Alphabet House (29 page)

The damp patches on his knees had been spreading gradually. Sighing plaintively, Bryan leaned back into a squatting position as he tried to take in the landscape below him. The rooftops and green oases in the flat, low-lying countryside merged into one. He hadn’t wept like this for years. In the end he had fallen to his knees.

The carefree laughter of the youths further up the slope, the pungent smell of resin and the neat landscape before him provoked the most intense loneliness he’d ever felt, for there was no trace of the grave inscription that was supposed to memorialise his best friend.

Bryan bit his upper lip and raised his eyes, cursing himself for not having taken Petra’s address. Maybe he had misunderstood her instructions. Maybe she had expressed herself imprecisely or misled him on purpose.

He stood up, letting his shoulders fall. In this lucid landscape with the town’s hectic activity below, he lost his desire to make sense of it all.

This was James’ resting place. He was sure of it.

He bowed his head silently in memory of his friend. Then he carefully smoothed out the petals of the wilting flower and looked around for a suitable place to place it. He would have laid it on top of a gravestone, had there been one.

He stood for a moment at the end of the colonnade and looked beyond the small closed building in the centre of the memorial area. A small path disappeared into the foliage a little way up the slope before him as it wound its way upwards and around the back of the memorial. The brown soil and the naked, worn roots indicated it was still in use.

Here was an area where he had yet to look.

A few steps up the path he heard the unexpected sound. An insignificant click, almost inaudible. It was a sound that had no business being there.

Suspicion seldom meets resistance. Unlike positive feelings, a suspicion can easily present itself unconditionally and without warning, and even without basis. But in this case there was basis enough.

Petra Wagner, Mariann Devers and
Frau
Rehmann: At one time or another they’d all had contact with Kröner – a man who had once sought to take his life and certainly had no wish to be jerked back into the past.

And then there was this sound. This tiny click. Everything could be made to fit with the encouragement of tangible, conclusive suspicion.

So Bryan stopped, squatted down cautiously in the vegetation bordering the path, and waited.

Like a devil that will not be confined to hell, the shape appeared in Bryan’s field of vision, less than five yards away. The figure stood for a moment on the narrow platform leading from the roof of the building and scrutinized the path beside which Bryan was crouching. And then Bryan recognised the man.

He had never imagined he would see this repulsive broad face again. Nothing on this earth could have surprised him more. The cold current of the Rhine should have been his grave for nearly thirty years. Bryan recalled the sight of him disappearing into the waves, wounded and drained of stamina.

His presence was the materialization of a nightmare that had never been dreamt.

Even though the man was more corpulent than ever, the years had treated him kindly. People with weathered skin and colour in their cheeks can look youthful even in old age. This would have also applied to the broad-faced man, if it hadn’t been for his almost empty eye socket and the white knuckles tightening their grip on a lethal weapon.

The likelihood of this colossus walking past Bryan without noticing him was negligible. He carefully withdrew his foot into the shelter of the undergrowth and put his face to the ground, at
the same time placing his hands under his chest, ready to spring up like a jack-in-the-box.

He didn’t see Lankau’s shoe until it was in reach of his arm. Despite Bryan’s precisely aimed blow, he didn’t succeed in knocking the heavy man’s leg out from under him. Almost instantaneously Lankau whirled around violently to confront him, but the impulsive movement made him step back off the flat bit of path and slide awkwardly downwards, still standing upright.

But he fired nevertheless.

The impact of the projectile took Bryan by surprise, as did the noise of the shot. He felt no pain at all, nor could he tell where he’d been hit. The echo of the muffled shot had scarcely subsided before Bryan hurled himself at the tottering figure, now almost doing the splits with one leg up on the path and the other hugging the side of the slope. Then came the second shot. The tree behind Bryan received it hollowly, its bark opening in a yellowish gape. Bryan grabbed instantly for Lankau’s face, kicking him savagely in the chest at the same time.

