Critique Of Criminal Reason Part 22

'He did, sir...'

'A court martial, I suppose?'

He shook his head and smiled wanly. 'It doesn't work that way, sir.'

I took the file from his hand, and sat down on the bed to read the notes he had given me. There were three sheets of paper in the folder, and I examined the first.

REPORT.

On the morning of the 26th inst., Rudolph Aleph Kopka, absconder from the 3rd Gendarmerie, was captured by a search party in the forest to the south-west of Konigsberg. He had been absent without leave for four days. No motive for his absence has been ascertained. Although questioned before incarceration in the holding-cell by the receiving officer, Lieut. T. Stauffelhn, Subalt. Kopka could offer no defence for his actions. After physical examination, the prison doctor, Colonel-Surgeon Franzich reports that the prisoner's larynx has been crushed by a violent blow to the throat. The capturing officer reports that during chase and arrest the prisoner fell from his horse after being struck about the head by a low tree-branch. Kopka will be remanded in the Fortress Infirmary until a statement can be taken, and a court martial convened.

Signed. Capt. Ertensmeyer, Company Commandant.

The second sheet confirmed the medical diagnosis: 'Crushed larynx caused by a severe blow to the throat.' It was signed by the regimental doctor.

The third, a death certificate, had been signed by the same doctor and witnessed by Captain Ertensmeyer: 'Prisoner died of wounds.'

Once again, I was struck by how incomplete these doc.u.ments were. They were like a mosaic with important pieces missing. Who, in the first place, was the mysterious capturing officer, the man who had led the search for Rudolph Kopka and witnessed the accident that had muted him and eventually caused his death? Why was he not identified?

'Who led the hunt for him, Stadtschen?'

'I've no idea, sir.'

'Did Kopka die in prison?' I asked, setting the papers aside.

Officer Stadtschen leapt to attention, but his reply was slower coming. 'In a manner of speaking, sir,' he said.

'Well? Did he, or didn't he?' I burst out.

'Indeed, he did, sir.'

'That wound to the throat?' I asked. 'Or was it something else?'

Stadtschen looked first at the wall, then his eyes rose towards the ceiling.

'Something else, sir,' he said without expression.

I left him to simmer while I paced up and down the room in silence for some time. 'What actually happens when a man deserts, Stadtschen? When I mentioned a court martial before, you said yourself that it doesn't work that way. How does it work exactly?'

Stadtschen continued to stare at the ceiling as if his own larnyx had just been surgically removed.

'I will not warn you again,' I said sharply. 'Tell me everything you know. This is not an investigation into military comportment. I have nothing at all to say on that matter. Murder of innocent civilians is my only objective. What happens to a deserter who is caught?'

Stadtschen coughed uncomfortably. 'He is not disciplined by a military tribunal, sir. He has shamed his uniform, and he is punished by the members of his regimental company who are proud to wear the colours.'

'How is he punished? That's what I want to know!'

Stadtschen emitted a loud sigh. 'The company is a.s.sembled, two close lines facing one another. Then, on some pretext like going to the jakes, or changing cells the traitor is forced to pa.s.s between the rows.'

'It sounds harmless enough,' I prompted when he said no more.

'Each man has a large stick,' Stadtschen added slowly. 'And he doesn't hesitate to use it.'

I scrutinised him for some instants. 'In a word, Kopka was beaten to death. Is that it?'

Stadtschen said nothing. He now stared fixedly ahead, his eyes dull flints. Then, he slowly nodded his head.

'And is the capturing officer the one who oversees this final punishment?'

The answer to this question came quickly. 'It's likely, sir. In cases such as this one, names are rarely mentioned.'

'The authorities know about this unlawful practice, I presume,' I stated, picking up the papers again and glancing over them.

Stadtschen's mouth creased into a hollow smile. 'Not officially, sir. And in the army, if it ain't official, it never happened.'

I closed my eyes, and rubbed my eyelids. The death-roll in Konigsberg seemed to be endless. Four people had been murdered in the streets for a reason that no one could divine. Morik's death made five. The Totzes, six and seven. Rhunken made eight. And now, I could add Rudolph Aleph Kopka to the list.

