Part 16 (1/2)

I told him what I had seen at the farm, described the ravaged state of the corpse, mentioned the pigs. I was unable to tell him how the victim had died, of course, but I was relieved to tell him that I had seen no evident signs of mutilation.

'No missing pieces?'

'No, monsieur.'

'Was she carry ing amber?' he snorted. 'Amber the killer may have missed . . .'

'I cannot tell you,' I admitted. 'So long as the body remains half buried beneath a sea of sewage, it's impossible to say. I'll go back at daybreak, and make a more thorough examination of the corpse and the sty.'

He continued sketching while I spoke, making minor adjustments to the outlines on the paper. Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes sparkling brightly.

'Sewage, Stiffeniis?'

'The sludge left by pigs,' I said. 'The place has not been cleaned . . .'

'Of what consistency?' he snapped, as if it were the only detail in my report that truly interested him. 'Was this pig-s.h.i.+t runny, semi-solid, solid?'

'A sort of dense liquid mud,' I replied uncertainly.

He raised his forefinger, as if the question appealed to him. 'How deep exactly?'

I made a rapid calculation. Indeed, I took advantage of the expertise I had recently acquired in Lotingen. 'Twenty centimetres of liquid slime, more solid stuff packed hard beneath it.'

'So very deep?' he asked.

'That sty could be a hundred years old. I do not understand your interest . . .'

'It was a grave mistake to let you go alone,' he interrupted, eyes half-closed, his brow creased with deep furrows.

Was he put out because he had made an error of judgement? Or was the necessity of admitting it to a Prussian what humiliated him more? I knew that I would long savour the memory, though I did not understand the nature of the omission. Not then, at any rate.

'A couple of fellows would have been enough,' he murmured.

I thought I knew what he had in mind. 'The people at the farm will help me dig out the body in the morning. I'll question them again more carefully. I hurried straight back here tonight to tell you what I had found.'

It was a lie, but it seemed to please him.

'Did you bring the horse with you?'

'Both of them,' I said.

He smiled for the first time. 'Good. Without horses they can't go far. If anyone attempts to reach Nordcopp on foot, he'll be arrested. I have informed the garrison there. They'll keep a close watch tonight. If any man does try to escape, it will be an admission of guilt.'

'There's no good reason to suspect the people in Nordbarn,' I opposed.

'Is there not?' he challenged. 'We have a body. We have the man who found it. What more do you need?'

Was it all as simple as he suggested?

'I need more time, and better evidence,' I insisted. 'If a Prussian is accused, you know what the consequences might be. Better to have a definite proof before arraigning any man.'

'Which you have not got!'

'Which I have not yet got,' I corrected him.

He groaned with annoyance.

'Very well, sir, you are the magistrate,' he conceded. 'I expect your report tomorrow evening when your enquiries are fully concluded. They will be concluded to my satisfaction, I dare to hope. What was the boy's name again?'

It was an order. He wanted me to arrest Adam Ansbach for the murder of Ilse Bruen.

'Twenty centimetres of liquid slime,' he murmured, his head bent closely over his papers once again. 'You'll need proper footwear for such conditions. That perfume you are wearing cannot hide the stink of your shoes.'

As I began to thank him for his unexpected concern, he cut me off.

'Good night, Herr Stiffeniis.'

Shortly afterwards, I fell down on my cot and tried to sleep.

It was the second time that I had gone to bed fully clothed. The night air clung to my flesh like a cold sweat, and I was seized by a fit of s.h.i.+vering. I folded myself like an unborn child, knees pushed into my stomach, hands beneath my armpits, head bent into my chest. Dorika, the peasant girl who nursed me, alarmed my mother once, telling her how frightened I had been by a nightmare, describing my reaction to it: I curled up like a foetus, eyes closed, hardly breathing, refusing all attempts to comfort me. If I could not see, and did not breathe, I reasoned, then I did not exist. Thus, danger could not harm me.

Would such childish thinking work for me that night?

I hoped that pitch blackness would swallow me whole. I prayed that the things I had seen in the pigsty would not come back to haunt my dreams. I would need a clear head next morning. Les Halles was convinced that I would have no other choice but to arrest Adam Ansbach, take him to Nordcopp, and lock him in the town gaol.

Sleep was slow in coming.

No sooner did my head touch the pillow than the cold tail of my hair insinuated itself like a slithering snake inside my collar. With a grunt, I turned on my side, shook it free. But my hair had a life of its own. The ribbon came loose, and hair fell free across my cheek. I twisted back again, and like a nest of serpents, long hair wriggled between my cheek and the pillow.

I sat up, tied my hair tight, then tried to sleep once more.

It was out of the question. My mind lurched from one possibility to the next. I had prevented les Halles from taking the matter into his own hands for the moment, but how long could I hold him off? Would Adam Ansbach be able to prove his innocence? And if he could not, would General Malaport bend beneath the onslaught of les Halles? For one instant, I was tempted to hope that the colonel was right. If the solution to the killings lay in Nordbarn, and if the murderer were Adam, I would be going home, and sooner than I had thought. Malaport would have to honour his promise. Claudet would be obliged to do what his general told him. The streets of Lotingen would be clean. And I would be at Helena's side when the child was born.

Adam Ansbach's face flashed before my eyes.

He was crying as his mother helped him close the pigsty.

Her words burned in my brain like vitriol.

She hated amber, she hated the women who handled it. Her influence over her son could not be doubted. But how persuasive was she? The boy was young and strong. The mutilated girls who worked for Pastoris might convince him that amber was a curse, that his mother was correct. But what about the ones who pa.s.sed through Nordbarn from the coast, carry ing stolen amber to Nordcopp? They were young, too. Whole and strong. Just as Magda Ansbach had described her son. Would a mother's threats and menaces quash the natural instincts of a young man? Or might he find-or have found, indeed-the sensual attractions of the girls a more convincing argument?

I turned on my other flank.

Was that why Kati Rodendahl's corpse was naked? Did the undiscovered piece of amber suggest what had really happened? Had Adam tried to rape her, and failed? Was that why he had killed her? And had he tried again tonight?

Then again, I countered, would Adam rush to make false declarations about a body in his own pigsty if he had actually put it there? If he and his mother had said nothing, who else would ever have discovered the corpse? They could have left it there for the pigs to feast on. To fatten the bacon that the French would feed on afterwards.

I turned to face the wall.

I knew how les Halles would answer me.