In Matto's Realm: A Sergeant Studer Mystery (19 page)

Serve him right! ... A wallet ... a 1,000-franc note
... two 100s ... a passport:

But what was the point of reading on? It was clear,
crystal clear. Though what was not in the least clear was
how the late Director's wallet came to be hidden
behind the books of Dr Ernst Laduner, of all people.

Since there was no answer to the question, Sergeant
Studer decided to give himself time. He stowed the
wallet in his pocket, went to the telephone and got
Dreyer, the porter, to put him through to the chief of
police. The Deputy Director's number was red and
therefore had an outside line.

No problem! was the reply. Studer should stay in
Randlingen for as long as he thought it necessary. He
was no use in the office anyway ... Yes, he'd heard
Director Borstli was dead ... It was Studer who had
found him, was it? A blind hen sometimes found a
grain of corn ... The description of Pieterlen? Yes,
he'd received it. It had already been phoned through,
it would be going out over the radio at midday ... Bye.

That morning his decision to give himself time was
subjected to two tests. The third test did not come until
the afternoon.

Once the vacuum cleaner had fallen silent, Fran
Laduner came to fetch the sergeant. He could go to
his room and have a lie down, she said, no one would
disturb him.

When Studer went to get the sandbag out of his
suitcase to examine it again - he'd decided to spend
part of the morning at the microscope - he discovered
it was missing. It hadn't got mixed up with his
underwear, it was simply gone, vanished.

These things happened. Making the best of a bad
job, Studer carefully placed all the items in his case on
the table. On the bottom of the suitcase he found
some grit, which could only have come from the cosh,
collected it in an envelope and labelled it.

Then he went to the window and looked out into the
courtyard.

The rowan tree with its yellow leaves ... otherwise
the courtyard was empty.

And then came the second test.

At the far end of the courtyard he saw two men in
white aprons carrying a stretcher with a coffin on it.
He waited as they approached and went into Dl.
After a while they came out with a second coffin.
Keeping in step, though swaying a little, they headed
towards a building at the other end of the courtyard, close to the tall chimney, half concealed by the
kitchen.

One dead two nights ago, two last night - Bohnenblust was right. But wasn't that a matter for the
conscience of the doctor alone? After all, not every
operation was successful, so why shouldn't it sometimes be a matter of life and death in mental illness as
well? Dr Laduner was right, what business was it of a
layman?

The best thing would be to lie down and think it
over ... Should he perhaps go and see how Gilgen
was? Give him some reassurance? ...

Studer shot up ...

The girl was doing the dining room.

"Hey, lassie," Studer called out quietly to her, "did
you take Nurse Gilgen straight into the study this
morning?"

"No. He said he'd left something in your room
yesterday, Sergeant, so I took him there. Is something
missing?"

"No, no, that's fine."

Studer lay back down on his bed and wondered what
to do next. Grill the red-haired nurse? Not a pleasant
task! Still, Gilgen had been in the study - and the Director's wallet had been hidden behind the books in
the study. And Gilgen had been in the sergeant's room
- from which the sandbag had disappeared ... and it
was pure chance that the first envelope, the one with
the sand from Borstli's hair, had been left untouched.

Gilgen, who went out for walks with Pieterlen every
Sunday ... What had the two of them talked about on
their walks? ... But Gilgen had problems, Gilgen had a
wife with TB in Heiligenschwendi ...

Funny how un-keen on your work the atmosphere of
a psychiatric clinic made you ...

Perhaps he should do some work with the microscope after all ... Later. Perhaps he should go and visit
the late Director's friend, Fehlbaum he was called, the
butcher and landlord of the Bear, who had eased
the old man's loneliness with a carafe of wine every
evening ... Later, later.

The junior doctor, Neuville, was rather surprised
when, at around eleven o'clock, Sergeant Studer
appeared at the door of the room that served as a
pharmacy and politely enquired if he might use a
microscope.

"But of course you may, naturellement. Please ...
Entrez."

And when the doctor with the black hair and
weasel's face realized that Sergeant Studer could speak
French as well as any of his colleagues from Geneva, he
was delighted with his new acquaintance. He cleaned
the eyepiece with a soft leather cloth, got some slides
ready and watched in astonishment as Studer took two
envelopes out of his pocket and prepared a specimen.
The sergeant seemed pleased with the result. He whistled four bars of the folk song about the farmer from
Brienz, went through the elaborate process of lighting
a Brissago and asked Neuville whether he fancied a
stroll down to the village. An aperitif wouldn't go
amiss.

Dr Neuville was delighted and talked all the way
there. His steady flow of words sounded just like the
incessant sameness of the Pisse-vache waterfall, though
that famous waterfall was in the Valais, while Dr
Neuville definitely came from Geneva.

What Neuville had to say wasn't of particular interest
for his investigation. He told Studer about having - as
the youngest of the junior doctors - to do the rounds of the wards with the Director one Sunday. All the way
from the central block to Dl and across the courtyard
... But no, it could really only be put in Neuville's
French: "It a, comment vows dire, it a ... oui ... it a ... eh
bien, it a pete tout le temps ... Figurez-vous (a?"

Well, it did add an amusing, if rather pungent touch
to the picture of the old man, but that was all.

That was all? Not quite. He also recounted a few bits
of scandal. The youngest junior doctor seemed to be
well informed about all the romantic and not-soromantic entanglements in the clinic. With whom this
male nurse was "going" (and when he said "going",
well ... ), that such a female nurse was facile, while with
another there was rien a faire ...

