"The Bear's tone reflected the art expert's sober demeanor. "As you wish. We police are more accustomed to asking questions rather than answering, but I shall do what I can." There was the slightest emphasis on the word police. It was as good a way as any of warning Paulus to think carefully before he spoke, thought Fitzduane.
"Thank you," said von Beck. The warning had been understood. He took his time before he spoke. He straightened a small bronze bust on his desk while he collected his thoughts. He tidied the papers in front of him into an exact symmetrical pile. He cleared his throat. Fitzduane felt like taking a walk around the block while von Beck dithered.
"My first question: Do your inquiries have to do with the recent wave of killings in this city?"
The Bear nodded. "They do."
Von Beck exhaled slowly. "My second question: You have asked me to comment on a certain artist's work. Do you suspect the artist of being involved — centrally involved — with these killings?"
It was the Bear's turn to hesitate. "Yes," he said finally.
"You don't think that he could be involved only peripherally, an innocent victim, if you will?"
"Anything's possible," said the Bear.
"But you don't think so?"
The Bear gave a deep sigh. "No. I think our friend is involved from his toes to the tip of his paintbrush. I think he's a ruthless homicidal nut with a perverted sense of humor, who should be eliminated as fast as possible before he contaminates any more lives. I think you should stop playing verbal tiddlywinks and tell us everything you know or suspect. I'm running out of patience. This is a murder investigation, not some parlor game."
The color drained from von Beck's face, and he looked as if he were going to be sick. "My third question," he said, "and then I will tell you what you want to know: If I tell you everything, can I trust your utter discretion? No leaks to the press, no appearing in open court, no involvement at all, in fact, other than my giving you a statement?"
"This business about priorities," said the Bear. "We have a mass killer on the loose. If I have to parade you around the streets of Bern with a rope around your neck to checkmate our friend, then that's what I'll do. On the other hand, you're a cousin of a trusted colleague. If I can help you, I will. We're after the shark, not a minnow."
Fitzduane broke in. "To be frank, Herr von Beck, I think you have already decided to tell us all you know, and we respect that. It takes courage. But there is something else to think about apart from public duty. Basic survival. Our murderous friend has a habit of cleaning up after himself. He doesn't like to leave a trail of witnesses. They seem to enjoy brief life spans after they have served their purpose. It just might be a good idea to help stop our friend before he kills you."
Von Beck now looked truly terrified. "I know," he said. "I know. You don't have to say any more." The Bear and Fitzduane waited while Paulus von Beck composed himself.
"Before I give you my professional opinion," said Paulus, "I had better explain the full extent of my relationship with Simon Balac. I am a homosexual. Bern is an intimate city where people of similar interests and persuasions almost inevitably tend to know one another. The artistic community is comparatively small. I got to know Balac — everyone calls him Balac — well. Nearly five years ago we became lovers."
"Your being homosexual or even having an affair with Simon Balac is neither here nor there to the police," said the Bear. "Your sex life is your business."
"I'm afraid that is not all there is to it," said Paulus. "You see, Balac is a strong personality with what one might call varied... exotic tastes. He has a strong sexual drive, and he likes diversions. In his company one finds oneself swept along, eager to please, willing to try things, to do things that normally one would not contemplate. He is a brilliant artist, and the foibles of such men must be tolerated, or at least that is what I used to tell myself. If I am to be truthful, I was swept up in the sheer sexual excitement of it all, the tasting of forbidden fruit.
"Balac enjoys women sexually as well as men. He enjoys group sex in all its variations. He likes children, sexually mature children but still way below the age of consent. He likes to initiate, to corrupt. He makes it incredibly exciting. He uses stimulants — alcohol, various drugs — and above all his own extraordinary energy and charisma."
"The von Graffenlaub twins, Rudi and Vreni?" asked Fitzduane.
"And Erika?" added the Bear.
"Yes, yes," said Paulus.
"Hmm," said the Bear. "You'd better tell us all of it. Does Charlie know any of this?"
Paulus shook his head firmly. "He knows I'm gay, of course, but nothing else. He's a good friend and a kind man. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t."
"I'm afraid he'll have to know now," said the Bear. "You do understand that, don't you?"
Paulus nodded.
It was midafternoon before they emerged from the museum. While the Bear debated whether to go to satisfy his audibly growling stomach — he had decided he was sick of fish — Fitzduane asked the one question that had been bothering him since von Beck had shown he could walk through walls. "Is it normal in Switzerland to chop up the core structure of the museum in the interest of artistic expression?"
The Bear laughed. "Living art," he said. "Actually there is an explanation. They were knocking down that section of the museum anyway to make way for a new extension, and they thought it might be fun to let artists take part in the process."
"Ah," said Fitzduane.
"No matter how bizarre the event, there is almost always a straightforward explanation. Don't you agree?"
"No," said Fitzduane.
* * * * *
The Chief Kripo had learned to regard the Project K headquarters as a haven. Only there did he have any thinking time; only there was he relatively free of interference from his political masters wanting progress reports; only there could he escape the profusion of foreign antiterrorist agencies that all wanted a piece of the Hangman, doubtless to skin and stuff and hang on their respective bureaucratic walls; only there did any serious progress seem to be made on the case itself, as opposed to the international hunt, which appeared to have become an enterprise in its own right with the objective almost incidental; only there could he avoid his wife and two mistresses, each of whom blamed his now excessively long absences on some relative advance in his affections for one of the others. It was no picnic being Chief of the Criminal Police in Bern these days.
As luck would have it, the Chief was in the main computer room when Henssen finished the computer runs the Bear had requested. He stared at Henssen's screen. Could this be it? Had they got a real answer at last? Could they ship that albatross of an Irishman back to his bogs? Could they think in terms of no Hangman and a nice steady traditional Bernese two corpses a year? Hell, it was going to be champagne time.
The Chief tried to rein in on his hopes. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"
"Nothing is sure in this life, Chief," said the Bear, "except death, a strong Swiss franc, and that the rich get richer."
"Convince me, convince us." The Chief included the rest of the Project K team with a sweep of his arm.
* * * * *
Kadar hadn't expected Lodge to be discovered, and he had absolutely no idea how it could have happened. He had been so careful with this personality. He hadn't taken the risks that had characterized his behavior in other guises. How then could it have occurred?