He closed his eyes as if all this were just too much for him, and put the gun aside.
“Don’t tell me this Kollek is dead too. Or else why didn’t you bring him along?”
“That’s right. Kessler plugged him a little while ago.”
Kessler raised his arms in regret and said in a tone of voice that mimicked remorse, “He was trying to avoid arrest. Unfortunately, I slipped on the rug. A stupid affair.”
With a quick glance at Lubars, he added, “I’ll probably be transferred.”
“I see, I see,” said the public prosecutor, not knowing what else to say. Then, when he found something: “It all sounds quite plausible. But how do you arrive at the accusation that Mr. Kessler has had an involvement with this matter that goes beyond his professional duty?”
I lit a cigarette and prepared Lubars for things to come by placing Kessler’s calendar on his desk. It gave me courage.
“You remember the uproar about the Rhein Main Farben plant?”
Lubars looked irritated, as if I had been about to tell him a joke.
“Those were the people that sold mustard gas to Iraq, and soon after wanted to open a branch factory in Vogelsberg. Because of recent events, many people opposed the idea, and the Rhein Main Farben bosses had to come up with something to change what Kessler refers to as ‘public opinion’ in this nice little book. Nothing changes public opinion in this country more effectively than two sticks of dynamite, a murdered employer, and a grieving widow. Well, maybe the sad death of some dogs … In any case, such a deed calls for revenge, and the best avenger is one who despite such tragic setbacks continues the lifework of the deceased. In this case, the field of chemical industry. So by all means, let’s have the new factory in Vogelsberg. That was Kollek’s and Kessler’s plan.
“Kollek also saw this as a wonderful opportunity to take care of his private affairs with the Bolligs. His suggestion to make Friedrich Bollig the martyr was taken up with alacrity, since the firm is insignificant and has no major economic connections. So Kollek, with Kessler’s assistance, recruited those four boys to set things in motion. But what Kollek didn’t know-since he didn’t have access to this little calendar of Kessler’s-was that he too was slated for liquidation sooner or later. Tonight he was liquidated.”
Without looking at either Kessler or Lubars, I picked up the calendar, opened it to the relevant page, and pushed it across the desk again.
“Kollek got paid for his part in the plot. I don’t know where he and Kessler first met. Kollek came to Frankfurt in sixty-nine. He may have taken care of things for Kessler on previous occasions, or he may have been an effective informer. All I know is that they knew each other.”
Then I tried to describe the conversation I had heard through the Bollig villa’s kitchen window in as much detail as I could. Kessler was poker-faced. His eyes had become dark, narrow slits. Only his right index finger tapped quietly on the armrest of his chair. Lubars’s hands shook as he picked up the calendar. Then he swallowed and said, “Who is M?”
I was able to help him. “Well, that’s not too hard to figure out. The Mayor of Frankfurt is also the legal adviser to Rhein Main Farben. His wife owns a handsome packet of shares in that outfit. So M. stands for the Mayor. Kessler hasn’t spent much effort on coding his notes here. The Mayor was the connection to Rhein Main Farben; he may have been the instigator of the whole thing. In any case, it was he who got Kessler started on the plot.”
Slowly Lubars laid the calendar aside. He was clearly looking for a hole to hide in. He bent forward and said, with great effort,
“Mr. Kessler … What do you have to say to that?”
For a while Kessler didn’t say anything. Then he laughed for a while, sounding like a hysterical old woman. And then he stopped and said, quite calmly, “What could I have to say to that? It is incredible.”
Lubars mumbled, “Yes, that’s what I thought.”
I stood up, furious. “Stop playing games! It’s all in that fucking book! Or do you think the Superintendent just scribbled that in there for fun? What about Kollek’s address?”
I pounded on the desk in front of Lubars.
“Why is it in there? Or can’t I read? Or can’t you read? Or can’t anybody here read anything anymore? Tell me-are those cooking recipes or love letters? Tell me!” I was roaring. “Yes, it is incredible, as you gentlemen just noted! But it is verified by this fucking page, in this fucking book, and this book happens to belong to this fucking superintendent, and it’s his fucking incredible story … But is it my fault that it’s incredible?”
I rounded on Kessler. “And if you keep on staring at me like that, like some overstuffed carp, I’ll punch your nose through your head so it leaves a hole for the daylight to shine through!”
Then I picked up the next handy object, a full ashtray, and threw it against the wall. After that I sat down.
For at least two minutes the only sounds in the room were my heavy breathing and Lubars’s quiet cough. Someone said, “Mr. Kessler?” someone answered, “Yes.” I didn’t give a damn. I had done my bit, let them sort it out. I closed my eyes and thought about mild summer evenings in the grass, champagne in my head, and a flock of nut-brown girls in heaven. In the meantime, Kessler presented his version. The notes concerning M related to private matters, and Kollek’s address had come to his notice in the course of the investigation. After all, he too had been looking for the fifth man. And Lubars said, “Aha, I see.”
I opened my eyes when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Lubars’s,
“Mr. Kayankaya, I must ask you to tell me the name of the suspect in the murder of Barbara Bollig.”
I took my time lighting a cigarette.
“And if I don’t?”
“Please don’t damage your position any more than you already have. Otherwise I’ll have to arrest you as an accessory to murder.”
I stood up and let the smoke trickle slowly through my lips. I pointed my cigarette at Kessler, who was about to put on his overcoat.
“And what about him?”
Lubars took a deep breath that made his nostrils flutter.
“Mr. Kayankaya, I must warn you to keep such bizarre accusations to yourself in the future. I do not know how you arrived at such incredible conclusions, but I advise you to concentrate on a correct chain of evidence when you deal with another case. Mr. Kessler has been kind enough to refrain from a libel action.”
The tip of his tongue briefly touched his upper lip.
“Do you understand me?”
I felt petrified. Only when Kessler wanted to pick up his calendar, I bounded to the desk and grabbed it before he could get to it. Fists on hips, he snapped at me, “My calendar, please. You won’t get a chance to steal it a second time.”
Without undue haste, I pocketed the little book. He came at me, tried to grab me. I rubbed my chin. “If you touch me, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
He desisted. Lubars closed his eyes. Kessler said, “I must ask you not to leave town during the next couple of weeks. Your theory about the murder of this Schmidi does not sound convincing. It happened in your apartment, with your gun, and you did not notify the police. I am the superintendent in charge, and I will investigate your statement carefully. My calendar, please. Or,” he cast a reproachful glance at Lubars, “would you prefer to stay here? I have all kinds of things on you, and the only reason I’m letting you go is to give you a chance to come to your senses and forget about your crazy story.”
It was true, he could have nailed me. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to attract as little public attention as possible. I didn’t feel like spending a night in a cell. I tossed the calendar on the floor in front of his feet. And that was that.
Leaning against the desk, I murmured to myself, “Great, Kayankaya.”
Long after Kessler had left with an ironic salute, I was still standing there. Lubars went to his desk, shuffled some papers, and finally said, “I am sorry, Mr. Kayankaya.” After he had let those weighty words sink in, he went on, “It may well be that your story was close to the truth-but you see, the Mayor … A couple of ambiguous entries … that’s not enough … And with such an accusation, I would be putting my head on the chopping block.” He sighed, and repeated, “I am truly sorry.”