Alphabet House

by Adler-Olsen, Jussi

  ‘No, I don’t. However, if I flip the switch out there it’ll be a different matter.’ His face grew darker. ‘But that’s going to have to wait a bit. I haven’t quite finished with her, not that it’s going to matter in the end.’

  ‘Laureen, take it easy!’ Bryan leaned his head against her legs and tried to caress her by moving it from side to side. ‘Things won’t get that far. Did the two of you come here together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she’s not in collusion with the others?’

  ‘No!’

  Bryan looked up at Lankau. A bit of feeling was starting to return to the index finger of his left hand. It wouldn’t be long before he’d make his attempt. The timing had to be perfect.

  ‘What has Sister Petra done to any of you?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s something I can only answer after you’re gone from here, Herr von der Leyen. I’m afraid you’ll never know.’ Lankau laughed. ‘Bad timing!’ he said in English. ‘Isn’t that what you call it where you come from? But whatever she’s done, the outcome will be the same.’ He turned around. ‘You see, one of my friends has a nice kennel near Schwarzach. I’ve got three choice Dobermans there. Bad hunting dogs to be sure, but very good guard dogs when necessary. What a pity I don’t have them here this weekend. Then we could get everything over all at once.’

  Laureen looked down. Bryan was lying quite still at her feet. She worked to control her breathing. This was no time to scream.

  ‘Three dogs like that, they’ve got good appetites,’ Lankau continued, baring his discoloured set of teeth again. ‘They’d certainly be able to eat someone little Petra’s size within a couple of days, never mind someone as skinny as you. And if they don’t manage it all in one go, there’s certainly no lack of freezers here.’

  Chapter 60

  The doorbell rang just as Gerhart was about to leave Kröner’s house. Its sound reached his ears with diabolical force and the urge to cringe was hard to suppress. On the other side of the door everything was quiet. Someone was waiting there for it to be opened.

  And then a miracle happened.

  Suddenly, for the few seconds he basked in the comforting sound of Petra’s voice outside the door, he existed. The corpse in the bathtub a few steps away was revived in life and soul. The nightmare was exorcised. At the sound of that voice the gruesome resolve he’d been nurturing in every fibre of his body, the vengeance, and the struggle against the years of mistrust and systematic maltreatment, vanished altogether.

  The moment of bliss was brief. Reality returned as he realised treachery could still be lurking nearby. Her next words felt like being stuck with an awl. The language she spoke provoked pain and fear in him. Each word and every syllable made him more hypersensitive and vulnerable. It was the spirit of evil, come to life. Gerhart bowed his head and covered his ears. The other woman’s voice was sharper, enhancing his anxiety. It was bold and direct. Gerhart stood still with his hands clasped to his ears, counting the seconds until their voices died away.

  The image of the small, fair-haired woman who meant so much to him began to flicker and become distorted. The eternal smile was suddenly difficult to recall. Increasing giddiness made him back up along the wall. Finally he squatted down in a corner of the hallway, leaning his head against the oaken door.

  Gerhart felt like going home. There he could find food. There he could sleep. His home was the sanatorium.

  There he was safe.

  He shook his head and began to whimper. What he had just heard wouldn’t go away. Could he trust anyone ever again? Who wanted to hurt him?

  There was still the broad-faced monster that had abused him for so long. Kröner was no longer there to parry the hefty man’s blows. This would please Lankau. Gerhart had seen it so often. The man was forever lying in wait, his eyes radiating evil. A devil that tyrannized everyone around him, except Kröner and Stich. And now they were gone.

  They’d got what they deserved.

  Gerhart was about to count the row of boards in the wall panel, then stopped. He regretted nothing.

  He stood up and began flexing all his muscle groups by turn. He had to be prepared. For Lankau and the other one. He wouldn’t think about Petra and her companion just now. That would have to come later.

  First Lankau and then Arno von der Leyen. The one would lead to the other. It was so simple. As long as the two of them existed he’d never be sure of finding peace of mind. And that was the only thing he wanted. But how? At the sanatorium they would be able to fetch him and do things to him. They would do him harm and force him to return to the past. And they would succeed.

