The Devil's Sanctuary (21 page)

“That’s the body done. Then there’s your soul.” She let go of her index finger and grabbed her middle finger instead. “You need to take care of that as well. I understand that you read a lot?”

“How do you know that?”

She smiled.

“You can’t even have a beer in the bierstube without reading at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of our clients with a book before. And there’s a book on the table now.” She nodded toward the paperback. “You were sitting here reading when I called, weren’t you? It’s from the library, so you’ve already found your way there. Good. Keep it up. I have a different way of getting away from it all.”

“What?”

“The church.”

“You’re religious?”

She threw her hands out.

“Call it what you like. There’s a mass every evening at six o’clock, and I go there every day when I’m not performing. We’re a small but dedicated congregation. We sit in the pews as far away from one another as possible, listening to the priest, singing hymns, lighting candles.”

“The priest?” Daniel said. “Is that the Father Dennis who puts his sermons on the Himmelstal website?”

Corinne nodded.

“He might not be a theological genius, but we don’t have a lot of choice. I don’t go for his sake anyway. The inside of the church is actually very nice. If you like you could come with me one evening.”

“No thanks. That sort of thing’s not for me.”

“You might change your mind. What else? Well, be careful, obviously. But you are already. Keep your door locked. Don’t open it if you’re not expecting anyone. Don’t go out at night. Don’t hang around on your own in lonely places. And of course, I don’t suppose I have to say this: Don’t tell anyone who you are. We need to convince the doctors of your true identity. But as far as the residents of Himmelstal are concerned, you’re Max.”

She stood up and pulled on her parka. It was at least three sizes too big.

“Oh, yes. One more thing,” she said, putting her boots on. “Has Samantha been to see you?”

“Here? In the cabin? No,” Daniel said.

She looked at him and sighed.

“You need to get better at lying if you’re going to survive here. You’re blushing like anything.”

“That was a long time ago. I actually thought it was a dream,” he muttered with embarrassment.

“I’m not begrudging you anything, but like I said: Be careful.”

She unlocked the door, pulled her hood up, then turned toward him with her fingers on the door handle.

“See you,” she said, then slipped out into the rain.

THE NEXT
day was sunny, and the snow-capped mountaintop was glistening in the west. Daniel had decided to heed Corinne’s advice and eat lunch in the cafeteria. With his back straight and his eyes fixed firmly ahead, he walked down the slope and through the park, which smelled fresh after the rain yesterday and last night.

Outside the care center there was plenty going on, as usual at this time of day. People were hurrying along the footpaths, alone or in groups. Two hostesses were heading off toward the village, one of them talking animatedly on her cell phone. But nowhere could he recognize any of the faces he had seen around the big table in the conference room. He hadn’t heard anything from the doctors since he had been discharged from the ward. Not from Doctor Fischer, nor Doctor Obermann, nor any of the others.

He looked up at the imposing edifice of the care center and tried to identify which room he had been in. The conference room was on one of the upper floors. Gisela Obermann’s room was right at the top. The ward in which he and Marko had been locked for their tests had to be on one of the lower floors. And the ward where he had been treated for his burns was probably somewhere in the middle.

But the glass façade was so impenetrably shiny that he couldn’t even identify any floors or windows from where he was standing. All he could see was a mirror image of the valley: sky, treetops, and the rock face opposite.

In the cafeteria he chose to sit outside on the paved terrace. He had selected the table carefully before he even went in and joined the line with his tray. There were only a few diners sitting outside, and the table wasn’t too close to them, but not too isolated either.

He had just started eating when someone sat down at the next table. Daniel recognized the village barber. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his chest, and his bangs had been blow-dried to an untidy reddish brown mop that partly covered the wrinkles on his forehead. The barber took a cautious taste of his lasagna and let out a groan of delight.

“This is how lasagna should taste. Loads of cheese. There’s no need to go to the restaurant to get good food. Because most things are just as good down here in the cafeteria, don’t you think?” he said to Daniel.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Daniel had made up his mind to agree to everything that was said, or at least not to disagree.

The barber tasted his wine—one glass was included with lunch, for those who wanted it—then smacked his lips together. Daniel caught a whiff of aftershave as the man leaned toward his table and winked conspiratorially over the rim of the glass.

“We don’t have it so bad, do we? Out there…” He gestured with one hand toward something vague in the distance and snorted derisively. “Nothing but problems! I don’t want to go back out there.”

The chair scraped on the slabs as he moved it closer to Daniel. He quickly dabbed his mouth with his napkin to catch some melted cheese.

“People think you go to hell if you kill someone. If only they knew that you end up in Himmelstal instead. If people could see us, then every last fucker out there would be a psychopath.”

“Maybe.”