'Go away, Stadtschen. Get out,' I said, dismissing him with a wave of my hand.

As the door closed and his footsteps receded quickly along the corridor, I threw myself down on the bed, my head a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. And that confusion is all I remember. Somehow, I must have drifted into sleep. A dark void opened up before me, a dreamless vacuum untroubled by the spirits of Morik or the Totzes. Lublinsky was nowhere to be seen. Kopka might still have been alive, attending to his duty in the rowdy company of his fellows. No intruder marred the snow in Professor Kant's garden. Helena's pretty face cancelled out that other face with its pale skin and silver hair.

When I awoke, the first glimmer of dawn illuminated the narrow window-slits, and the long, pale face of Sergeant Koch hovered above my bed like a ghostly impersonation of the early morning sun. He was sitting on the chair beside my cot. 'I'm glad you managed to get some rest, sir,' he said quietly.

The cold inside the room was less intense.

'Did you light the stove, Koch?' I asked. 'I didn't hear you enter.'

'I've been here a while, sir. Made myself useful while I was waiting. I did not wish to disturb you. It would have served no purpose.'

I sat up quickly. 'Is Lublinsky dead?'

Koch shook his head. 'He may lose his sight, according to the doctor. The wound's deep, and there's a danger of infection, but that can't be helped. He'll live.'

'Where is he now?'

'There's an isolation ward in the infirmary here in the barracks.'

'Anna Rostova?'

Koch shook his head.

I lay back on the pillow, breathing more easily. 'You think that she's the killer, don't you, Koch?'

The sergeant looked down at his hands. He might have been mixing a pack of playing-cards, looking at each figure, searching for a particular one before he spoke. 'Many things point that way, don't you think, sir?' he said. 'We know that she's done harm to more people than Lublinsky with that filthy Devil's claw of hers. Remember what she was doing in that back room, sir? That's prison, that is. A long spell, too.'

'But did she commit these murders, Koch?'

Anna Rostova was an abortionist, a prost.i.tute, she had blinded Officer Lublinsky, harmed and tricked any number of people, but if no incontrovertible proof of her involvement in the murders came to light, I would be able to go more easily on those lesser crimes.

'Kopka's dead,' I said, my mind skipping to the latest horror. 'They made him run the gauntlet.'

Koch frowned. 'Who's Kopka, sir?'

'He and Lublinsky were the officers who were sent to guard Jan Konnen's body. They also wrote the reports and drew the sketches of the second murder. But some time later, Kopka decided to desert. What could have made him do it, Koch? He knew what his fate would be if they caught him. All the soldiers know, apparently. Lublinsky, too. That's probably why he never tried to run away...'

'Goodness!' Koch murmured. 'D'you think Lublinsky set him up?'

I shrugged. 'If Anna Rostova were the killer, and Lublinsky was her partner in crime, it would make some sense. Perhaps Kopka realised what was going on, and fled in fear of what Lublinsky and Rostova might do to him? It's just a possibility, of course. Until we catch her...'

My voice faded to a whisper, and we remained in silence for some time.

'I don't believe any clear-cut, rational motive will ever explain these crimes, Herr Stiffeniis,' Sergeant Koch said at last with great deliberation.

I studied his face. It was furrowed, wasted, mirroring my own confusion and frustration.

'I do not follow you, Koch.'

'I'm coming round to Professor Kant's point of view, sir,' he said with an attempt at a smile. 'Do you recall what he said about the pleasure of killing? He said that pure evil exists as a fact, and that it doesn't require any explanation. To be sure, a simple motive would make things crystal-clear and we'd all feel better for that, but what if no such justification exists?' He stared unhappily down at his hands, then glanced up again.

'Anna Rostova is evil. There can be no doubt of that, sir. And you don't need any proof to condemn her. The Prussian Law Code of 1794 has never been repealed, it is not subject to habeas corpus. Napoleon's army could come sweeping through the country at any time, Minister von Arnim was quite clear on the necessity for martial law. I remember reading the circular, sir.'

