Lumen (35 page)

“Why didn’t you immediately suspect him, then?”

Bora shook his head. “Because until I stumbled upon the subject with Hannes, I assumed Colonel Hofer carried no weapon. As I’m sure you noticed, we all go about ostensibly armed. He didn’t. I believed he’d chosen to show a token of ‘respect’ towards an occupied country, or great self-assurance.”

“I see.” Malecki’s eyes ran down to Bora’s holster. “But what about the bullet? You yourself told me the murder bullet belongs to a Polish gun.”

“It’s true. It’s made for the Vis-35 Radom semi-automatic pistol. Like those that were hidden in this convent, which is why I was so furious when I first saw them. Except that those were still packed with grease, and obviously had never been fired.”

“Do you mean to tell me your commander carried an enemy gun?”

“No. I mean to tell you he used enemy cartridges.” Quickly, Bora unlatched his holster, showing to Malecki on the gloved palm the burnished bulk of his Walther. “This is not a fussy pistol like the Luger we had until last year, but it still won’t take just any cartridge.” He extracted the magazine, lined with slender brass-tipped cylinders. “I would not use Radom bullets in it: they’re longer, thicker, clunkier than these.”

“What, then?”

“Colonel Hofer - like Colonel Schenck, like myself - served in Spain as a volunteer a few years past. On the Church’s side, which should be a consolation to you. On the evening you and I dined together in the square, on the way to the restaurant my driver and I were chatting about the Spanish days when he mentioned that Hofer was still using the pistol he’d been issued in Cadiz. I couldn’t believe my ears. Right away, I asked whether he knew what make the gun was, and he said, ‘Astra,’ adding that Hofer carried it in an underarm holster because of its non-standard appearance.”

“And the Astra takes Radom cartridges.”

“Not only. The Astra 400 is an ugly blow-back pistol, but I fired it with all kinds of 9mm cartridges, from Parabellum to Steyr to Browning and Colt. It was through Hannes that I realized how at the very least, Hofer’s gun could have fired the fatal shot.
Astra
, I needn’t remind you, is Latin for ‘stars’ and ‘starlight’, so
Lumen
fits the bill after all.”

“So, Colonel Hofer, whether he planned it or not, made an accident appear like intentional murder by a Polish hand.”

“Exactly. Had the colonel really found the abbess lying in her blood, his first instinct as a soldier would have been to take out his gun, because theoretically the murderer could have still been around. I certainly had my gun in hand when I ran to this very spot. After my chat with Hannes, I had to wonder why Colonel Hofer kept his weapon out of sight on that day.” After replacing the gun in his holster, Bora looked strangely unaggressive to Malecki. “He had no choice, you see. He simply had no choice. No matter how distraught he was, he had to pull himself together enough to run out and fetch me.”

“So, you will prosecute.”

“No.”

“You promised you would, Captain Bora!”

“I
can’t
. When I thought I was being so clever by phoning his wife last week, I put into motion the one thing that would keep me from prosecuting. Even though I was only guessing at that stage, Colonel Hofer assumed I had found him out. Yesterday, when he came home on furlough, his wife informed him of my call, and how I would be calling again. He answered nothing, but walked into his room, locked himself in, and ten minutes later fired a bullet into his mouth. And that’s how clever I am, Father Malecki.”

“God keep us.”

“Yes. There was no abbess to stop him that time.”

Malecki had to hide the distaste he had for hearing a dispassionate description of murder and suicide. Still he said, “Did Hofer leave a note behind?”

“Just a scribble, apparently. Something to do with asking God’s forgiveness for what he had ‘unwittingly done’. The German authorities took it to imply his failure as commander here in Poland, but we know better. I also received confirmation that Radom cartridges were in the colonel’s pistol, and one of them was used in his own death.”

Malecki chose to look up at Bora’s composure. “Well,” he said, “I am the last one to want to admit this, but if things went as you say, your commander did not intentionally and maliciously kill the abbess. Could he not have tried to explain matters to all concerned?”

