HS01 - Critique of Criminal Reason (14 page)

‘If I may make a suggestion,’ Koch spoke out, ‘a public whipping in the square outside the Fortress would not go amiss, sir. I could request permission from General Katowice, if you wish. Procurator Rhunken was a great believer in the efficacy of the rod. Two years ago, a man was whipped for murdering his father. He was, of course, beheaded some months later. But the example made a lasting impression on the populace.’

Should I follow the lead of Rhunken? Corporal punishment and physical mutilation were still admitted within the
Constitutio Criminalis Carolina
, though it had been formulated in the sixteenth century by Charles V.

‘Times are changing, Koch,’ I replied. ‘King Frederick Wilhelm is an enlightened monarch. He believes, quite rightly, that public cruelty may arouse the sympathy of the watching crowd, and thus frustrate the intended purpose of the punishment. If Totz and his wife are members of an active group of Jacobins, a public whipping may inflame the spirits of the other members. In attempting to douse the flames, we may succeed in fanning them. I will speak to the suspects first, and warn them of the danger. We have time aplenty.’

I collected my papers together, and began to put them away in my bag.

‘In any case,’ I said, looking at my watch, ‘we have an appointment to keep. Professor Kant and the mysterious Devil’s claw await us.’

‘Is there any point, sir?’ Koch returned. ‘I mean to say, you seem to be well on the way to concluding the case without his help.’

He was right, of course. I ought to have pressed on, there and then, with my interrogation of the Totzes. ‘Beat the iron while it’s red and hot, the people say in Lotingen. But Professor Kant would never forgive me if I let him down.

‘Since the case is so clear-cut,’ I said with a smile, ‘we can afford to indulge an old man’s whims for an hour.’

As we left the room and hurried down the stairs together, I began to compose in my head the letter which would announce my success to Helena, and the prospect of my early homecoming.

I could not have imagined in that moment of heady euphoria the difficulty I would experience before the day was out in holding a pen, or in trying to form the letters with my shaking hand.

A smart black coach was waiting for me outside the Fortress gate.

I could not avoid smiling as I made my approach. Professor Kant was busily consulting his pocket-watch behind the closed windows. His insistence on punctuality was maniacal, and all the world knew it. But as I raised my fist to tap on the glass and announce my arrival, a hand touched me fleetingly on the elbow, and a voice whispered, ‘May I speak with you, sir?’

The servant who had been solicitous of Kant’s safety that morning on the river bank was peeping from the rear corner of the coach. His large, strong face, which had appeared so expressionless then, now seemed tense and drawn.

‘Johannes Odum, isn’t it?’

With a pointed glance he indicated that I should join him behind the coach.

‘Your master will not condone time-wasting,’ I warned him.

‘A word, sir, no more,’ he insisted. He gestured towards the vehicle and its passenger with his thumb. ‘Recent events have been a trial for him, sir. What we saw this morning down by the river is good for no man, sir, least of all a gentleman of his age and delicate nervous disposition.’

‘You were there, you saw him yourself,’ I whispered. ‘Professor Kant may be frail, but he seems to be holding up.’

Perhaps I ought to have warned the servant that the danger was past, and that the case was closed, but I had no intention of wasting such momentous news on Kant’s valet before I had told it to the man himself.

‘He’s been working night and day at this investigation, sir,’ the servant replied. ‘All night sometimes…’

‘All night?’ I interrupted. ‘Doing what?’

‘Writing, I believe, sir.’

I thought of the treatise that Herr Jachmann had mentioned, his incredulity regarding its existence. ‘Do you know
what
he is writing?’

Johannes Odum shrugged his broad shoulders dismissively.

‘He’s in danger, sir,’ he insisted. ‘Real danger. He was seen with you this morning by the river. Now, you’ll be seen travelling in his coach. And before we left the house this morning, I found something that you should see…’

‘Johannes!’ The fretful shout made both of us start. ‘Where is Procurator Stiffeniis?’

I signalled to the servant to run around the other side of the vehicle, while I stepped out and attracted Professor Kant’s attention.

‘Here I am, sir,’ I said brightly. ‘I left some papers behind in the office, and had to go back for them. Do you mind if Sergeant Koch joins us?’

I nodded to Koch to stand forward.

‘Of course not,’ Kant replied with impatience. ‘We must hurry. The way is long, and it is extremely cold.’

‘Off to Siberia, are we, sir?’ I joked. I knew I could not fail to hit the mark. Kant’s hunger for information and gossip was as renowned as his clock-watching. The news of the ship that was about to moor in Pillau port could not have escaped him. It had featured prominently in all the recent Prussian papers.

‘Not so far,’ he replied with a smile, ‘but just as cold.’

I laughed heartily. I was in an excellent humour. The case was over, except for the red tape. Even if they managed to escape the hangman, Ulrich and Gerta Totz would be deported to the frozen wastes. I had no idea where Professor Kant was taking us, nor what he intended to show us. Whatever it might be, I thought, humouring the old gentleman would add nothing material to the investigation. But nor would it detract.

