by David Stukas
“Yes, ask me,” Ludwig said, bracing himself.
“When I thought who could have murdered the count,” Monette started, “I thought to myself, who was the last person to see the count alive? Was it Robert, who just left us abruptly? No, I said to myself. The first person to spot the body of the count was you, Ludwig!”
“But that does not make me murderer!” Ludwig replied.
“Ludwig, you told me when you saw the count’s body stabbed and lying with his face in the toilet, you came out of the bathroom and screamed. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I see him and I scream.”
“Apparently you scream a great deal, but let’s not get into that,” Monette stated, making fun of Ludwig without his even knowing it. “Anyway, Ludwig, how did you know it was Siegfreid in the bathroom stall if his head was in the toilet where you couldn’t see his face?”
“I ... I ... know ... his costume.”
“But how did you know his costume? Everyone had a mask on, so how could you tell it was the count?”
“Well, the count ... call me ... he tell me what he was wearing. This is how I know!” Ludwig answered with all the conviction of Rosemary Woods explaining how she had accidentally erased the Nixon White House tapes.
As all eyes fell on Ludwig, there was a tremendous clap of thunder outside, as if God himself was pointing the finger of accusation at Ludwig.
“Well,” Michael commented, “I think we have our confirmation!”
There was dead silence. The two people on either side of Ludwig, Mrs. Stark and Uli Steben, the count’s art dealer, slowly moved away from Ludwig.
“This cannot be!” exclaimed Ludwig. “I have no reason to kill Siegfreid. Why?”
“I don’t know. But thank you for finally being honest about the sex club, Ludwig. That helps me make up my mind here about one little thing that has been bothering me. But there are other things that bother me far more, and I will now tell you about them.
“After the count was murdered, Robert and I discovered surveillance videotapes in a servant’s room in the basement of this house—thanks to Michael Stark here.”
Michael looked like lightning was about to strike him. And it could have if Monette cared to elucidate on exactly how we found those tapes. But she was a lesbian on a mission, so she continued.
“On those tapes were hours and hours of Siegfreid sitting, eating, entertaining guests, going about his daily life here in the house. My question was why? Second question. Over and over again, people said Siegfreid was, and I quote, a prick—der penis—when he was was absolutely charming to Robert and me. Why the difference? Third question. In this folder is the coroner’s report on Count Siegfreid von Schmidt. In it, it states that Siegfreid’s eye color is blue—when his eyes were green.”
Everyone sitting around the table was silent, presumably lost in thought trying to answer the three questions. Monette, however, didn’t give them enough time.
“The answer, gentlemen, is that the count killed the count!” she said with dramatic heaviness.
The whole table looked completely puzzled. The guests looked back and forth amongst themselves, seeking some kind of answer. Then all eyes turned in Monette’s direction, pleading for her to make some kind of sense.
“I don’t get it,” Michael said—of all people. “How could the count kill himself? You mean it was a suicide?”
Everyone turned from Michael to Monette. It was like watching a verbal tennis game, with all heads turning toward whomever was doing the talking.
“There were two counts all the time. The real one, and an impostor. But let me digress for a moment. Like I said before, the beginnings of this murder started over a year ago. The count had a lover by the name of Hans Sattler. The count was so in love with Hans that he made out a will that gave half of his entire fortune to Hans and the other half to Heino, his business partner.
“Eventually, the two lovers parted, but Siegfreid failed to change his will. After all, why bother? The count was young and healthy. But his lover rightly feared that someday the count would change his will. So Hans began to plan.
“Hans thought if Siegfreid died before the will was changed, he would inherit half of everything. And that was true. But he probably reasoned any premature death would be suspicious and he would look like the guilty party. So he came up with an idea that would throw suspicion on another person, yet lead to Siegfreid’s death, thus killing two birds with one stone. Hans found a man who needed money desperately and who bore a close resemblance to Siegfreid von Schmidt. This man’s name was Manfred.
