Doctor Criminale

So, I thought, leaning on the rail and looking out over the great black lake, they’d all gone: Ildiko Hazy, the beautiful Miss Belli, and the confusing, the enigmatic Bazlo Criminale. For a moment I wondered if they could all have gone together, but that made no sense, no sense at all. What I knew was that my trail had died. I might have forty thousand pounds sitting in my wallet, but I had come to the end of the quest for Bazlo Criminale. I’d asked the wrong questions. I’d found an obscure solution, and it was really no solution at all. The life, the loves, the friends, the enemies, the plot, the design – none of them had shape or sense. I was stuck, blanked out, gapped, aporia-ed, no idea what to do next. There was one thing I could do: go to Cosima Bruckner. Perhaps she would explain everything. On the other hand, she’d also doubtless relieve me of my wallet at the same time. Then I remembered the person who, in trouble, I was always supposed to turn to, the one who’d brought me here in the first place. I went back to the lobby of the Hotel Beau Rivage Palace, found a telephone, and called the Delphic oracle in Vie

This time Lavinia was there in her room. I could hear an operatic tape playing in the background, glasses tinkling somewhere, the sound of German chatter. I began talking; she cut me off. ‘Look, I’m afraid there’s bad news, Francis,’ she said, ‘I tried calling you at Barolo but they deny you even exist.’ ‘Of course they do,’ I said, ‘Barolo was weeks ago, I’m here in Lausa

‘Eldorado TV, that’s who,’ said Lavinia, ‘They’re cancelling all their arts programming. Apparently they’ve had it up to here with Thinking in the Age of Glasnost.’ ‘They can’t have, Lavinia,’ I said, ‘This Criminale story is fantastic. It’s got secret police chiefs, obscure Swiss bank accounts, it’s got everything.’ ‘Nice try, Francis,’ said Lavinia, ‘Sorry, though, it’s just no good. Philosophy’s too far upmarket. The Eldorado franchise is up for renewal, so they’ve decided to explore the wonders of cheap television.’ ‘What wonders of cheap television?’ I asked. ‘Well, the first wonder would be if anyone was fool enough to watch it at all,’ said Lavinia, ‘Sorry, darling, but things are changing.’ ‘An era has ended,’ I said. ‘Exactly,’ said Lavinia, ‘So your work is done. Just get to the nearest airport and buy a ticket back to London. Don’t ask for any more of the recce budget, by the way, there isn’t one. Apparently quite a lot of the production costs have disappeared down the plughole in Vie

‘You mean I’m finished again, I don’t have a job?’ I asked. ‘Well, not if I wrote your contract properly, you don’t,’ said Lavinia. ‘I bet you did, Lavinia,’ I said. ‘Believe me, I’m as sorry as you are, darling,’ she said, ‘I haven’t seen so much good opera for yonks.’ ‘Thank you very much, Lavinia,’ I said, putting down the phone. The frock-coated receptionist, watching me, bowed. Yes, it was the end. Lavinia, I knew, had written my contract properly; after all, people signed anything for Lavinia. And there I stood, no job, no income, no future, no prospects, nothing to investigate, nothing truly found out. All I had was a massive credit-card debt at home and a wallet in Lausa

I went back into the brasserie bar, among the beautiful people, sat down and ordered another beer. I felt . . . well, I felt strangely pure, as if I had suddenly grown up, emerged from something, passed from deep smart youthful wisdom into a perfect adult i

As for what I did next . . . well, if you had tried to trace me the next morning (supposing, say, you were writing my life story, a few years from now – but why should you, I am no great philosophical elephant, only an investigative flea?), then you would have found me in the manager’s office at . . . well, let’s, for purposes of fiscal secrecy, just call it the Crédit Mauvais of Lausa

‘I thought in Swiss banks it was no questions asked,’ I said. ‘We are discreet, of course, but this is no longer quite true exactly,’ said Herr Stubli, ‘I am afraid in these difficult days when banking is so political a little more is asked even of a Swiss bank. We like to be quite careful. After all we may soon join the Europe Community. This money you mention, it is all cash?’ ‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘And it came by you how?’ asked Herr Stubli. ‘Well, it was just a windfall,’ I said. ‘Bitte?’ asked Stubli, ‘Eine Windfalle?’ ‘A windfall is when apples fall off trees,’ I said. ‘Ah, ja, ja,’ said Herr Stubli, ‘It was an agricultural transaction. Kein problem! But I do need your identity, please. We must have a name, a signature.’ ‘Yes, of course,’ I said, ‘It’s Francis . . . It’s Franz Kay.’

Herr Stubli stared at me over his spectacles. ‘Ja, I understand,’ he said finally. ‘Very well, I will put you down as Mr K. Willkommen to our excellent services. If you can make me one little signature here, and here, also here.’ ‘There’ll be no enquiries?’ I asked. ‘No, this is Schweiz, we are always very honest here,’ said Herr Stubli, ‘Your affairs could not be put into a safer place. Now, the guard will take you below, and you can deposit all these Windfalle you like to. And if there is anything else, if you like perhaps to start a small private company, we have some very useful arrangements of this kind.’ ‘Not just yet, I’m only just starting,’ I said, ‘Thank you very much, Herr Stubli.’ ‘And thank you also very much, Mr K.,’ said Herr Stubli, shaking my hand, ‘You will please to know you join many excellent and famous customers.’

Just a little later on that December morning, K. left the bank and walked into the Lausa