Bora was tempted to laugh, Malecki could tell. Unamusedly, but laughter was what seemed to well up in him at the idea. “Father Malecki, the German Army doesn’t take kindly to officers who attempt suicide. Even less to those who embarrass the corps by committing an accidental
murder. No. The colonel had no choice, especially if he wanted to live long enough to see his child again. He was racked enough by grief, I’m sure. But by asking me, of all people, to look into the matter, he also made virtually sure I would not suspect him.”

“So, what happens after you conclude your investigation?”

“I know why you ask. There’s no one left to prosecute, which means that a scandal injurious to German interests in Poland can and will be safely avoided. Privately—”

“
Privately
, you will tell the archbishop the truth.”

“With my superiors’ permission, yes.”

“And the archbishop, in turn?”

“He knows what’s good for the Church in Poland. I trust you will advise him accordingly, Father Malecki.”

“And to the sisters? What will you tell them?”

“They’re better off believing I was unable to solve the mystery of the abbess’s death. Perhaps the archbishop will decide to inform Sister Irenka,
privately
.”

Visibly troubled, Malecki trundled off through the snow to re-enter the convent. Bora remained outside. He leaned to look into the well, where - far down-a round of hazy blue showed the ice seal on the water.

He was thinking about what else he had to tell Colonel Schenck that afternoon.

 

When the time came, Schenck had his usual starched look, even though Bora’s report was as unexpected as he could envision. He actually didn’t interrupt, limiting himself now and then to an involuntary wink of his good eye.

“Well, the son of a bitch,” he said. “The snivelling, hysterical son of a bitch managed to make fools of us all. And he’s dead, which is how he really fooled us for good.”

“We still need to secure the gun, and find out from his widow what he might have confided to her about the matter.”

Schenck snatched a stationery sheet from his desk, and uncapped his pen. “How much time do you need?”

“I think three days would suffice, if I take the first train to Germany. Less if I fly out.”

A concise emergency leave was handed to Bora. “Here. And I was beginning to think that you’d abandon the trail! But I see you dig until you find your bone! The Governor General will be stunned. There’ll be all kind of goings-on if it turns out to be true. Wait till I inform that jackass Salle-Weber!”

Bora took a deep breath and let it out.

“I have another report to make, Colonel.”

Unexpectedly Schenck grinned. “Let me guess. You took my advice and made an ethnic German pregnant.”

“Hardly. It concerns my room-mate.”

A moment later, the grin had been wiped off Schenck’s leathery face.

Bora said, “I’m positive about it. It’s from her friend, Kasia, that I learned she had a key to the apartment, which Major Retz provided her: a breach in security, to say the least. Whether her decision to kill him originated in his infatuation for her daughter or not, though I think jealousy was the primary factor, I have no doubt that Ewa Kowalska left the Old Theatre shortly after nine hundred hours on Saturday morning, reached our quarters and let herself in. She had no way of knowing that the major had just phoned Helenka to arrange a date.” Bora relaxed enough to pace across Schenck’s office with hands in his pockets, and Schenck let him. “You and I, Colonel, are aware of how the major was fond of drinking on weekends. I saw him polish off whole bottles of straight cognac or vodka, and down a
few shots before breakfast. On Saturday morning, either he had a drink already poured, or Ewa prepared a drink for both of them, adding what for lack of better identification I must simply call a barbiturate, possibly my own Veronal, which she’d certainly noticed during her previous visits to our place. The major gulped his drinks without even tasting them. He must have done the same that morning, whatever conversation he and Ewa were carrying on. I can only speculate at this stage: recrimination, pleading, who knows? If Ewa did in fact bring Helenka up, it’s possible that Major Retz showed insufficient remorse or even lack of concern about his incest. Being on duty later that day, he began shaving while she was there, but never had time to finish. When the drug had its effect - depending on the amount, it could be a fairly quick matter according to Colonel Nowotny - all Ewa had to do was drag his groggy or unconscious body to the stove. She put his head in the oven, turned on the gas, washed the glasses, the sink and the razor, unthinkingly leaving the blade in it. So that the detail of his partly shaven face wouldn’t be too obvious, she wiped his face clean with one of the towels stored in the bathroom shelf, and took the towel along. Then she returned to the theatre, in time to appear on stage at the end of the rehearsal.”

