Murder's Art

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Ah. You have arrested him?’

  ‘Not yet, Herr General. And that is the point. He worked in his father’s store, but at some time today he just walked out and disappeared. We have not yet found him. But the mere fact that he disappeared proves he knew what was going on.’

  ‘And the father has confessed?’ Blintoft asked. He was used to concentrating on essentials.

  ‘Well, no, Herr General. He is tougher than he looks. But his wife has confessed.’

  ‘Let me see them.’

  ‘Of course, Herr General.’

  Ulrich stood to one side and raised the flap on the peephole. Blintoft stooped to look through it for several seconds. Then he straightened, and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Herr General.’

  ‘He is not moving.’

  ‘He is in a state of shock, Herr General. Prisoners often enter such a condition after interrogation, but it soon passes off. Would you like me to wake him up?’

  ‘No. You said his wife has confessed?’

  ‘Only a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Let me see her.’

  ‘Ah …’ Ulrich looked at Wassermann.

  ‘I wish to see this man,’ Angela said.

  Ulrich looked positively frightened. ‘I do not think—’

  ‘I would like to, Papa,’ Angela said.

  ‘Well, it is not a pretty sight.’

  ‘I would like to.’

  Blintoft hesitated a last time, then stepped away from the door, and Angela took his place. Wassermann moved forward to stand immediately behind her, as if to catch her if she were to faint.

  Angela looked through the peephole. There was no furniture in the cell, save for a single naked electric bulb, which glowed brightly. Brolic was slumped against the far wall, half-turned away from the door. He was naked, and his body was a mass of bruises and cuts, some of them oozing blood. Clearly he was quite unaware that people were looking at him, although she wondered if he would respond even were they to enter the room. Oddly, she felt no emotion, perhaps because he was remote. If he had allowed his house to be used by Mama’s assassins, he deserved to be beaten. But she no longer hated him. He was not even pitiable. He had become a thing, hardly recognisable as a human being. She had never seen a naked man before, and she did not feel she had looked at one now.

  She stepped back, and found herself against Wassermann, who held her arm. ‘Are you all right, Fräulein?’

  ‘I am all right.’

  ‘Show me the woman,’ Blintoft said.

  Ulrich attempted a protest. ‘The Fräulein …’

  ‘She wishes to see.’ Blintoft’s voice was suddenly harsh, and it occurred to Wassermann that the general was upset that his daughter had shown much less emotion at the sight of the beaten man than himself.

  ‘Yes, Herr General.’ Ulrich led them past three more doors, then paused before one that had no peephole. ‘This is the punishment cell,’ he explained.

  ‘Open it.’

  Ulrich licked his lips, then opened the door; it had not been locked. In the cell there were two women. The first one stood to attention when she saw who the visitors were. She wore the usual uniform of white shirt and black skirt, but had discarded her tie and unbuttoned the neck of her shirt. She was sweating heavily. She was allowed no more than a glance, as their attention was taken by the other woman, naked and suspended by her wrists from the ceiling. In early middle age, she was plump, with black hair which lay on her shoulders. From her shoulders to her thighs she was a mass of bloody weals where she had been flogged; the woman standing beside her still held the whip, its single thong also bloody.

  Wassermann glanced at his two guests. Now he was more worried about the general’s reactions than the girl’s; the only sign of emotion revealed by Angela was again the flaring of her nostrils as she breathed. ‘Anything new?’ Wassermann asked.

  ‘No, Herr Major. She keeps fainting.’ The woman’s tone was contemptuous.

  Wouldn’t you, Angela wondered, if you were humiliated by being stripped and then had your back torn to pieces? She could not imagine what it might feel like to be in that position … and to know that after all this suffering there would be only the hangman’s noose. In public.

  ‘What has she told you?’ Blintoft asked, his voice heavy with saliva.

  ‘She has confessed her family’s part in the business. That they agreed to be tied up while the gunmen used their house.’

  ‘But we already know that,’ Blintoft complained. ‘Can she identify these people?’

  ‘She says they were definitely Partisans – that is, members of Tito’s organisation. There were three men and a woman. Two of the men were Yugoslavs. As for the other two, the man was English and the woman was French.’

