Alphabet House

by Adler-Olsen, Jussi

  Petra was in no doubt. ‘That Stich, Kröner and Lankau try to erase all incriminating traces of the past in any way they can. With no scruples!’

  ‘Bryan will have thought of that, Petra. Maybe he never went up on Schlossberg. If he had the chance, maybe he went after them instead. Where can these malingerers be now? We simply have to find out. Because Bryan’s there too.’

  ‘That’s what I keep saying, Laureen! They could be anywhere and everywhere!’ She stared into space. She looked thoughtful and weary, and her voice was toneless as she continued. ‘But if we use the process of elimination, then Lankau’s vineyard could be an obvious possibility. They go there sometimes when they don’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘Why do you think? It’s out of the way. There’s no one in the vicinity.’

  ‘Then try the phone there.’

  ‘I can’t, Laureen. Lankau safeguards his privacy. I don’t have the number. It’s secret.’

  ‘How do we get out there? Is it far?’

  ‘It takes twenty minutes on a bicycle.’

  ‘Where can I get a bike from?’

  ‘And it would take ten minutes if we take that taxi over there,’ Petra said, cutting Laureen short and waving her arms.

  Chapter 56

  Despite his age and numerous handicaps, Lankau was still essentially a hardened soldier. He was in charge of the situation. After Arno von der Leyen left, there was little else to do but wait. He had got free, warned Stich and now he waited. The soldier’s greatest virtue.

  There, under the cover of darkness, sitting beside the window facing the road, he’d often let his imagination take him places. The mountains in Bolivia were teeming with possibilities. A workforce thirsting for orders and impoverished, neglected plains that could be bought for a song. The River Mamoré had been his base of operations the last time he’d been hunting out there, surrounded by mulattos with dark faces and a subservient manner. It was then he had made his decision. The endless variety of vegetation; the promising mineral deposits; the beer joints in San Borja and Exaltación where the air melted and jukeboxes miraculously poured out scratchy virtuoso interpretations by Elisabeth Schwarzkopf of favourites from the homeland.

  All this was to be his future.

  Arno von der Leyen’s arrival had made this reality more tangible than ever. As soon as this was all over, he would take his final steps.

  His last step to safety would be taken by treading softly.

  Lankau smiled to himself. The unaccustomed sensation of sitting alone in a completely dark house appealed to him. It strengthened his resolve and his hatred, and the primordial force to be gained from concentration.

  Not since he’d taken a nasty spill many years ago on a black run in Saint-Ulrich in the Dolomites had his body ached so much. His eye stung, his shoulder hurt, and several of the bloody scrapes were throbbing where the twine had ripped the flesh on his arms and legs. He had also banged the back of his head when the chair collapsed under him.

  All in all, he was looking forward to paying Arno von der Leyen back in kind.

  He would return, Lankau was convinced.

  So he just waited, alternating between his present hatred and the dream of future experiences involving young mestiza women and the heavy scent of sugar cane, cocoa and coffee.

  The house was just as Arno von der Leyen had left it. Now it lay in the evening darkness. A single lamp that was never switched off shone faintly in the courtyard. Occasional cones of light from car headlights gleamed suddenly along the road on the other side of the vineyard, illuminating Lankau’s hunting trophies and momentarily making them come to life.

  As soon as the car slowed down on the main road, Lankau knew he would be receiving a visit. With a deep purr it stopped at the sign in the drive, its lights pointing straight at the house. A moment later it backed away and disappeared towards town.

  Lankau took another bite of his apple and put it down on the windowsill, chewing lazily and contentedly. Withdrawing behind the curtain, he looked down towards the main road. The driveway seemed deserted. Perhaps it had merely been someone wanting to turn around, after all. But even though this was a strong possibility, he had to imagine the worst. Maybe the car had let someone out. At best it would be Kröner and Stich.

  Endless minutes passed.

  Finally hesitant steps crossed the yard, and only then did he catch sight of them. Hesitant, cautious silhouettes. The broad-faced man moved away from the window. He was puzzled. It was Petra Wagner and a strange woman. So Kröner’s mission had failed to meet with success.

