Fatal Lies Frank Tallis (best fiction books to read txt) 📖

invective with apoplectic rage.

As Rheinhardt listened to this tirade, he experienced it not intellectually, or even emotionally, but physically. It was like being bludgeoned with a heavy club. The irony of his situation did not escape him. He was being bullied. Bizarrely he too had become one of Wolf's victims.

When the commissioner was spent, he leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily. His face had turned red, and some foamy spittle had collected in his muttonchop whiskers.

“Please accept my apology, sir,” said Rheinhardt.

The commissioner grunted and granted the disgraced inspector permission to leave.

When he reached the door, Brügel called out:

“Rheinhardt.”

“Sir?”

The commissoner was suddenly changed. He looked smaller: older, wearier, and perplexed. It was an extraordinary transformation.

“He's my youngest sister's boy,” said Brügel. “Her only child. He's no angel, but he would not… No, you are quite wrong. And consider yourself lucky. This will go no further. I'll see to that.”

Had Liebermann been present, he would have had much to say about the commissioner's sudden transformation, and his curious, incoherent adieu. But Rheinhardt was in no fit state to consider such things. Eager to leave, he bowed, clicked his heels, and left the commissioner's office like a man escaping a fire.

41

ISIDOR PERGER WAS SITTING on a stool, flanked by Steininger and Freitag. In front of him stood Wolf. The blond boy drew his sabre and held it up close to Perger s face.

“Well,” he said. “What do you see?”

Perger shrugged. “Nothing.… Your sabre, Wolf.”

“Are you blind, Perger?” asked Steininger.

“No,”

“Then why can't you see it?”

“See w-what? I can't see anything.”

“I'll hold it closer,” said Wolf, thrusting the blade forward. Perger flinched. “Does that help?” Wolf added.

“I… I can only see the b-blade… the b-blade of your sabre.”

“Now,” said Wolf, “for the last time: I want you to take a long, hard look—and tell me what you see.”

Wolf tilted his sabre so that it caught the yellow flame of the paraffin lamp. A scintilla of light traveled around its sharp, curved edge.

Perger squinted. “Yes, there's… s-s-something on the blade. A speck of something.”

“Good,” said Wolf. “And what do you think that might be?”

“R-rust?”

Wolf sheathed his sabre and began to clap. He brought his hands together with slow, exaggerated movements.

“Very good, Perger,” interjected Freitag, unable to conceal his mirth.

“Yes, very good indeed,” Steininger repeated.

“What a pity, then,” continued Wolf, “that this should have eluded your attention.”

Steininger and Freitag shook their heads and tutted.

“You should have put more into it,” said Steininger.

“More elbow grease,” said Freitag, frowning and miming the oscillating action of polishing a sword. Then, unable to resist a cheap joke, he allowed his arm to drop, re-creating the movement in front of his crotch.

Steininger began to guffaw, but Wolf silenced him with his glazed, humorless stare.

“I'm afraid, Perger,” said Wolf, “that you must be punished. However, I am not sure yet what form this punishment should take. Now, even as I speak, I notice that my boots could do with a good clean. Would you be willing to clean my boots, Perger?”

“Yes, Wolf.”

“Would you be happy to lick them clean?”

“Yes, Wolf.”

“Including the soles? Although I feel obliged to tell you that I went to the stables today and stupidly trod in some manure.”

“Y-yes, Wolf.”

“My boots could do with a clean, too,” said Freitag.

“And mine,” said Steininger.

“Well,” continued Wolf. “How about that, Perger? Would you be willing to lick Freitag's and Steininger s boots too?”

“Yes, Wolf.”

“And you see,” said Wolf, assuming a fatigued expression, “in agreeing so readily, you demonstrate the inadequacy of the punishment. It simply isn't enough. A fellow like you needs more! Something that will leave a lasting impression, something that will remind you to perform your duties more diligently in the future… something that has a reasonable chance of countering your extraordinary laziness!”

Wolf produced a revolver from his pocket. He released the cylindrical block and showed Perger that one of the six chambers contained a cartridge. Then, swinging the cylinder back into alignment, he spun it until it halted with a click. He cocked the hammer with his thumb.

“Here,” said Wolf, offering the gun to Perger. “Take it.”

The boy took the weapon in his shaking hands.

“Put the barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. The odds are very much in your favor.”

“No, Wolf.… I c-c-can't.”

“Ah, but you c-can, and you w-will!” said Wolf.

Perger's eyes brimmed, and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“Don't be pathetic, Perger!” Wolf shouted. “Put the barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger. Now!”

Perger raised the gun, but its ascent was slow—as if it had become too heavy to lift. Indeed, Perger's entire body seemed to have become weak and floppy. He began to sway, and his eyelids flickered. Freitag and Steininger gripped his tunic and held him upright.

“Don't swoon like a woman, you—you… you Galician whore's son!” He grabbed Perger's wrist and pulled it up, shoving the gun barrel between the boy's lips. Then, covering Perger's hand with his own, he applied a minute amount of pressure to the distraught boy's trigger finger.

“Here, let me help. Come on, Perger, be brave. I'm not going to do it for you.”

Perger emitted a strange keening.

Suddenly there was a creaking sound, followed by the thud of feet landing on the floorboards and the uihump of the trapdoor closing. A few moments later Drexler appeared.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“Perger s playing Russian roulette,” Wolf replied.

“Yes,” said Steininger. “He's unhappy at Saint Florian's—and has decided to end it all. He's not the first.”

“And he won't be the last,” said Freitag.

“A tragic waste,” said Steininger.

Drexler walked over to Perger and eased the revolver out of his mouth. Perger's hand slowly descended to his lap. He rested the gun on his thigh and bowed his head.

“What on earth do you think you're doing, Drexler!” Wolf shouted.

The other boy didn't reply. He simply shook his head and bit his lower lip.

“Look, Drexler,” Wolf continued, “I don't know what's got into you lately, but my patience is running out. You're always spoiling things. And if you carry