  ‘You think the man was Davis?’ Blintoft asked Wassermann.

  ‘The presence of the Frenchwoman makes me certain of it, Herr General. They always work together.’

  ‘Which of them fired the shot that killed my wife?’

  ‘She does not know.’

  ‘Then are we any further ahead?’

  ‘Oh, indeed, Herr General. This woman is merely supportive evidence. We have one of the Partisans.’

  ‘Where?’ The general looked somewhat apprehensive.

  ‘He is in my office, Herr General,’ Ulrich said. ‘Just along here.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Ah … I do not think it would be suitable for the young lady to accompany us.’

  Angela had not stopped staring at the suspended woman. She was experiencing a strange sequence of feelings, the strongest being an intense desire to use the whip herself, to watch the woman writhe in pain and cry out in agony. But to do that would be to shock Papa, and the poor old dear had had sufficient shocks for one day already. Now she turned sharply. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because … well …’ Ulrich flushed and looked at his superior.

  ‘The captain is afraid that you will be shocked, Fräulein,’ Wassermann explained. ‘This bandit is awaiting interrogation. He has already been prepared for it. And he is a young and, shall I say, virile man.’

  ‘I will not be shocked,’ Angela said.

  No, Wassermann thought, I don’t believe you will be shocked, my pretty little sadist. He felt a sudden sense of excitement. This girl might be everything he had wanted throughout his life. And at this moment he had a feeling that he was what she wanted as well. Him, and his powers.

  ‘I wish to speak with this man,’ Blintoft said.

  ‘Of course, Herr General. Ulrich!’

  Ulrich clicked his heels, and escorted the party to a large room at the end of the corridor. Here there were a desk, and a couple of chairs, and, in the very centre of the room, a peculiar piece of furniture, half stool and half chair, set very low to the floor and with a back. Seated on this chair was Svetovar Kostic. As with the other prisoners, he was naked, and because of the awkward nature of the stool he was in a very uncomfortable position. His ankles were secured to iron rings in the floor, set wide apart, so that his knees were actually on a level with his face. His wrists were also secured, to bolts set behind the back of the chair, so that his arms were pulled behind his shoulders, leaving him quite helpless. Two men waited in the room, one standing to either side of the prisoner, but as yet the man did not appear to have been harmed in any way, save for a bruise on his cheek and another on his chest. He breathed slowly and evenly, but caught his breath as he identified the general’s uniform – and again as he saw Angela.

  She was again aware of a surge of conflicting emotions. Svetovar was quite a handsome man, and he was the first man she had ever seen not only naked – she still discounted Brolic – but so totally displayed … and immediately reacting to her presence. And he was about to be destroyed. She did not doubt that.

  ‘I’m afraid he stinks,’ Wassermann said apologetically. ‘We extracted him from the sewer. We did put him under a shower to get the wors
t off, but, well …’

  Blintoft stood in front of the prisoner. ‘You shot my wife,’ he said in Serbo-Croat.

  ‘No,’ Svetovar said. ‘No. I swear it. It was …’ He bit his lip.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was one of the others. I do not know which one. I was guarding the door.’

  ‘You are lying.’

  ‘I swear it,’ Svetovar said again.

  ‘What was your business there?’

  ‘I was support only,’ Svetovar said.

  ‘How can we know if he is telling the truth?’ Blintoft asked.

  ‘It is very simple,’ Wassermann said. ‘Ulrich.’

  Ulrich stood to attention. ‘I think the Fräulein should withdraw.’

  ‘Well …’ Wassermann looked at Angela.

  Who continued to stare at the man. ‘I will stay.’

  Wassermann looked at Blintoft.

  ‘Oh, let her stay. This man is as guilty of her mother’s death as if he pulled the trigger himself.’

  ‘You heard the general, Ulrich. Proceed.’

  ‘I must register a protest, Herr Major. The young lady should not be present.’

  ‘Your protest will be noted. Now proceed. That is an order.’

