Alphabet House

by Adler-Olsen, Jussi

  His smile froze instantly. Instead of the little nurse and her unknown friend, there stood Gerhart Peuckert with drooping shoulders and an apologetic smile on his face.

  He was the last person in the world Kröner had expected to see.

  ‘Gerhart!’ he exclaimed, pulling him into the hall so quickly that they both nearly fell over the coconut doormat. ‘What ever are you doing here?’ Without expecting an answer he led the passive and obedient Gerhart upstairs and seated him in front of his desk so that neither of them could be seen from the street.

  This extraordinary development made Kröner uneasy. Never before had Gerhart Peuckert been more than a few feet away from his guards. He was most inclined to believe that Petra Wagner had sent him up to the house as some kind of errand boy. But why wasn’t he with Peter Stich? Where was Stich?

  Apart from his lips, which were dark blue, the creature in front of him was deathly pale. When Kröner took his hands they were cold and trembling.

  ‘What’s happened, my friend?’ he said gently, putting his face close to Gerhart’s. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘He registers everything we say and do,’ Lankau had claimed, time and again. Kröner was still having his doubts. ‘Have you come here with Petra?’ he asked. At the sound of that name, Gerhart’s mouth tightened and his eyes turned slowly upward and began blinking. A moist film of tears glistened momentarily. Then Gerhart looked straight at him and his mouth relaxed. His dry lips trembled. ‘Petra!’ he said, his jaw hanging for a moment.

  ‘Good Lord!’ Kröner shot up from his squatting position and took a step backwards. ‘Petra, yes! You know her name. What does she want with you here? What’s happened? Where is Peter Stich?

  Not for a moment did Kröner withdraw his gaze from Gerhart’s shaking head, which seemed about to explode. Grabbing the telephone, he noticed Peuckert’s knuckles were completely white. His body had started rocking almost imperceptibly.

  ‘Gerhart! You’re to sit quietly now until I say otherwise!’ Then he dialled Stich’s number. When it had rung for a while Kröner cursed quietly. ‘Come on Stich, you old arsehole, pick up!’ he whispered. He hung up and tried again. Still no one answered.

  ‘He’s not going to answer.’ The voice was subdued and indistinct.

  Kröner whirled around to face Gerhart, managing to see his eyes before the blow hit him.

  The eyes were quite calm.

  Even before Kröner hit the floor, Gerhart Peuckert struck him again. Compared with Gerhart, Kröner was a big man, and he fell heavily.

  Though he wasn’t dazed, he was shaken.

  ‘What the hell…!’ was the only thing he managed to stammer before instinct took over. As Kröner charged his opponent, Gerhart calmly spread out his arms as if he’d just asked his sweetheart for the next dance. In one mighty embrace Kröner grasped the madman’s body and began squeezing with his hands folded around his silent partner’s back like he was ready to crush him. Kröner had used the hold before. As a rule it took less then two minutes before his opponent went limp and lifeless.

  When Kröner no longer felt Gerhart breathing, he released his grasp and stepped back, expecting the figure would fall over.

  But it didn’t. Gerhart looked Kröner straight in the face with an empty expression. Then he dropped his arms and quietly drew a deep breath. He didn’t show the slightest sign of debilitation.

  ‘A zombie! That’s what you remind me of, a zombie!’ Kröner exclaimed, taking another step backwards as his right hand stole towards the knife in his pocket.

  Gerhart uttered a quiet growl. Then, with the mechanical calmness of a zombie, he took hold of his belt buckle and drew the belt out of its straps, unaffected as a statue.

  ‘I’m warning you, Gerhart! You know I mean it!’ Kröner took another step backwards to size him up. He seemed vulnerable. ‘Let go of that belt!’ he commanded, cautiously extracting his knife. If anyone was familiar with the exact moments preceding a personal confrontation, it was Kröner. Calm movements were essential. One quick move and his opponent might react irrationally. So Kröner did nothing sudden or unpremeditated. Gerhart just stood there – still unaffected, almost apathetic – and regarded the knife that was pointed straight at him. He didn’t move a muscle and seemed resigned to the inevitability of being stabbed. An assumption that a few seconds later would prove to be false.

