'I do not feel comfortable lying here like this, with you behind me.'
'You will become accustomed to the procedure in time, I assure you.'
The young woman bit her lower lip, coughed into her left hand, and finally settled; however, her toes were curled with tension.
'Miss Lydgate,' Liebermann asked. 'Do you remember the last time you were in this room?'
'Yes.'
'Tell me what happened?'
'You examined me . . . and we discussed a number of topics. I seem to recall talking, at some length, about my grandfather.'
'Indeed. And what else did we discuss?'
'The Schellings, Doctor Landsteiner . . .'
She stopped and sighed.
'Please continue.'
'There is nothing wrong with my memory.'
'Of course. I am interested in your impressions of our last meeting.'
'I don't understand what you want me to say, Doctor Liebermann? Do you want me to repeat everything, word for word?'
'No. I just want you to tell me what happened.'
'Very well. I was escorted here by a nurse. You examined my arm. We then discussed how I acquired my position working for the Schelling family. I told you of my intention to study medicine, and I explained why I wanted to study here rather than in London. I told you about my grandfather's journal and something of his life. You then asked me about my family and our home. Shortly after, there was a knock on the door and one of your colleagues came in.'
'Doctor Kanner.'
'Is that his name?'
Liebermann nodded: 'And what happened then?'
'You talked together – for some time, I believe.'
'How long?'
'It must have been . . . it's difficult to say.'
'Five minutes, ten minutes? How long?'
'Long enough for me to fall asleep.'
'You can't remember anything else?'
'No. I assume that you thought it was in my best interests not to be disturbed and subsequently had me removed to the ward.'
Liebermann said nothing.
'Did—' Miss Lydgate was hesitant and her voice quivered slightly with anxiety. 'Did something happen, Doctor Liebermann? Something that I cannot remember?'
'Yes. Something did happen.'
'What?' Miss Lydgate shifted uncomfortably and squeezed her dead right hand with her left. 'Please tell me.'
'You became very agitated. It was a little like a seizure.'
'And I did something?'
'You really don't remember?'
'No!' Her voice rose in pitch, and she began to cough.
'You were extremely distressed and Doctor Kanner came to your assistance. You were going to be sick, so he placed a pail in front of your chair.'
'This cannot be true.'
'He tried to comfort you by resting a hand on your back. It was then that you threatened to kill him – before hitting him in the stomach with—' Liebermann broke off. The room was absolutely silent. Even Miss Lydgate's cough was subdued. Liebermann continued: 'With your right fist.'
Liebermann observed Miss Lydgate's chest, rising and falling as her breathing accelerated. She rocked her head from side to side, and her habitual half-frown melted into an expression of total disbelief.
16
UBERHORST STOOD IN the middle of his small workshop. He was wearing a white apron smeared with oil; however, his hands were meticulously clean.
'You were very distressed, the evening her body was discovered?'
'Yes, Inspector – I still can't believe it happened. She was a dear friend.'
Uberhorst was clearly still struggling to manage his emotions.
'How well did you know her?'
'In some ways I didn't know her at all. If you were to ask me where she was born, who her parents were, or where she went to school, I couldn't answer. But I do know other things . . .'
Uberhorst could not maintain eye contact. He looked away and then all around the workshop, his abrupt birdlike movements suggesting anxiety.
'What things?' asked Rheinhardt.
'That she was a kind person – and brave.'
'Did you ever meet with Fraulein Lowenstein privately? On your own?'
'Yes. For readings.'
Uberhorst held up his palm and traced a crease with the forefinger of his left hand.
'She made predictions?'
'No, she never spoke of the future.'
'Then what was the point of the consultation?'
'She told me about . . . myself.'
'Was she accurate?'
'Very. It made me feel . . . understood. Less . . .' The little man's voice trailed off, and he looked up at an effigy of Christ on the cross that hung above a small bookcase. His lower lip trembled.
'Less what?' Rheinhardt pressed.
'Alone,' said Uberhorst. His eyes filled with tears.
'How much did Fraulein Lowenstein charge for these readings, Herr Uberhorst?'
'Nothing, but I was happy to make a voluntary contribution.'
'Which was how much?'
'Two krone.'
'You could have gone to the Court Opera for less.'
'But then I would never have benefited from her extraordinary powers.'
Uberhorst wiped his forearm across his cheek, attempting to conceal his tears. It was a pathetic gesture, like the pitiful attempt of a hurt child to maintain its dignity.
'Why did you say she was kind? And brave?'
'She had a difficult life, Inspector. Only a courageous soul could overcome such terrible adversity.'
'Oh? In what way was her life difficult?'
'Her mother and father died when she was very young – she was about ten or eleven, I think. She was sent to live with her uncle, her father's brother. He lived alone and Lotte had to cook and care for him. She did her best, but he was never satisfied. He would often beat her . . . and when she was older – when she was turning into a woman – he . . . He was a cruel man and . . .'
Uberhorst shuddered.
'What, Herr Uberhorst?'
'I believe he may have . . .'
'Taken advantage of her?'
Uberhorst nodded and adjusted his pince-nez, mutely confirming the Inspector's speculation.
