‘Petra was together with that one over there,’ Gerhart said, pointing accusingly at Laureen, who sat with closed eyes.
‘Do you think Petra’s in league with these two?’ Lankau left the question hanging for a moment and glanced once more at the weapon lying loosely in Gerhart’s hand.
The gun barrel pointed further and further upwards with each step Lankau took forward. ‘We can trust each other, can’t we, little Gerhart? No, you needn’t be afraid that I’ll take the pistol from you. Why should you harm me? I’m the only one you can trust.’
Gerhart’s eyebrows rose slowly.
‘It’s OK to put the gun down, Gerhart. Put it on the table and come help me with von der Leyen.’ Lankau watched with satisfaction as Gerhart complied. ‘We’re going to write his last chapter.’
Despite the woman’s despairing look, Arno von der Leyen made no attempt to resist. He fell limply into Peuckert and Lankau’s grasp.
The terrace was greyish white. The swimming pool fitted naturally into the architectonic layout. Leaves were already floating on its surface. Lankau, who was carrying Bryan’s foot end, snorted as he made straight for the edge. The water level was high. The pool had not yet been drained after the long summer.
Von der Leyen struck his head as they dropped him on the tiled edge of the pool. Peuckert stood over him, looking him straight in the eyes. Von der Leyen returned his look with one of distress until his eyes rolled up and he mercifully lost consciousness.
‘It serves him right!’ Lankau said, straightening up. ‘Now we’ve just got to make it look more or less natural, don’t we?’ he added to himself. ‘Someone might come looking for him and they’d be bound to find something they shouldn’t. Like fingerprints and such,’ he muttered merrily. ‘So it’s better that he’s all they find.’ Lankau nudged the unconscious body disdainfully with the toe of his broad shoe.
‘And what, in fact, will they find?’ he muttered again. ‘A drowned foreigner with a belly full of alcohol, that’s what.’ He bared his crooked teeth.
Her eyes were so swollen that Laureen could scarcely see Lankau when he re-entered the room. ‘Hey,’ he said, glancing at her mischievously, ‘this ought to do it!’ He held up the magnum bottle for her to see and went out into the night air again.
‘What do you say, Gerhart?’ he asked the motionless man, who stood studying the unconscious figure. ‘Isn’t this just the answer? Come to think of it, that’s how the bastard had planned to get rid of me!’ He knelt down beside the swimming pool and scooped up a handful of chlorinated water. ‘If it had been up to this swine, I’d have drowned in the Rhine, wouldn’t I?’ He nodded to himself in answer.
Chapter 63
Bryan jerked to the side when the cold water struck him in the face. For a moment he was confused. He wasn’t afraid until he saw James’ blue eyes riveted on him.
Then reality returned.
The years had robbed him of his childhood friend and given him a monster instead. And it was his own fault. It was an insight that destroyed his peace of mind, a realisation that would prevent him from returning to his old life, even if he managed to survive his present nightmare. Bryan shook his head at the thought. He tugged at his bound arms.
‘That’s right, Herr von der Leyen!’ came from above him. ‘Time to wake up, because now we’re going to drown you like a rat. You’re going to get a taste of your own medicine!’
Bryan tried in vain to defend himself. A quick jerk backwards loosened his neck vertebrae with a faint crunching sound, like at a chiropractor’s. The bottle had no trouble finding his lips. Every time he pulled his head away, Lankau squeezed his neck tighter with his free hand. His fingers closed off the carotid arteries with deadly precision until Bryan began to black out and his lower jaw drooped.
Finally he stopped resisting.
After a long gulp his throat began to burn and the vodka almost choked him. Lankau loosened his hold and let him cough. ‘We can’t have you suffocate, can we? That’s not the plan.’
‘There’ll be an inquest,’ Bryan sputtered. ‘They’ll find marks on my body. I have deep wounds. They’ll be hard to explain, you pig!’
‘Maybe, and maybe not. Who knows whether they’ll find anything? Perhaps the pathologist will have a bad day. He sometimes does. I happen to know all about that!’ Lankau took a single swig from the enormous bottle. ‘Perhaps I even know him. Yes, come to think of it, I know him pretty well.’ He took another swig. ‘Aaah!’ he said, exhaling deeply. ‘We’d better say that you and I were drinking together, but you were a bit less seaworthy!’ He laughed so hard, his whole stomach shook.