“Manfred, you see, didn’t have to be a dead ringer, since the count always wore sunglasses and frequently changed his appearance, so an exact impostor wasn’t necessary. The key was to get the impostor seen out and about as much as was possible without exposing him—all to make him seem legitimate to Robert and everyone else. Hans then used his friendship to gain entrance to the count’s palace, where he placed remote surveillance cameras to capture the count on videotape. What Herr Sattler wanted were tapes of Siegfreid eating, gesturing, entertaining, talking on the phone so that Manfred could learn the mannerisms that would make people believe he was the real count. When Manfred was ready to imitate Siegfreid, the two overpowered the count and imprisoned him in Hans’s apartment and Manfred, the impostor, went about firing the palace staff and hiring completely new servants to eliminate the possibility of anyone recognizing that the count wasn’t the real count.”
There was a knock on the door to the dining room, and in stepped two policemen with a third man in handcuffs.
“Ah, what good timing,” Monette commented. “This is Manfred, everyone. He not only lived in this house in the room where we found the videotapes, but if you look beyond his freshly shaved head, you will notice his resemblance to the late Siegfreid von Schmidt. Manfred, would you please sit down and join us? Not that you have much choice.”
Monette waited until Manfred was helped into a chair by his two guards before she plowed on.
“What happened next is pure conjecture on my part, but here goes. Hans needed someone to frame with a phony will scheme and it needed to be someone in another country who would know little about Siegfreid. I suppose you saw the article in Vanity Fair magazine last year,” she said, turning to Manfred, “the one about how Michael Stark was implicated in the murder of a boyfriend and how he and Robert and I solved the case?”
“Yes,” Manfred admitted. “As I read the article, Robert’s comments proved I couldn’t find a more gullible person if I tried, and none more desperate for love than Mr. Willsop. He was perfect.”
I couldn’t believe Manfred admitted his plot so readily, but when the jig is up, the jig is up.
“Now, Manfred flies to New York, arranges to be in the same restaurant as the desperate-for-love Robert, and woos him silly. They make love several times every day,” Monette said, smiling.
She continued. “He takes Robert everywhere, but still follows his cardinal rule: avoid close contact with anyone who knows the real count. In New York, this is not as much of a problem as it is in Germany. There’s even a bon voyage party for Robert, thrown by the count and attended by many of the count’s friends. Or are they? I was lucky to be given a business card from one of the women at the party and found out she was hired to act like she was a friend of the count. The woman—and everyone else at the party—never laid eyes on the count before that night. You see, she and a lot of others were told the count wanted to assure his new boyfriend he had many friends in America and if they played the part at the party, Robert would feel better about moving to Germany. The thing that tipped me off was that several people at the party kept asking who the count was—as if they had no idea.
“Are you still with me?” Monette asked and got a round of heads nodding in agreement. “Just stay seated, because this story does have an ending. Robert agrees to move to Germany, and as they are going through customs, agent Ralf Reimann sees Siegfreid’s passport and asks th
e count to remove his ever present sunglasses. What does he find? He finds that the count’s eye color is green, not blue as it shows on Siegfreid’s passport. Even Robert mentioned the count’s eyes were green, but didn’t know what color the real count’s eyes were, since he always wore sunglasses. I only discovered they were green myself when someone at Ludwig’s party bumped into the count and knocked off his mask. Plus, Robert had the sheer luck to have visited an optometrist in New York that just hours before Manfred, posing as the count, visited to get a prescription for contact lenses filled.”
Julia, who was probably thinking how much I could sue her for libel, spoke up. “So?”
“It was a fact that few people would have known, but the real Siegfreid von Schmidt had 20/20 vision. He didn’t need contacts. Right, Manfred?” Monette asked. “But you did buy some contacts in New York. Tinted blue I suspect?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t wear them ... they hurt my eyes,” Manfred answered. “I don’t wear them either, but we needed my eyes to look blue. I eventually stopped wearing the contacts, figuring that no one would notice my green eyes behind my sunglasses.”
