‘I wouldn’t dare.’ Rath grinned. ‘But tell me one thing. What did you say to Adamek and the other men just now?’
‘You really want to know?’
‘At least why they laughed like that.’
‘Well, now…’ Rammoser cleared his throat. ‘I told them they shouldn’t take you so seriously, that you’re just a poor, stray Zabrak who knows no better.’
‘A poor, stray what?’ Rath asked, before waving the teacher away. ‘Actually, forget I asked. I can work it out for myself.’ He took a drag on his cigarette. ‘So, in other words, you exposed me to ridicule.’
‘It never hurts to be underestimated.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, then thank you.’
‘At your service.’
Rath fetched the photos from his bag. ‘I only wanted to ask Adamek about these men. You don’t happen to know them?’
‘Is that Lamkau?’ Rammoser asked. ‘What’s happened to him?’
Rath felt mildly euphoric. At last, someone who knew who Lamkau was. ‘He’s dead,’ he said.
‘No great loss.’
‘Careful. You’ll make yourself into a suspect.’
‘I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘What have you got against Lamkau?’
‘He was one of Wengler’s thugs. I wouldn’t like to say how many people he put in hospital.’
‘Wengler? Director Wengler?’
‘That’s right. Gustav Wengler. The owner of the Luisenhöhe estate.’
‘He had a band of thugs?’
‘That’s old hat. It was a long time ago.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me, given how he snaffled up the estate during inflation.’
‘Wengler, a profiteer from inflation? Who told you that?’
‘I heard it somewhere,’ Rath said.
Rammoser was thinking about something. ‘Do you have a torch, Inspector?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I think there’s one in the car.’
‘Let’s go.’ Rammoser drained his glass. ‘I have to show you something. Perhaps then you’ll understand that things here aren’t quite so simple.’
‘When are they ever?’ Rath said. Arriving at the car he located the torch and stowed it in his pocket. ‘Where to?’ he asked. ‘Wouldn’t we be better off driving?’
Rammoser shook his head. ‘It isn’t far, five minutes perhaps. Besides, you’re not exactly sober.’
The marketplace was still lit, but when they entered the appropriately named Stille Gasse – Silent Lane – everything went pitch black. A few lights were visible from the windows in the distance, otherwise nothing. Rath switched on the torch. They walked uphill for a time, before the beam of light fell on a circular brick wall.
‘The water tower,’ Rammoser said. ‘We’re almost there.’
Rath now knew roughly where they were. The Treuburg water tower was easier to locate than the church steeple. Rammoser opened a wrought-iron gate, which gave a slight squeak. Somewhere in the dark an owl hooted. Then the light fell upon a gravestone. ‘Are we… is this the…?’
‘Treuburg Cemetery,’ Rammoser said. ‘The Protestant one. The Catholics are buried down by the lake.’
‘I didn’t think there were any Catholics in Treuburg.’
‘Well, there’s you, Inspector.’
‘I hope I don’t wind up in the cemetery. Even if it is by the lake.’
‘I might have prevented it today. But you need to mind your step.’
‘Which is why you’ve dragged me here, in the middle of the night?’
‘Something like that. So that you come to a greater understanding of our region and its people, and don’t put your foot in it again.’ Rammoser came to a halt. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Here we are.’
Rath shone the torch where the teacher pointed to reveal a family grave. Simple, Doric columns flanked a large marble slab with a French inscription: Passant! Souviens-toi que la perfection n’est point sur la terre, si je n’ai pas été le meilleur des hommes. Au moins ne suis-je pas au nombre des méchans!
Rath could make out the name Friedrich von Mathée, as well as those of other family members buried here. ‘The owners of the Luisenhöhe estate,’ he said. He couldn’t help but whisper, as if the deceased family members might be listening from beyond the grave.
‘Correct. But it’s two lives I wanted to draw your attention to. Pass me the light.’
Rath handed over the torch, and Rammoser manoeuvred the beam of light until it rested on the names. Anna von Mathée, Rath read, * 15th August 1902 † 11th July 1920.
‘Is that the daughter?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Rammoser said. ‘His only one.’
‘She died on the day of the plebiscite.’ Rath shook his head. ‘What kind of story is this?’ Suddenly he felt completely sober.
‘A tragic one. Anna von Mathée was Gustav Wengler’s fiancée. She was murdered on the day of the plebiscite.’
‘Murdered?’
Rammoser nodded. ‘It was a doctor of all people, a registrar at the local hospital. He raped her, then drowned her in the lake.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘Most of the people around here wouldn’t have begrudged Wengler killing the man. Especially given the anti-Polish sentiment at the time.’
‘The killer was Polish?’
Rammoser shrugged. ‘It was hard to say in those days. He was certainly Catholic, and he sympathised with the new Polish state.’
‘So now he’s languishing in a Prussian jail.’
‘Not any more.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Anna’s killer died trying to escape. People around here regard it as a higher form of justice.’
‘And it was this sorry tale that turned Gustav Wengler into a Pole-basher, as you put it?’
‘Wengler could never stand the Poles, even before the murder, but a Pole-basher – that was Herbert Lamkau. He and his men beat the living daylights out of anyone they thought was Polish.’
‘The way you tell it, there aren’t any Poles here. Even the ones who speak Polish.’
‘Back then it was enough just to be Catholic, or favourably disposed towards Poland. If you’re looking for people with a reason to hate Herbert Lamkau, you’ll find plenty here.’
‘Could it be that someone wished him dead? One of his victims perhaps?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, but there won’t be many shedding a tear. On either side of the border.’
‘Including you?’
‘I got into a tangle with him once, around the time of the plebiscite, when things were pretty heated here. Still, that’s long forgotten now. I was away for a few years training as a teacher, and by the time I returned Lamkau had gone.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow,’ Rath said. ‘You excoriate Lamkau, while at the same time standing up for his master, Wengler. Is there a point to this story?’
‘There is no story, and I’m not standing up for anyone. God knows I’m no fan of Gustav Wengler, I just want you to understand what was happening here after the war. The present can only be understood through reference to the past.’
Rammoser was starting to sound like a teacher again. The beam of light drifted back onto the name Rath had just read.
Friedrich von Mathée * 23rd November 1847 † 2nd May 1924
‘Gustav Wengler was the designated heir of the Luisenhöhe estate,’ Rammoser continued. ‘Friedrich von Mathée only had the one daughter, and he wanted her to marry his trustee. His sons all fell in the war.’
‘Gustav Wengler was the estate’s trustee?’