Bryan felt his surroundings losing their meaning.
Still laughing, Lankau pushed Bryan forward until he hung halfway over the edge of the pool. Again he wrenched Bryan’s head back and forced a big gulp into him. ‘You might as well drink, my friend. It’ll be easier for you that way.’
The vodka warmed his lips. The bottle had done its job and would soon be empty. The water below him was almost beautiful with its delicate, green reflections. He scarcely felt Lankau push his head underwater. It swaddled him, cool and soft, like the feeling of a fresh pillow in a feverish sleep. The second before he’d have to give up and breathe the water into his lungs, Lankau heaved him up again.
After another two plunges he succumbed to a feeling of indifference. The alcohol had had its redeeming effect.
‘I don’t hear you complaining!’ Lankau’s acrid breath was close to him as the water streamed off Bryan. ‘Are you still there, you swine, or have you had too much to drink? Are you going to deny me the pleasure?’ He shook Bryan’s head back and forth. Bryan saw only flickering images.
More determined than irritated, Lankau flung him down again. ‘Then we must have another go, I’m afraid. I want you screaming for mercy!’ His eyes bore through Bryan’s foggy gaze. ‘You’re going to get to see that female of yours crushed to death in the wine press over there. And Petra, too. We’ll take her first, since she’s already been prepared. In the meantime you can come to yourself a bit so you’ll be fresher when it’s wifey’s turn. A little flip of the switch out in the pantry, and hey, presto! All over! That’s what can happen when someone rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’ll affect your tenacity.’ He thrust out his jaw, clutching the magnum bottle. ‘It’s a pity for Stich and Kröner that I didn’t get to you a little earlier, but never mind. He who laughs last, laughs best.’
Lankau snorted and took another swig. His hair was tangled, his whole upper body wet with chlorinated water. With extreme difficulty he got up and leaned over Bryan. ‘You take hold of him there, Gerhart. We’ve got to get him over to the shed!’
Chapter 64
Lankau saw the shadow move across the terrace as he was lifting up one end of his semi-conscious victim. The next thing he felt was a violent blow that made his legs give way under him and sent him hurtling sideways over the edge of the pool.
‘God damn you, Gerhart, you imbecile! You’re gonna pay for that!’ he gasped, as he grabbed hold of the ladder and let the water stream off him.
Not until he’d brushed water off his body with unconcealed irritation did he realise what had happened. It had been a simple, ridiculous mistake. He’d let Gerhart overhear what he intended to do with Petra. He suddenly remembered that the gun had been left lying on the table inside, but by then it was too late. Behind his kneeling, near-senseless prey, Gerhart was standing like a pillar of salt, pointing the pistol straight at him.
‘What is it, Gerhart?’ he asked, stretching out his hands in a gesture of reconciliation. ‘Are we no longer friends?’ He rose slowly to his wet feet and approached the tall man. ‘Was it what I said about Petra, Gerhart? Then I apologise.’ Peuckert’s eyes were burning with hatred. Lankau assessed his possibilities. ‘I was only joking. What did you think? It was merely a matter of getting that swine von der Leyen to squeal, you know that!’ He had a single step left, then he would strike. ‘Petra’s a good girl…’
<
br /> That was the last thing he said before Gerhart began screaming.
The anguished, hateful cry was so bloodcurdling that the birds flew into the air, chattering, and Lankau stiffened. Even as it still echoed across the landscape he saw that Gerhart Peuckert had no intention of letting him get any closer. Peuckert’s face was bluish red, his lips pulled back with teeth completely bared. Lankau retreated a couple of steps and nearly slipped in one of his own puddles. He stretched out his arms and continued backing away in a big curve towards the double doors to the living room. The figure in front of him did nothing but stand there, breathing deeply, watching his clumsy attempt to make his way backwards.
When he reached the room he turned and ran to the pantry.
His pursuer caught up with him just as his hand reached the main switch to the bungalow. Precisely as Lankau had hoped.
‘Give me that gun, Gerhart! Otherwise I’ll turn it on,’ he said, crooking his finger. ‘And then you’ll never see Petra again. Is it worth it?’
‘I heard what you said before!’ Gerhart’s face was still twitching. ‘You’ll do it anyway!’ He pressed the pistol hard against Lankau’s temple.
