“And are you still of the opinion,” Rheinhardt continued, “that the decapitations were a joint enterprise, requiring the combined effort of more than one man?”
“Barash is a big fellow, but I cannot believe that he is strong enough to make short work of tearing a man’s head off.”
“Then we must assume that he was assisted by his disciples.”
Rheinhardt detected a pumpkin seed nestling in the folds of his trousers and promptly put it into his mouth.
“I am reminded,” said Liebermann, “of the condition known as ‘folie a deux.’ The term is employed to describe the curious phenomenon of two individuals sharing the same-usually paranoid-delusion. Although contagious insanity, as it was once called, typically affects two people, it can extend from the original pair to three, four, or even five persons. The infectious delusion tends to arise in a man of strong character, and is subsequently imposed on weaker and more impressionable associates. Thus, it is also sometimes designated folie imposee.”
“Perhaps you should interview Barash again?”
“Yes, I think that is a good idea.”
The organ-grinder’s monkey scampered across the grass and began to make a meal of Rheinhardt’s spilled pumpkin seeds.
“This is a grave business,” said Rheinhardt. “We must now suppose that the perpetrators, even if they are not Barash and his disciples, are more than likely to be Hasidic Jews.”
“You are worried about how the Christian Socials will respond?”
Rheinhardt nodded.
“Saladin!” It was the organ-grinder, chasing his pet. “Saladin!”
The man came toward them, the lacquered box swinging from the straps around his neck.
“Saladin, you scoundrel! Leave the gentlemen alone.”
The monkey scooped up the last of the pumpkin seeds and ran back to his master.
That evening, Liebermann played a selection of Chopin Studies, including the testing Number Twelve in C minor. He was pleased with his performance, particularly the ease with which his left hand now provided the thunderous accompaniment to the dramatic chords in the right. The Klammer Method was yielding quite exceptional results. Closing the volume, he discovered beneath it a copy of the Opus 45 C sharp minor Prelude. He had intended to stop practicing, but the prospect of Chopin’s enigmatic masterpiece prevented him from leaving the music room. Liebermann placed his hands on the keyboard and produced a sequence of descending harmonies that found a melancholy resting place in the resonant lower octaves of the Bosendorfer. A bel canto melody gradually emerged, but in due course surrendered its authority to an arpeggiated bass.
Liebermann began thinking about Prague-not the Jewish cemetery, the Old-New Synagogue, Rabbi Loew, or the golem, but instead his hotel room-and the pretty prostitute, Anezka.
What I did was shameful.
The arpeggiated bass executed a series of dreamy, remote modulations.
And such folly…
That he, a doctor, should have taken such a risk. It was a depressing thought, but now, for all he knew, he might be destined to suffer the same fate as the young Baron von Kortig.
Alexander!
He felt angry at his libertine uncle. But his ire could not be sustained. How could he blame Alexander? His uncle had only meant to cheer him up. It was his own fault, and his fault alone.
Liebermann came to the cadenza, and the sense of key dissolved in a cascade of tritones. This untethering of tonality reflected Liebermann’s mental state. He felt emotionally lost, without direction.
The bel canto melody returned, and the prelude coasted to its sombre close. For a few moments, Liebermann remained still, his head bowed, listening to the fading notes. Then he closed the lid, and retired to his bedroom.
After his ablutions, he changed into his nightshirt and tried to go to sleep. The attempt was futile, as his memory kept on tormenting him with spectral impressions of accommodating flesh, black eyes, and red lips.
It must have been past two in the morning when the telephone rang.
“Max?”
“Oskar?”
“There’s been another murder.”
“A decapitation?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Saint Ulrich’s-Spittelberg.”
“Do you want me to-”
“Come. Yes, if you don’t mind. I’ll send a police vehicle.”
“Who is it? Do you know?”
Rheinhardt paused before giving his answer. “A man named Jeheil Sachs.”
“Jeheil Sachs…”
“Yes. A Jew. Now, I wonder where that leaves us?”
Part Four
56
Liebermann and Rheinhardt stood beside the headless body. The dead man was obviously impoverished. Liebermann noticed that the leather sole of one of his shoes was worn through and the cuffs of his coat were frayed. Scattered around the corpse were clods of mud, plainly visible in the yellow light that fell from a gas lamp mounted on the church wall.
The two men were situated in a narrow alley that followed the east-facing side of the Ulrichskirche. The featureless stucco of the nave ascended toward a ribbon of starry sky. On the other side of the alley was a large and uninspiring building with regularly spaced windows, all of them black and lifeless. The effect was claustrophobic. Liebermann felt hemmed in.
Rivulets of blood flowed between the cobbles. They formed an inverted delta, the apex of which marked the convergence of the glistening streams. The victim’s head lay beyond, having been encouraged to roll some distance from the body by the alley’s incline.
Close by, the police photographer and his assistant were setting up their equipment.
Liebermann crouched down to examine what remained of the dead man’s neck.
“I can’t see very much,” he muttered.
Rheinhardt produced a flashlight. Pushing the metal bar forward, he released a pulse of illumination that revealed the lurid interior of the stump: fractured bone, muscle tissue, and pale vessels hanging loosely in space. The ferrous smell of fresh blood was almost overwhelming.
“Again,” said the young doctor.
The inspector obliged, and another pulse of light coaxed the nightmarish vision back again. It seemed to emerge slowly out of the darkness, a macabre blossoming like the unfolding petals of a strange carnal flower.
“Just like the others,” said Liebermann. “The cervical structures have been identically displaced.”
“Now,” said Rheinhardt, “look at this.”
The beam of light played on the slick cobblestones. Something glinted, and Liebermann leaned closer. It was a Star of David on a chain.