  Lankau groped carefully along the wall from window to window. Everything seemed safe and normal under the shadowy dance of the bushes lit up by passing vehicles.

  The women had come alone.

  He turned on the table lamp beside the sofa at the same moment as they tried the front door and eased it open.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted, sticking a short, broad-bladed, double-edged knife inside the elastic of his knee-high socks.

  ‘Petra Wagner! It’s me, Petra! I have a friend with me.’ Lankau blinked when they switched on the strong light in the hall. As Petra stepped into the doorway she seemed to be holding up a finger to shush her companion. Ever since his confrontation with Arno von der Leyen in the Taubergiessen swamp, sudden changes of light had caused his sound eye to play tricks on him.

  It made him doubt what he had seen.

  ‘Petra!’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘What an unexpected pleasure!’ The voice startled her. As soon as she’d located where it came from, she smiled apologetically.

  Lankau’s stubby fingers swept through his thin, dishevelled hair. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’ he continued, holding out his hand.

  It was she who did the talking, even when he bid the stranger welcome. ‘You must excuse our bursting in like this. This is my friend Laura whom I’ve told you about. The one who’s a deaf-mute.’ The stranger smiled and kept her eyes trained on her host’s mouth. ‘Did we disturb you?’ Petra put her hand to her breast. ‘Ugh, it was so dark in here when we came. It really gave me a fright just now.’

  ‘Now, now, Petra.’ Lankau stuffed his shirt inside his knee breeches. ‘I’d just dozed off. Don’t think anything of it.’

  It wasn’t difficult to see that Petra and the strange woman were an incongruous pair. And just as undeniable was the fact that Petra had never mentioned she had a friend called Laura, let alone one that was deaf and dumb. On the whole Petra never mentioned anything about her private life that didn’t have to do with Gerhart. If she was in cahoots with Arno von der Leyen, then it was he who had sent her out here. Lankau accepted the possibility.

  He could be lurking in the darkness, waiting.

  ‘I don’t have your telephone number here,’ said Petra. Lankau shrugged his shoulders. ‘And none of you were at home. I just took a chance.’

  ‘And here I am. So how can I help you?’

  ‘Are Kröner and Stich here?’

  ‘No, they aren’t. Is that all you wanted to know?’

  ‘You have to tell me what happened on Schlossberg.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I have to be sure that Arno von der Leyen is gone for good. Until I know, I can have no peace of mind.’

  ‘Really?’ Lankau smiled.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Dead?’ Lankau’s laughter was boastful and unpleasant. If Petra was trying to set a trap for him, she wasn’t going to succeed. ‘He most certainly isn’t.’

  ‘Well? Where is he now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Hopefully he’s sitting in a plane on his way somewhere far away from here.’

  ‘I don’t understand. He was so bent on finding Gerhart Peuckert. What did happen on Schlossberg?’

  ‘What happened? Why, you know that. He found his Gerhart Peuckert, didn’t he?’ Lankau smiled at her puzzled expression and spread his hands in the air. ‘The only thing that happened this afternoon was that my el
dest son had a small brass plate engraved with the words, “In memory of the victims of the bombardment of Freiburg im Breisgau on 15th January 1945.” He fixed it to a small post that he stuck into the ground up in the colonnade.’ Lankau smiled, ‘He’s clever with his hands, my Rudolph!’

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘And when he removed it a couple of hours later, someone had laid a small bunch of flowers in front of it. Touching, don’t you think?’ Lankau said, grinning broadly. The women in front of him were looking him straight in the eyes. His experience was that two people are seldom capable of synchronizing a staged deceit, and certainly not two women. If Arno von der Leyen were waiting outside somewhere for the right moment to show up, the expression on the women’s faces would have given it away. They would have been more alert, more shifty eyed. Shifty eyed and tense. Lankau felt convinced that he was alone with them at the vineyard. Which in no way altered the fact that they were not to be trusted. Only the almost imperceptible smile on Petra’s face looked genuine.