The cumbersome figure stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Not a sound escaped him, in spite of the pain the kick must have caused. Then he collapsed and fell backwards down the slope, clinging to Bryan. Only the soft undergrowth prevented Bryan from losing consciousness. After the heavy man had tumbled over him several times, the entangled bodies finally came to a halt in the vegetation bordering on the path at the end of the colonnade. Unable to move, they lay side by side in the middle of the thicket, gasping and staring each other in the face. Thin streams of blood trickled down from the scratches in Lankau’s head and flowed into the eyelashes of his sound eye. In falling, he had clutched the pistol so frantically to his face that the notch of the sight on the barrel had ripped his flesh. He kept on blinking, but no matter how much he jerked his head he was almost blinded by his own blood. Now the weapon lay less than ten inches away in the churned-up earth.

Bryan reared back his head and began butting the broad-faced man until his own brain exploded in a series of electric flashes.

Then his pursuer uttered a sound for the first time. Bryan tumbled over the huge body and grabbed for the gun, but his head was suddenly and unexpectedly wrenched backwards by a firm grip on the hair at the back of his neck.

Lankau’s rescue had come from behind. Several youths were standing around, screaming unintelligible abuse, the girls looking on in rapture behind the boys. They’d come in search of excitement and, as usual, the hiding places in the colonnade hadn’t disappointed them.

Two of the young men took hold of Lankau, hauled him to his feet and started brushing him down. With blood trickling down his face he put his hand to his bruised head and began looking around distractedly for his weapon, talking non-stop to the youngsters. They let go of Bryan’s hair. Without a word, Bryan edged clumsily backwards up the slope in a cross-legged position. No one saw the weapon slide under him.

Bryan had no idea what Lankau said to the young people, but he disappeared in a matter of seconds.

The semi-circle around Bryan didn’t seem in any hurry to disperse.

Cautiously Bryan stretched his arm backwards and made contact with the pistol. It was heavier than he’d expected. Just above the grip he found the safety catch. No one heard him push it into place. Then he carefully pushed the barrel down between his waistband and his back and slipped on his jacket. The pain didn’t come until he pulled his hand out of his trousers again. An irrepressible moan made everyone stare at him. One of the girls put her hand to her mouth and gasped as Bryan raised his bloody hand and looked at them.

‘He shot me,’ was all he said, not expecting any of them to understand him.

One of the girls began to yell. An almost white-haired young man appeared from behind the others and carefully pulled Bryan
to his feet. The red patch on his back pocket was still growing, but to a lesser extent than he had feared. The shot had gone clean through his gluteus maximus, the most fleshy part of the buttock. The wounds where the bullet had entered and left the body had almost closed. The loss of blood was relatively slight. Bryan’s left leg felt shaky under him.

Then the semi-circle retreated. The fair-haired youth shouted a few words and the rest of the group dispersed almost instantly, running down the path along which Lankau had disappeared. Then he turned towards Bryan. ‘Can you walk?’ he asked hesitantly. It was a relief to hear him speak English.

‘Yes, I can, thanks.’

‘The others will try and catch him.’ The young man looked down the path where audible shouts revealed what they were doing. Bryan doubted very much they’d find the man they were looking for. ‘I’m sorry. We seem to have made a mistake. Did he attack you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he wanted to take my money.’

‘We’ll call the police.’

‘No! Don’t do that! I don’t think he’ll do anything like that again.’

‘Why don’t you think so? Do you know him?’

‘In a way, yes.’

Although the buttock muscle belongs to a group of muscles large enough to function satisfactorily despite injury, Bryan had to support himself on whatever he could when he took his first steps.

The white-haired youth left him without further comment and rushed off after his companions.

Five minutes later their lively chatter had faded away.

It seemed the path leading to the gondola’s end station was longer than before. Bryan stopped after every ten steps and
glanced down the back of his legs. The dark patches on his trousers were no longer spreading.

By the time the aerial cable appeared behind the treetops he was sure the bleeding had stopped. No need to concern himself with compression bandages or hospital admittance. There were other worries.

The first was staying alive. There was no way of knowing when, or from where, an attack might come. The only thing he knew was that it couldn’t be avoided. It was his life they were after and it was Petra Wagner who had lured him into the trap.

