Critique Of Criminal Reason Part 37

'But he will be stopped,' I added.

The ghost of that body down in the charnel house rose up before me, as if I had called to it. I wanted to rea.s.sure Professor Kant that all was well, inform him that the murderer had been defeated, announce that the avenging hand of G.o.d had found the killer out, and struck him down as he deserved. But I did not. I could not. Perhaps I never would be allowed to tell him. Time was pressing hard, the sands were running out. Immanuel Kant was, I believed, beyond hearing, beyond hope, beyond pain or any sentient feeling.

'You were right,' he wheezed suddenly.

I held my breath as he continued.

'You saw the truth in Paris. Then, your brother...'

I was robbed of the power of sensible speech. I wanted to run away from that room, to escape from that dying man and the implications of what he was saying. But I was caught, unhinged, helpless.

'You watched him die,' he continued, each word a conquest, each pause a march to a mountain top. 'That's why I sent for you, Hanno...You have been inside the mind of a murde'

He sank back exhausted. The air rushed out of his lungs in a long, whistling diminuendo, like a grace-note fading in an organ pipe.

'His mind is drifting,' Doctor Gioacchini murmured, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it hard as an enigmatic smile began slowly to form itself on Kant's bloodless lips.

With a sudden yawning gasp, Immanuel Kant p.r.o.nounced with crystal clarity the final phrase of his earthly existence. Everyone present heard the declaration. Herr Jachmann faithfully recorded it in his written memorial of the event which was published some months later.

'Es...ist...gut.'

He repeated the phrase again and again, his lips moving soundlessly now, as a heavy burden seemed to fall away from his body in a gentle ripple. Then, he moved no more.

I stood transfixed.

Immanuel Kant was dead.

Beyond the window, grey day surrendered slowly to the onset of dusk, heralding the coming of the night. There was something portentous and fitting in the rotation. My mind was a blank. Some moments later, when I came to myself, I was wailing aloud, clasping my spiritual master's ice-cold hand in mine. In that instant, the horrid nightmare of those frantic days dissolved away. It might all have been nothing worse than a bleak and terrifying dream. I had no thoughts for Martin Lampe, nor for any other creature on the face of the Earth. No s.p.a.ce survived for anything, except the tiny corpse stretched out lifeless on the bed before me and the mystery of the words that Professor Kant had murmured as he died.

Es ist gut.

What was good?

What good had Kant discovered in the failure of my investigation?

You were right. You saw the truth...

In the name of G.o.d, what had I ever been right about?

What truth had I ever seen?

The image of Immanuel Kant on his deathbed ought to have swept away all other thoughts and considerations, and for a while it did so. I was consumed with sorrow as I drove away from the house, having taken my leave of Johannes Odum, Doctor Gioacchini and Herr Jachmann. But as I sat alone in the darkness of the coach, and the wheels turned, and the Fortress drew ever closer and closer, that perplexing, enigmatic smile on the dead man's lips began to trouble me. Indeed, it seemed to overlap and blend and meld with the characterless blank of that other enigmatic mask of death, the unknown face of the man whose skull and bones lay rotting in the charnel house.

Could any two deaths be more starkly different?

Professor Kant had died peacefully at home in his bed, surrounded by the love and respect that had accompanied him throughout the course of his long life; the man in the morgue had been torn to shreds by snapping fangs, alone and at night in a deserted wilderness. Infinite pain, infinite terror. No hope of salvation for him. It was as if a legion of demons had been released from h.e.l.l by a pitiless Creator for an hour, and on one condition: that they wiped out every single trace of that man's existence. I could imagine no more fitting punishment for a heartless killer.

But was he the killer? Was that man truly Martin Lampe?

I would never rest until I could put a name to that corpse. Resolution of that mystery would signal one of two things that the desperate hunt for Martin Lampe must continue, or that peace had been restored to Konigsberg. In the latter case, the troubled souls of those who had been annihilated by the fury of the killer would be laid to rest, along with their bones.

Then, and only then, I would find peace.

I entered the main gate of the Fortress briskly, intent on going down to the charnel house to take a second look. This time, I determined to go alone, without Stadtschen breathing down my neck. I crossed the courtyard and entered the North Tower without meeting anyone, and soon reached the ogive arch and narrow door which led down to the dungeons. Arming myself with a torch from the wall, I opened the door.

Before pa.s.sing through, I hesitated on the threshold.

The smell of decay seemed to reach out from below like an effluvial tide to greet and drown me. It was a distillation of human and vegetal decomposition, and a million other age-old odours compounded together beneath the ancient mound of the Fortress. For an instant, I almost turned away. Only the desire to know led me onward, the desperate hope that some vital clue might still be found.

