Janet saw Karin Tebner’s face looking expectantly at her as they climbed the stairs, and she began to appreciate how Ron felt on those occasions when the Professor announced that his associate was now going to explain one aspect of the case or another.
“He paints,” Janet said. “All during a case, he paints at a furious pace. Acrylics. The closer he gets to a solution, the more abstract the canvas gets. He says he lets his subconscious mind paint what it sees. If you can understand the last canvas, you can usually figure out what he’s figured out.”
“And that’s it?” Karin asked. “That’s how he’s caught all these murderers?”
“Oh, Lord, no,” Janet said. “That’s just all I’m able to explain. You’ll have to see him in action to appreciate the rest.”
“This is kind of exciting,” Karin said.
Janet looked at her and said, “Mmmm. I’m going to have to keep you away from my husband, I can see that.”
“Why?”
“Because he says there’s not one woman in ten thousand who’ll admit that, and that’s one of the reasons he loves me. And now, here you are, and now I’m not one in ten thousand any more.”
“I’ve only seen you together for a total of about three minutes, after the meeting in the cathedral and just now downstairs, and I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You’re obviously crazy about each other.”
“I know,” Janet said. “It’s a continuing pleasant surprise.”
Janet walked up to the Professor’s door and knocked. “Professor, it’s me, Janet. Ron sent me to see the painting.”
“Aspetta, cara,” the Professor said from the other side of the door. “Wait just a moment, please. Have you spoken to your husband?”
“Just for a second. I ran into Dr. Tebner. She’s out here in the hall with me.”
“Excellent, excellent!” The door opened between the first and second excellent. “Please come in, ladies. Dr. Tebner, I am charmed to meet you.” He kissed her hand. Karin blushed, just as Janet had the first time he’d done it to her.
Professor Benedetti looked in the mirror and gave one last tug to his bow tie. He smelled faintly of witch hazel. He had gotten his shave, after all—a fresh bandage gleamed on his cheek.
“Is this it, Professor?” Janet asked.
“It is, cara. I have staked our reputations on it. So please, tell me all you have seen and heard and done since last we were together, just in case there is a little fact that remains to be accounted for.”
Janet wasn’t as good at reporting as Ron was, but then he got a lot more practice. She tried especially hard because an outsider was listening.
When she finished, the Professor grinned at her and said, “Excellent. Why did you decide to make this study of lycanthropy?”
“I’ve been meaning to all the time, but things have been so hectic since we got here, it’s the first time I had the chance.”
“Yes, but why?”
“All we’ve heard since we got started on this was werewolf, werewolf. Because of the full moon, I suppose. But it’s also true that each murder has been more savage, more wolflike. Or werewolflike, I should say. Real wolves hunt in packs, and usually strangle their victims as much as maim them.”
Benedetti shook his head. “It is tragic I did not have a chance to train you when you were younger. You have placed a finger on one of the key aspects of the case.”
He turned to Karin. “And you, Dr. Tebner, your instincts are good as well. I should have made time to interview you on that first day. For you have been asking an important question: Why was Dr. Goetz burned?
“Indeed, I owe my entire solution, it seems, to women, since it was Frau Goetz who provided me with the clue I should have understood the day of our arrival.”
“What clue is that, Professor?” Janet asked.
“I didn’t tell your husband, neither will I tell you. You have both seen it. I cannot blame you; I failed to notice its significance, too, as did the prefect.”
“And Captain Marx,” Karin said. “I’ve been in his company a lot lately, and all he talked about was ‘not one single clue.’ I’m not saying he would have mentioned a clue if there was one, but he wouldn’t have said what he did, either.”
“Ah, yes, Captain Marx.” There was a reddish gleam of glee in the Professor’s grin now. “We must not expect too much in the way of spotting clues from the captain. I now know quite a bit about Captain Marx. I too, have been making telephone calls.”
“He was on Ron’s list of people to find,” Janet said.
“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t dream of doing this without our Alsatian friend. We will find his presence indispensible.
“And now, ladies,” said the Professor, offering an arm to each, “shall we go downstairs and see how Ronald is faring?”
24
“WAIT A MINUTE!” JANET said. She was surprised to hear herself give what was in effect an order to the great Niccolo Benedetti—even Ron didn’t try that sort of thing much—but she didn’t want to look like a wimp in front of the visitor either.
Benedetti seemed amused. “Of course, of course. We have promised our visitor a look at my work. I apologize for letting it slip my mind. Wait a moment, please.”
The Professor left the room, returning just a few seconds later with a burlap-covered rectangle. He put it on a chair.
“Please remember, Dr. Tebner,” he said, “not to judge too harshly. I am but an amateur, and I paint for reasons other than those of aesthetics.”
Then the old man proved himself a liar by whipping the burlap off the canvas with the air of a magician showing you that he’s made the tiger disappear.
Janet looked at it. As Ron had said, it was one of his best. At first, all she could notice was the striking design, three rough overlapping ovals, with modifications. The oval in the foreground was black, a little longer than the others, with two large points on the top, and some small jagged ones projecting from the bottom. This overlapped a white oval, smudged here and there with red. Behind both was a blood red oval, with the shades ranging from almost-orange to almost-purple. All this was set against a purplish, light gray background that suggested torn newsprint.