  ‘Put down that belt!’ Kröner managed to say once more. Then Gerhart’s face contorted with cramp-like spasms that jerked the corners of his mouth downwards and wrinkled the bridge of his nose like some predatory animal. The only thing Kröner had time to register was a stinging pain that stretched across his face from ear to ear. The explosion of light when the belt buckle smacked his eyeballs drew his scream of pain into a higher register. He would no longer be able to judge space or substance. So brief a battle, so efficient a blow, so inevitable a defeat.

  Next, the figure above him kicked the knife away, dragged him savagely across the floor and tightened the belt around his wrists. There Kröner lay, stunned most of all by a sudden awareness of the situation.

  After a few minutes he drew his legs up under him. Then, with great difficulty he got up into an awkward sideways position. He had let dozens of mishandled victims sit like this on the bare, cold ground, waiting until the merciful shot came.

  Now he too waited in that position for his redemption.

  ‘Where’s Lankau?’ said the strange voice above him. Kröner just shrugged his shoulders and squinted his eyes harder to control the pain. The reaction came promptly. This time the backwards tug of the belt was so violent that it almost dislocated his shoulders. Despite the pain, he didn’t answer.

  The experience of being dragged backwards down the stairs and through his entire house – blinded and defenceless and crashing into obstacles – was nothing compared to the overwhelming chagrin that engulfed him.

  Lankau had warned him and Stich about Gerhart Peuckert for decades. ‘Why not just kill him? What’s there to be afraid of? We can do it easily without being discovered. Crazy people disappear every day in this world. Suddenly their bed is empty. And where are they? You never see them again! And so what? Who’s going to miss them? Petra Wagner? We’ll get rid of her, too, if there’s no alternative. Let’s take the chance!’ Lankau had been right. Petra Wagner’s little note had been unable to do them any harm. They should have got rid of both of them long ago.

  Kröner felt the doorstep and then the cold and didn’t know whether he was being dragged out the kitchen door or into the bathroom. When the bathtub taps began to run he realised that this could be the last room he’d occupy alive.

  ‘Let me go, Gerhart,’ he said slowly, without begging. ‘I’ve always been your friend, you know that. Without me, you wouldn’t be alive today.’

  Then everything around Kröner became quiet. The figure directly in front of him was breathing lightly. Kröner’s subconscious told him to let Peuckert do what he liked and calmly accept his fate. But both his rage and the will to live were reactivated when Gerhart began screaming his crazy laugh right in his face.

  Despite his violent struggle and wild, groping attempts, his kicks never found their mark.

  * * *

  It wasn’t difficult to drag the truth out of Wilfried Kröner. After twenty dunks under the water, the desired information escaped Kröner’s gasping, snivelling, blinded and pock-marked face. ‘Lankau’s at his wine farm,’ he stuttered.

  And then Gerhart gave him peace.

  As soon as Kröner’s feet stopped jerking and floated quietly under the water, Gerhart studied the pockmarked features one last time, turned the drowned man on to his stomach and removed the belt from his wrists. Then he balanced himself over the enamelled bathtub with a foot on each side and bent down towards the flabby form in the water beneath him. He raised the corpse high enough for the water from the soaked clothing to pour out like a small tidal wave, then let the body fall down heavily on the tiled ledge at the head of the tu
b. The sound was ghastly and the fall so effective that the middle part of the face was partially crushed. Then the dead man slid backwards, dragging a plastic animal with him off the edge, and disappeared under the water again. An air bubble lifted his jacket slightly and rose to the surface with a soft plop. A small piece of paper was left spinning around in the centre of the ensuing eddy. At every rotation the ink dissolved a bit and spread over the paper like mist. For a moment Gerhart could make out a name. Then it too dissolved.

  Gerhart stood for a long time, studying Kröner and the little, yellow plastic duck that danced over the dark water beside the neck of the corpse. He wasn’t moved by his deed. He’d so often heard the malingerers discuss what they’d do if he, himself, were to be got rid of.

