HS04 - Unholy Awakening (17 page)

‘I did not say very much of Ludo Mittner,’ I replied defensively. ‘I thought that you would report the facts in that case to Colonel Claudet, seeing as you were present at the scene of the discovery this morning. Still, I would assume that the three deaths are related in some way. The wounds are similar. In Ludo’s case, it is difficult to be more precise, given the manner in which his corpse had been ravaged by animals. But it is possible that he died by a wound to the neck…’

‘
That
is not the death which interests me.’

As Lavedrine quickly stepped away from the window, Claudet rose, as if to surrender his privileged position to the interloper. But Lavedrine held up his hand, and Claudet settled back uncomfortably in his comfortable chair. It was clear to me who was in command in that room.

‘I was thinking of the circumstances in which the first victim was found, Stiffeniis. The bodies of the gravedigger and his assistant were left on public view to horrify, as you suggest. After what I saw this morning, I have no doubt that the killer, or killers, intended to terrify the inhabitants of Lotingen. But what about the girl? Why hide her body in a well, but leave a human tooth in a bucket where it was bound to be discovered? It was only a matter of time. What does that enigma signify?’

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘The investigation has only just begun.’

Lavedrine placed his hands flat on the desk.

‘Colonel Claudet,’ he said, his eyes fixed on mine, ‘please read out the despatch which I received shortly before Procurator Stiffeniis arrived.’

Claudet’s mouth gaped open, and he mumbled something to himself.

‘Read it, Colonel Claudet,’ said Lavedrine, slamming his right hand impatiently down on the desk, never taking his eyes away from mine. ‘It is addressed to me. I take full responsibility for making it public now.’

‘As you wish,’ Claudet conceded, holding up the despatch. ‘
There can be little doubt that the body found last night in a cottage outside Marienburg belongs to 2nd Lieutenant Sebastien Grangé who was posted missing as a deserter thirteen days ago. Respecting your orders, Monsieur le Colonel, the lodging has been closed up, and a guard has been mounted at the door. Nothing has been moved, or touched. However, given the great length of time in which the body appears to have remained there undiscovered, your presence here is urgently required. Problems of hygiene may otherwise arise
.

‘The despatch is signed by Major-General Olivier Layard, commander-in-chief of the General Quarters in Marienburg,’ Claudet concluded.

He let the paper drop from his hand, and turned to look at Lavedrine.

‘What does it mean, Lavedrine?’ I asked.

Claudet stood up from behind the desk. ‘Colonel Lavedrine, I’ll leave you to deal with this matter. When you’ve decided what you intend to do, I will do everything in my power to assist you.’

Lavedrine nodded, but he did not speak. Nor did he make any move to occupy the seat which Claudet had vacated. He remained in the same position, palms pressing down on the edge of the desk, staring fixedly into my eyes.

At my back, I heard Claudet open the door, then close it as he left the room.

‘I am investigating the murder of a French officer in the town of Marienburg, a vicious attack on a second officer, and the disappearance of a third.’ He pointed to the paper which Claudet had left on the desk-top. ‘That note arrived this morning while you and I were at the cemetery. The third officer has now been found. Dead, as you heard.’

I stared at the despatch on the desk. What had his investigation in Marienburg to do with me? ‘I don’t follow you,’ I said.

Lavedrine stood up straight, moved behind the desk, and sat down in Claudet’s place. ‘It isn’t easy to comprehend,’ he said. ‘I was called to Marienburg a week ago when the first body was found. Second-Lieutenant Gaspard was living in private quarters in the town. The Eleventh Hussars are stationed there. The man had bled to death. Two days before, an officer in the same regiment, a man named Lecompte, had been attacked in the town while passing along a dark street at night. The men were sharing quarters. As a result of his wounds, he is hardly able to speak. In both cases, the blow was aimed at the neck. The wounds were peculiar. A ripping of the neck with an unknown weapon, a severing of the jugular vein with two small punctures, massive bleeding. You have seen something similar in Lotingen. So, Hanno, the question is this: is there also a vampire in Marienburg? And could it be the same vampire which has claimed three victims here?’

‘It isn’t possible,’ I said. ‘It’s hard enough to find any rational connection between the victims in Lotingen…’

‘What link can there be between the Prussian victims here, and French officers in Marienburg?’ Lavedrine took the despatch in his hands and looked at it. ‘While trying to understand what was happening in the ranks of the French army in Marienburg, I chanced to read in
Le Bulletin Militaire
of the finding of the girl’s body in the well. The wounds to her neck, the fear of vampires which spread like a forest fire through Lotingen. And of the great difficulty in which the investigating magistrate – you, Hanno Stiffeniis – suddenly found himself. I had been contacted by a Prussian scholar, who spoke to me of vampires. I dismissed his opinion at the time as being worthless. Now, I am not so sure. Indeed, I don’t know what to believe.’