  This was something he couldn’t allow.

  In the past lay only evil.

  Gerhart stopped exercising and let his shoulders drop. The ship’s clock chimed in Kröner’s living room. It was time to go.

  Lankau was at his country house. Those had been Kröner’s last words. The little farmstead just outside of town. Surrounded by vineyards.

  Gerhart couldn’t remember having walked so far before. Although he wasn’t tired, the feeling of emptiness was burdensome company. For countless years, as long as he could remember, he’d always had an assisting hand by his side.

  The stars above him had carpeted the sky hours ago. The mist and darkness didn’t scare him. The moon lay snugly over the landscape. The scent of the earth was strong. It would soon be harvest time.

  An event Stich and Kröner would have celebrated.

  Gerhart listened to his footsteps. He was out in the open. There was no way back. At every step his hatred of the two men increased. He pulled the wind jacket up around his ears.

  At the time, Arno von der Leyen’s disappearance had been a source of great misery. But the years had worn the feeling down. And now, somehow, the man was back and had stirred up that misery again. Which was why he had to hate him.

  Without him, everything would have been as before.

  Petra would still stand out clearly in his visions.

  There were lights on in the house. Lights in all the windows as if there were a party going on.

  At the first gentle curve in the drive Gerhart threw himself into the roadside ditch and crawled forward on his stomach. It wouldn’t be the first time Lankau had amused himself by letting his dogs loose outside when he had guests. Then he could stand out in the courtyard with his hands on his hips, making the dogs grovel before him while his guests tried not break stride as they made for their cars.

  His amusement had been hard to conceal.

  It was completely quiet. Even the sounds of traffic on the main road had ceased. He gave a brief, high whistle. Sudden noises could make the largest and meanest of the dogs go berserk and bark hysterically. At the second whistle he felt sure the dogs were not outdoors that evening.

  The ditch led directly around behind the outer buildings. Gerhart moved along the last, damp stretch and saw the courtyard open before him. It was not lit up as usual. Gerhart knew this was wrong. The light was always burning when there was someone in the house. A new feeling of nervousness spread over him.

  One must never overlook Lankau’s signals.

  The pantry light shone dull and faintly over the cobblestones. There were no parked vehicles. Not even Lankau’s.

  He got up carefully and took a good look around. There could easily be someone observing him behind one of the small rectangular windows in the various sections of the wooden bungalow. In one quick sideways movement he reached the door to the tool shed.

  Gerhart had been there many times before. Compared with the clinical and orderly occupational therapy he was subjected to at the sanatorium, this room was an El Dorado of untidiness, flickering visual impressions, garden tools and other work implements, plus odds and ends of used materials. A short-handled knife whose blade had been honed down to practically nothing usually hung in the corner.

  It was still razor-sharp. Gerhart leaned against one of the supporting beams as he felt along its edge. He breathed cal
mly. The contours around him were emerging in three dimensions.

  The knife was not his only weapon. When he confronted Lankau he would act submissive and calm, as always. He would make the mountain of flesh feel safe and superior. He would get him to tell about Arno von der Leyen. Quietly and calmly.

  Not until then would he start speaking normally. Gerhart was sure he could. The words were coming to him now almost without hesitation. He felt his mind’s presence. The pills were no longer separating him from his ability to think.

  Finally he would work Lankau up into his true odious self, where he was easiest to hate. And then he would strike. The moment and means would come. The dagger was there only if needed. Gerhart flexed his muscles again one by one and drew a deep breath, so that the almost extinguished scent of last season’s grape harvest permeated his senses.

  The sound penetrated the darkness like a rat scurrying across gravel, but the accompanying groan was human. Gerhart clutched the knife. Was there something he had overlooked? Was Lankau lurking in the darkness? He pressed himself against the beam and examined all the murky corners, one by one.

  The next time he heard the sound he knew where it came from. The door was open to the room with the wine press. Had it been harvest time, this would have been unthinkable.