  Gerhart looked at the subsiding ripples in the tub, closed his eyes and let part of his past disappear. Two virulent thorns in his martyred mind had been extracted. Kröner and Stich. Then he turned around. Before him was the medicine cupboard.

  He began to tremble.

  The room seemed cold. Everything around him was twisted out of shape. Reality and security were at odds. He studied his face in the cupboard’s mirror and saw a stranger.

  It took no time to find the big bottle in the cupboard from which the malingerers had fed him so lavishly.

  This time he just stuck it in his pocket.

  The only visible traces of their encounter were the disarranged carpets throughout the house.

  After straightening them, Gerhart returned to Kröner’s study. Here he picked up the deer-foot knife from the floor and placed it in the middle of Kröner’s desk. In the furthest corner of the room stood a slim basket made of strong plaited bamboo, filled with walking sticks and cardboard tubes. He surveyed the forest of objects for a moment before sticking his hand almost all the way to the bottom. After fumbling for a few seconds he found what he was looking for. A small, slim tube wrapped in heavy brown paper. Kröner had often taken it out playfully to tease him when the malingerers held their drinking parties.

  He stuck it inside his wind jacket and hugged it close.

  As he was about to leave the house, the doorbell rang. He stood in the middle of the dark hall, devoid of all thought and feeling, until it stopped.

  Chapter 55

  After the women had left Hotel Colombi, Laureen had suddenly begun to cry.

  She was quite beside herself.

  In an attempt to calm her down Petra had drawn her into a doorway. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find him in time,’ she said firmly, wondering whether she should slap her.

  After ten minutes Laureen was herself again. ‘Where are you taking us?’ she asked, attempting a smile.

  ‘We have to speak to Wilfried Kröner. If we can’t get hold of Peter Stich, it’s Kröner we have to speak to.’

  ‘You sound worried.’

  ‘I’ve got good reason to be. We both do.’

  ‘Then is it wise to go visit him?’ The street was brightly lit. The Saturday shoppers had already filled the parking spaces. Laureen looked around. ‘It’s almost like Canterbury,’ she said distractedly. It was like a melancholy glimpse of a peaceful life several light years ago.

  Laureen leaned up against a flashy, silver-grey car that was parked opposite Kröner’s home. Apart from an Audi and a single illuminated window, the house appeared deserted. ‘You can see cars like this parked in Tavistock Square,’ she whispered, mostly to herself. Looking embarrassed, she continued. ‘It’s the street where my husband’s accountant has his office.’ Petra nodded, then looked at the tall woman. She seemed off balance.

  ‘I don’t know whether it’s wise to visit him, but we’ll soon find out,’ said Petra after a while. ‘Did you see anything move by the door just now?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t see the door at all from where I’m standing,’ answered Laureen.

  After one of the neighbours nodded to them slightly suspiciously for the second time as he returned from walking his dog, Petra seized Laureen firmly by the arm and pulled her up towards the house. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone home, do you?’

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone.’

  ‘We’ll have to ring the bell, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And what if there is someone home? What could Kröner take into his head to do to us?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea.’ Petra stopped and looked at Laureen severely. ‘But remember one thing, Laureen! If anything should happen, you’ve embarked on this mission of your own free will. Don’t tell me later that you didn’t know any better.’

  When Petra rang the doorbell, she noticed the tall woman take a step back.

  After having waited for some time, Petra was the first to break the silence. ‘I’m sure they’re all together, all three of them. They’re not here. I think Stich and Lankau must have picked Kröner up.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because Kröner’s not at home and his car’s parked over there,’ she said, pointing towards the Audi.

  ‘Then where can they be?’ Laureen shuddered. She usually started freezing after nightfall, no matter the season, even though this was an exceptionally mild September evening.

