The Dark Palace

The manager swallowed as if he was in danger of vomiting. But he managed to say, ‘I will see to it.’ With that he rushed out of the bathroom.

Qui

‘We may never know.’

‘It must have been you … what you said to him.’

‘I made clear that it was not a serious matter.’ Qui

‘Paul?’

‘That is what Waechter claims.’

Eloise shook her head slowly.

‘Perhaps these words are a confession? By perpetrating the hoax, Berenger considered himself to have betrayed his art?’ Qui

Her head-shaking denial became more emphatic. ‘I do not believe Paul had anything to do with it.’

‘Then who?’

‘Waechter! Who else? He is the one who betrayed his art! Yes! Do you not see? He denied his responsibility for the act. It is as simple as that. And Paul … betrayed! The worst betrayal. Paul would not say anything against his friend. Would not contradict him. And so, this … Paul, dear Paul … he held Waechter in such esteem, such love … he could not recover from this betrayal.’

‘But why would Waechter try to blame Berenger?’

‘Because he is a coward. Even this trivial thing he does not want to be blamed for – after all the charges he faces in Austria. He does not want any more of the trouble. Not here. And, also, because he knew that Paul never would contradict him. He was relying on Paul’s loyalty. He knew … he knew what Paul would do.’

‘You ca

‘You do not know Konrad Waechter.’

Qui

FORTY-FIVE

Qui

‘Gentlemen.’

‘What’s going on, Inspector?’ It was Hartma

‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Paul Berenger took his own life earlier this evening.’

Qui

Perhaps Waechter had not known that Berenger would go this far. At the same time, Qui

Yes, now that he thought about it, that energy in his face could just as easily be interpreted as exultation.

Hartma

‘He left a note, of sorts. A message written in the condensation on his mirror. It has gone now. But I wrote it down.’ Qui

Hartma

Qui

‘Herr Waechter? Is something amusing you?’ Qui

Waechter’s expression became duly solemn. He glared threateningly at Qui

‘How did he do it?’ wondered Hartma

‘He opened a wrist in the bath and bled out. We were waiting to talk to him about the allegation Herr Waechter made against him.’

‘Allegation? What is this, Waechter?’

Waechter waved a hand dismissively. It was nothing, he suggested. A trifle.

Qui

Both men nodded confirmation.

‘What do you think he meant by it? Herr Waechter?’

Waechter shrugged, as if he couldn’t possibly imagine. ‘Berenger vanted to be a great artist of the stage. He did not view the kinema as true art. It has to do with that perhaps?’ He hardly sounded convinced by his own theory.

Hartma

‘I’m afraid so. I couldn’t prevent her. Perhaps you should both go and see her now. There is nothing to be gained from viewing the body. The living are more in need of your attention than the dead.’

And now Qui

Somehow Qui

He wanted to see Eloise’s reaction to Waechter alone.

She greeted him with a howl. It was a ferocious explosion of inarticulate recrimination.

Qui

He basked in her outburst. He held his head at a provocative angle, inviting her slap. And when it came, he smiled appreciatively.

It occurred to Qui

Perhaps Waechter’s original crime was trivial. A theatrical deception. Arguably a victimless crime, unless one counted those who had been hoodwinked: Qui

Her pain brought to mind thoughts of Miss Dillard again. The feel of her taut convulsions as he had carried her over his shoulder had entered his muscles. It was more than a memory. It was part of him now.

He decided that there were a number of offences under which he could charge Waechter, including perverting the course of justice, conspiracy to effect a public nuisance and effecting a public nuisance. He could probably think of more. Someone had broken into a morgue and stolen a body part. He mustn’t forget that.

He wondered if his own remorse – tears held back in an unacknowledged throb in his throat, a stinging hypersensitivity in his eyes – was influencing his decision to make Waechter pay for what he had done.

In the meantime, Hartma

FORTY-SIX

With the Courts of Justice at one end and the dome of St Paul’s overshadowing the other, Fleet Street seemed to exist as a thoroughfare between two opposing systems of morality. However, critics of the industry that dominated the street might argue that it served rather as a moral bypass, a place where the moral compass simply failed to function. It was perhaps appropriate that the presses were most often rolling at night, when both the church and the judiciary tactfully withdrew from sight.