Masquerade

Press in general and Klaus Krieg in particular. But, angry enough for one of them to kill him?”

“Well, one of them tried,” Moore said. “One of them tried and got Rabbi Winer by mistake. And that’s what we’re trying to figure out now. Which one-or ones-tried to kill Krieg and got Winer by mistake.” She did not try to conceal her impatience.

“Yes, Sergeant,” Koesler said, “but before the event you describe, something else happened that I think was related. Remember the psychodrama? Reverend Krieg set up this play within a play, as it were, in which he was murdered-ostensibly by one of the writers. The staging was so realistic that I called the police, and Lieutenant Tully and Sergeant Mangiapane came here to investigate a murder that hadn’t happened.”

Mangiapane smiled. “That’s okay, Father. It happens. Like I told you then, this was not the first false alarm we ever answered.”

“And it was very kind of you, Sergeant, to let me off the hook. But the question that’s never been answered to my satisfaction is why the Reverend went to all that trouble. It was explained away as a kind of game. But I’ve always thought it was more than that.”

Krieg was smiling broadly. “I think that explanation is sufficient. But, Praise God, if you’ve got to look for something more, you have only to look at my state of mind. After all, I am not insensitive. What it boils down to is that, yes, I want these writers under contract. It will be beneficial to them and to P.G. Press. All right, for our mutual good, I may have pursued this matter a bit further than the average publisher might. But, Praise God, I’m only doing it for their own good. Can I help it if they develop an antipathy toward me to the point where I fear for my life? Maybe I did have more than one reason for staging that psychodrama. Maybe I wanted them to face realistically what evil consequences would follow if I were to be murdered. And just maybe I wanted the police to be alerted as well. Is there some sort of crime in this? I mean, really! Praise God!”

It was Koesler’s turn to smile. “That’s it exactly, Reverend Krieg. You did want the police in on this as early as possible.

“The reason is obvious. You had to know you were assembling four very angry people-four very threatened people-at this conference. Despite their religious station, it was well within the realm of possibility that one or more of them, pushed to the wall, might try to harm you-maybe even threaten your life. You brought your own bodyguard with you. But I can see where you would value having police protection as well.

“In fact, I think that’s why you stipulated that I be invited to take part in this workshop: because I have a history, limited though it might be, of having been involved in homicide investigations in the past. You figured that with your cleverly staged murder, there was a good chance I would get the police involved. And I did.”

Krieg still smiled, but not as broadly. “Now why would I do a fool thing like that?”

“A very good question,” Koesler said. “It didn’t even occur to me until just a short time ago, when I started to think of things in a different light. It all began when I learned that you were once a Catholic.”

Krieg’s voice had a touch of challenge to it. “You’re not going to hold that against me, are you?”

“No, Reverend, not that. But when I discovered you’d been a Catholic, I began to look for telltale traits that might be vestiges of your Catholic upbringing. Call it an avocation, but I am so deeply into Catholicism that I tend to value those little habits and superstitions that most of us Catholics share.

“Except. . except that I didn’t find any such signs in your behavior. None at all.”

Krieg was clearly annoyed. “Really? Really! Hasn’t this gone on far enough? Inspector. . Lieutenant. . isn’t it about time we go back across the hall and get on with the investigation? I mean, Praise God, are we here to discuss homey little Catholic practices?”

“Sort of,” Koesler said. “But, as Lieutenant Tully said, we may be getting to the good part.

“After I looked for, but did not find, any distinctly Catholic idiosyncrasies in your mannerisms, it occurred to me that I might be going about this business backwards-something I’ve done lots more than once. So I just reviewed what I had observed about you in the few days I’ve known you.

“The very first thing that came to my mind when I tried to remember what you’d done that drew my attention was food.”

“Food!”

“Yes, food. I remembered our first dinner together on Sunday evening.”

“What of it?” Krieg was challenging. “I came late for dinner. As I remember, the food was cold.”

“Do you recall what you had to eat?”

“Of course not. It was of no consequence.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so at the time. But I noticed anyway.”

“And now you’re going to tell everyone what I had to eat for Sunday dinner.” Krieg was contemptuous. “Really, Inspector, how long is this going to go on? What earthly difference can it make what I ate?”

Koznicki, his expression of thoughtful interest unchanged, continued to gaze at Koesler. Tully looked as if he were withholding judgment. Moore and Mangiapane were kids watching “Sesame Street.”

“Actually,” Koesler replied, “it wasn’t so much what you ate as what you didn’t. The main course was beef Stroganoff. And I noticed that Rabbi Winer ate everything else that was served that night except the Stroganoff. He just toyed with that. Didn’t eat a bit of it.”

Krieg sighed noisily, signifying a boredom he was being forced to endure.

“When you arrived, Reverend, everyone else was just about finished with dinner.”

“That’s what I said. Or, if this is some sort of kangaroo court, perhaps I’d better phrase it, ‘I stipulated to that.’”

“But, Reverend, the dinner had not been served in common dishes. Each person was given an individual serving-a plate with the food already on it.”

“So?”

“So, it wasn’t a case of the food’s being cold. It wasn’t cooling in a common dish all the while we ate. Your meal, Reverend, was undoubtedly being kept warm since you were expected for dinner. But you looked at the remains of what had been served and decided to have something different than the rest of us.”

“That’s a crime?”

“Impolite, perhaps. Unmannerly, maybe. Not a crime. Not yet.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You had what the rest of us had as far as the salad and vegetables were concerned. But as the main course, you had an omelet. And you had milk, followed by coffee with cream.”

“I did?”

“The kitchen staff undoubtedly could corroborate that.”

“Marvelous, Father Koesler; you have a unique memory. I can’t imagine anyone else who would-or would want to-recall everything I have to eat.”

“Oh, it didn’t make all that great an impression at the time. It was only later that I began to wonder about it, without even knowing I was wondering, in fact. And I began wondering the very next evening when we had dinner together again.”

“What did I eat, good Father?”

Koesler smiled. “We were served a fruit salad, beef broth, lamb, and red potatoes.”

“And I suppose the kitchen people could corroborate that again. Inspector, must I sit here and listen to this drivel?”

“For the moment I would do so if I were you,” Koznicki said. “Father Koesler is not in the habit of wasting anyone’s time.”

Krieg’s countenance hardened. “All right, Father. We had salad, broth, lamb, and-what? — potatoes.”

“And coffee,” Koesler said.

“And coffee,” Krieg repeated.

“Except that this time I noticed that only Sister Janet took cream in her coffee. I passed the cream to her and noticed that no one else asked for any.”

“Meaning I didn’t have cream in my coffee. Well, that should do it. . whatever ‘it’ is.” Krieg dripped sarcasm.

“‘It,’ Reverend Krieg, is dietary laws. It occurred to me when I was thinking of your growing up as a Catholic child learning Catholic habits, idiosyncrasies, superstitions, whatever, from your mother.”

“My mother!” There was a decided change in Krieg’s attitude. At mention of his mother, he became