busskampf , they preached, was a necessary battle that every true believer must fight and win if he hoped to enter the kingdom of Heaven.
I shook my head, and read on to the end. Lublinsky and Kopka, the two officers who had countersigned the woman’s statement and based their own report on it, had not pressed her for precise details. Indeed, they had not asked her much at all. Not even her name! Then again, neither had that most excellent magistrate, my predecessor, Procurator Rhunken…
‘Your master kept few notes, Koch,’ I said, as I replaced the sheet.
‘True, sir, very true. Kept it all in his head, he did.’
I made no comment, reflecting only that Procurator Rhunken’s way of going about the investigation left much to be desired. A degree of professional jealousy might explain his determination to tell me nothing more at our interview than the scant information which his papers contained, but it did not speak well for him, and it made my task all the more difficult.
Finally, there was a brief note about the latest victim, Jeronimus Tifferch, the notary, whose body I had examined in the cellar not an hour before. In his case there was a notable and remarkable difference. Regarding his personal history and habits, there was absolutely nothing. Merely a statement of his death. No other word had been consigned to paper. No person had been questioned, no detailed examination had been made of the corpse. So far as I could tell, no doctor had even been called to verify that he was actually dead, nor to sign a certificate to that effect. As a result, no possible cause of death had been hazarded. As in the notes I had read in the coach the day before – I was getting used to the omission by now – no mention was made of the nature of the weapon which might have been used to kill him, nor of the sort of wound it had inflicted. Indeed, the normal process of legal investigation seemed to have been suspended in Tifferch’s case. In anticipation of my coming, perhaps?
There was a knock at the door. Without lifting my head from my work, I heard Koch murmuring with someone on the threshold.
Above all, I reasoned, there was one glaring omission in all that I had read so far. The name of the ‘eminent person’ who had called Vigilantius and myself to investigate the string of murders in the city. I could find no reference to it in what Rhunken had chosen to record. Did he not realise that some rival authority was conducting a parallel investigation?
‘Herr Stiffeniis, sir?’
Koch’s voice interrupted my considerations. I looked up and found him standing stiffly in front of the desk, his linen handkerchief close to his mouth, his glaring eyes red and puffy.
‘What is it, Koch?’
‘His Excellency, Herr Procurator Rhunken, sir. A guard just brought the news. My master is dead.’.
I have rarely seen such naked sorrow on a human face. Instinctively, I looked down at the pile of papers scattered on the desk.
‘When will the funeral take place?’ I asked.
‘He’s been entombed already, sir,’ he said, slowly passing a hand over his eyes. ‘An hour ago, apparently.’
‘But that’s impossible!’ I protested. ‘Herr Rhunken was an authority. The city will want to pay its tribute
I shook my head, and read on to the end. Lublinsky and Kopka, the two officers who had countersigned the woman’s statement and based their own report on it, had not pressed her for precise details. Indeed, they had not asked her much at all. Not even her name! Then again, neither had that most excellent magistrate, my predecessor, Procurator Rhunken…
‘Your master kept few notes, Koch,’ I said, as I replaced the sheet.
‘True, sir, very true. Kept it all in his head, he did.’
I made no comment, reflecting only that Procurator Rhunken’s way of going about the investigation left much to be desired. A degree of professional jealousy might explain his determination to tell me nothing more at our interview than the scant information which his papers contained, but it did not speak well for him, and it made my task all the more difficult.
Finally, there was a brief note about the latest victim, Jeronimus Tifferch, the notary, whose body I had examined in the cellar not an hour before. In his case there was a notable and remarkable difference. Regarding his personal history and habits, there was absolutely nothing. Merely a statement of his death. No other word had been consigned to paper. No person had been questioned, no detailed examination had been made of the corpse. So far as I could tell, no doctor had even been called to verify that he was actually dead, nor to sign a certificate to that effect. As a result, no possible cause of death had been hazarded. As in the notes I had read in the coach the day before – I was getting used to the omission by now – no mention was made of the nature of the weapon which might have been used to kill him, nor of the sort of wound it had inflicted. Indeed, the normal process of legal investigation seemed to have been suspended in Tifferch’s case. In anticipation of my coming, perhaps?
There was a knock at the door. Without lifting my head from my work, I heard Koch murmuring with someone on the threshold.
Above all, I reasoned, there was one glaring omission in all that I had read so far. The name of the ‘eminent person’ who had called Vigilantius and myself to investigate the string of murders in the city. I could find no reference to it in what Rhunken had chosen to record. Did he not realise that some rival authority was conducting a parallel investigation?
‘Herr Stiffeniis, sir?’
Koch’s voice interrupted my considerations. I looked up and found him standing stiffly in front of the desk, his linen handkerchief close to his mouth, his glaring eyes red and puffy.
‘What is it, Koch?’
‘His Excellency, Herr Procurator Rhunken, sir. A guard just brought the news. My master is dead.’.
I have rarely seen such naked sorrow on a human face. Instinctively, I looked down at the pile of papers scattered on the desk.
‘When will the funeral take place?’ I asked.
‘He’s been entombed already, sir,’ he said, slowly passing a hand over his eyes. ‘An hour ago, apparently.’
‘But that’s impossible!’ I protested. ‘Herr Rhunken was an authority. The city will want to pay its tribute
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