to…’
‘It was his final wish, sir. He wanted no one present at his burial.’
I looked away to the farthest, darkest corner of the room. Koch had been greatly attached to the magistrate who had died. Still, he could hardly reproach me for Rhunken’s death. And yet, I sensed a hidden vein of condemnation in his voice. I could not help myself, a feeling of discomfort crept up on me. Half an hour before I had been congratulating myself on the fact that I was sitting at Herr Rhunken’s desk, that his assistant was standing stiffly to attention in front of me, that the Procurator’s personal archives were at my complete disposal, that his own sparse accounts of his investigative methods were in my hands to be rifled through, criticised and challenged. But now, suddenly, he was dead.
In some indefinable manner, I felt as if I had been the cause.
Chapter 7
It was past ten o’clock when Sergeant Koch left me at The Baltic Whaler that night. The tavern was busy when I entered, so I sat myself down at a table in the quietest corner, that is, the one furthest removed from the fire, to pen a note to my wife before calling for my dinner. But what should have been a simple task proved far harder than I had anticipated. What should I tell Helena about what was happening in Königsberg? What could I say of the investigation that could reassure her, and what, instead, was better kept to myself? I mused for a moment, took up the quill once more, dipped it in the inkpot and went on:
Believe me, my love, when I tell you that I am not doing this in the vain hope of winning back my father’s affection. What has happened will never – ever – be erased from his mind, no matter what I try to do, or fail to do. I have lived under that shadow far too long, and have forced you to share the seclusion of Lotingen with me. It is time to forge a better life – for ourselves, and for our little ones. Lotingen has been a safe haven, but now the storm is over. I refuse to hide away any longer. This investigation opens a doorway…
I stopped, uncertain how to go on. I had no desire to tell my wife of the difficulties that I had been obliged to face that day, nor of the horrors that I had seen. What could she do to help me? I swirled the point of the duck-quill in the ink, and turned my thoughts to brighter matters.
Herr Koch and I arrived safe and well in Königsberg this afternoon. I am writing from my lodging near the port. The air is fresh here, I can tell you! But my bedroom is warm, clean and welcoming. It is almost a home from home, indeed…
‘Sir?’ a honey-sweet voice recalled me to my immediate surroundings. A buxom woman in her mid-forties with a moonlike face and large, bright, green eyes stood before me, holding an empty tray in what seemed to me to be a parody of servitude.
‘I am Gerta Totz, sir,’ she announced with a hideous, mincing smile, ‘wife of the landlord. Are you ready for your dinner? Would you care to try something in particular?’
‘Anything at all will do,’ I said, quickly folding up the letter to my wife. I had not eaten since my arrival in Königsberg six hours before, and the smell of fine cooking which filled the room was sufficiently enticing to whet my appetite.
‘I’ll bring the best we have, then,’ she said, bobbing and removing herself in the direction of the kitchen. As she moved away, I noticed that she stopped to say a quiet word to three prosperous-looking gentlemen who were sitting in a tight huddle at a table quite near to my own.
Something in her manner of addressing them caught my attention, and I followed her progress across the room, wondering whether she would be equally deferential to all the other customers in the place, but she disappeared into the kitchen without saying a single word to anyone. My interest awakened, I looked around at the assembled company. Beyond those gentlemen with whom Frau Totz had just spoken, closest to the fire, sat the same plump, dark-skinned
‘It was his final wish, sir. He wanted no one present at his burial.’
I looked away to the farthest, darkest corner of the room. Koch had been greatly attached to the magistrate who had died. Still, he could hardly reproach me for Rhunken’s death. And yet, I sensed a hidden vein of condemnation in his voice. I could not help myself, a feeling of discomfort crept up on me. Half an hour before I had been congratulating myself on the fact that I was sitting at Herr Rhunken’s desk, that his assistant was standing stiffly to attention in front of me, that the Procurator’s personal archives were at my complete disposal, that his own sparse accounts of his investigative methods were in my hands to be rifled through, criticised and challenged. But now, suddenly, he was dead.
In some indefinable manner, I felt as if I had been the cause.
Chapter 7
It was past ten o’clock when Sergeant Koch left me at The Baltic Whaler that night. The tavern was busy when I entered, so I sat myself down at a table in the quietest corner, that is, the one furthest removed from the fire, to pen a note to my wife before calling for my dinner. But what should have been a simple task proved far harder than I had anticipated. What should I tell Helena about what was happening in Königsberg? What could I say of the investigation that could reassure her, and what, instead, was better kept to myself? I mused for a moment, took up the quill once more, dipped it in the inkpot and went on:
Believe me, my love, when I tell you that I am not doing this in the vain hope of winning back my father’s affection. What has happened will never – ever – be erased from his mind, no matter what I try to do, or fail to do. I have lived under that shadow far too long, and have forced you to share the seclusion of Lotingen with me. It is time to forge a better life – for ourselves, and for our little ones. Lotingen has been a safe haven, but now the storm is over. I refuse to hide away any longer. This investigation opens a doorway…
I stopped, uncertain how to go on. I had no desire to tell my wife of the difficulties that I had been obliged to face that day, nor of the horrors that I had seen. What could she do to help me? I swirled the point of the duck-quill in the ink, and turned my thoughts to brighter matters.
Herr Koch and I arrived safe and well in Königsberg this afternoon. I am writing from my lodging near the port. The air is fresh here, I can tell you! But my bedroom is warm, clean and welcoming. It is almost a home from home, indeed…
‘Sir?’ a honey-sweet voice recalled me to my immediate surroundings. A buxom woman in her mid-forties with a moonlike face and large, bright, green eyes stood before me, holding an empty tray in what seemed to me to be a parody of servitude.
‘I am Gerta Totz, sir,’ she announced with a hideous, mincing smile, ‘wife of the landlord. Are you ready for your dinner? Would you care to try something in particular?’
‘Anything at all will do,’ I said, quickly folding up the letter to my wife. I had not eaten since my arrival in Königsberg six hours before, and the smell of fine cooking which filled the room was sufficiently enticing to whet my appetite.
‘I’ll bring the best we have, then,’ she said, bobbing and removing herself in the direction of the kitchen. As she moved away, I noticed that she stopped to say a quiet word to three prosperous-looking gentlemen who were sitting in a tight huddle at a table quite near to my own.
Something in her manner of addressing them caught my attention, and I followed her progress across the room, wondering whether she would be equally deferential to all the other customers in the place, but she disappeared into the kitchen without saying a single word to anyone. My interest awakened, I looked around at the assembled company. Beyond those gentlemen with whom Frau Totz had just spoken, closest to the fire, sat the same plump, dark-skinned
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