by Dan Rhodes
She took her pen and pad from her bag. Her mind was clearer than it had been on the train, and she could see she had been approaching the note from the wrong angle: it was not for her to express the complexity of her emotions, but to comfort the people she was leaving behind. The most important thing to do was reassure her mother and father that she had made the right decision, and that everybody will be better off when she has gone. She wanted them to know that it had been nobody’s fault, and especially not theirs. She only touched on the way she felt, keeping her wording as straightforward as she could. As she wrote these sentences she hoped they wouldn’t read them and think, If it was only this darkness, if it was only this pain, if it was only this hatred of herself then we could have nursed her through it. She told them she was beyond nursing, and beyond help, and she told them that she loved them, that she was sorry to have let them down this way, that she wished they could have had the daughter they deserved rather than the one they had ended up with. She told them they were not to feel sad for her, that they should be relieved to know that she is at last at peace.
She put the letter in the pocket of her jacket. She was sure that whoever was to find her would see that it got to them. She wondered if it would be the man with the long, grey fingers. She hoped it would be. He seemed like the kind of person who would understand.
X
The old man closed the front door and bolted it shut. Switching off lights as he went, he made his way upstairs and sat at the kitchen table. He cut himself a chunk of hardening cheese and a thin slice of bread. Looking straight ahead, he ate. The girl had returned, as he had known she would. He had come to recognise the signs. He could see from her eyes and from the way she held herself that there would be no drama, that he would be waking early in the morning and calling the doctor. There would be no need for him to interfere; all he had to do was let nature take its course.
When the food was gone he carried on sitting at the table, staring straight ahead. It was a quiet, still evening. Maybe if he listened hard enough he would be able to hear her heartbeat, or the soft shuffle of a spider’s claws as it waited nearby.
Madalena lay behind the car in Room Five. When she was sure the old man had gone away she stood up and picked up the noose, and took it with her to the place she had chosen: Room Eight. She felt calm. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, or of anything. Suddenly the room filled with light, and moments later the silence was shattered by a loud bang, like a gunshot. She went to the window. In the sky above the rooftops was a fading burst of colour. She had always enjoyed fireworks, but could no longer understand why.
She took the chair from the corner of the room and put it on the table. She knew she would need a long drop, but not so long that her feet would touch the floor. She climbed on to the table and on to the chair, and reached up to attach the rope with a single knot. Taking care not to make a noise she climbed down and checked she had got it right. She had. Her feet would hang a few inches from the floor. She climbed back up, reinforced the knot and tested it by pulling on it with all her weight. It held firm. When the time comes she will stand on the edge and step forward, and she will fall, and it will all be over. For the first time in a long while she had something to look forward to.
Wanting to keep the inconvenience she was causing to a minimum, she put the chair back in the corner of the room. There was another flash, and a bang and a crackle. Her head was clear now. She was ready.
The old man was annoyed to hear these explosions. These were the test flares, final checks for the annual firework display at the castle. Every year he forgot about it until he heard these warning sounds. Soon it would all begin. He wished he had remembered to buy earplugs on his last trip out of the museum.
He changed into his nightshirt and nightcap, and pulled a Breton–German dictionary from the shelf. He lay on his bed, and read. Nobl. Nobla. Noblañs. As a long, grey finger traced a line beneath Noblet, his eyelids began to feel heavy. Voices carried up from the street, as people started making their way towards the castle grounds. He hoped he would not be kept awake by the commotion. He would have to be up early in the morning, and he didn’t want his night’s sleep to be curtailed at both ends.
XI
Horst pulled up outside the doctor’s house. His palms were damp. He knew he was out of his depth, but he couldn’t call his colleagues for help. On top of the humiliation of relinquishing the case there would be awkward questions about why he had kept such information to himself for so long. The only way was to carry on alone; if he was to turn up at the station with a scalp then these questions would not be asked. ‘They will call me The Lone Wolf,’ he mumbled.
There was a distant bang, and through the trees he saw a spray of light. He hadn’t been looking for a sign, but if there was ever going to be one, this was it. Reminding himself of the motto he had given the investigation, he put on his cap and got out of the car.
He opened the side gate and walked up the doctor’s driveway to his front door. A security light took him by surprise, and from somewhere came the bark of a dog. Making sure his cap was on straight, he rang the bell. Moments later the door opened. The doctor was already in his pyjamas.
‘Doctor Fröhlicher?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doctor Ernst Fröhlicher?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doctor Ernst Fröhlicher . . . of this address?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wonder if I could have a moment to talk to you about . . .’ Horst wished he had prepared more thoroughly. ‘. . . about a matter.’
‘A matter?’
‘Yes. A police matter.’ He pointed to his cap.
‘A police matter? Of course. Please go on.’
Horst stared directly at the doctor as he wondered where to begin. Again he made sure his cap was on straight.
The doctor looked concerned. ‘Is this a matter of urgency? Is a patient of mine in difficulty?’
Horst carried on staring. ‘No,’ he said. It was time to drop the bombshell. He took a deep breath. ‘I am here to ask a few routine questions about the unexpected appearance of human body parts in the park.’