I entered, pulling the door closed behind me, and began to descend the dark staircase by torchlight. But as I went down, and down again, I became aware that another torch was coming up the stairwell towards me. Peering into the depths for some moments, I was at last able to discern two shadowy figures down there in the gloom. I recognised Officer Stadtschen at once. But who was the other person? My heart leapt into my throat. Had I come too late? Had the doctor already given the order for those putrid human remains to be taken out of the charnel house and buried?

I halted, anger and frustration mounting, waiting for Stadtschen to draw near, anxious to hear by his own admission what further damage had been inflicted on my investigation in my absence. But then, as they came within ten steps or so, my heart took a leap and a bound. Dressed in a trailing black shawl, which covered her head and her shoulders, was Frau Lampe, and she seemed to be leaning heavily on the arm of the soldier. For that, if for nothing else, I uttered a word of thanks to the Lord. She had seen the paltry remains, then.

They took a few more steps, then Stadtschen looked up, caught sight of me and stopped in his tracks. The woman raised her tear-filled eyes to mine a second later. Her skin was pale: it seemed to be as transparent as melted wax, paler even than the face of Professor Kant. Her cheeks and mouth were puffy and swollen. Her mournful appearance seemed to confirm what I desired to know above all other things. I almost rejoiced in her sorrow.

She had identified Martin Lampe!

'Frau Lampe?' I called, a chirping note in my voice that I hoped she would not perceive or understand.

The woman sobbed loudly, and looked away, shaking off the supporting arm of Officer Stadtschen, as if I had caught her in an unguarded moment of weakness that she did not wish me to see.

'The body was found on the woodland path that your husband took,' I said as solemnly as I was able. 'Not much remains, I'm afraid. You must be upset, I am truly sorry...'

'Upset, sir?' Despite the expression of distress on her face, her voice was firm. Indeed, there was a stinging, acrimonious tone to it. 'Any soul would be upset, Herr Stiffeniis. I pray no other woman will be forced to see what I have had to see.'

I studied her face uncertainly.

'Nothing in that loathsome thing,' she hissed at me with barely controlled anger, 'can ever make me think it's Martin. Nothing! I hope the search for him is going on?'

I must have held my breath, for it exploded from me in an audible gasp.

It was not finished, then. Martin Lampe was still free to prey upon the innocent and the unsuspecting, like the beasts that had ripped the unknown man to pieces. Hungry for human life, he was hiding out there somewhere, poised to strike again at any moment.

'Frau Lampe was taken ill, sir,' Stadtschen explained quickly.

I heard the sound of his words, but did not absorb the substance of them. My thoughts were already racing wildly through the dark streets and dank alleyways of Konigsberg in pursuit of the killer.

'Those bodies ought to be removed, Herr Procurator,' he added. 'Once I have seen the lady safe upstairs, I'll get the doctor to do something. They are no fit sight for any woman. No man, either. They ought to be interred at once, sir, or we'll have an epidemic on our hands.'

'Very well,' I said sharply. 'Inform the doctor. Take Frau Lampe home. But within the hour, Stadtschen, I want a signed affidavit on my desk to the effect that visual recognition was not possible, given the state of...alteration of the body. I will be in my office, waiting. I have a report to write, regarding my investigation. For the King.'

I stared at Stadtschen as I rapped out these final words. I had spared him once, I would not do so again. He had failed me, and I fully intended to tell His Majesty of the stupidity of the officer's actions. By removing that unknown corpse from the woods, he had struck a mortal blow against my investigation, leaving me no possibility of drawing any definite conclusion about the death or the ident.i.ty of the man who would soon be laid to rest in an unmarked grave.

A look of alarm appeared on Stadtschen's face as he bowed his head, clicked his heels, and told me that he would do exactly as I had told him. Clearly, he had understood the meaning of my threat.

'Please accept my apologies,' I said, turning to the woman, 'for the ordeal which you have been subjected to. Had the bones been left where they were found, it might have made identification possible.' I glanced at Stadtschen, adding: 'Whoever is to blame will be punished.'

I studied the woman's face.

'I wonder if you know, Frau Lampe...'

I stopped. For an instant I had been tempted to inform her of the death of Professor Kant. But only for an instant. I contented myself, instead, by witholding the news. It was a small, meaningless act of spite, but she had just dashed my hopes of identifying Martin Lampe.

'What do you wonder, Herr Stiffeniis?' the woman asked.

'Oh, nothing very important,' I said, turning away and clattering up the stairs.

Given her opinion of the philosopher, she would hear the news and rejoice soon enough.