  She appeared relieved.

  ‘When did Rudolph recover his brass plate?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘Why do you ask, Petra?’

  ‘Because we were up there around six and we didn’t see anything.’

  ‘Then Rudolph must have tidied up after himself. He’s a good boy. And why were you there?’

  ‘For the same reason as we’re here now. We had to know what happened. In order to have peace of mind.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I mean “I”, of course. So that I could have peace of mind.’ Petra’s grammatical correction came a bit too promptly for Lankau’s liking. ‘But something like that always has an effect on the people around you, like Laura in my case. That’s why I said “we”. Laura’s here on a visit. She’s living with me.’

  ‘How much does this Laura know, if I may ask?’

  ‘Nothing, Horst, absolutely nothing. You needn’t worry. She doesn’t understand much of what’s going on.’ Petra smiled just naturally enough to convince Lankau on this count.

  ‘Why didn’t you simply phone Stich or Kröner?’ Lankau drew closer, noticing how incredibly slender her neck was. Like Arno von der Leyen’s, the blood vessels were very close to the surface. ‘They could have told you what happened up there on Schlossberg.’

  ‘I tried. I’ve already told you. None of you were home. I phoned Stich but could only get hold of Andrea, and she said nothing. You know Andrea.’ Her gaze wandered over the walls and the trophies. Lankau had made sure there was nothing abnormal to see, apart from the untidy pile of splintered wood beside the fireplace. If Petra had thought about it, she would have noticed Lankau’s throne in the middle of the room was missing. In separate bits the chair didn’t take up much space. ‘But where are Stich and Kröner, then?’ she asked at length. ‘Do you know?’

  ‘No.’

  Petra spread out her arms. She looked at the tall woman and back at Lankau, then gave a faint smile. ‘That’s a relief, at any rate. Thank goodness. Now I won’t have to worry about Arno von der Leyen any more. Could you please phone for a cab for us, Horst? We sent the other one away.’

  ‘Of course.’ The broad-faced man got up, wincing a bit. No matter how things developed now, there was still one unknown factor too many. The deaf woman would undoubtedly be missed if he got rid of them both. Maybe she had relatives. For the time being he would have to restrain himself, even though the opportunity was unique. Gerhart Peuckert and Petra Wagner could always disappear later on, if need be. A tragic little story, a worthy conclusion to a hopeless romance. A Romeo-and-Juliet tale in a callous, present-day setting. There was still time to write that conclusion. But the deaf woman wasn’t part of this chapter. He would have to let them go, for now.

  ‘By the way, where’s your car, Horst? How’d you come out here?’ She was very direct. It was unlike Petra.

  The question was so simple. Lankau could have merely smiled and answered, ‘Just like you, Petra, dear.’ But in a moment of confusion he felt vulnerable and hesitated. Looking incredulously at the slender woman, he changed the subject.

  ‘You ask a lot of questions, Petra.’ They stared at one another for a few intense seconds before she smiled shyly and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Perhaps it’s your turn to answer me now,’ he continued. On meeting his dark stare the tall woman behind Petra moved back a step. ‘Why did you say you’d mentioned that woman before? It’s not true.’ As he moved quickly towards Petra, her expression changed. ‘Is she deaf at all? I’m quite sure I saw you shush her just as you came in.’ Petra was light as a feather when Lankau took the final step towards her and shoved her aside. The lanky woman behind her put her arms across her face, handbag dangling at her elbow, but it didn’t help. A single blow and down she went without saying a word.

  She could hardly have said anything anyway, lying there unconscious with a nearly dislocated jaw.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Even before Petra reached the doorway, his fingers had locked around her wrist like a vice.

  ‘What are you doing, Horst? What’s come over you?’ she said, tugging at her arm. ‘Let me go, and for heaven’s sake, calm down.’ He released her and pushed her relatively gently towards the prone woman.

  ‘Who is she?’ he asked, pointing.