  Ulrich hesitated a last time, then nodded to the waiting men. One turned to the desk and reached for a square box, from which there protruded two wires. At the end of each wire there was an alligator clip. Also protruding from the box was a handle, such as that used to make a telephone call. The soldier placed the box on the floor directly in front of Svetovar, who gazed at it with wide eyes. The other soldier now grasped his knees and pulled his legs further apart, while his comrade knelt and forced one of the alligator clips into Svetovar’s anus. No lubricant was used, and Svetovar gasped with discomfort. He found himself staring at Angela, who stared back. The second clip was opened and attached to Svetovar’s penis, which was rising as he gazed at the fascinated girl. Now he again gasped with discomfort as the small teeth ate into his flesh, but also with fear of the coming moments. ‘Listen,’ he panted. ‘It was the Englishman who fired the shot. The Englishman, Davis!’

  The kneeling man looked at Ulrich, who looked at Wassermann. Wassermann nodded. The man cranked the handle on the box. For a moment nothing happened, then Svetovar uttered a tremendous shriek, and his body arched away from the seat – held as it was by wrist and ankle it could only arch, so much so that it almost appeared as if his spine had to break. But the crank was no longer turning, and Svetovar fell back to the seat with a dull thud and lay there, his body even more disorganised, while his chest rose and fell in great pants. ‘One needs to be careful,’ Wassermann explained, speaking principally to Angela. ‘We can generate a considerable voltage, and to apply too great a charge at one time can cause death. But, properly used, it does have the property of bringing out the truth, and it leaves no discernible mark.’

  Angela continued to stare at the man, lips slightly parted.

  ‘Will he now tell us the truth?’ Blintoft asked. ‘I want to know exactly what happened. Why my wife was killed.’

  ‘You heard the general, Kostic,’ Wassermann said. ‘Tell us exactly what happened.’

  ‘Yes,’ Svetovar panted. ‘I will tell you. We were sent to assassinate the general.’

  ‘Sent by whom?’ Blintoft asked. ‘General Mihailovic?’

  ‘No,’ Svetovar said. ‘We were sent by General Tito.’

  Blintoft and Wassermann exchanged glances, Wassermann’s expression conveying satisfaction that what he had told the general on the train was being proved correct. ‘Go on,’ Wassermann said. ‘How many of you were there?’

  ‘We were a team of four.’

  ‘Names.’

  ‘Davis, Fouquet, Maric, and me.’

  ‘Fouquet was the woman, eh?’

  ‘Yes. She is a devil.’

  ‘And the Brolics were expecting you?’

  ‘It had all been arranged, by Maric.’

  ‘What happened upstairs?’

  ‘Davis had the rifle. He is a first-class shot. He was waiting for the general to stand on the platform steps. I was at his shoulder. When the lady stepped in front of the general, I tried to catch his arm. I told him he could not shoot because he would hit the woman. But Fouquet said, “Shoot, shoot, she is only a German.” So Davis shot.’

  Wassermann looked at the general, who was breathing deeply. ‘Where are these people now? Still in the sewers?’

  ‘We have found nothing, Herr Major,’ Ulrich said. ‘Someone was throwing grenades at us, so we opened fire, but he, or she, seems to have escaped.’

  ‘That was Maric,’ Svetovar said. ‘He volunteered to hold you up with grenades. He said he knew another way out.’

  ‘But did he not tell you to use the fifth exit from the Brolic cellar?’

  ‘Yes. He told us that.’

  ‘Did he not know that we had already sealed that exit some time ago? Or do you think he betrayed you?’

  ‘I do not know,’ Svetovar said. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘So where are the other two? Davis and Fouquet?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘There is no way that they can have got out, Herr Major,’ Ulrich said. ‘We have sealed every exit.’

  ‘What about the river?’

  ‘There is a grill …’

  ‘Do you think that will stop two desperate criminals?’

  Ulrich gulped.

  ‘I want them,’ Blintoft said. ‘I want them both. I want them there.’ He pointed at Svetovar.

  ‘You will have them,’ Wassermann said. ‘Captain Ulrich, I want those sewers scoured until those three assassins, or their bodies, are found. I also want the river exit sealed.’