  ‘I don’t know, Laureen. Don’t you get it? They’re usually together with their families on the weekend. And since they’re not at home now, one could imagine they were sitting in some restaurant, bawling Im grünen Walde or something. In fact they could be doing almost anything, anywhere. Assuming, that is, they really are with their families. But they’re not, I know it! Not this evening. They’re out on their own, God knows where.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘When I phoned from Hotel Colombi, Andrea Stich was alone at home. Peter Stich doesn’t go out in the evening without her. There’s a lot you can say about him, but he definitely doesn’t leave Andrea at home if those other bastards bring their wives along. On top of which Kröner’s wife’s car isn’t here. She must have been sent on a family visit or something. As for Lankau, I think he’s the type who’d send his wife off somewhere.’ She nodded in agreement with herself. ‘No, I’m convinced the three of them are together right now.’

  ‘And Bryan? Where’s he?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she sighed, ‘and then there’s your husband. I’m certain he’s one of the reasons why they took off together.’ Petra fumbled with her purse. She wasn’t intending to answer any more questions.

  For the first time that day she lit a cigarette. On being offered one, Laureen shook her head.

  ‘Does the house have another exit?’ Laureen asked.

  ‘Yes, there’s a door to the garden. But the driveway is the only way out of the grounds, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  As Laureen disappeared around the corner of the house, Petra considered what they should do. Living in Freiburg would be difficult for her and Gerhart now. Their entire life together was founded on the relationship built up over the years between them and the three men. If the police were brought in, these fiends would know how to wriggle out of it. The real victims would be Gerhart, and thus herself as well. And yet, if they didn’t involve the police, the outcome could be violent for all of them. She was convinced that each of the three men could be tackled individually. But if they were together and the situation was getting out of hand, they would be dangerous. Extremely dangerous.

  And now that precise situation was about to arise. The question was, what to do about it and where to begin? When it came down to it, it was Laureen’s husband they were trying to find, not hers. In fact she could just turn around and walk away. She could go visit Gerhart, as she should, then go home to her television, her books, her furniture and her tedious neighbours.

  It was this train of thought that frightened Petra the most. She had been stuck in that rut long enough. So why not? What did she have to lose?

  Judging by Laureen’s shoes, she’d ploughed her way through every inch of ground around the house. She had dirt up to her ankle
s. ‘We can’t get in,’ she ascertained. ‘I’ve tried all the windows and the kitchen door as well,’ she continued, unaware of the figure that had just pressed itself silently up against the inside of the door frame only a few inches away from her, scarcely breathing.

  Petra called Lankau from a phone box on the outskirts of the neighbourhood. There was no answer. For a moment Petra stood stock still, leaning against the telephone box. She was puzzled.

  ‘We’ll have to wait till tomorrow. They could be anywhere,’ she said.

  ‘But we can’t do that, Petra!’

  Petra knew Laureen was right.

  ‘So you have no idea at all where they could have gone?’ Laureen continued. ‘Haven’t they got some haven where they can go and talk together? An office, a secluded building? Anything at all?’

  The smile Petra flashed her was hard to read, but full of sympathy. ‘Listen, Laureen. Between the three of them, Lankau, Kröner and Stich own a house on pretty much every street in Freiburg. They could be anywhere. They could be back where we’ve come from for that matter. At the sanatorium, at Stich’s, or at Kröner’s place. They could be in Kröner’s summerhouse beside Titisee. They could be out on Lankau’s estate, or in Kröner’s boat at Sasbach on the Rhine. Or they could be on their way from one place to the other. Let’s wait till tomorrow.’

  ‘Now listen to me, Petra!’ Laureen took hold of her shoulders and looked at her earnestly. ‘This concerns my husband! I know there are many things that belong in the past. My husband has never mentioned anything of what you’ve told me. But, do you know what? There’s one thing I know for sure when I think about it. Whatever it is Bryan’s come here for, he’ll see it through to the end. He’s like that. And there’s one thing more, thank God: Bryan and I have been married for many years, and on many counts we are extremely different. But in one way we’re very alike. We’re both dedicated pessimists. I always imagine the worst, and Bryan does too, in every situation. So up till now, everything he’s done is based on the worst possible scenario.’ Laureen stopped trembling. ‘What’s the worst imaginable situation right now?’