Lavedrine rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

‘Lotingen and Marienburg are close enough. Two hours or so at a gentle trot. I had that pair of earrings in my bag as a gift for Helena. I took the opportunity to see what was going on.’ He sat forward, bracing his elbows on the table, rubbing his palms together. ‘I don’t believe in vampires, Stiffeniis. I told you so last night. Nobody returns to suck the life from the living. But if these stories persist, there must be a reason behind them. There must be somebody who keeps the myth alive. Otherwise, why have people believed it for so long?’

We sat in silence, face to face across the table, but our eyes did not meet. I stared out of the window, while Lavedrine examined the despatch on the desk-top, as if he had never seen it before that moment.

‘I believe that the victims in Lotingen and in Marienburg are definitely connected, Stiffeniis.’ He raised his hand before I could protest. ‘You and I have been giving chase to the same malefactor without knowing it. The latest victim in Marienburg is as much a concern of yours as he is of mine. From this moment onward, you are charged by me to interest yourself in the murders of the French officers, as well as the murders in Lotingen. I will explain to Helena that you are acting under an order which you cannot refuse to obey.’

‘Which order are you speaking of?’ I asked.

‘The order to accompany me to Marienburg. A coach is waiting in the yard.’

Evening was fading as the coach rattled into Marienburg.

We entered town by the east gate, and left it again by a different gate on the other side of town which gives onto the River Nogat. As we passed beneath this gate, the coach slowed down for a moment, and a man in uniform jumped up and took his place on the box beside the driver. He saluted Lavedrine, who introduced him to me as Alain Coin, colour-sergeant of the Eleventh Hussars. The driver whipped his horses, and the carriage wheels began to rumble noisily over the wooden slats and braces of the bridge which crossed the river.

Lavedrine resumed what he had been saying. Marienburg was an important military centre, he explained, not only on account of its vital strategic position close to the east– west highway between Berlin and Königsberg, and on the road which runs north–south from Danzig to Warsaw, but also because of the officer who had recently been appointed commander of the garrison.

‘Major-General Olivier Layard is a soldier to be reckoned with,’ he said.

‘Isn’t the town within the governance of General Malaport?’ I asked.

‘Malaport is supreme commander of the northern plain,’ Lavedrine replied, ‘but Layard is a specialist. He has Napoleon’s ear, it is said, in matters of military intelligence, advance strategy and campaign planning. Since he arrived in Marienburg, the fortress has become…’ He broke off suddenly. ‘Let’s just say that the town is important.’

I was not reassured by what I had heard. How would General Layard react to the news that a Prussian magistrate had been seconded to the investigation of the murders of officers under his command? If Layard decided to send me home again, I would have been happy. I had been spirited away from Lotingen. I had work to do there, and I was still very dubious that there was any connection with what had happened in Marienburg.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked him.

‘Over to the far bank,’ he said vaguely, slapping his hand loudly, calling out to the sergeant. ‘Coin, what can you tell us about this place?’

‘Not much, sir,’ the sergeant called back. His face was round and red, his large nose and bulging cheeks pitted and scarred with pimples and warts. ‘I was over there this morning for the first time. Our lot steer clear of the area. Patrols go past, of course, but they keep to the road and they travel fast. This place is down by the riverbank, monsieur, well away from the road. That’s Prussian territory, though the General says it falls under our jurisdiction.’

‘What was Grangé doing there?’

The sergeant blew on his lips. ‘That’s anyone’s guess, monsieur. There’s only one thing certain. That’s where he was found. There’s an inn over yonder, and the news came from there. I’m surprised they even bothered to bring it to our attention. It’s a low dive, a Prussian drinking-den used by river-rats, smugglers, wherry-men, eel-fishers – characters that steer wide of the law, sir.’

Lavedrine thanked him for the information.

‘I don’t set much store by Layard’s claim to control the area,’ he said to me more quietly. ‘The major-general is a desk soldier, a forward planner. He gives orders to his underlings, and records their reports in statistics and fractions. I place my trust in men like this fellow,’ he said, nodding at the broad back of Sergeant Coin. ‘They tell you what they know for sure, and nothing more.’

We carried on along the road which ran parallel with the river for ten minutes more, and then the carriage pulled up. Lavedrine threw open the door, pushed hard at the folding step with his boot, jumped down, and invited me to follow him out onto the high road.

While he and Coin were speaking with the driver, I looked around. A large painted sign swung above my head affixed to a gallows: The Black Bull – fine ales. It creaked and shifted in the breeze as if a hanging felon had been left on public display. Off the road to the left was a tumbledown cottage. There was no light, no sign of any person, no sign of any other house.