“When I committed my first murder, I ended up in prison. Awful place. Terrible people, terrible food. We worked in a laundry, washing hospital sheets soaked in blood and shit. Disgusting! When I committed my second murder, they said I was ill and I ended up in a hospital. A madhouse, basically. Not a nice place, but better than prison. We were made to sew and listen to Mozart. After my third murder they said I was a psychopath and I got sent to Himmelstal. Now I’ve got a nice little two-room apartment down in the village. With a view of meadows and the river. My own barbershop. I only work mornings these days. I spend the afternoons lying by the pool or playing a bit of tennis. In the winter I strap on my skis and set off down the slopes. I’m not complaining, definitely not.”

“No, I can understand that.”

“I wonder where you end up after the next murder? The Bahamas?”

He let out a shrill laugh.

“Well, good to see you,” Daniel said as politely as he could, then stood up with a stiff smile.

“Oh, don’t go,” the barber said, grabbing his arm. “Look, you haven’t even finished. You should never leave any of a lasagna like this on your plate.”

He pushed Daniel down onto his chair again, moved his own chair even closer, and said in a low voice, “I know what you think of me.”

“I really don’t think anything.”

“Yes, of course you do. You think I’m a spy, don’t you? An infiltrator.”

“Certainly not. What do you mean, a spy?”

“There are spies in the valley, surely you knew that? They get close to people. Find things out.”

“I didn’t know that. Who are they spying for?”

“The doctors, of course. They make out they’re tough. Boasting about how many people they’ve murdered. But it’s easy to be tough when you can call for backup whenever you want, isn’t it? You know Block, the one who disappeared? A hired thug, mass murderer, and all the other things people said he was. Used to hang around with Kowalski and Sørensen. But as soon as things got a bit heated, a car full of guards would show up. Conveniently for Block. Do you think that was coincidence? I don’t.”

“How do you mean, that it wasn’t coincidence?”

“He
called
them. Not with his cell phone, obviously. But somehow.”

The barber quickly finished his wine and glanced suspiciously over his shoulder. Then he leaned closer to Daniel again and whispered, “He had a
gadget.
”

“What sort of gadget?”

“It looked like an MP3 player or something like that. Every time the guards came, he’d been fiddling with it just before. And the guards were there instantly. As if they’d been hanging around nearby.”

“And now he’s disappeared?” Daniel said carefully.

The barber nodded.

“Exactly. And isn’t it funny that the guards spent so long looking for him, really thoroughly? I mean, people go missing here every now and then, but they don’t usually make such a fuss, do they? They count on a certain number of losses. But when Block disappeared, it was like the doctors had been hit by an earthquake, and the guards searched through every resident’s home. No, Block wasn’t one of us. He was one of
them.
”

“You might be right.”

Daniel began a fresh attempt to stand up with his tray, but the barber put his arm around his shoulders and whispered, “I knew it all along. There was something not quite right about him. We spoke once. About killing and so on. He pretended to know what I was talking about, but he didn’t have a clue, I could tell. Not a clue. A mass murderer?” He snorted right in Daniel’s ear—a hard little puff of breath against his eardrum—then pulled him even closer and hissed, “He’s never killed so much as a hamster. You can tell that sort of thing, can’t you?”

He leaned back and looked at Daniel with renewed interest.

“If you want to keep that hairstyle, it’ll soon be time to get it cut again. I presume you’ll choose a professional this time? And what’s this? Have you stopped shaving?”

The barber stroked Daniel’s cheek gently. Daniel had to stop himself from knocking his hand away.

“I like it like this,” he muttered.

“Are you going to grow a beard? You should know that a well-cared-for beard demands professional attention. As does a slightly longer haircut.”

He smiled and playfully tousled Daniel’s hair but suddenly stopped with the palm of his hand on Daniel’s head.

“What’s this?” he said, standing up and leaning over Daniel’s crown. “I could have sworn you were counterclockwise.”

“What?” Daniel said, confused.

“That the hair on your crown grew counterclockwise. Hmm,” he said, sitting down again. “I must have gotten it wrong. That’s what happens when you abandon your barber.”

He laughed.

A group of people sat down at the table next to them. The barber let go of Daniel and turned toward them.

“I see you picked the lasagna. Good choice. There’s no point eating in the restaurant when the cafeteria is such good quality, is there?”

Daniel took his chance and got up. On his way to leave his tray in the rack, he had to stop himself from breaking into a run.

BEHIND HIS
drawn curtains Daniel was waiting for the evening patrol. He was tired and was reading a book to stay awake. He didn’t really need to sit up and wait. They had their own key, after all, and if he did go to bed early they’d let themselves in and quickly and quietly check that he was behind the drapes covering the bed. But he always found it rather unnerving when the drapes were pulled aside and the beam of the flashlight crept across the walls of the alcove. He preferred to open the door himself and greet them while he was still dressed.

He must have been very tired, because he hadn’t heard the electric cart approaching, and the firm
rat-a-tat
of the knock startled him. It had the same rhythm as an old advertising jingle that he vaguely remembered. A girl’s voice, shrill and naïve like some sixties pop song, called out exactly what he knew she was going to say: “Hello, hello, anyone at home?”