Schenck made a very small movement which might be interpreted as a complacent nod. “Wouldn’t the porter be aware that someone had come to see Major Retz?”

“Not necessarily. It’s likely that Ewa had been given the key to the front door as well. I have more than once gone by without the porter noticing me.”

“And you built all this construction on the unlikely foundation of a misplaced razor blade?”

Bora stopped pacing. “Not only. Also by reading a Greek play, by being tempted by an older woman and through
the fortunate enlightenment of a blind spot, thanks to the American priest. It was an instance of seeing the light, Colonel.
Lumen
, if you wish, had its part here as well.”

“Well, well.” Schenck had a grin so brief, it was a mere baring of teeth. “What will you do now? Arrest the Kowalska woman on this evidence?”

“I think it has to be done.”

“Surely not for that scoundrel Retz’s sake.”

“For justice’s sake, then.”

“There you go again, with your fixation on upholding the law. Take two men with you.”

Bora hesitated. “I thought I might begin by going at it alone.”

“No.”

 

The street seemed cut in two by the low winter sun, with an azure line limning on the snowy sidewalk the roofs of the houses across from Ewa’s apartment. A blue quilt was airing across the sill of her window.

The army car stopped at the Święty Marka end of it. One armed soldier stationed himself at the corner. The other had already been dropped at the opposite end of the street. Bora alighted last, and was soon past the doorstep of her house.

It didn’t take long, nor was it as awkward as Bora had expected.

Ewa slipped a nightgown in the small suitcase, locked it and removed it from the dresser to stand it by the bedroom door. She closed the window, folded the quilt, lifted it over her head to place it on the wardrobe. She couldn’t quite reach, so Bora did it for her.

“Thank you,” she said. “Do I have time to put some make-up on?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m ready, then.”

Bora looked at her and past her, at the framed photograph of a younger Ewa holding Helenka in her arms.

She followed his stare. “You never liked me, did you?”

“On the contrary, I did.”

“You didn’t act on it.” She seemed truly old today, much older than his mother. “Ah, but I forget you’re a married man.” She bound the blue scarf around her neck. “Though I wager not nearly as happily married as you say.”

Bora took her small suitcase. “Let’s go.”

After they left Święty Krzyża, they found that some of the other streets were blocked. Armoured columns were in transit through the city, so Bora’s car was redirected alongside the Vistula in the direction of the bridge. Like an island the massif of the Wawel, castle- and cathedral-crowned, seemed to pivot to their left as they approached the curve of the river.

Ewa did not look out of the window, but Bora did. Her profile against the hill betrayed no emotion, only some weariness. He felt very lonely.

They had nearly come to the curve when the driver had to slow down to a halt. Under the watch of German engineers, workers were unloading heavy equipment from a barge, and two trucks obstructed the sidewalk. One of the trucks was being weighed down with road-constructing machinery even now.

Ewa was layering rouge on her lips, the small round mirror firm in her hand.

Bora’s driver turned the engine off. “There’s nothing much we can do, sir.”

“I can see that.” Bora waited for some minutes, then walked out of the car to speak to the engineers overseeing the operation.

They told him all towing had to be done before the river froze. “It’s going to be a little while yet, Herr Hauptmann
.
” But they recognized his impatience, and how he’d stay there to make them feel pressured. “We’re moving as fast as we can, Herr Hauptmann.”

Bora didn’t move from where he stood. A brutal wind arose from the riverside and along the shore, making the men tearful and stiff. No matter how he turned his back to the wind, Bora had to give up trying to light a cigarette in the open.

Crates packed in tarpaulin were followed on the trucks by the road-constructing machinery. Jointed steel bodies like gigantic insects, powerful belted gears, grooved chains.

Bora was considering the alternative of driving through the deep icy snow off the side of the road, when not so much a commotion of voices behind him as the reaction of the engineers made him wheel around.

Ewa had broken out of the car and was running away from it, headed for the rise of the land that rimmed the south end of the Old City and the Wawel. Both escort soldiers were also in the open. They’d lifted their rifles and were yelling at her to stop, aiming at her already.