A tram was crossing the Kirchenfeld bridge high above them just before they passed under its span. Very little traffic at that hour. Then, ahead, he saw a line of parked police cars, their blue lamps flashing on the roofs. The car slowed down at a barrier which had been erected at the entrance to the Badgasse, the street which runs immediately below the Munster Plattform.
Beck opened the window as a uniformed policeman approached and showed his identity card without saying a word. The barrier was raised and they passed up a narrow street into the ancient Badgasse. Here there was frenetic activity.
More police cars, more winking blue lamps. Flash-bulbs lighting the street in brief blazes of brilliance. Newman was reminded of the strobe lights in a disco. They drove slowly to a point near the far end of the Plattform wall on their right which faced old houses on their left. A high canvas screen had been erected around something. The car stopped. Beck grasped the door handle.
`This is pretty nasty,' he warned.
Newman stepped out of the warmth of the car into the raw chill of the night. He felt slightly ridiculous in Beck's blue overcoat and the ill-fitting hat. Fortunately the glasses he wore were only lightly tinted. Police milled around. A grim- faced man in plain clothes pushed his way through to Beck.
`This is Chief Inspector Pauli of Homicide, Cantonal Police,' Beck remarked without introducing Newman. 'Pauli, would you kindly repeat the message you received over the phone?'
`The caller was anonymous,' Pauli reported in a clipped voice. 'He said we'd find a body in the Badgasse. He also said that a Robert Newman had been seen arguing with the deceased earlier this evening in the Munstergasse.
`Pauli is from Hauptwache – police headquarters on the Waisenhausplatz,' Beck commented. `He came at once and this is what he found…'
Behind the canvas shield a Ford station wagon was parked at a right angle to the base of the wall, facing outwards ready to be driven away. The hideous mess which was the remains of Julius Nagy lay spread all over the roof, his head twisted at an impossible angle, one eye staring at Newman like the eye of a dead fish in the beam of a searchlight mounted on top of a police car.
Newman recognized the mangled corpse as Nagy by the Tyrolean hat rammed slantwise across the crushed skull, a hat with a tiny blood-red feather. But it was not really the colour of blood – the real colour, much darker and coagulated, smeared the Ford's windscreen in snake-like streaks.
A man in civilian clothes, carrying a black bag, climbed down a ladder which had been perched against the far side of the car. Removing a pair of rubber gloves, he shook his head as he gazed at Beck.
`Dr Moser,' Beck said briefly. 'Cantonal police pathologist.'
`I'd say every other bone in his body is broken,' Moser commented. can tell you more later – or will you be taking over?'
`I will be taking over,' Beck informed him.
`In that case, it's a pleasant night's work for Dr Kleist – and better her than me. I'll send over my written report…'
`Any suggestion – an educated guess – as to how it happened?' Beck enquired.
`I never guess.' Moser stared upwards at the wall towering above them. 'Of course, he'd hit the car like a cannon-ball from that height. Obviously it was either murder, suicide or an accident.' Moser paused. 'There are pleasanter ways of ending it all. And I managed to extract this envelope he had in his overcoat pocket.' He handed a crumpled envelope to Beck and glanced at Newman. 'I'll be off to start work on my report. Another late night – and my wife is already beginning to wonder why I get home so late…'
Beck produced a cellophane packet, held the envelope by one corner and slipped it inside the packet. 'Probably useless for fingerprints but one goes through the motions. What idea are you playing with now in that fertile brain of yours, Newman?'
The Englishman was staring up into the night where the massive wall sheered up. At intervals huge flying buttresses projected. It was vertiginous – even gazing up the terrifying drop. He looked at Beck as they stood alone with the pathetic and horrifying crumpled form which had once been a living, breathing man. At that moment Moser returned briefly.
`One suggestion, Beck. I'd cover the top of the Ford with a waterproof sheet and have it driven slowly to the morgue. Kleist will find she has to scrape some of the remains clear of the car. He's practically glued to the roof. Enjoy yourself…'
I think,' Newman said after Moser had gone, 'it might be an idea to go up to the Plattform by the lift at the corner. If I remember rightly it doesn't stop working until eight thirty pm.'
`You have a remarkable memory for details about the Plattform.'
It's up to you…'
`I'll get the car to drive round and meet us at the exit… `No. Near the top of the Munstergasse…'
`If you say so…'
They emerged from the canvas shelter into hectic activity in the Badgasse. Uniformed police in leather greatcoats, 7.65-mm. automatics holstered on their right hips, walking up and down to no apparent purpose that Newman could see. Beck spoke briefly to his car driver and followed Newman who was striding to the distant corner of the wall.
The ancient lift is a small cage which ascends vertically inside an open metal shaft to the top of the Plattform. Newman had bought two 60-rappen tickets from the old boy who attended the lift when Beck arrived. They stood in silence as it made its slow ascent.
On a seat was perched a piece of newspaper with the remains of a sandwich and the interior of the lift smelt of salami. The old boy had moved from the entrance door to the exit door at the opposite end of the cage. Beck watched Newman as he stared out of the window overlooking the Aare, then switched his gaze to the facing window where he could see the slope terraced into kitchen gardens, the continuous walls of houses along the Munstergasse running into the Junkerngasse. In one of those houses Blanche would be in her apartment, probably phoning the man who would develop and print the films. At all costs he had to keep her name out of this horror.
The lift door was opened by the attendant after it reached the tiny shed at the corner of the Plattform. Newman did not make any move to get out. He spoke casually.
– 'You won't have many passengers at this time of night. Can you recall anyone who used the lift at about six thirty pm? Maybe six forty-five?'
Tor sixty rappen you want me to answer foolish questions?'
Beck said nothing. He produced his identity folder and showed it to the attendant, his face expressionless. Returning it to his pocket he stared out of the open doorway.
`I am sorry..' The attendant seemed confused. did not know. That awful business of the man who fell…'
`That's what I'm talking about,' Newman said amiably. 'We think he may have had a friend – or friends – who could identify him. Someone who was so shaken they took your lift down after the tragedy. Take your time. Think…'
`There was a big man by himself.' The attendant screwed up his face in his effort to concentrate. 'I didn't take all that notice of him. He carried a walking stick…'
`How was he dressed?' Beck interjected.
`I was eating my supper. I can't remember. A lot of people use this lift…'
`Not at this time of night,' Newman pointed out gently. 'I imagine you can remember the time?'
`Seven o'clock I would say. No earlier. The lift was at the bottom – he called it up – and I heard a clock chime…'
Beck walked out of the cage and Newman followed. In the distance, almost at the end of the thigh-high stone wall protecting them from the drop, uniformed policemen with torches searched the ground. A section was cordoned off by means of poles with ropes. The point, Newman guessed, where Nagy had gone over.
`Nothing, sir – at least as yet,' one of the policemen reported to Beck who shrugged.
`They're looking for signs of a struggle,' Beck remarked. `God, the wind cuts you in two up here. And it wasn't an accident,' he continued. 'There's no ice on the stones he could have slipped on…'
Newman placed both hands on the top of the wall close to the roped-off section and peered over. Vertigo. The great wall fell into the abyss. He studied the area, looking along the wall in both directions. His hands were