  Gerhart stepped into the room and immediately saw the white figure lying on the screw of the wine press with pleading, terrified eyes. When they met his gaze, the fear in them softened for a moment.

  It was Petra.

  Gerhart stood stock-still.

  Chapter 61

  Lankau stepped over Bryan, who lay doubled up on the floor. Behind him Laureen sat still, shaking. She was paralyzed by the prospect of ending up as dog food.

  Suddenly Lankau kicked aside the remains of his chair that had been used as a weapon in the heat of battle. Bryan leaned his head back and caught a glimpse of a couple of taut animal hides stretched out on the wall behind him. In between the hides was an almost invisible handle, painted the same colour as the wall. As Lankau took hold of it, a rush of fresh air entered the room that made Bryan feel dizzy. Double doors opened onto a terrace, revealing the moon rising in half-darkness. Lankau flipped a switch on the outer wall of the house, at which point a flood of light revealed the outdoor facilities in sharp detail. He took a step on to the terrace.

  At last Bryan felt the Kenju lying snugly in his left hand. He would have to turn around and pull himself up to precisely the right angle if he were to have a hope of hitting his target. It was almost impossible to fire upwards at a sharp angle with his hand tied at waist-level. Bryan turned cautiously towards the double doors, waiting for Lankau to step backwards into the room. Laureen had almost stopped breathing.

  The distance was less than fifteen feet when Lankau backed in. The shot was fired just as he was about to turn around.

  The dull thud of the bullet hitting the beam just beside his head made him look back in astonishment.

  At the next shot he had vanished back onto the terrace.

  ‘Did you hit him?’ Laureen asked, getting hysterical. She’d been hyperventilating for a couple of seconds before daring to speak. ‘He’s going to kill us, Bryan!’ She was sobbing now.

  Bryan wasn’t sure. Maybe the second shot had hit. He turned towards the window facing the road, but saw only the faint outlines of some tall trees.

  For a long time he was certain Lankau was just waiting. In fact, that was all he needed to do. Although Bryan had a joker in his hand, his situation was not good. Laureen constituted a weapon to be used against him. Lankau would attack her instantly if he left her side. That would be the wrong way to play the joker. And it was just as well. His mobility was greatly restricted by his bound feet. His arms weren’t too useful, either.

  After Laureen’s final sniffle everything was quiet. Night birds were on the move in the distance. A faint hum from the swimming pool’s filtering system was practically all that could be heard. There was no sound of breathing, no movement, no trace of life beyond the double doors.

  ‘He’s going to kill us, Bryan,’ Laureen repeated, this time much more faintly. Bryan shushed her sharply. There was no doubt the front door had been opened. Silently. But there was no mistaking the draught that suddenly swept the floor.

  Bryan turned onto his back and tried to take aim at the door to the entrance hall. The thought that Lankau might have a gun hidden somewhere made him turn ice-cold. He fired the moment the figure stepped into the room. The dry wood of the doorframe splintered, leaving a hole bigger than a teacup.

  Bryan’s heart stopped beating the instant the figure acquired form. His finger froze on the trigger, drained of will and intent.

  He could have fainted.

  Fully illuminated by the light from outside stood the person over whom he’d been brooding, for whom he’d been mourning and sacrificing himself for a lifetime in a bottomless feeling of loss. The brother he’d lost so long ago. The friend he had failed, deserted and betrayed.

  The torn earlobe was the first thing Bryan registered.

  It was James.

  He stood there like a ghost, looking him straight in the eyes. He hardly looked older, merely different. The shot hadn’t made him flinch in the slightest. He simply stood completely still, trying to comprehend what he saw.

  As the figure stepped forward, Bryan stammered his name repeatedly.

  Laureen was holding her breath again, looking alternately at the stranger and at the door to the terrace.

  Bryan didn’t notice her. The hand holding the Kenju had quit obeying him. His eyes were blinded by tears.

  ‘James…!’ he whispered.

  As the figure in front of him knelt down, Bryan tried to absorb every single one of his features, as though James might vanish just as quickly as he’d appeared. You’re alive, his eyes said, laughing.