Chapter 34.

I went upstairs to my office, calling for the sentry to come and light the candles as I set foot inside the dark room. The day was drawing on, it was high time for me to begin composing my report for the King. I had already put off the task far longer than I ought to have done, and I still had no real idea how much to tell. Nor how much to conceal. With Professor Kant dead, and the possibility that Martin Lampe was still loose on the streets of Konigsberg, exactly how should I begin and end?

With deliberation, I picked up the feather quill, primed it full of ink, set the point to the smooth surface of the paper, then remained seated in that position like a statue carved from solid granite for fifteen minutes, or more. I felt the ire and the frustration of a shepherd building up inside me, a shepherd vainly trying to round up his unruly flock without the a.s.sistance of a trained dog, or a handy wicket gate in which to corner the skittish animals. Whenever I began to think that I had at last marshalled all my thoughts, some glaring inconsistency would jump up suddenly and slip out of the fold, preventing me from making a start.

The easiest way, I convinced myself at last, would be to report only those facts or events for which I had some corroborating written statement.

'On this, the 12th day in the month of February, 1804,' I began, I, Hanno Stiffeniis of Lotingen, a.s.sistant Procurator to the Second Circuit of the Judicial Magistrature of the High Court of Prussia, called to investigate the murders of four citizens in the Royal city of Konigsberg, do solemnly swear and avow, having almost completed my enquiries, that the declaration which follows is true and incontestable. There is good reason to believe...

I paused, dipped my pen in the inkwell again, then let out a loud sigh. No good reason to believe anything came to my mind. Indeed, all the tiny pieces of the mosaic that I had managed to a.s.semble led me to believe the very worst. I threw down my pen, pushed back my chair, walked across the room, and stared dismally out of the window. The sky was dark, low clouds driving in from the sea, bringing rain, sleet and probably more snow. I threw open the window for a breath of air, though it was already cold enough inside the room. Down below in the courtyard, soldiers were coming and going noisily. It was six o'clock, time for the changing of the guard. Men who had just come off duty ambled aimlessly up and down, laughing and joking, smoking their long clay pipes, exchanging insults and pleasantries, cat-calling and taunting their unfortunate fellows who were destined to pa.s.s the night marching round and round the icy ramparts.

Suddenly, I wished that I were one of them. I wanted to be free of this task, free of the responsibility and the care it had placed on my shoulders. More to the point, I wished that I could be at home in Lotingen, in the company of my wife and my children, idly roasting jacket potatoes before a roaring kitchen fire. Until the report was finished, I reminded myself sharply, there was little hope that I would be going anywhere. Unless I could produce a convincing account of every single thing that had happened in Konigsberg, I would be left to rot there in the Fortress. With the unresolved question of Martin Lampe still hanging around my neck, I realised, I might be imprisoned there for a long, long...

The noise seemed to come from far away.

I had been so deeply lost in melancholy musing that a pitched battle might have been fought and lost for possession of the Fortress, and I would have known nothing of it.

Someone had been knocking at my door.

The sound was repeated a moment later, followed by a deep voice that I recognised. 'Herr Stiffeniis, may I enter, sir?'

Officer Stadtschen was at my door. No doubt, he had come to plead for leniency. He could have few illusions about my intentions, little doubt of what I might write in his regard.

'Come back later,' I called out sharply. 'The King must have his report!'

But Stadtschen did not go away. He knocked again, louder this time.

'Herr Procurator, I beg you, sir. This cannot wait.'

I closed the window, strode to the door, my temper flaring into a blazing fire. What alternative did he leave me? I would tell Stadtschen exactly what I thought of him. By moving that corpse from the woods, he had ruined my investigation. If I had my way, he would be demoted. I would have liked to see him whipped into the bargain.

I threw the door open, saying: 'Well? What is it?'

He was standing to attention, stiff and straight as a flagpole. He glanced nervously into my face, then raised his hand and held out a sheet of paper.

'The affidavit, sir,' he announced. 'Recognition of the corpse by Frau Lampe, sir. That mark's the sign of the widow.'

'Widow?' I blurted out, s.n.a.t.c.hing the paper, reading it greedily.

I hereby swear and affirm that the remains of the body found in the woods near Belefest, which I examined in the Fortress of Konigsberg in the presence of an officer, belong to my legal husband, Martin Lampe.

The woman's name had been written out in the same bold letters as the text and the signature of Stadtschen. Frau Lampe had witnessed the contents of the affidavit by making a peculiar slanting cross at the bottom of the page.

'The woman cannot write,' Stadtschen clarified.

I studied his face. 'What holy miracle is this?' I quizzed. 'Frau Lampe was most adamant that it was not her husband's body.'