  ‘It’s Laura. We call her Laura, but her name’s Laureen.’

  ‘Take her handbag and give it to me!’

  Petra sighed and slipped the bag off the woman’s limp arm. Lankau found it heavier than he’d expected.

  Even before the bag was completely emptied, the little sideboard by the door was littered with objects. Lankau promptly thrust his hand into the pile and retrieved a reddish-brown purse whose size promised yet another source of treasure.

  The purse contained a multitude of credit cards. Lankau fumbled through them. Sure enough, the woman’s name was Laureen. Laureen Underwood Scott. Lankau studied the name and address for a long time. It didn’t ring any bells.

  ‘Your friend is English,’ said Lankau, waving one of the credit cards.

  ‘No, she’s here from Freiburg. Of English extraction and married to an Englishman.’

  ‘Strange how many English people are popping up today, don’t you think?’

  ‘She’s not English, I tell you!’

  Lankau turned the purse upside-down. Among the receipts he found a passport-sized photo. Petra held her breath. ‘She seems to have a daughter,’ was all he said. ‘What’s her name? You know that, I presume?’

  ‘Her name’s Ann.’

  Lankau looked at the back of the photo, mumbled, and went out into the hall to study it more closely under the ceiling light. ‘Where do you know this Laureen from? And why have you taken her with you?’ The broad-faced man suddenly turned on Petra, seized her arm and squeezed it.

  ‘Who is she, Petra? What’s she got to do with Arno von der Leyen?’ He squeezed harder, until she began to moan.

  Fighting back her tears, she looked him defiantly in the face. ‘He’s nothing, you idiot, so let go of me!’

  The struggle had been terribly unequal. The heavy man rubbed his neck and stretched it with effort. He knew this pain from the golf course, after an awkward stroke. It always went straight to his neck muscles. But the pain would go away within a few hours. The slender Petra Wagner had not provided enough resistance to his blow.

  It had been like hitting air.

  He sat the lanky woman precisely where Arno von der Leyen had left him, in a chair not very different from the one Lankau had sat in. Even though he tied her ankles so tightly that the blood began to ooze, she didn’t move.

  She was still deeply unconscious.

  As he passed through his pantry with a dazed Petra slung over his shoulder, he turned off the main switch serving the bungalow. Instantly the light in the yard went out and the starry sky opened above them.

  His pride and joy stood in the long middle section of the bungalow. Even though he usually never produced more tha
n a couple of hundred bottles of good white wine a year, he’d procured a wine press the previous year that was capable of handling a far greater wine production. In a couple of weeks’ time it was to be cleaned and prepared for action again. Until then, it made an excellent place to tie up Petra, who had yet to realise that escaping her bonds would be impossible. Then Lankau tugged slightly at the scarf he’d used to gag her with. It was taut enough.

  ‘You’ll be all right as long as you lie very still,’ said Lankau, patting the gigantic horizontal screw on which she lay. Petra was sure to know its purpose like everyone else in a wine district. As the grapes were drawn towards it, it simply squeezed all the juice out of them. It could easily do that with her as well. ‘Then you won’t hurt yourself on the screw, Petra, dear.’ Whereupon, to her unmistakable horror, he reached for a relay contact and turned it on. She closed her eyes. ‘Now, now, little Petra. As long as the main switch is off, you needn’t worry. In a few hours it will all be over. In the meantime you’re safe and sound here. Then we’ll see what happens later.’

  On his way back across the yard Lankau inhaled the raw coolness of the air. Autumn was hopefully on its way.

  A mere two hours ago he might have considered finding space on the wall for another set of antlers or two.

  Chapter 57

  Appalling as it was, it was still a fact.

  Laureen was in Freiburg.

  Reality in all its horror had returned in an instant. Bryan took a deep breath and drove faster. From now on he would expect the worst. Earlier that evening he’d definitively made up his mind to turn his back on the events in Freiburg, but fate was apparently not going to allow it. The information he’d got from Bridget still gave him cold shivers.