'But what would be the charge, Sergeant? Witchcraft?' I interrupted him angrily. 'Because the woman claims to invoke the Devil? Not so very long ago, an accusation such as yours would have lit a raging bonfire beneath her. If I am going to accuse Anna Rostova of anything at all even trafficking with the Devil I need to be quite certain in my own mind what it is.'

'Herr Professor Kant would not be so put out by the absence of a motive for murder as you appear to be, sir,' Koch replied at once.

'What?' I expostulated, shocked by the gravity of the accusation.

'Forgive me, sir,' the sergeant said with a shake of his head. 'But there seems to be no rational motivation for anything happening here in Konigsberg. Kant's sudden interest in murder, for example. Would you call that rational?'

Koch knew of my respect for the philosopher, he had witnessed the special relations.h.i.+p which existed between us. Even so, I realised, his personal aversion to Professor Kant was stronger than his sense of duty in my own regard.

'Kant's interest in murder, as you call it, may well prevent a war, Koch. Surely, you have not forgotten our conversation with General Katowice? He was champing at the bit, and I almost gave him the excuse that he was looking for. I was convinced there was a terrorist plot behind all this. But it was Kant's help and the contents of his laboratory that corrected my mistake.'

'Nevertheless, sir,' Koch replied quickly, 'here in town there are many people better qualified to handle the situation than Professor Kant. Perhaps I ought to say, there were...'

'Procurator Rhunken, you mean?'

'Aye, sir,' he said, studying my reaction. 'Professor Kant had him removed because he wanted you to lead this investigation. But, if you'll permit me to speak freely, sir, that was altogether most irregular. You had no experience in cases such as this one. You told me as much when I first presented myself in your office in Lotingen.'

Only someone who has travelled in the land of shadows...

How could I make Koch understand the motive that had induced me to become a magistrate? Or explain the part that Immanuel Kant had played in the decision?

'I thought philosophy was at the root of it,' Koch went on thoughtfully. 'You share his interest in a rational method of a.n.a.lysis. Maybe that's what makes them different, I thought. But does philosophy drive a man to conserve human bits and pieces in gla.s.s jars? Does philosophy push a man to order soldiers to do things that would revolt them more than anything they've ever had to do on the battlefield? What sort of philosophy asks a common soldier to take up a pencil and draw the dead? Or store dead bodies under snow in a stinking cellar while they wait for the moon to rise? Lublinsky's mind has been affected by it, I'd wager. All this talk of the Devil! There's no clear cause or logical explanation that I can see in the whole affair.'

I stopped him there. 'All of this may appear odd, out of place, even motiveless to you, Koch. But what Professor Kant has created in that laboratory is a new method, a new science, I would say. It represents a revolution in our way of thinking. New ideas always surprise us. He is acting in pursuit of Clarity and Truth.'

Koch held up a finger, as if asking permission to speak. A deep frown creased his troubled forehead. 'May I finish what I was saying, sir?'

'Please, go on,' I said, suppressing my defence of Kant.

'Another idea came into my head at first light, sir, and I cannot shake it out. Professor Kant is unwholesomely interested in the mechanics of Evil. He's not in the least concerned about police business. That eel-fisherman down by the Pregel this morning, for instance. He should have been questioned. Instead of doing which, we sent him on his way. Professor Kant has more important things on his mind. He's trying to slip inside the skin of the killer, attempting to penetrate Evil, learn its secrets. That laboratory is just about the most diabolical place that I have ever been.'

The land of shadows...

'I was revolted by what we saw there,' Koch continued, 'while you two were in your natural element. You share a knowledge which goes far and away beyond my own comprehension, sir. If that's philosophy, I thought, I want none of it.'

If Sergeant Koch was horrified, I was dumbstruck at this description of what he believed Professor Kant and I were doing in the hallowed name of Philosophy.

'D'you really think that Kant believes in the powers of reasoning, sir?' Koch ploughed on, pulling a wry face of disbelief. 'After what we've seen in that room?'

'Clearly you do not, Koch,' I said bitterly.