'Darn my breeches, sir!' he exclaimed, quickly begging my pardon for his language before he continued. 'It all came about while I was taking her home. The fact is, when I led her down to the charnel house, the smell was...well, sir, you know yourself, it was indescribable. Frau Lampe complained at once of feeling ill, and she asked to be taken out of there, insisting that those dreadful remains could not possibly be her husband's. I could hardly force her to examine the bones, could I, sir? When I met you, Herr Procurator, I was taking her up to the courtyard for a breath of fresh air. I'd have taken her down again immediately, but you ordered me to take the woman home instead, sir.'

'Go on,' I said, beginning to suspect that Stadtschen might have forced the woman to sign the affidavit in the hope of salvaging his own position. 'If she didn't even look at the corpse, what made her change her mind?'

'It happened while we were walking out to Belefest, sir,' he explained. 'I didn't speak again about that body. But I did ask her what distinguis.h.i.+ng features to look for if we happened to come across him. Officially, he was missing. He might have lost his memory, been wounded, or even killed. I was wondering whether he had a birthmark, or some other sign on his body to identify him by.'

Stadtschen paused, and a shadow of a smile appeared on his face.

'And he did, sir! She told me so herself.'

'What was this sign?' I asked. I might have been a man with a terrible illness who had just been told by an eminent physician that it was easily curable.

'We saw it, sir, but we took no notice at the time,' Stadtschen replied. A broader smile broke out on his face, as if he found the situation amusing. 'D'you recall that white strip of bone inside his mouth, Herr Stiffeniis? Remember when I turned the skull over? While serving in the Prussian army forty-odd years ago, Herr Lampe was lightly nicked by an enemy bayonet. It sliced through his bottom lip and ended up slitting the roof of his mouth!'

I remembered only too well. I had taken that jagged scar to be the exposed bone of the palate. I had even induced myself to believe that it had been caused by the fang of one of the wolves that had torn him apart. If Martin Lampe's blood-caked mouth had caused me to quake with revulsion then, it now began to seem like one of the most stupendous sights I had seen in my life.

'I hurried her back with me to town, and we arrived just in time. I searched for you, of course, sir,' he added quickly, scrutinising my face to gauge my reaction, 'but you had gone out. The medical officer had issued death certificates, the pastor had been called to adminster the last rites, the graves for him and the other man had already been dug. Another five minutes would have complicated matters. I explained the necessity to the doctor, and he made certain that she examined the skull and saw the scar, though wrapped up in a cloth. It was painless enough, and she identified him. I took her to the office, wrote out the affidavit, read it through to her, and she made her cross. As I said before, sir, Frau Lampe is now a widow.'

I looked away and closed my eyes for a moment.

Konigsberg is safe, I marvelled. My task is over.

'This is excellent work, Officer Stadtschen,' I said warmly. 'I can now discount this corpse in writing my report. The part that you have played will appear in a more positive light.' Though his face was stern and composed, I thought I saw a twinkle in his eyes. 'G.o.d bless you, sir,' he murmured.

G.o.d had already been extremely good to me that day, I realised. Better by far than I deserved. The killer not only had a name, but his corpse had been identified beyond a shadow of a doubt. I closed the door quietly, and sat down to work again. This time, I was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with confidence. Divine Providence was pus.h.i.+ng me forward with both hands.

'The King shall have his report!' I announced to the empty room.

A triumphant proclamation of success was what I had always hoped to write. A triumphant proclamation of success was what the King would have. Picking up the quill again, I continued with all the artistry of an inspired poet.

There is good reason to believe that the authors of the crimes have been identified as Ulrich Totz, innkeeper of this city, and his wife, Gertrude Totz (nee Sonner). By their own frank admission, the miscreants declared that their tavern and lodging-house, named 'The Baltic Whaler', was a notorious meeting-place for Bonapartist sympathisers and for sundry other rebels. Their intention was to foment chaos in the city and prepare the way for a military invasion by the French armies under the command of Napoleon Bonaparte. These heinous crimes of murder and terrorisation of the population began, as Your Highness well knows, in January, 1803...

I stroked my chin for some moments with the feathered quill, then added more in the same colourful vein: ...and they were perpetrated with the a.s.sistance and the material connivance of a woman of their acquaintance, Anna Rostova, a known prost.i.tute, dabbler in black magic, and pract.i.tioner of illegal abortions, by her own admission under unforced questioning. It was not possible fully to ascertain the precise ideological scope of their rebellious intentions there may, indeed, be no formal connection with any foreign state, nor any invasion planned as a direct consequence of their actions.