The sergeant was pointing towards the inn, muttering something to Lavedrine. He took the carriage lamp from the calash, and lit it with a flint.

‘Wait for us here,’ Lavedrine called up to the driver.

I followed him and Sergeant Coin as they turned onto the sloping path that led down towards the river. They were walking at a brisk pace. By the time I caught up with them, Lavedrine was snorting at something that the sergeant had said.

‘When was the body found?’ Lavedrine was asking him.

‘Some time unspecified this morning. We got word of it at eleven, sir. I came out here with my men, saw what there was to see, and carried the news straight back to town. General Layard ordered this carriage to go to Lotingen, and bring you back, monsieur.’ He shook his head. ‘Every one in the regiment was saying that Grangé had run off with the hares. They had branded him as a deserter, sir. There’s none more hated.’

‘A deserter?’ Lavedrine echoed sarcastically. ‘With a fellow lieutenant already dead, and another seriously wounded? Do you hussars tell each other fairy tales to calm your fears?’

Coin made no reply to this attack.

‘How was he found?’ asked Lavedrine.

‘Someone from the tavern reported it. That is, he told the landlord, then skipped. This man was drunk last night, the tavern-keeper said. He must have followed this path that we are on. He may have been going to throw up in the river, that’s my guess. He ended up near a place that they call the old slaughter-house. There’s a little cottage close by. This piss-face fell asleep on the steps, and when he woke up this morning, he could smell that something wasn’t right. He thought an animal had been locked in a stall, and forgotten there. There are pig-sties, kennels and suchlike, though they’re all empty. Eventually, he looked in at the window, and he saw the uniform.’

‘So, who identified the body?’

‘I did, sir. That is, I recognised the regimental jacket of a second lieutenant. There’s no missing the epaulettes and the silver braiding, the regimental clip on his collar. Who else could it be? Grangé is the only second lieutenant who is missing.’

‘How did he die?’

‘I…I cannot say, sir. I saw that he was dead, but I didn’t go inside.’

‘That’s what I wanted to hear,’ said Lavedrine.

‘I left strict instructions with my squad to wait outside the gate.’

‘Have they been standing here all day?’

‘
Oui, monsieur
.’

‘And nothing has been touched?’

‘The door has not been opened.’

Lavedrine clapped his hands together gently. ‘Well done, Sergeant Coin. You and your men will be commended for your work when you return to the fort. A double ration of cognac, I should say.’

I could just make out a large dark building silhouetted against the sky.

‘What’s that place?’ asked Lavedrine, pointing ahead, walking towards it.

‘The old Prussian slaughter-house, monsieur. It is empty now, except for flies.’

The building was constructed like a fortress: four high walls, two towers. As we drew closer, I saw that there were three large windows along the wall, each covered with a rusty iron grating. The tall double doors facing the river were neither closed, nor open. Anyone could have entered the place, though I doubted that any man would want to. The air was ripe with the musty smell of animals, stale blood, old meat.

Lavedrine stopped by one of the gratings. Covering his nose, he peered into the dark interior. ‘How long has it been closed, sergeant?’

Coin held up his lantern, illuminating the grimace of disgust on his face. ‘Since we came to Marienburg, sir. All livestock destined for the butcher-shops must pass through the registered French abattoir outside the town gate. It’s the law, sir.’

It may have been the law, but there were other important considerations also. The French controlled the slaughtering of beasts. The commissars and cooks of the
Grande Armée
got to select the very best meat, and they paid as little as possible for it.

‘How far off is the house?’ asked Lavedrine.

‘We’re almost there, sir.’

We went on, Lavedrine and Coin walking side by side, while I trailed after them.

‘Did you speak to the people at the inn?’ asked Lavedrine.

‘I did, monsieur,’ the sergeant replied.

‘And?’

‘Nothing, sir. I couldn’t get a whisper out of them. No-one admits to seeing any thing. They are a close lot, sir, all Prussians, and not to be trusted.’

‘Your informant didn’t tell the locals what he’d found?’ I asked.

Sergeant Coin stopped in his tracks. He held up the lantern, staring hard at me. Until that moment, he must have thought that I was French. ‘Informant? What the…’ he muttered, turning uncertainly to Lavedrine.

Lavedrine stepped between me and the sergeant. ‘You can answer a simple question, can you not, Coin? Magistrate Stiffeniis is helping me in this investigation. He, and you, will answer to me,’ he said, stepping back.

Alain Coin’s throat bobbed nervously. He was confused, and it showed. ‘We…well, we are talking about a dead French officer, monsieur,’ he mumbled.