‘Nonsense, Gerhart! You’re not well enough to tell the difference between reality and fantasy!’ The tiny beads of sweat on Lankau’s face stood in sharp contrast to his calm voice. It was a wonder he could speak at all.
Gerhart Peuckert stretched his hand slowly up towards Lankau’s, which was still resting on the switch. ‘If you touch me, I’ll press it!’ Lankau said, sweating as he watched the hand stretch past him.
When at last the sinewy, almost spidery hand lay on top of his, Lankau gave up all resistance. Gerhart Peuckert’s eyes were calm, attentive and cold.
Lankau jerked involuntarily as Gerhart threw the switch. The sharp bang from the shed of gears set into motion was accompanied by the gleam of the light in the yard. Lankau wasn’t sure if he’d heard a scream. The characteristic rumble of the wine press meant that its methodical, deadly rotation had begun.
During the next few minutes Lankau obeyed Gerhart Peuckert’s orders without hesitation. He prayed that the madman wouldn’t start fiddling with the safety catch while he was aiming the weapon at him. Every breath was transformed into thoughts of how he could escape his precarious predicament.
On Peuckert’s command, he dragged von der Leyen into the house and over to the blubbering woman. Meanwhile he tried to remember where his wife’s toy-like hunting rifle could be hidden. As he passed the exotic weapons hanging on the wall behind the bound woman, he considered staking his life on a desperate grab for one of them.
Gerhart Peuckert never gave him the chance.
‘Sit down at the table,’ Peuckert said. It had become silent in the room. Arno von der Leyen was slumped on the floor, his eyes trying to smile up at Laureen.
However irritating, Lankau felt an increasing admiration of Peuckert’s cold nonchalance, coupled with imperceptible bursts of burning hatred which for the time being had to be suppressed.
‘Put your legs all the way under the table,’ Gerhart ordered, without looking at him, ‘and pull your chair in with you.’ Lankau grimaced and squeezed his bulging belly against the rough edge of the oaken table. The idiot was rummaging in his wife’s bureau.
‘Write on this!’ Peuckert threw a sheet of lined paper on the table in front of him.
‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Gerhart! Wouldn’t it be nice if I drove you back to the sanatorium? Remember, if it hadn’t been for these two, nothing would have happened. It’s not my fault!’ He swore as he looked up at Gerhart. ‘If it hadn’t been for them, you and Petra would still be having a good time together, wouldn’t you? And whatever happened to Kröner and Stich wouldn’t have happened. Isn’t that so?’
The ballpoint pen Gerhart threw onto the table in front of him belonged to the Englishwoman. It had been lying on the floor at Gerhart’s feet.
‘Shoot those two instead.’ Lankau jerked his head in the direction of the tied up man and woman. ‘Just shoot them, man! They haven’t brought us anything but misery. What could possibly be the harm in that? I know you can do it, Herr Standartenführer Peuckert. No one could hold you responsible, anyhow. How could they? You’ll get back to the sanatorium, I promise. It’ll be just the same as before. You’ll be Erich Blumenfeld again. Reconsider, Gerhart. Don’t you remember? We were the ones who looked after you all these years.’
Peuckert calmly tightened his grip on the pistol. Bending his head slightly, he looked at Lankau, frowning. ‘I remember,’ he replied, pushing the paper towards Lankau’s belly. ‘Write what I dictate!’
‘Maybe,’ answered the broad-faced man, trying to figure out how many bullets were left in the Shiki Kenju.
‘We, citizens of Freiburg im Breisgau,’ Peuckert drawled slowly, ‘Horst Lankau, standartenführer in the Mountain Commando Corps, alias Alex Faber, Obersturmbannführer Peter Stich of the SS Wehrmacht and Sonderdienst, alias Hermann Müller, and Wilfried Kröner, obersturmbannführer in the SS Wehrmacht, alias Hans Schmidt …’
‘I’ll write nothing!’ Lankau said, and threw down the pen.
‘I’ll kill your wife if you don’t!’
‘So what? What do I care?’ Lankau shifted slightly in his chair. The massive table was heavier than he had reckoned with. To throw it at Peuckert would demand superhuman strength. He took a deep breath.
‘And your son, too!’