At second glance, Janet could see that the ovals were faces—those pointed projections on the black one could be the ears and teeth of a stylized wolf. The red smudges on the white oval could represent the victims. Janet had no idea what the red oval could mean, but as she stared at it, the pattern of the subtle color differences suggested an evil, grinning face. The devil? Only Benedetti could say.
Right now, he only said, “Comment, Dr. Tebner?”
“It’s amazing, Professor,” Karin said. She was still staring at it. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. But I wouldn’t want to live with it.”
Benedetti’s chuckle was not without warmth. “You would not welcome it as a housewarming present, then?”
Karin shook her head. “Not even if I had a house,” she said. She still hadn’t stopped looking at it. “I couldn’t sit in front of that and watch TV or eat Grape-Nuts or do any of the stuff I ordinarily do. I don’t know if I’m making any sense at all....”
Janet, who had a houseful of paintings like this, all banished to rooms into which she never went, thought she was not only making sense, but expressing it better than she herself ever could.
“You’re doing fine,” Janet said.
“This painting attacks me,” Karin said. “Powerfully. It fills my head with strange ideas, and I can’t even recognize what they are. I hope you’re not offended, Professor.”
“Far from it, Doctor. You see, I paint the picture to get those same ideas—which, at the time, Niccolo Benedetti also fails to understand—out of my poor old head.” He tapped his temple. “Then, when they’re out where I can see them, they sometimes help me to understand the truth once I stumble over it.”
“And this has done that?”
“It has indeed. It has helped make tangible the motives for the cri
me.”
“Which was?”
The Professor sighed. “Hans Goetz was killed because he was too good; Captain de Blois because he was inconvenient; Dr. Spaak because he was convenient.”
Karin screwed up her face and said, “Huh?” Janet wanted to hug her,
“It will become, I hope, apparent soon enough. If you desire to see the painting for a longer time, I suggest you leave that until we return here later. Now, I really think we should go downstairs.”
Levesque was standing in the main hall, dressed to go out. Anger had made him tight-lipped, except when he had to speak to soothe the baron, who was not a man who tended toward serenity at the best of times.
“Yes, Monsieur le Baron, I’m sure they know what they’re talking about. Remember, Professor Benedetti is the best in the world. Remember also your principle—hire the best, then let them work. If results are at hand, we must be patient, no?”
Levesque said all that in the most soothing tones he could muster, then proceeded to argue with himself. What kind of business is this Gentry trying to pull? He forces me to disturb a miserable old man and hustle him down to the Great Hall. When we have arrived, he looks at us, says “Good,” consults a list, says “Wait here,” and disappears.
And this Benedetti may be the best in the world, but what has he really done except eat the baron’s food, make philosophical pronouncements, and look on as murder came practically to the baron’s doorstep? “Hire the best and let them work,” yes. But sooner or later one must notice that even the best has failed, and—
Here came the old man now, down the main stairs as if he were the baron, making an entrance. He had Gentry’s wife with him and—who else was that?
Bon dieu, it was Karin Tebner. In a dress. Smiling at him.
Levesque scarcely heard as Janet performed the introductions; he was enjoying the lightly-freckled smile of the American astronomer. He had hoped someday she would smile at him, and now here it was, when he needed it most.
Dr. Tebner was speaking to the baron. “...want you to know that OSI was a wonderful and noble idea, and no matter what’s happened, I’ll always be proud to have been chosen for it.”
The baron patted her hand and smiled. His eyes were just a little damp. The baron had needed to hear something like that. Levesque had suspected that Karin Tebner would be like that—a woman who seemed to have an instinct for doing the little things a man needed.
“And you, M. Levesque. After all your work. I never got a chance to thank you for the way you made us all feel at home at orientation.”
“Uh, why don’t you call me Paul?”
Janet Higgins smiled a “bless you, my children” smile. She had it in the back of her mind someday to write a paper on the urge to matchmake, but she realized it would be difficult for her to maintain the necessary scientific detachment. It would be like asking Attila the Hun to do a paper on aggression.
Right now, it was enough to see Karin telling Paul to call her Karin, and to see the shy smiles flying between them. It might have seemed an odd time to an outsider, but then, she’d met Ron in the middle of a murder investigation, and that had worked out fine.
Dr. Romanescu came downstairs to join them. He had a fearful look on his face. Shame, Janet thought. He’d been making progress, too. She wished Ron were here now to help her keep an eye on him.
And that led her to wonder where the heck he was. She’d just assumed he was off fetching Romanescu.
She asked the Professor where her husband was.
“In the kitchen, I suspect,” the old man said. “Either that or the vegetable pantry.”
Ron had just finished closing the bag when Janet joined him in the kitchen.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked.
“Apples, mostly. The biggest ones I could find. Unfortunately, none of the ones here are very big, even the baking apples.”
“Apples.”
“The Professor specified apples.”
“In case he gets hungry or something? Ron, what is this?”