  The figure in front of him expressed nothing.

  James glanced at Laureen and over towards the open door. Then he turned and looked Bryan straight in the eyes, but his gaze was dead. ‘Watch out for Lankau,’ Bryan pleaded, feeling his friend’s breath on his face. ‘He’s here!’

  At these words James gently took the gun out of his hand. Bryan sighed deeply. It was incredibly wonderful and incomprehensible. He looked up at his friend again and wriggled his left arm. ‘Untie me, James. Quickly!’

  The spit hit Bryan in the face like a whiplash. In a second, James’ face contorted and became completely unrecognisable. The Kenju quivered as it pointed straight at Bryan’s temple. The turnaround came so quickly that Bryan was still wearing a frozen smile.

  The next moment Lankau stepped back inside, obscuring the light from the terrace.

  James looked at him without changing expression.

  Chapter 62

  ‘Gerhart! What the hell are you doing here?’ Despite his coarse manner, Lankau addressed him in a friendly fashion. ‘Not that you’ve chosen the wrong moment. Not at all!’ He came closer, at the same time guarding himself against any new, unpleasant moves from the recumbent von der Leyen. ‘It’s good you’ve come, my friend!’ He raised his hand slowly in a cordial, accommodating fashion, his face ever watchful. ‘You’ve done the right thing. You’ve helped me. Well done!’

  Von der Leyen appeared unable to stop trembling. He seemed paralyzed, a pleading expression on his face. ‘Please…!’ was all that passed his lips.

  The word hit Gerhart Peuckert like a smack in the face. He backed his way towards the entrance hall in the midst of snarled exchanges between Lankau and the figure lying prone on the floor. There was no sign of agitation. His face was blank.

  ‘Come now, Gerhart,’ Lankau said, smiling broadly to disguise his excitement and anger. ‘Give me that gun. It’s not such a good thing to be walking around with.’

  Lankau looked at him imploringly, stretching out his hand tentatively. Gerhart shook his head. ‘Just calm down, Gerhart. Let me put the safety on for you. You mustn’t do that on your own. Come. Everything’s good now.
’

  Lankau looked him in the eyes. The defiance he saw was something new. ‘Come on now, Gerhart. Give it to me or else I’ll get angry!’ Lankau went right up to him. ‘Give it to me!’ he demanded, with outstretched hand. The defiance in Gerhart Peuckert’s eyes intensified. He put on the Kenju’s safety latch, but didn’t hand it over.

  Lankau retreated to the middle of the room and looked at Peuckert as if he were a naughty schoolboy. ‘Gerhart,’ he tried again, ‘what do you think Stich and Kröner would say if they saw you like this? You give me that pistol now, OK?’

  The words that came left him completely dumbfounded. ‘They wouldn’t say anything. They’re dead.’

  Lankau’s jaw dropped. It was the first time he’d heard Gerhart Peuckert speak coherently.

  This was a hellish situation. Could what the idiot said really be true? Lankau went over to the telephone and dialled Stich’s number. After several fruitless attempts, he phoned Kröner. No one answered there, either. Lankau replaced the receiver and nodded quietly without looking directly at Gerhart. ‘No, there’s nobody home,’ he frowned. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Gerhart looked at him as if his chain of thought had been interrupted. The multitude of impressions had apparently begun to confuse him. ‘I don’t know what to believe,’ Lankau continued, tilting his head. ‘How did you get out here, Gerhart?’

  ‘I walked,’ Gerhart answered promptly, pursing his lips.

  Lankau looked at him guardedly. ‘You did the right thing, Gerhart,’ he finally said, his face lighting up in a big, ugly grin. ‘Absolutely! But why aren’t you with Peter and Andrea? What’s happened?’ Lankau studied him. The idiot’s atypical shrug of the shoulders and upturned gaze would get on anyone’s nerves. ‘Did you see anything?’ Lankau persisted. He shook his head as he saw Peuckert’s expression. ‘What about Petra? Why didn’t you go to her? She lives much closer to Stich’s flat.’