“Ah,” Monette added in triumph, “but people did ... including R. Reimann. Anyway, it was incredibly bad luck for the count to run into Herr Reimann, because this particular customs agent had another part-time job. He would blackmail people coming through customs by either planting contraband in their luggage, or he would find something that could get the traveler in trouble with the law.
“The impostor count—I’m sorry, Manfred—thinks he has fooled the customs man until Ralf shows up at Siegfreid’s house a day or two later to demand money, which threatens the entire plan that Manfred and Hans have worked so hard to carry off. Manfred arranges to go to Monaco with Robert while Hans stays behind at the palace to receive Herr Reimann, who is murdered and put into a freezer in the second basement in this house. And this is the part where Karl could help us shed a little light on why he was here in the house the same time Ralf was killed—a time when he should have been on vacation.”
Karl looked up in surprise and protested loudly, “I do not come back to house until da count, he return from Monte Carlo!”
“Karl,” Monette explained, “Inspector Taucher has found out you bought a train ticket to return you to Berlin on the day we believe Ralf Reimann was killed. I think you’d better be honest, because you are in hot wasser right now.”
“OK, OK, I come here mit boyfreund! We use da house to haf zex in, if you must know!”
“Karl, I need a truthful response to this question. As you and your boyfriend were having sex in this house, did you notice anyone else here?”
“We do not zee anyvun here, but ven ve come to house, there vas two car outside. Later, vee taut ve hear somevun in house, but then we listen and nutting!”
“Did you look outside into the courtyard later to see if the two cars were there?”
“Yah.”
“And?” Monette requested.
“Dere vas no cars there.”
“Thank you, Karl. You have answered another question that mystified me. Why would Hans keep the body of Ralf in this house? Why not get rid of both him and his car at the same time? The answer is, Hans was planning to, but Karl’s unexpected appearance at the house forced Hans to change his plans. He put the body in the basement freezer and, I expect, drove Ralf’s car away and abandoned it on the streets of Berlin. But let us get back to the story.
“During Robert’s entire time in Europe, Manfred keeps Robert away from other people by having nonstop sex, which the pathetic Robert is all too eager to oblige,” Monette said, looking up into the camera and smiling to me. Another gotcha. “Manfred and Robert return from Monaco and attend Ludwig’s masquerade ball—the perfect place for the impostor to gain more credibility of being the real count, yet not be exposed. It’s also the perfect place to make the switch back to the real count in order to finally kill him. The impostor is seen getting progressively drunker, when in reality he is not drunk at all. The point being when the real count—who has been forced to get drunk—is brought from Hans’s apartment and into the ball by Hans, he will be cooperative and not believed should he ask for help. Manfred has sex in a linen closet with Robert, then excuses himself on the pretext that he is going to vomit ...”
“Not that this would be an unusual reaction to seeing Robert naked,” Michael said.
I made another in a long series of mental notes to get back at Michael in the worst way possible.
Monette snorted a small laugh and continued, “ ... as I said, excuses himself at a prearranged time and disappears out the door, ditching the persona of the count forever. The real Siegfreid is led into the ball by Hans, who has secured an invitation for himself and a guest somehow. Hans leads the count to the bathroom, puts his head in the toilet, stabs him in the back, and leaves. Robert comes down to the bathroom and has the sheer bad luck to enter just moments after the count was killed. When Michael reveals he was made the main beneficiary in the count’s will, the finger of blame is pointed right at Robert.”
Ludwig asked the question that was on even my mind, but not quite in my words. “So if Hans Sattler is man who murdered Siegfreid, why are you here? Should you not go find him?”