He knew it was the little dark-haired hostess. She always knocked that way and always called out the same thing. With a weary smile he got up and opened the door.

And there stood Samantha, dressed in pirate’s trousers with her blouse tied just below her bust. He went to close the door a second after he had opened it, but that was a second too late. She had already put her foot out to stop it and slid through the gap like a cat.

“Fooled you,” she laughed, throwing herself down in one of the wooden chairs with her leg over one armrest and taking a cigarette out of her purse.

“You have to go,” he said. “The evening patrol will be here any minute.”

She shook her head firmly as she tried to get her lighter to work.

“They’re starting down in the village tonight. They won’t be here for another twenty minutes. We’ve got time for a quickie,” she said with her cigarette bobbing on her lower lip. She was still trying to light it, but her lighter wasn’t working. “Fuck. Have you got any matches?”

“Please, just leave,” he pleaded.

She found a box of matches over by the hearth, lit the cigarette, and turned to walk slowly toward him with rolling hips and a lazy smile. There was something creepy about her, something exaggerated, out of control. As she got closer he could see from her eyes that she was clearly under the influence of something.

“Hello, Lambkin,” she said softly, stroking his cheek. “I haven’t seen you for ages. You gave that Tom a real seeing to, I heard. Good work.”

“I had to do something,” Daniel muttered, taking a step back.

“You crushed his hand, darling. People all round the valley are talking about it. I don’t think you have to worry about any reprisals. Tom isn’t exactly popular. Everyone knows he’s an idiot. His head’s full of mashed potato.”

She tapped her own head and pulled a face.

“But I daresay Tom wasn’t too pleased. You’re not going to find it easy to get hold of any wood. There’s a fair chance you’ll freeze to death this winter.”

Winter? The thought of being stuck in Himmelstal that long made him shudder. She laughed and patted him comfortingly on the arm.

“Take it easy, Lambkin. For the time being someone else is taking care of the wood. Tom probably won’t be back for a while.”

“Where is he now?”

“In the Catacombs, I suppose.”

“The Catacombs? Where’s that?”

“Don’t really know. Not a nice place. Underground. Like Hell, pretty much. Mind you, Hell doesn’t exist. Maybe the Catacombs don’t either. The problem with places like that is that everyone talks about them, but no one ever comes back and says what they’re really like.”

He remembered that Karl Fischer had mentioned something about “the cellar.” Could that be the same place?

He peered through the curtains for the evening patrol. Samantha knocked on the table behind him:
rat-a-tat-tat.
He turned around and she laughed.

“They’ll be a while yet. We’ve still got time.”

She went and stood right next to him, cupped her hand over his groin, and squeezed gently as she slowly blew smoke out of her mouth. Her pupils seemed to be overflowing with some black, sludgy liquid. Disgusted, he pushed her away from him. It was a gentle push, but she reeled as if she were on a high wire.

“What’s the matter? Waiting for someone else, maybe? A little sailor girl? A little shepherdess? Maybe that’s the kind of thing that turns you on?”

Strange. Women were in the minority in the valley, and the only attractive ones he had met seemed to be fighting over him. He didn’t even have to leave his cabin, they just forced their way in. And they each seemed to keep a remarkably close eye on what the other was doing.

“Do you know who she is really? Do you know what she did?”

“Who?”

“The little sailor girl. The shepherdess. Ding-a-ling.” She pretended to ring an invisible cowbell. “Has she told you what she did, before she came here? Do you know, Lambkin?”

“Don’t call me that. My name’s Max.”

Slowly she shook her head and wagged a long, red-varnished fingernail at his chin.

“You’ve already told me all about it, have you forgotten? You’re his stand-in. Don’t be scared, Lambkin. It’s a wonderful secret, and it’s perfectly safe with me.”

She smiled, and the look in her eyes drifted off into a dark pool.

“I’d like you to go now, Samantha.”

“Don’t you want to know what she did, your little shepherdess?”

Finally there was a knock on the door, the same rhythm he had already heard that evening, and the same cheery cry. The lock turned and the little dark-haired hostess was standing in the doorway twittering, “How are you, Max? Had a good day? Samantha, hurry up. We’ll be at your cabin in a few minutes.”

Samantha tilted her head back, shaped her mouth, and very carefully blew out several parting smoke rings before she pushed the hostess aside and slid out into the night.

Long after she and the evening patrol had gone, the smoke swirled around under the beams in the ceiling, thick and suffocating, like fog from a swamp. Daniel wished he dared open the window to air the room.

He was annoyed with himself for having been so credulous and opening up to Samantha. And he should have reacted quicker when he saw who it was. Shoved her back and closed the door again. He had to get quicker, smarter, stronger.

He dug out his cell phone and called Corinne.