you can’t question anybody else … How do we know that the swine isn’t going to think up something else? … Or start killing everyone you talk to? … When I’ve locked him up, I’ll gladly welcome you amongst my men. I’ve spoken to Councillor Ilssheimer. He has willingly agreed to your transfer. But now you’ve got to go away. Don’t think you won’t be helping us in the investigation. Doctor Kaznicz is going to talk to you again, and you might remember some clue as to the identity of the murderer.”
Mock studied his colleagues around the table. All were contemplating the colour of the hot drink in their glasses. They had been taught to obey their superiors. They were unfamiliar with words of dissent, and they felt no guilt; it was a long time since a child had wept into their starched collars. “Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Mock. You don’t deserve any pity.”
Mock remained seated. “We all know that the murderer began with a spectacular crime, and then murdered two more people whom I had questioned. Listen to me, gentlemen! I propose …”
“We’re not interested in what you propose, Mock,” Muhlhaus interrupted him. “Are you going to let us get on with our work, or do I have to throw you out? Do I have to take disciplinary action?”
Mock stood up and approached Muhlhaus.
“First take action against your secretary, von Gallasen. He’s made a mistake too. He brought two glasses too many. There are seven of you. Smolorz isn’t here yet, and I’m no longer here.” He went to the table and with a swipe knocked over the two empty glasses, which smashed on the stone floor. He bowed and left the office of the chief of the Murder Commission.
BRESLAU, THAT SAME SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1919
HALF PAST NINE IN THE MORNING
The windows of Criminal Councillor Josef Ilssheimer’s large office looked out onto Ursulinenstrasse, or strictly speaking onto the gable roof of the Stadt Leipzig Hotel. Ilssheimer liked to observe one of the clerks working there who, in his spare moments, would arrange coloured pencils in a fixed and unchangeable order in his drawer, and then close his eyes, randomly pull one out, and draw a line on a piece of paper to see whether he had chosen the right one.
Ilssheimer was observing this spatial memory exercise now, but he tired of it more quickly than usual and remembered that Eberhard Mock had been sitting at his round table for a good few minutes, waiting in silence for orders or instructions.
Ilssheimer cast his eyes around his office, cluttered from floor to ceiling with files of cases which the Vice Department of Breslau’s Police Praesidium had conducted under him over the past twenty years. He was proud of the order which reigned there and, despite the suggestions of successive police presidents, he would not allow the material to be moved to the main archives located on the ground floor.
“I’m sorry,” Ilssheimer began, “that you’re not on the Four Sailors case any more, Mock. It can’t be pleasant for you.”
“Thank you for the words of consolation.”
“But you won’t be removed from the investigation altogether.” Ilssheimer was somewhat offended that Mock had not addressed him as “Councillor sir”. “You’ll be talking to Doctor Kaznicz. He’ll draw information out of you which will help Muhlhaus apprehend the murderer.”
“I’ve already lived through one psychoanalytical session with Doctor Kaznicz and it didn’t give us anything.”
“You’re a little impatient, Mock.” Ilssheimer leaned over the man he was addressing and was disappointed; he did not detect the smell of alcohol. He began to stroll around the office, hands clasped behind his back. “And now listen to me carefully. These are your official instructions. Tomorrow you go to Bad Kudowa with Doctor Kaznicz. You’ll stay there for as long as is necessary …”
“I don’t want anything to do with Doctor Kaznicz.” Mock sensed that a heated and painful argument was going to be inevitable. “I don’t want to see him. Do you really believe, Councillor sir, that a man whom I neither trust nor like is going to draw anything out of me …”
“I understand you perfectly, Mock.” Ilssheimer blushed on hearing his title. “The doctor is equally aware of your dislike for him. That’s why he’s decided to change his method …”
“Ah, that’s interesting,” muttered Mock. “So he’s not going to talk to me about the time I stole apples from a stall any more, and he’s not going to ask what I felt when I squirted people passing under my window with a water siphon when I was six?”
“No.” Mock’s words clearly amused the Criminal Councillor. “Doctor Kaznicz is going to subject you to hypnosis. He’s a specialist in the field.”
“I don’t doubt it. But let him subject somebody else to his methods. I’m a police officer and I want to conduct a normal investigation,” Mock grew more and more worked up with every word. “People I’ve come into contact with on the Four Sailors case are dying. But I don’t have to talk to anyone personally; I don’t have to question anyone at all. Somebody else can do that … I can do it over the telephone … I’ve got an excellent and simple idea …”
“Can’t you understand, Mock, that nobody is intending to argue with you? I repeat, I’ve given you official instructions and I don’t care if you’re going to cry or stamp your feet in fury at the sight of Kaznicz.”
Silence descended. Ilssheimer glanced out of the window at the clerk exercising his memory. He decided to continue.
“You drink a great deal, Mock.” He rested his head on his hands and stared at his subordinate. There had been a time when criminals had writhed under Ilssheimer’s glare. “Many policemen abuse alcohol and this is tolerated by their superiors. But not me!” he yelled. “I do not tolerate alcoholism, Mock! Alcoholism will lead to your dismissal! Do you understand, God damn it?”
Ilssheimer fixed his black eyes on Mock. In the past, his eyes had burned holes in the petrified consciences of bandits. Mock’s faintly ironic expression told him that those times had long passed.
Mock stood up and allowed the wave of anger that gathered within him to settle. For the first time in many years he felt he had an advantage over Ilssheimer; one word from him could destroy the chief of the Vice Department. Mock clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to the window. “It’s not going to work, it’s not going to come off,” he thought, adopting an attitude of defensive pessimism. He went to the hat-stand, took the chief’s bowler and turned it around in his hands. Brand new, made by Hitz, as the inner ribbon informed him.
“You’ve bought yourself a new bowler,” he said, purposely omitting Ilssheimer’s title. “Where’s the old one?”
“What’s it to you, Mock? Are you mad? Stop trying to change the subject!” Ilssheimer did not move a muscle.
“I’ve got your old hat,” Mock said, gloating over his advantage. “I found it in August’s room at the South Park Hotel.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ilssheimer’s eyes grew pensive and distant. “As a police officer from the Vice Department I questioned August Strehl, a male prostitute… It’s true … I must have left my hat there …”
“Not only your hat. You also left indelible memories in August’s heart. Indelible to such a degree,” Mock said, without believing that his bluff would work, “that August wrote them down. Very interesting reminiscences …” Mock rested his hands on Ilssheimer’s desk and said very slowly: “Don’t you think, Councillor sir, that Doctor Kaznicz is going to be a little short of time over the next few days? And besides, did you know, Councillor sir, that I’m not particularly susceptible to hypnosis?”
Ilssheimer glanced at the clerk who, having failed to pull out the right pencil this time, saw his mistake and threw a file at the wall in fury.
“Indeed,” Ilssheimer said, without changing his expression one iota. “Doctor Kaznicz has been very busy of late …”
BRESLAU, THAT SAME SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1919
NOON
Wirth and Zupitza parked their Horch near a meringue shop not far from the university. They got out and set off towards the eighteenth-century Police Praesidium building, stopping on the way at the Opiela Inn so that Zupitza