Lavedrine nodded. ‘That’s true, sergeant. It is also true that we are in Prussia. It takes a Prussian to know his fellows, and the magistrate’s question is a fair one. So, did this “informant” tell the others at the tavern what he had discovered?’

‘He said he hadn’t spoken to anyone, but all the people at the tavern seemed to know what was going on. He looked inside the cottage, saw the uniform, came straight to us, or so he said. I reckon he went and had a drink there first for the sake of his courage, sir. No doubt he’ll want something for the favour.’

Lavedrine ignored this parting shot. ‘I’d be most grateful if you would question the people at the inn first thing tomorrow morning, Stiffeniis.’

I nodded. Lavedrine had given me an order without asking whether I was agreeable. He treated me as if I were his helper, not his equal. At the same time, I realised, he was telling Sergeant Coin that he considered my assistance to be invaluable, especially regarding the native population.

Lavedrine raised his head, and sniffed aloud.

‘Can you smell it, Stiffeniis?’ he said. ‘Ah, French tobacco. And I can see cross-belts glimmering in the gloom ahead.’

As we approached, a pipe-smoking soldier turned to meet us, bringing up his musket. ‘
Qui en va là-bas?
’

‘At ease,’ said Coin, and the man raised a whistle to his lips and let out a wail as we filed past him. ‘He is telling the others that we are coming through.’

We passed two more soldiers as we made our way towards the house. Each one saluted, then turned to whistle on ahead. I could imagine how the Prussians felt, the ones who habitually used the nearby tavern. If that part of the country was generally held to be Prussian territory, and of no particular interest to the French, they must have felt as if they were under siege that day. Anyone moving on the river would have seen the foreign troops. Lavedrine was right, of course. The owner and customers of the inn would react far better to me than they would to a French sergeant waving his fist, or a naked bayonet in their faces.

‘Who does the house belong to?’ I asked.

Lavedrine did not reply. He was waiting for the sergeant. When Coin said nothing, Lavedrine growled sharply: ‘Answer Procurator Stiffeniis, damn you! Whose house is this?’

‘The house has been abandoned. It was closed along with the slaughter-house. It used to be the cottage of the man who killed the beasts. Now, it’s under French dominion, monsieur.’

‘What is
that
supposed to mean?’ Lavedrine guffawed.

‘It means that any Prussian wishing to enter it must ask permission.’

‘I can see them forming a queue,’ said Lavedrine sarcastically. ‘And what about Grangé? Did he ask permission before he came here?’

‘No, monsieur. I don’t believe that he did,’ Sergeant Coin replied, turning off the riverside path and leading us along a narrower path which led inland between tall grass. Fifty paces ahead, there was a small dwelling.

We passed in through a low arch, and found ourselves in an enclosed yard.

A soldier was sitting on the steps that led up to a covered walkway on the first floor. He jumped up in surprise, whipping a pipe from his mouth, holding out his musket, pointing his bayonet at us.

‘At ease,’ snapped Coin. ‘It’s me. And Colonel Lavedrine.’

He did not refer to me.

‘Holy saints,’ the man replied, raising his left hand to his heart. ‘That was near the end of me, sergeant. I did not hear the signal of your approach.’

‘I did not whistle. Whistle or not, you’re supposed to be on your toes!’

‘French troopers of the line,’ Lavedrine murmured ironically for my benefit. ‘They know no fear.’ He raised his voice and said to the soldier, ‘Go and smoke your pipe out in the yard. You are killing off whatever smells this place once held, damaging the scene of the crime. Sergeant Coin?’

The sergeant stood to attention.

‘Which window did you look through?’ Lavedrine asked him.

‘The windows are all upstairs, monsieur.’

A worm-eaten wooden staircase climbed up the wall to a covered walkway, which was open to the elements and ran the entire length of the building. I followed them to the top of the stairs, where Lavedrine and Coin huddled together, blocking the way. On this landing, there were two windows, and a door in the middle between them.

‘The stink is strongest down there, sir, at the far end of the balcony. And if you care to glance in through the second window pane…’

‘Wait here.’

Lavedrine snatched the lantern from his hand and was gone.

I squeezed past Sergeant Coin, who did not budge, and followed Lavedrine past the first window and the door, and on to the farthest window.

‘It must have been a decent little cottage,’ I observed.

‘Apart from the smell,’ he murmured, holding up his nose, inhaling the air.

‘The man living here was used it,’ I said. ‘The more animals he killed, the more blood spilled, the more money he made.’

‘I can understand the butcher,’ Lavedrine replied, ‘but not Lieutenant Grangé of the Eleventh Hussars, Stiffeniis. What in heaven’s name was he doing here?’