As the coach sped forward, I expected him to ask me about the progress I had made that afternoon. Was he not curious to know what had happened? He had been so openly sceptical that morning, yet he had urged me to interrogate Ulrich and Gerta Totz. Surely he would wish to know what they had said?

‘Do you like your new lodgings?’ he asked suddenly. ‘They hardly compare with the delights of The Baltic Whaler, I’d wager. Frau Totz is renowned for her roast pork.’

Was he teasing me? Was my ex-landlady’s cooking all that interested him?

‘The inn was certainly comfortable,’ I conceded uncertainly.

‘I knew you’d feel at home there,’ Kant said with a warm smile. ‘Of course, the Fortress of Königsberg is another matter altogether.’

Was this the behaviour that had so disturbed Herr Jachmann? Kant seemed to be absorbed in details which were of no importance, concerned about matters of which he could have no personal knowledge. He had dined in his own home and nowhere else for the last twenty years, as all the newspaper sketches of his doings habitually reported. Celebrity has no secrets from the intrusions of the press.

‘What a depressing building the Fortress is!’ he said next, his mood shifting suddenly. ‘The sight of it used to put the wind up me when I was just a little child. Mother and I were obliged to pass each morning on our way to the Pietist Temple. The fear I felt, she said, was naught compared to the fear I’d feel the day I had to stand before my Maker and look into His eyes!’

Professor Kant looked out of the window like a lost child. The Fortress had fallen far behind, but it might still have been visible before his eyes. ‘Will you be able to sleep in there tonight, Hanno? They say that the place is haunted by the victims of the Teutonic Knights who died in the dungeons.’

What could I reply? Koch and I exchanged glances, but neither dared say a word. As our coach clattered and rattled over an ancient wooden bridge, dense fog swirled in twirling clouds above the still waters of a dark moat. Only the towering keep of the Fortress on the hill above was visible in the fading afternoon light. The battlements seemed to peep over a solid wall of low clouds.

Kant glanced in my direction. ‘Nearly there!’ he exclaimed gaily as the coach turned sharply right and crossed another bridge. Clearly, he was excited by the prospect of what lay before us. ‘I suppose that you have been counting the bridges?’ he said.

‘Bridges, sir?’ I had no idea what he was talking about.

‘Surely you know the problem?’ he replied. ‘Before he died, the great mathematician, Leonhard Euler, questioned whether it were possible to trace a route through Königsberg which crossed the nine bridges spanning the River Pregel without ever using the same bridge more than once. You ought to try it while you are here.’

I began to remind him of the reason which had brought me to Königsberg, but he had no mind for me. ‘When I began to teach at the University,’ he went on, ‘I won a bet with a colleague who had been a great friend of the mathematician. He told me that, in fact, Euler himself didn’t know the answer! Well, I provided two solutions to the problem…’

He did not finish. Turning to me instead, he laid his hand on my arm, and asked urgently: ‘What have you to tell me about the Totzes?’

For some moments, I knew not how to reply. Should I tell him that the case was solved, the guilty closed in their cells, awaiting judgement? That the Devil’s claw, whatever it might prove to be, was irrelevant?

‘The husband confessed, sir. And quickly too,’ I replied. With care, limiting myself to the sequence of events, suppressing the cry of victory which hovered on my lips, I related the facts to Kant as neutrally as possible.

‘So, that’s that,’ he said. ‘A political plot is at the root of all the evil which has poisoned Königsberg. Acts of terrorism aimed at…’

He halted abruptly, and looked at me.

‘Aimed at
what?
Did the culprits reveal their final objective?’

‘Not in so many words, sir,’ I admitted. ‘Ulrich Totz seems to believe that the fear generated by these murders will weaken the faith of the people in their rulers and provoke some sort of a revolution. I suspect that he targeted people who were known for their opposition to the French.’

Professor Kant sat back in his seat. He beamed with delight.

‘Oh, I see! How clever of him! And he described the weapon that he used to kill Morik, I suppose?’

I shifted uneasily on the leather bench.

‘A hammer, sir.’

My answer seemed to amuse Kant even more. ‘A large hammer, Stiffeniis, or a small one?’ he asked.

‘It…it was only a preliminary interrogation,’ I stammered. I had thought to win his praise. Instead, his penetrating mind had laid bare the limits of my method of proceeding. ‘Totz did admit that he had used various weapons to kill the other victims.’

‘Not one alone?’ Kant frowned.

‘Whatever came to hand, he said,’ I added quickly. ‘Of course, sir, I will question him until all the details emerge.’

‘Details are of the utmost importance,’ Kant confided. ‘The King will want to know the exact strength and number of his enemies.’

Was he being sarcastic? I felt like a student who has just been handed back an essay by a tutor and told that the work was good, very good, though it should have been a great deal better. Suddenly, Kant laughed out loud. He did not say what amused him. This mercurial humour of his was new to me, and I was not reassured by it. Nor was Koch, as I could see quite clearly by the expression on his face.