‘Oh, really?’ Lankau flipped the pen further away in defiance.
Gerhart stood staring at him for some time until, with a grimace, he added, ‘It was I who killed Kröner and Stich.’ Peuckert didn’t take his eyes off Lankau, who was now breathing calmly, his face no longer so defiant. ‘I electrocuted Stich. And Andrea, too. And you know what? They were pitiful from start to finish. In the end they didn’t even smell good.’ He paused for a moment. Spittle had formed a crust in the corners of his mouth. He delved deep into his pocket and shook it. There was the familiar rattling of a bottle of pills. For a moment his eyes clouded over. Lankau watched. He seemed to be having withdrawal symptoms, as if the urge to take a pill or two was becoming increasingly strong.
‘Don’t you feel well, Gerhart? Tell me. Shouldn’t I help you?’ Lankau heard his words die away.
‘And I drowned Kröner,’ Gerhart finally added softly, straightening his back. ‘In the same way as you intended to drown that swine over there. Very slowly.’
‘I think you’re lying!’ Lankau was not unaffected, but still he leaned nonchalantly back in his chair as far as his uncomfortable position allowed. If he could combine the movement with a strong heave of the table, he was sure he’d break free.
‘I’ve had excellent teachers.’
The smile that spread across Lankau’s lips was almost one of pride. But Gerhart’s statement was a dangerous truth. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘You know very well.’ Gerhart wiped the corners of his mouth and spat on the floor.
‘Are you thirsty, Gerhart? I have some good Rhine wine in the bungalow. Do you feel like having some?’ Lankau moistened his lips and winked.
‘Shut up!’ came the prompt reply.
The wet figure on the floor made sounds of pathetic vomiting attempts. Neither Lankau nor Gerhart turned their heads. ‘Don’t you remember how you used to entertain each other with stories about how to kill people?’ Peuckert continued. ‘I think you do. I do, at any rate. You threatened to kill me as well!’
‘Nonsense! We’ve never threatened you. Well, perhaps years and years ago.’ Lankau looked apologetic. ‘That was before we knew we could trust you.’
‘You’re full of shit!’ Peuckert hissed at the broad face, which was watching him vigilantly. Lankau was making ready to push off.
The stink of vomit was becoming noticeable. Bryan groaned, regurgitated an extra time and tried to sit up. ‘Kill him, James,’ he coaxed quietly.
But he couldn’t get through to him.
‘You w
ere the worst one, Lankau,’ the madman went on, radiating contempt. ‘Can’t you remember you made me drink the blood of the animals you’d just been out hunting?’ Peuckert took a step to one side. He was furious. Lankau remembered, but did his utmost not to react. Now Peuckert was standing behind him. ‘And the dog piss? And my own shit?’ he yelled.
Telltale beads of sweat formed on Lankau’s forehead. He was still convinced he could reason with the fool. But in a game like this, sweat was an irrational factor. Impossible to control and all-revealing. Lankau raised his arm cautiously and wiped his brow. ‘I can’t remember any of what you’re talking about. It must have been Stich. He could be an evil devil when the urge came over him.’
The man standing behind him was silent for a moment. Then he struck him hard on the neck with the Kenju. The shot went off instantly. Lankau threw his head back, wondering how he could still be alive. His ears were howling. He looked to the side. The projectile had struck above Arno von der Leyen’s head. The woman was silent, but still crying.
Gerhart Peuckert looked at the pistol in astonishment. He hadn’t pulled the trigger.
‘Be careful with that thing, I told you! It can go off for no reason.’ The sweat on Lankau’s forehead was turning cold. He shook his head.
‘Are you afraid of it, Lankau? You shouldn’t be.’ Gerhart Peuckert’s agitation made Lankau’s ears buzz even more. ‘You’ll be begging me to use it! I’m not forgetting what you said out on the terrace.’
‘It was you who killed Petra, remember that. It was you who started up the wine press!’
‘And I’ve thought of an even worse fate for you if you don’t write what I dictate. Can you remember how you threatened me with caustic soda? Teasing me by threatening to make me drink it?’
Lankau twisted his body around as much as he could. The sweat had broken out again. Gerhart turned and strode up to Arno von der Leyen. ‘Get up!’ he ordered, addressing the drunken man who was lying in his own vomit.
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