According to Neuville, Irma Wasem had originally
been one of the faciles, but since her acquaintance with
the Director she had moved over to the second category ... Which was understandable. One thing was
clear from Neuville's chatter: underneath the surface
all sorts of things were going on that were better left
out of official speeches, those speeches, given on
ceremonial occasions, which would certainly only concentrate on "the selfless devotion to duty of our nursing staff in the service of suffering humanity. . ." That
kind of speech wasn't difficult to make up. On similar
occasions the police were told they were "the guardians of law and order who protect the state and society
from the encroachments of lawlessness and anarchy
... An hour later the speaker was back to cursing the
bloody cops. It was the way of the world. Anyway,
didn't all sorts of things go on in police circles that the
public would never imagine in their wildest dreams? It
was better if the public didn't imagine anything; it was
pointless and counterproductive ...

Idle thoughts, Studer told himself. That was what you got when a distinguished psychiatrist told you,
gently and with much beating about the bush, that you
had only joined the police in order to work off - to
"abreact" -your criminal urges. If he insisted. But then
why had Dr Laduner become a psychiatrist? To
serve suffering humanity or to abreact his own urges?
Eh?

It was a relief when they finally arrived at the Bear,
with its butcher landlord, and could drink a vermouth,
comfortably installed at a well-scrubbed table in the
bar panelled in light wood.

Fehlbaum wasn't actually as fat as, by rights, a man
who was both a butcher and a landlord ought to have
been. It turned out that he really was a pillar of the
Agrarian Party, and had put a spoke in the wheel of the
Young Agrarians - "those troublemakers" - at the most
recent local elections.

Nor did he have a good word to say about Dr
Laduner, because he used to be a member of the Party.
The way he pronounced the word "Party"! Perhaps he
still was, the landlord went on. But whether he was or
not, he had tried to organize the nurses in the clinic -
against the will of the Director. Not that he had succeeded, mind. Most had joined the Association of
State Employees, which, as they would be aware,
united - yes, united - priests and teachers, that is to say
reliable elements of society, whereas Jutzeler, who like
Laduner was a member of the Party, had tried to get
the employees organized - or-gan-ized! - in a union.
But most of the nurses were religious people and had
rejected the idea. Class warfare! In a state institution!
Why not a nurses' soviet? Eh?

Oh yes, Herr Fehlbaum could speak all right. His
voice filled the bar, but it was pleasant to listen to,
reassuring, soporific. Studer was sure the butcher/ landlord's speeches would be a great success in the
local council.

Just recently, that is two days ago, Fehlbaum continued, the Director had complained that Jutzeler had
tried to get the warders to go on strike. It was a murky
business. One of the warders had stolen various items
and the Director had been going to sack him, but Dr
Laduner took a different view ... There must have
been more to it than met the eye! The death of the
Director had been very convenient for some people.
Dr Laduner would have got his knuckles rapped over
that business with the strike, oh yes! It wasn't for nothing that Herr Fehlbaum's friend, the late Director, had
made his brother-in-law the hospital mechanic. He
had pushed through the affiliation to the Association
of State Employees. Yes, despite Jutzeler. Now Herr
Fehlbaum leant forward and whispered conspiratorially that he had heard the police were already in the
clinic to start their investigation. Did Dr Neuville have
any news about that?

But Dr Neuville just yawned. He wasn't interested in
politics. In fact, he didn't seem to be interested in
much, apart from a bit of gossip. Presumably that was
why he had omitted to introduce the sergeant. Now,
though, he had to laugh when Studer said who he was.
The landlord immediately drew back and abandoned
his familiar tone. When, however, he was further
informed that the officer in charge of the investigation
- the death of the Director, by the way, was a genuine
accident, Studer added - was staying with Dr Laduner,
that pillar of the Agrarian Party withdrew in pique
behind his beer pumps.

Then Studer and Dr Neuville set off back so as not to
miss lunch. The vermouth had been worthwhile,
Studer concluded to himself.

There were more people round the table than at
breakfast. Kasperli was sitting next to Fran Laduner
and telling some long story from school that sounded
rather tangled but must have been very amusing since
he waved his soup spoon in the air and laughed out
loud. It's all right for you, Studer thought, and set
about his food.

Opposite him was the maid, the girl who had been
making the noise with the vacuum cleaner in the
morning. Yes, she had her meal at the table, eating
with the family, not in the kitchen, the sergeant noted
with surprise. And there was something else that struck
him. Two or three times during the meal Dr Laduner
spoke to the girl. "Anna" he called her, and the way he
spoke the word was no different from the way he said
"Studer", for example, or "Blumenstein", or "my dear
girl". To stress that people are equal by the way you
said their names, there was something rather fine
about that, Studer thought.

But lunch did not pass without disturbance. While
they were all occupied with their dessert, there was a
ring at the door. Anna got up and came back to say that
Colonel Caplaun wished to see Dr Laduner urgently.

Studer went pale, the plum tart suddenly lost its
flavour. Dr Laduner's reaction, however, was to fling
his napkin down on the table, growl something illtempered and storm out into the neighbouring room.

After Kasperli had left the room, and the maid had
gone too, Studer enquired in a husky voice what the
purpose of the visit was. "You must excuse me if I
appear inquisitive, Fran Doktor," he said, "but I feel
involved. . ."

As he spoke, the thought that kept going through
his mind was, the enemy's in the apartment! For all
that, he scarcely knew Colonel Caplaun. In the busi ness about the bank all those years ago everything had
been done behind closed doors, Colonel Caplaun had
never shown himself.

"No need for excuses," said Frau Laduner. "It's an
awkward matter my husband's let himself be landed
with. He's much too kind. He wants to help wherever
he can." She was silent for a moment. "You've seen the
son, Herbert Caplaun?"