“Darling, your guess is as good as mine. He said I should definitely get some apples, enough for everybody, but that I should look around for something better.”
“Better for what?”
“He didn’t say. I asked him, and he said, I had a mind, and he had trained it, and I should know. He did tell me that cabbage was the right size but the wrong texture, the skin of a melon was too thick, and that potatoes would do if I couldn’t find the apples. Mean anything to you?”
Janet was totally bewildered. “Do you think he’s finally lost his mind?”
“You’re the shrink, my dear. What do you think?”
“Of course I don’t think so. But apples, potatoes, cabbages, melons—what does that have to do with anything?”
Ron shrugged. “Crazy crimes, crazy solution. Let’s just trust the old man.”
25
JANET SAT IN THE cable car and looked out across the sky at the lopsided but still impressive moon that rose over the Republic of France. They made quite a carful, once they were gathered all together.
Diderot and Marx stood by the door of the cable car, as though preventing one of these dangerous characters from making a break through the door, some hundreds of feet above a particularly unsoft-looking Alpine valley. The prefect seemed bland, a man doing his job. Marx, as usual, scowled. Janet tried to see if the scowl deepened when the captain’s gaze passed over Karin Tebner and Paul Levesque, who sat whispering together in a corner of the car.
The baron sat near them, looking distracted. He looked, in fact, well on his way to disassociating. Janet asked him a question every now and then to keep him in the here and now.
She did the same for Romanescu, who sat on the other side of her. If the Romanian had made a list of all the places in the world in the order he’d enjoy being there, Janet suspected the observatory would be third from the bottom, ahead of back in Romania and back in the clutches of the Werewolf.
Gisele Goetz sat on the other side of Romanescu. She had quickly taken in the fact that her quiet dinner/question session with Professor Benedetti had turned into what the old man hoped would be a surprise party for the killer, and had come along without a word.
She was still silent, looking out the window, sometimes biting her lower lip, as though to keep some emotion in check. Memories of making this trip with her husband, Janet thought. Or hope that Benedetti really had it.
Ron and the Professor sat in the far corner of the car, not saying much, just exchanging knowing looks. Janet undoubtedly would have been welcome to join them, but she was mad at her husband.
Janet had brought Ron and his bag of fruit back to the Great Hall of the baron’s château just as the police had arrived.
Diderot was tense, but expectant. He asked the Professor what he was planning.
“That will become clear as the evening unfolds.”
“Professor, please—”
“Truly, Monsieur le Préfect, I am not making mysteries for the sport of it.”
Janet looked at her husband, who was heroically repressing either a snort or a sardonic laugh. The effort gave his face a pained look.
“But,” the old man continued, “you are going to hear a complex and bizarre story this evening, and perhaps see a demonstration. I want you to experience it at the same time these people do, and in the proper setting, in order that you feel the full effect. You, after all, will make the arrest, and it is you who shall have to present the case to those above you.”
“Right,” Marx snarled. The inevitable cigarette bounced on his lip. “I never thought I’d hear you concede the fact, Professor. We are the officials here. We have the responsibility for making the arrest. No pledges of official cooperation can change that fact.”
“We, Monsieur Marx?” the Professor asked blandly.
“Oui, vraiment,” Marx said.
“Forgive me,” Benedetti told him. “I was not speaking French. I was questioning, monsieur, your pronoun
in English.”
Ron leaned over and whispered to Janet. “Is that some kind of insult or something?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Professor has gone out of his way twice in fifteen seconds not to call Marx ‘Captain.’ Is that some kind of French insult or something?”
Janet shook her head; it wasn’t that she knew of.
“Furthermore, I have no intention of impinging on the prefect’s authority. Monsieur le Préfect, if you prefer that I refrain from proceeding with my demonstration, simply say so.”
Diderot looked at Benedetti, then Marx, then back to Benedetti. “I am most eager,” he said at last, “to witness your demonstration, Professor.”
“Va bène,” Benedetti said. “Your trust in me is an honor. I will do my best to be worthy of it. You will not regret this.”
Benedetti took a deep breath, looked around to see everyone gathered, and said, “Well, then, are we all ready to go?”
Actually, by this time, they were ready to bust down the door to get the show on the road. There was a chorus of yeses in two languages.
But Benedetti said, “No.”
Everyone from the baron on down looked as if they could gladly lynch the Professor, and Janet wasn’t devoid of that impulse either.
Benedetti was serene. “Ronald, would you please go to my room and get my ointment, bandages, and tape?”
Ron’s brow furrowed. “Bandages?”
“That is correct. I have a feeling I might need a change of dressing before the night is over. In fact, I am virtually certain.”
Benedetti looked hard at Ron, a look that blended sternness with expectation. It was exactly the look Janet used to give the bright student from whom she was expecting the clever answer. She knew then that Benedetti hadn’t forgotten anything. This whole bandage business had been staged to give Ron one more chance to make the breakthrough on his own.
And as Janet watched, damned if he didn’t make it.
Ron’s lips snapped shut and his eyes opened wide behind his glasses. Then he opened his mouth and breathed like a little boy, “Apples!”
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