  ‘If they can get through the grill, they will have done so by now,’ Ulrich said, looking at his watch. ‘It is dark.’

  ‘You had better hope they have not,’ Wassermann said.

  ‘Keep me informed,’ Blintoft said. ‘When they are caught, I wish to see them. Come, Angela.’

  Angela looked at Svetovar a last time, then followed her father from the room. She looked as composed as ever, but Wassermann noticed that her fingers were twitching. He would have followed them, but Ulrich said, ‘A word, please, Herr Major.’ Wassermann raised his eyebrows, but waited. Ulrich stood close to him and spoke in a low voice. ‘I have to inform you, sir, that everything the man Kostic has said is a lie.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Simply that the rifle that fired the fatal shot was discarded by the terrorists, and recovered by us. I immediately had it tested for fingerprints. There were two sets, but the upper ones about the trigger guard and butt were clearly from the person who handled it last. I also had Kostic’s prints taken, and they are an exact match. There can be no doubt that Kostic fired the shot. So, as he has lied about that, there must be serious doubts about everything else he said.’

  ‘That does not mean that Davis and Fouquet are any less guilty,’ Wassermann said. ‘They were there. Anyone who was there is equally guilty.’

  ‘Agreed. But do you not think that the general would like to know the truth of the matter?’

  ‘No,’ Wassermann said. ‘Whether he would like to or not, I do not think it would be a good idea, Ulrich. This general is a hard man with a soft centre. Right now he is filled with anger, a desire for vengeance on the person who killed his wife. But it will not last. And if we present him with the actual murderer, he will no doubt feel a good deal of satisfaction at watching him hang, but he will also consider the matter – the murder of his wife – to be closed. Then he may well revert to some very peculiar ideas he has about dealing with these terrorists. But if we allow him to continue to think that the murderers are still at large, I believe he will give us what we want: the right to deal with these thugs as we choose. That is more important than the truth.’

  ‘But … when we arrest Davis and Fouquet, or find their bodies, won’t the general again feel that the matter is closed?�
��

  ‘But you are not going to find them, are you, Ulrich? They have now been at large for more than six hours. They will surely have got out by now. If they have not, you see to it that they do.’

  Ulrich gulped. ‘You mean to let them go? Davis and Fouquet? When we have been trying to catch them for the past two months?’

  ‘As I said, we are after bigger game. The right to destroy all the Partisans, our way. The general will give us that right, in order to catch his wife’s killer.’

  ‘But … suppose they are dead? When we find their bodies—’

  ‘You are not going to find their bodies, Ulrich. Or if you do, you are going to bury them where only you will know where they can be found, just in case we need them at some future date. But as I have said, it would be best if they were to escape, at least for the time being. We can always catch up with them later.’

  ‘I have to say that I do not like it, Herr Major.’

  ‘But you will do your duty, which is less to the general than to the Wehrmacht.’

  Ulrich clicked his heels. ‘Yes, Herr Major. But what about that carrion?’ He jerked his head over his shoulder.

  ‘Lock him up for the time being. He may be useful. But make sure he is kept incommunicado. And endeavour not to ill-treat him more than necessary; we will need him to give evidence at the trial.’ He clapped his subordinate on the shoulder. ‘This will be our secret, Ulrich. And when we have cleaned up these Partisans, we will both be promoted. Remember that.’

  Three

  Decision

  ‘Time,’ Tony said. It was now quite dark beyond the grating.

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ Sandrine said. ‘I am frozen stiff. Anyway, those bars—’

  ‘Have to be negotiated. So get colder yet. Strip.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘I should have thought you’d be happy to get out of that gear.’

  ‘I will be. But we can’t get back to the mountains with nothing on.’

  ‘We won’t. Hang your clothes on the bars, and we’ll collect them when we’re through.’ During the dying moments of daylight he had ascertained that there was a ledge beneath the flowing water, separating them from the river, which was at a level several feet beneath the grating. ‘Let’s get started.’ He took off his tommy-gun and belt of grenades, unstrapped his revolver, and hung them on the bars, then did the same with his stinking clothes. Sandrine watched him for several seconds, then followed his example.