He did not react to the jibe.

'I was shocked, to be honest,' he continued. 'He was hovering like a vulture over the body of that poor murdered boy on the river bank. He seemed to gather strength from what he saw there. Any decent man would shrink at the sight of such a thing, but he did not. His mind was charged with supernatural energy by the spectacle of that lad's corpse. I had the same impression in that room. Did you see the burning light in his eyes, sir? Wild with excitement, he was. His voice grew stronger, his whole expression changed. Why, he's eighty years old...'

Koch broke off for a moment, and rubbed his hands as if to purify them.

'His behaviour gave me quite a turn, sir. He seemed to revel in the fact of death. He's not diminished or humbled by it. No, I would say that he is fascinated by the subject in a manner that is not entirely...healthy.'

Koch paused before p.r.o.nouncing the final word. Then, he waited for me to reply. But I had no reply to make. He had not specifically mentioned my own way of behaving, but he made no secret of the unwholesome fact that he thought that I shared Kant's unhealthy interest.

'Don't waste your time trying to explain what drove Anna Rostova to it, sir. Leave the explaining to Professor Kant. He'll come up with an answer.'

How could I defend the philosopher from such a perverse misreading of his intentions? Immanuel Kant had a.s.sembled the evidence in his laboratory in the interests of understanding and science. For the same reasons, he had made his way down to the River Pregel. He was not 'hovering like a vulture' over the corpse of Morik, sucking energy from the dead like a vampire. He was seeking Truth, regardless of the harm he might do to his own great mind and fragile body. And I was the only man alive who understood his working method to the extent that I could help him. Was this not patently clear to Koch?

Searching frantically for some winning argument to counter the sergeant's jaundiced view, my eyes darting hither and thither, I suddenly spotted a sheet of paper lying on the floor. It must have fallen from my pocket. The sketch that I had traced the evening before of the footstep enshrined in the snow behind Professor Kant's house. In that instant, profound peace descended on my troubled mind. I might have been walking through a vast and silent forest from which the chattering songbirds had taken wing with the first onset of winter cold.

'I will demonstrate to you that Professor Kant is not fascinated by Evil, Koch. I will prove it!' I said in a flash, wondering how in heaven's name I had forgotten such an important piece of evidence. 'Call the coach at once. Our own eyes will tell us whether Anna Rostova is the killer, or not. Thanks to Professor Immanuel Kant, I should add.'

Chapter 21.

As I turned the key and pushed open the heavy door of Kant's dark Wunderkammer, my nerve-ends were tingling. At my side, Sergeant Koch appeared to be untroubled. Calm and detached, apparently in full control of his faculties, he might have been Professor Kant's most convinced advocate. We seemed almost to have exchanged roles. Koch looked steadily ahead, while I glanced anxiously here and there, examining the sandgla.s.s clock in its wooden frame, the lidded crucibles and the clay retorts that Professor Kant had used to conduct his scientific experiments with a good deal more attention than they deserved. I had reason enough to be uneasy; I was not entirely certain that I would find what I was searching for. Would I be able to confound Koch's doubts, and silence my own?

Neither one of us was so wholly unguarded in his motions, however, as to direct the lantern at the shelves lining the far wall. We seemed to have reached an unspoken pact on that score: those jars did not exist. Even so, we were aware of the glitter of light on the curved gla.s.s surfaces just beyond the edge of our vision. I could not shake off the notion that some unspecified 'thing' might take shape and step out of the dark shadows. Something evil and ominous. Had Kant really frequented that place alone? Or with Doctor Vigilantius, cutting and carving what the murderer had left in one piece? Koch's suggestion that Professor Kant found some morbid satisfaction in handling those distressing objects forced its way into my mind, but I shrugged it off.

'We must find the sketches that the Professor asked Lublinsky to draw,' I said, s.h.i.+fting an alembic jar from the worktop and taking my own drawing from my pocket. 'If any footprints were found beside the dead bodies, I intend to compare them with the partial print that I traced last night in Kant's garden.'

'Do you think that it belongs to the killer, sir?' Koch asked.