‘Ah.’ The doctor swallowed. He had been sure Frau Klopstock would have kept this to herself. He was angry with her for having gone to the police after everything he had done for her over the years. His mind raced as he thought of all the evidence he would have to destroy because of her. It was more than just evidence too; it was a large part of what made up his life. It all seemed such a waste. ‘Of course, officer,’ he said. ‘I wonder if we could schedule an appointment for next week? Or perhaps the week after?’ He smiled. ‘Just like you, I am a very busy public servant.’
Horst’s first instinct was to say Yes doctor, that will be fine, and go home for an early night, but he reminded himself that he was a tough cop now, and he said, quietly, ‘No.’
The doctor visibly deflated, and Horst felt a surge of power, as if he was no longer playing a part. Without being invited, and in defiance of protocol, he entered the doctor’s house. The door to the large open-plan living and dining room was open, and he went through. The doctor followed.
Horst supposed he should try to build up a rapport by making a little small talk. ‘You have a very nice house, Doctor Fröhlicher,’ he said.
‘Please, call me Ernst,’ said the doctor. ‘Now, would you like a cup of coffee?’
Horst knew it would be a breach of police regulations to accept hospitality from a suspect, but even so he was tempted by the offer. He wondered whether this was yet another rule he should break. While he tried to resolve this inner conflict, he continued looking hard at the doctor, trying to connect the person he saw with the strangeness of the incident. He couldn’t; the doctor looked too much like a pleasant and normal man to have been involved in anything so unusual, and he wondered whether it was possible that Irmgard had been under a lot of strain and had only imagined the things she had supposedly seen in the park. After a long silence, Horst decided that The Lon
e Wolf must not be so easily swayed by appearances, and also that he must never accept a drink from a possible major criminal for fear of what it might contain. He said, quietly, ‘No.’
‘Very well,’ said the doctor. ‘Very well.’
Again, Horst was stuck for what to do next. It all seemed so implausible. He looked around at the room he was standing in. It was neat and orderly, but it seemed to lack something. He remembered what he had found out from Irmgard about the doctor’s story. What was missing was any sign of family life. There were no feminine touches, and no scattered toys or trailing wires of video games, or any other evidence of a child or grandchild. He thought of the clutter of his own home, and was glad of it. He felt sorry for the doctor, but he knew he had to put his pity aside. He walked over to the dining table. On a plate was a partly eaten dome of brown meat. Knowing he had to break the silence, he spoke. ‘This looks very tasty, doctor. What is it?’
The doctor slumped into an armchair. At first he hadn’t known what to make of his visitor’s unusual manner, but as their meeting progressed he had begun to feel the power of the policeman’s unsettlingly long silences, and the penetrating stares that took in his every movement as he analysed even the slightest nuance of his body language. And now, his mind razor sharp, he had made his way straight to the evidence. There would be no use trying to fight somebody like this. They had sent their best man. It was over.
‘Doctor? The meat?’
‘You know what it is,’ he said, quietly. He looked up, and their eyes locked. ‘It is a buttock. A human buttock.’
Horst froze, but only for a moment. His heart thumped as he took out his notepad and pencil, and with trembling fingers he raced to keep up with the confession. His mind took a while to process what he was hearing, and it wasn’t until the doctor was recounting the butchery and consumption of a third body that the scale and the nature of the crimes he had uncovered began to sink in. He felt his knees begin to buckle, but he steadied himself and carried on writing.
XII
The fireworks rattled the old man’s window, and his thin, white curtains changed colour in the flashes of light. He lay still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. In the castle grounds an orchestra was playing in time with the display, but the music didn’t carry as far as the cold, bare rooms in the roof. When the first movement ended there was a round of applause then the evening fell quiet, but he knew the cacophony would soon return, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until it was over. His night already disrupted, he had no intention of waking up early in the morning as well.
He made a decision. When the second movement began he would go downstairs and see the girl. If necessary he would do as the doctor had requested, and help her on her way. By the time the fireworks were over he would be rid of her.
Madalena carried on looking at the small patch of sky above the rooftops, where the colour had been. Before she and Mauro had left for the city they had been to see the fireworks in their town, and as they stood side by side with their heads tilted back she had remembered how it had felt to be a little girl, and smiled at the thought that in years to come they would be there with children of their own. She had pictured a boy and a girl, their eyes sparkling as they looked up to the sky. These two had made regular appearances in her daydreams, and there in the museum she saw them again. This time they were farther away than usual, just beyond her reach.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She closed her eyes but they were still there, trusting her and loving her, seeming not to know that one evening in a hotel bar with chandeliers and a white grand piano she had let them down. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Smiling and laughing, they slipped out of focus, and faded away.
There was a rumble, and again the sky turned bright with fireworks. She wished she could make them stop, and it struck her that she could make them stop. She turned away from the window, and walked over to the table.
She climbed up, and put the noose around her neck. She tightened it, and closed her eyes.
