Fatal Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

lessons. Can you recommend a teacher?’
    â€˜Herr Janowsky. He instructs my younger sister. But you must not judge yourself unkindly. You did very well . . . considering.’
    They were still standing close together. Amelia’s face was tilted upwards – the silver ribbon reflecting the yellow lamplight.
    Liebermann’s fingertips were troubled by memories of the Ball. The warmth of Amelia’s body – flesh, shifting beneath velvet. There had been so many accidental brushes, touches, inadvertent intimacies. Now these memories were crowding back, accompanied by turbulent feelings that he had hitherto sucessfully repressed.
    â€˜Doctor Liebermann.’ Amelia said his name softly – so softly that it was as though she had merely inflected a sigh. The exhalation carried a faint note of inquiry.
    He could smell her perfume – a heavy, soporific lavender.
    He felt curiously dissociated –
Too much champagne?
– and became aware that he was leaning forward.
    He stopped himself.
    The moment passed.
    Amelia was raising her hand.
    He continued moving forward, bending low until his lips were pressed against the silk of her glove.
    â€˜Good night, Doctor Liebermann.’
    â€˜Good night.’ His voice was strained. ‘Good night, Miss Lydgate.’
    The Englishwoman found her keys and opened the door. She paused for a moment on the threshold, and then stepped into darkness.
    Liebermann did not go home. He felt far too agitated. Instead, he walked to the Josephinum, where he paused to gaze at the statue of Hygeia – the goddess of healing. He lit a cigarette, and addressed the deity directly: ‘Well, if old Nietzsche was right I’ve just missed an opportunity: an opportunity that I shall continue to miss for all of eternity.’

6
    RHEINHARDT, THE HEADMASTER and Professor Klodwig Gärtner were standing together in the laboratory. It was an ugly, dilapidated room. Exposed water pipes followed the wall just below the ceiling, and from these oversized conduits brownish stains of varying intensity dribbled to the floor. A constant hissing sound filled the air.
    â€˜I thought he’d fallen asleep,’ said Gärtner. ‘“
Wake up, Zelenka
,” I said. “
Wake up
,
boy!
” But he didn’t stir, so I said it again . . . “
Come on
,
boy, wake up!
” And clapped my hands, loudly. Still – nothing. So I walked over and shook him.’
    Gärtner was an old master – almost completely bald, except for two tufts of silver hair that sprouted above his ears. His eyebrows had the consistency of wire wool and curled up at the ends, giving his face a curious, demonic cast. This effect was assisted by a sharp pointed beard and thin moustache. His nose was long, and bent slightly to one side, suggesting that he might have been a pugilist in his youth.
    â€˜Was he breathing?’ asked Rheinhardt.
    â€˜I don’t know – I don’t think so.’
    Rheinhardt could smell alcohol on Gärtner’s breath. He had clearly drunk more than was strictly necessary to steady his nerves.
    â€˜To be honest, Inspector,’ Gärtner continued, ‘I didn’t think to check. I simply ran to get the headmaster.’
    Rheinhardt peered into one of several large glass-fronted display cabinets. It contained geological exhibits. Most of the collection wasuninspiring. He studied the labels:
slate with pyrites, basalt, flint, red sandstone
. The only thing that captured his interest was a shiny black trilobite with large protruding eyes.
    â€˜Go on,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘I’m listening.’
    â€˜We laid him out on the floor,’ Gärtner continued, ‘but it was obvious something very bad had happened.’
    Rheinhardt turned.
    â€˜Where did you lay him out, exactly?’
    â€˜There, Inspector,’ interrupted the headmaster, pointing between the two front benches where the high wooden stools had