'Am I sure that your wife is rich, bored, amoral, and sexually voracious? In a word, yes. Bern is a small town, and I've talked to a lot of people. Am I sure about her connection with the Hangman? No, I have no proof. I merely have a series of linking factors which point that way.'
'Please continue,' said von Graffenlaub quietly.
'The next major incident was sexual,' said Fitzduane. 'As best I can reconstruct it, it occurred during what was officially a normal family holiday in Lenk. Erika, Rudi, Vreni, their friend Felix, and, I believe, the Hangman were involved. A seduction, an orgy, a series of orgies – I don't have the details, and they are not important except that you should know that your wife undoubtedly slept with your son, and so did one or more of the men. I don't know whether he was naturally homosexual or whether this was part of his rebellion against conventional values, but homosexuality was certainly a factor in his life-style, and physical evidence was certainly a factor in his life-style, and physical evidence from the autopsy confirmed this. As for his sleeping with Erika, this was revenge in its sweetest form.'
'Oskar must have suspected something,' said von Graffenlaub. He spoke to me, but he was embarrassed, and the subject was dropped. I didn't know what he was talking about. I never considered such a possibility in my wildest dreams. It's… it's incredible.'
'Poor Oskar,' said Fitzduane. 'Imagine his dilemma. He probably suspected a great deal, but what could he know for sure? And how could he voice his suspicions without insulting you? Would you have believed him if he had been more specific?'
'No,' said von Graffenlaub, 'of course not. Not without proof.'
'And now Oskar is dead.'
'And so is Felix Krane,' said von Graffenlaub heavily. 'What is happening? Are there no limits to this lunacy? What is this Hangman trying to do?'
'To understand the Hangman, you've got to think in different terms,' said Fitzduane. 'At the present time we think he is tidying up loose ends, though we don't know why. His behavior is not consistent. One explanation for what he is doing now is his need to eliminate those who could identify him, but at the same time he is taking unnecessary chances. His behavior is marked by a combination of cold rationality and what one might describe as impetuous arrogance. This latter quality seems to extend to his people. They are willing to take extraordinary risks to accomplish their objectives. It seems clear that they are far more afraid of failing the Hangman than of being caught by us. On the basis of what we know of the Hangman, maybe they've got a point.
'One thing we are not sure of: If you've crossed the Hangman's path, you're at higher risk, which is why we recommend you retain security for yourself and the rest of your family, particularly your children. What you do about Erika is something you'll have to work out for yourself. Just make sure you tell her as little as possible. Remember, her games may not be confined to sex. They could extend to violence.'
'There are limits to what I can accept,' said von Graffenlaub. 'Since the time you called from Lenk, I have arranged for armed guards to look after every member of my family, and that includes my wife. She may be promiscuous, but she is not a killer.'
Fitzduane was silent. He looked at von Graffenlaub. 'Think of your children, and think carefully. You're all in greater danger than you have ever been in before. Don't try to be noble at the risk of your own flesh and blood.'
Von Graffenlaub shrugged helplessly. 'What else can I do? I will consider what you are saying, of course, but… I cannot, I cannot abandon my wife just like that.'
'Thee will be some police protection as well,' said Fitzduane, 'but the police don't have the manpower to protect everyone individually without more proof than we've got.'
'You have already talked to my wife?' In von Graffenlaub's tone it was half a question, half a statement.
'She hasn’t told you?'
'She said you had dinner together after the vernissage,' said von Graffenlaub, 'nothing more.'
'Hmm,' said Fitzduane, feeling vaguely uncomfortable as he recalled that epic evening. He pulled himself together. 'Actually we have talked together on several occasions,' he continued, 'and most recently she has been questioned officially by Sergeant Raufman. She is alternately charming and dismissive, perhaps even a little cynical. She looks amused and denies everything, and she's most convincing.'
Von Graffenlaub sat mute, appalled at the idea of hearing more, yet compelled by his own desperate need for the truth to stay and listen.
'The island where I live,' said Fitzduane, 'where Rudi's college is, has been my family seat since the twelfth century. Getting established on the island initially was a bloody business. The land was conquered by force, and the main opposition was a druidic cult known as the Sacrificers. They used to wear animal head masks while practicing their rituals. Rather like the thugs of India, the Sacrificers preyed on innocent people, robbing and killing them, as a way of worshiping their gods. Over the centuries dozens of mass graves filled with the bones of their victims have been found, which helps to explain why the island is so deserted even now. Fitzduane's Island, even in our supposedly enlightened times, is considered cursed and no fit place for a good Christian to live.'
'I read something about it,' said von Graffenlaub, 'in a section of a brochure put out by DrakerCollege. But what does a long-dead cult have to do with all this? The Sacrificers were wiped out more than seven hundred years ago.'
'Well, imagine the appeal of such an organization to young people like Rudi. An independent structure, secret and violent and dedicated. To a rebellious adolescent, you can see the attractiveness of it. To a man like the Hangman, such an organization would be ideal.'
'Preposterous,' said von Graffenlaub. 'These are wild surmises.'
Fitzduane nodded. 'You're quite right. Much of this is guesswork. I have no proof that Rudi was a member of any cult, much less one involving the Hangman. But the fact of his tattoo, which has been associated with the Hangman, remains. Otherwise the object of all this – game playing or something more serious – is far from clear. Now let me show you something.'
Fitzduane clicked the video made by the Rangers into place and pressed the play button. On its completion he placed a slim plastic folder containing letters in front of the momentarily speechless von Graffenlaub.
'That video was made after Rudi's death,' said Fitzduane. 'That pleasant-looking little group was observed coming from Draker. The masks, need I say, make identification impossible.'
'So why do you think Rudi was involved?' Von Graffenlaub's voice was weary. 'His tattoo – except for the circle of flowers, it is a common enough design. It signifies protest, nothing more. He could have picked it up anywhere.'
Fitzduane opened the file of letters. He showed one to von Graffenlaub. 'You recognize the writing?'
Von Graffenlaub nodded. 'Rudi's,' he said sadly. He rubbed the paper between his fingers as if this would somehow bring his dead son closer.
'Rudi was alienated from you,' said Fitzduane, 'and his mother was dead. He was almost too close to Vreni. He needed someone to confide in who had some perspective. He started writing to Marta. What he wrote is neither entirely clear nor totally incriminating, but if you put it together with what we now know through other means, a reasonable interpretation is that he joined some sort of cult, found himself involved in something he couldn’t handle, tried to leave – and then found there was no way out.'
'So he killed himself.'
'No,' said Fitzduane. 'I don't think so, or at least not willingly. I think he was either murdered or forced to commit suicide, which amounts to the same thing. Probably we shall never know.'
'May I have his letters?'
'Of course.' Fitzduane had already made copies in anticipation of this contingency. They made depressing reading. He remembered an extract from the last letter, written less than a week before Rudi's death:
Matinka,
I wish I could tell you what is really going on, but I can't. I'm sworn to secrecy. I thought it was what should be done, but now I know more, and I'm not sure it's right anymore. I've been doing a lot of thinking. This is a good place to think. It's so empty compared with Switzerland, and there is always the noise of the sea. It's surreal, not like real life. But I have to get away. You'll probably see me sooner than you expect. Perhaps things will look better when I'm back in Bern.
Von Graffenlaub had been scanning the letter. 'Why didn't Marta show this to me?' he said.
Fitzduane sighed. 'By the time that particular letter arrived, Rudi was dead,' he said. 'I guess she thought,
