Fatal Lies

“Of course.… Did Thomas have other friends?”

“No, not really: although he was very fond of Frau Becker.”

“The deputy headmaster's wife?”

“Yes. He used to go there… to the Beckers’ house.”

“What for?”

“To talk with Frau Becker.”

“What about?”

“I don't know… but he said she was very kind.”

Liebermann leaned forward.

“Careful… I fear you haven't been watching my knight.”

“On the contrary” the boy replied. “I fear it is you who have not been watching mine.” Perger moved his piece two squares forward and one to the side. Then he announced, with a broad, proud grin, “Checkmate.”

“Bravo,” said Liebermann. “It has been decided, then. You are the superior player. You are free to go.”

The boy stood to attention, clicked his heels, and walked toward the door. Just before he passed into the shadowy exterior, he looked back over his shoulder.

“Good luck with your Latin,” said Liebermann.

The boy hurried out, his steps fading into silence.

“Well,” said Rheinhardt. “Frau Becker! Nobody has mentioned her before. We must pay her a visit.” Rheinhardt took out his notebook and scribbled a reminder. “But really, Max, what on earth have you been doing? We've been here for hours. Couldn't you have asked questions about Zelenka earlier?”

“No,” replied Liebermann firmly. “To do so would have been a grave mistake.”

The young doctor rose from his chair and walked to the blackboard, where he gripped his lapels and adopted a distinctly pedagogic stance.

“You will recall that in his letter to Zelenka,” Liebermann continued, “Perger mentions his father in such a way as to suggest a man of unsympathetic character. He worries that his father will think him unmanly if he complains or requests help. One can easily imagine what Perger senior is like—a domineering, unapproachable man who was very probably educated at Saint Florian's himself… or, at least, a school very much like it. This unhappy father-son relationship would inevitably color Perger s entire perception of authority figures, of which you and I are typical examples. Even under the most benign circumstances, the relationship between father and son is frequently troubled by hostile feelings. They are, after all, rivals who compete for the mother's love. When this already difficult situation is made worse by a tyrannical father, the son's primal anxieties are amplified and he becomes profoundly mistrustful of all manifestations of hegemony. He feels vulnerable, and must protect himself. Now, a child knows that it cannot physically overcome an adult foe; however, it is not entirely powerless. It can still exhibit passive forms of aggression—it can be uncooperative, morose, taciturn. So, you see, Oskar, it was essential that I allow Perger to beat me at chess. The experience gave him a sense of mastery, thus reducing his anxiety and relieving him of the necessity to deploy defenses.”

Liebermann turned to the blackboard and, picking up a stub of chalk, wrote Anxiety, Mastery, Anxiety Reduction and linked the words with two arrows. He then briefly explained the purpose of the ink -blots, emphasizing how involuntary imaginative responses might contain information that a person did not intend to disclose.

“Perger's responses afforded me considerable insight into the boy's mental world—his preoccupations, his sadness, his loneliness, his fear.… He is extremely fragile—worryingly so—and these responses also suggested to me how you might proceed, Oskar, with respect to identifying suspects among the boys. You said that there were simply too many pupils to interview. The more or less random selection of names from a list would be utterly pointless—which is of course true. But we are now in a much better position.”

“We are?”

“Did you notice how many of Perger's responses referred to predatory creatures? To what extent, I wonder, does this reflect his wretched existence here at Saint Florian's? Must he constantly evade those who might make him their prey? If I were you, I would examine the register and look for names that correspond with the notion of predation: names like Lowe or Wolf—or names that correspond with the notion of hunting, perhaps—like Jager? I cannot guarantee that this will prove to be a productive avenue of inquiry, but in the absence of any other strategy, you have nothing to lose.”

Liebermann turned to the board and wrote “Names suggestive of predation and hunting.” He then underlined the phrase, producing a scratching sound that made the inspector wince.

“And the subsequent games of chess?” asked Rheinhardt. “Why were they necessary? If you were attempting to instill in the boy a sense of mastery, why on earth did you allow him to lose the second game? Isn't that a contradiction?”

“By beating Perger, I did indeed run the risk of reviving his anxieties; however, it was a risk I was prepared to take, but only in order to secure a further advantage. After his defeat, I was able to alert him to a specific and deadly maneuver that he was thereafter obliged to watch for. This possibility occupied his thoughts during the third game, to the extent that he was less able to monitor his speech. It was under these conditions that he mentioned Frau Becker, a person whose name has—for some reason—never appeared in connection with Zelenka before.”

Liebermann scratched the words “Distraction” and “Less Guarded Replies” on the blackboard. He then tossed the chalk in the air, caught it, and tapped the woodwork.

“I hope you've been listening carefully, Rheinhardt. There will be a test later!”

21

THE BECKER RESIDENCE was a large house occupying the summit of a gentle rise that swept up from Aufkirchen. From the garden gate, looking toward the village, the onion dome and spire of the Romanesque church was just visible over the trees. Rheinhardt and Liebermann paused to admire the view before following the gravel path toward their destination.

Their approach disturbed a sleek fat crow. Flapping its wings, the bird took off, a worm wriggling in its closed beak. Two more crows were circling the chimney, cawing loudly. The combination of their plaintive cries, the moribund garden, and a low, oppressive sky created an atmosphere of sinister melancholy.

The door was answered by a Czech housemaid, who escorted Rheinhardt and Liebermann into a spacious parlor, where they were asked to wait. A few minutes later a striking woman appeared in the doorway. She was young, blond, probably in her early twenties, and extremely attractive: earnest eyes complemented a wide sensual mouth and a petite retrousse nose. At first Rheinhardt thought that there might have been some mistake, and that this woman was, in fact, Becker's daughter; however, her identity was confirmed as soon as she spoke.

“Inspector Rheinhardt, my husband didn't tell me you would be coming here today. Forgive me.… You find us unprepared for guests.”

If the first surprise was Frau Becker's appearance, then the second was her accent. It was distinctly provincial.

The inspector introduced his colleague and said: “Frau Becker, it is I who must apologize. Your husband did not know that we intended to visit. And please, do not concern yourself with hospitality—a few minutes of your time is all we ask.”

“The least I can do is offer you some refreshments, Inspector. Shall I ask Ivana to make some tea?”

“That is most kind—but no, thank you.”

“Please—Herr Doctor, Inspector…” She indicated some chairs. “Do sit.” And she perched herself on the edge of a chaise longue.

“I would like to ask you,” said Rheinhardt, “some questions about the boy Zelenka.”

Frau Becker required little prompting. She spoke of how the news of Zelenka's death had shocked her; how her thoughts had gone out to his parents, and how she would miss their conversations. The fluency and urgency of her speech declared the authenticity of her feelings—as did the sudden halting pauses, during which her eyes glistened.