‘I am glad that you have found the high road to Truth,’ said Kant. ‘Did you, by any chance, ask Ulrich Totz about the Devil’s claw, as the people call it?’

‘Herr Procurator cannot be expected to complete his investigations in a single day, sir,’ Sergeant Koch interrupted. His deference to my authority was as pronounced as his loyalty to Procurator Rhunken had been. The bureaucracy here in Prussia is famed for producing such men. They are obedient and subservient to a fault. And sometimes they are blunt, too.

‘Whatever this Devil’s claw may be,’ Koch went on, ‘whatever the common people say about it, it hardly seems relevant, Professor Kant. Procurator Stiffeniis has unmasked the plot.’

‘Dear Sergeant Koch,’ Kant returned mildly, ‘do not presume too far. In my experience, there is more truth in the common voice than anywhere else on Earth.’

‘Ulrich Totz admitted killing the boy,’ Sergeant Koch replied staunchly. ‘He admitted murdering the others. Herr Stiffeniis has caught his man, sir.’

To my surprise, Professor Kant showed no resentment at this rebuttal. He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I can understand your reservations about the utility of what I intend to show you, Herr Koch,’ he continued. ‘And I appreciate your openness where my young friend shows only dutiful reticence. I am certain that Stiffeniis shares your opinion. I would ask you both to be patient for a short while longer. What you are about to see is the fruit of the most original research that I have ever undertaken in my life.’

My heart beat faster. Was Immanuel Kant going to show me what he had been hiding from his best and closest friends?

‘A masterpiece, I am sure, sir,’ I said with warmth. ‘Any book from your pen…’

‘A book?’ Surprise was evident on his hollow face. ‘Is that what you are expecting to see, Stiffeniis?’

‘The world has waited too long for a new opus, sir,’ I answered.

He made no immediate reply. When he did speak, he seemed even more animated than before. ‘A book…A book! Why not?’ he said, resting his chin on his bunched fist. ‘And what could be the title? Why, given the circumstances, a
Critique of Criminal Reason
, I think.’

‘I am eager to read it,’ I enthused, as the coach laboured up the hill.

Kant was smiling gleefully, his lips drawn back tightly to reveal the few yellow, pointed teeth he still possessed. I must confess, it was not a pleasant sight.

‘You have taken possession of Rhunken’s office, I imagine. Have you read the reports that he cobbled together regarding these murders?’

‘I did so yesterday,’ I began eagerly. ‘They have been most useful, sir. Indeed his theory seems to be confirmed by what Totz, the innkeeper, confessed this afternoon…’

‘A political plot? Is that what you think lies behind these deaths?’ Kant interrupted me with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Vigilantius came closer to the truth!’ He uttered these words with an energy which was very close to rage. ‘You lost patience with him last night. You should have stayed until the end. Herr Rhunken is a magistrate of the old school. He is an information-gatherer, nothing more. He hopes to frighten the truth from people, and sometimes he succeeds. But not in this instance. His dull imagination is no match for the killer’s. Vigilantius has discovered a great deal more, but you refused to take his insights into consideration.’

I glanced at Koch. His face was taut, the muscles clenched and stiff. Clearly it cost him a great deal not to speak out in defence of the dead man he had served so faithfully and for so long. But one thing was certain: Professor Kant had not been informed of the magistrate’s death.

‘Well?’ Kant niggled. ‘Why didn’t you stay?’

‘I considered it a pantomime, sir,’ I protested uncertainly.

‘Pantomimes sometimes represent a truth,’ he replied. ‘I expected you to be put off at the beginning, but I hoped that you would learn something useful from Vigilantius. I sent Rhunken’s official reports to you for the same purpose.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

I could find no thread of coherence in his arguments. What could be the connection between Vigilantius and the police reports that I had been allowed to read on the journey to Königsberg?

He leaned close and spoke quietly. ‘I knew that I could rely on your sense of duty. Who can refuse a commission from the King? Especially a magistrate who has chosen to hide himself away in a tiny village near the borders of West Prussia. What is the name of the place? Lotingen?’

For a moment I feared that he might be about to ask me why I had chosen never to return to Königsberg after our first meeting seven years before, why I had never made the effort to write to him. The possibility that he might know about Jachmann’s interference in our affairs threw me into a panic. What could I tell him? In frenzied haste, I searched for excuses, ranging from my own bad health, to – God forgive me! – serious diseases that Helena or the children might have suffered.

But he did not bother to ask. He had other matters on his mind.

‘I tried to whet your appetite for the obscure side of human behaviour with the help of those reports, Hanno,’ he went on. ‘I hoped that you would be intrigued by the strangeness of these deaths. I remember well at our first meeting, you showed a natural inclination for…how shall I call it,
mystery?
’ He leaned back in his seat. ‘I hoped that you would be puzzled. Not so much by what you’d read, but by what you did
not
read in those reports.’ He started to number off the items on his fingers.