“We don’t have to,” Monette replied. “He’s sitting right here,” she said, motioning to Uli Steben with a Carol-Merrill wave of her hand. Uli—I mean Hans—flashed a who, me? look at Monette and burst from his chair as if he were spring-loaded. His explosive attempt at escape surprised even Herr Taucher, who was knocked backward as Hans made for one of the windows. It looked like he might have made his escape if it weren’t for the most unlikely hero in the world: Ludwig. To be honest, it wasn’t Ludwig per se who stopped Siegfreid’s murderer from perhaps making an escape. It was the voluminous caftan Ludwig was wearing. As Hans ran, he tripped on the caftan and went down faster than a round of German beer at Octoberfest. Several policemen heard the scuffle from down the hall and entered the room, subduing Hans with handcuffs and lifting him into a sitting position in one of the chairs so Monette could finish her story.
Monette then looked directly into the camera and told me it was OK for me to come back to the dining room. When I returned, Michael exclaimed he was so happy I didn’t murder the count. Julia was pretty much silent—not even an apology for her earlier assassination of my character. I sat down at the table and asked a question that was on my mind for some time.
“Monette, how did you know that Uli and Hans were the same person?”
“Process of elimination really. That, plus a little deductive reasoning. Remember when you and I went to spy on Uli in New York and found out no one in the art world had heard of him? Then Inspector Taucher can’t turn up anything on him either. So it stands to reason that Uli is a fictional character made up by someone with a big stake in this whole affair. So I think to myself, this murder isn’t about revenge—there’s too much money at stake. Who stands to gain the most from Siegfreid’s death? Two people! Heio and Hans. So Taucher checks the movements of both and what do you know? Only Hans was in New York at the same time the count was—on business, supposedly. Plus, there’s another clue that tipped me off that Uli and Hans were the same person. Actually you noticed it.”
I was baffled. “I don’t understand what it is I saw.”
“You noticed how well-dressed Uli was—almost too well dressed. Me too. Impeccable was the word you used. Well, guess what Hans does for a living?”
“He works for a fashion house in Düsseldorf!” I answered, now understanding all. “Now I have another question. When the police went to Hans’s apartment today to bring him here to the inquiry, how did you get Hans to masquerade as Uli? He hasn’t played that part for some time now.”
“Easy. I knew that Manfred would be there, so I instructed the police to knock on Hans’s door and to ask for Uli Steben. Thankfully, Hans answered the door and was so thrown for a loop that the police had made some connection between him a
nd the character of Uli, he slipped into the role of Herr Steben. He would just have to figure some way out of the part of Uli later. Manfred, seeing what was going on, pretend he was Hans Sattler for the moment. The police then came to the count’s house with Uli. Both knew something was up, so as soon as the police left with Uli (or Hans), Manfred bolted the apartment and headed for the airport—with the police following him the whole way and stopping him before he could get on a plane.
“I guess there’s little more to add. I just want to thank you all for coming and helping us catch these two murderers. Inspector, I think you can take Hans and Manfred away.”
“No, wait,” I shouted as I jumped up from my chair and ran around to confront the man who had deceived me and set me up for the crime of murder.
“Robert, remember that kicking a suspect in the balls is not a good idea,” Monette warned me.
“No worry,” I said to Monette, determined to keep my head held up high. I turned back to Manfred. “Just one question. Did you ever love me?”
Manfred raised his humbled head and looked me straight in the eye. “In the beginning, Robert, you were just part of our plan. But the more time I spent with you, the more I really liked you. I even began to love you.”
The police grabbed Manfred by the arm to escort him away, but I stopped them one more time.
“And what about the sex?” I asked, fully prepared for the answer.
Manfred looked at me one last time. “There was no faking there. It was the most enjoyable of my life.”
I had my answer. I had my confirmation. A smile welled up inside me and overtook my face. I looked at Michael to make sure he’d heard what Manfred said. The look—and the smile—on his face said he did.
The spell seemed to linger in the air as Hans and Manfred were led away.
I shook my head to bring me out of my state. “Monette, I still think I could have handled the situation, but I’m grateful for my bird’s-eye view.”