The second worry was: why?

Why had Petra Wagner lied and why was getting rid of him so imperative that they would risk it in broad daylight?

The third source of worry was some broken branches hanging awkwardly under the bushes. The hollow in the thicket to which they pointed was almost invisible. The bushes above it closed nicely together, but the leaves were quivering in the calm air. Taking careful hold of the grip, Bryan drew out the pistol. He glanced around once more before saying anything. He detected no movement, not even over by the gondola station.

‘Come out of there!’ he said softly, kicking the toe of his shoe so hard against the gravelled path that pebbles flew into the foliage. Lankau got up immediately. The leaves had smeared the blood over his face, which was now almost coated with a brown film.

Then he snarled a few words. Bryan recognised the tone of voice all too well. Despite the many years that had elapsed, his nemesis still possessed the same uninhibited meanness, just below the surface.

‘Speak English to me. I presume you can.’

‘Why?’ Aversion burned in Lankau’s broad face as he looked at the pistol. Then, as Bryan released the safety catch, the face contorted and the man instantly jumped to one side. Bryan looked at him again and then at the gun. Lankau’s reaction puzzled him.

‘You can be sure I’ll shoot if you do that once more. From now on you’ll follow along quietly. One wrong move, deliberate or not, and it’ll be your last.’

The broad-faced man stared incredulously at Bryan’s lips. ‘Have you forgotten your mother tongue, you swine?’ His English was that of the skilled businessman – a torrent of words, yet precise. But his accent was unschooled.

The man heeded Bryan’s gesticulation with the pistol. He cut a pathetic figure as he emerged from the bushes, shirt hanging out of trousers with dark stains on the knees and thin, tangled hair pushed to one side. Despite his appearance, Bryan wasn’t taking any chances. He struck his enemy twice in the solar plexus with a doctor’s authority, so accurately that the giant almost passed out. When Lankau rose to his feet again Bryan shepherded him forward from a couple of foot behind.

He stuck the pistol in his pocket as they reached the gondola platform and squeezed himself so close to Lankau that the latter could feel the pressure of the barrel despite his well-padded back.

‘You keep quiet when we get into the gondola, got it?’ Bryan prodded him in the back with the pistol again to emphasize his seriousness. Lankau grumbled something. Then he turned around cautiously and looked Bryan straight in the face. The dead eye was half-open. ‘Be careful with that Kenju, you dog! It has a habit of going off at the wrong moment.’

The man standing beside the gondola booth made no sign to reveal whether he was the ticket taker or not. When he saw Lankau’s bloody face he retreated fearfully towards the wall of the building and stood motionless.

‘I’m sorry, but I must get this man to the hospital. I’m a doctor.’ The man shook his head nervously. He didn’t understand what Bryan had said. Bryan pushed Lankau into the gondola. ‘He’s had a fall, you see.’ Not until the swaying gondola had passed the first stage did the man emerge from the shadows to watch their descent.

‘Your car!’ was Bryan’s next order, when they’d finally reached the bottom. Lankau strode across the street and took out his keys. The BMW had been given a parking ticket. A bit further on stood Bryan’s Volkswagen. It too had acquired a white slip that seemed to fill most of the windscreen. That would be the hippie’s problem.

Lankau was allowed to drive. As they drove slowly out of town Bryan contemplated his arch-enemy in this everyday situation, and it seemed to him that Man’s deeper nature was revealed. Aside from his molested face Lankau appeared to be the normal family man. Strewn around the car was evidence of an ordinary, unworried life in the form of cigarette packs, toffee wrappings and empty soft drink bottles. Here sat an average citizen, a commonplace consumer who enjoyed the good things in life. The golf bag on the back seat spoke for itself. A Wagnerian climax had begun building the moment the ignition was switched on. Here was a murderer, a sadist, a malingerer and a Wagner fan, as well. How could Man be created in God’s image, considering how ambiguous, dishonest and loathsome human beings could be under the surface? And which individual could deny having a Lankau inside him?