XIII
As the doctor’s confession continued, Horst became anxious. He knew he had to get him to the station so this monologue could continue within a recognised legal framework. The doctor was recounting some of the difficulties he had encountered while butchering a particularly plump young woman from Cloppenburg, and when this was finished he sighed, and Horst took this opportunity to say to him, ‘Doctor, I wonder if we could continue this conversation in the comfort of the police station.’
The doctor thought for a moment, then sighed once again, and nodded. ‘Yes, officer,’ he said. ‘I understand. But first I shall call my dog and say goodbye to him. He will be taken care of?’
Horst nodded. The dog would be taken care of, in a sense.
The doctor went over to the patio door and opened it, but instead of calling Hans he stood quietly for a moment, as if in contemplation, before running into the darkness. Horst, taken by surprise, raced out after him, to find that the doctor had tripped over a hosepipe, and was lying spread-eagled on the lawn. Before Horst could get to him he scrambled back on to his feet and ran to the high garden wall. He tried to climb over it, but ended up hanging by his fingers, his legs flailing, frog-like as his slippered feet failed to get a grip on the bricks. He gave up and stood in the flower-bed, bent double and panting. Through the still air came the crackle of fireworks.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Very well.’ The dog appeared, wagging his tail, and he followed the men back into the house.
Horst closed the patio door, and the doctor patted Hans. ‘Somebody will be here to collect you, my friend,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Leaving the dog locked in the house, the two men walked to Horst’s car, the doctor’s shoulders hunched. They got in, the doctor in the passenger seat. Horst was surprised by how calm he felt, knowing that in a few minutes he would be arriving back at the station with a soon-to-be-notorious cannibal. He smiled at the thought that Big Max Weber would be on the front desk. Book him, Weber, he will say, and Big Max Weber will ask what the charge is. He will leave a few moments before replying. Then he will smile and say, calmly, Cannibalism. Big Max Weber was famously impassive. In moments of extreme surprise, though, he would raise his left eyebrow, and his colleagues had a running challenge to see if they could get him to do this. Horst had not managed it yet, but he had a feeling that tonight would be the night. This was his defining moment, the scalp of his career, and the biggest story the town had seen since he had joined the force. It was his magnum opus.
‘Magnum opus,’ he muttered under his breath. He looked forward to telling his son all about it.
As they got closer to the city centre the bangs became louder. People without tickets for the castle grounds were standing in clusters in spots where they could get a clear view of the display through the buildings and the trees.
‘It is the fireworks tonight, Doctor Fröhlicher,’ said Horst.
The doctor said nothing. He had decided that his story would not end this way. He was not ready to give up. He had thought of a plan, and in just a few seconds’ time he would have a chance to carry it out.
XIV
Madalena stood on the table, her eyes closed and the noose tight around her neck. She pressed a hand against the pocket where she had put the note, making sure it was still there. It was. Now all she had to do was step forward. Not wanting to die with her eyes closed, she opened them and there in front of her, almost close enough to touch, was the old man, staring up at her. His nightshirt and nightcap were catching the flashes of colour from outside, while his face remained a deathly grey. She felt no surprise, or fear. She felt nothing. She looked back at him and he spoke, his voice barely audible above the noise from outside. She couldn’t understand what he was saying.
‘Don’t try to save me,’ she said.
She noticed what almost seemed to be the faintest flicker of a smile, then it vanished and he spoke to her in perfect Portuguese, in an accent that could have come from her own home town. ‘I have not com
e to save you,’ he said. ‘I shall return in a short while, by which time I expect you to have finished what you have started.’
He turned and walked out of the room.
Madalena tried to put the old man out of her mind, and concentrate on her task. The whole encounter had been so strange it was almost as if it had never happened, but it had, and she had been unsettled by it. The fireworks thundered and crackled, and she closed her eyes again, and gathered herself in preparation. Once again, she was ready. She opened her eyes, and stepped forward.
Before her back foot left the table, she stopped. She could smell something. It was wonderful. She opened her eyes, and looked around her. She was no longer ready. She was no longer calm. She realised she was alone in a foreign land, in a place where she wasn’t meant to be, with a noose around her neck and one foot suspended in the air. The second movement stopped, and the city fell quiet. She was terrified.
XV
It happened so fast. The car stopped at a red light, and the doctor unclipped his seat belt and opened the door. Horst made a lunge to restrain him, but reined in by his own seat belt he managed only to get a grip on the doctor’s elasticated waistband. With a few kicks, a wriggle and a forward roll on to the street, the doctor was free. He ran off, leaving Horst gaping at the pyjama trousers in his hand. A moment later, abandoning the car in the middle of the road and not even stopping to close the door, he got out and gave chase.
As he ran, Horst could feel his big moment slipping away. Instead of making Big Max Weber raise an eyebrow, he would have to explain to his son that he had lost his job by letting the city’s biggest ever criminal slip from his grasp. He pictured the look on his wife’s face as they packed their belongings into crates, getting ready to leave town in disgrace. It was chilling. Even the rabbits looked disappointed in him. Spurred on by his need to avoid this outcome, and keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the retreating bare bottom, he ran. Already he was short of breath, and there was tightness in his chest, but he didn’t slow down.
