Fatal Lies by Frank Tallis Page A

hardly—’
    â€˜These reports are perfectly adequate,’ said Brügel, allowing his palm to come down heavily on the papers and thereby underscoring the finality of his decision.
    â€˜Sir . . .’ Rheinhardt protested. ‘The wounds on Zelenka’s body, Perger’s letter . . .’
    â€˜What about them? I’m perfectly satisfied with your explanation . . . the persecution of scholarship boys. It’s a sorry situation, but there we are, we all know what goes on in military schools. I went to St Polten, you know.’
    â€˜But it’s not just a case of bullying, sir. A boy died!’
    â€˜Yes, of natural causes.’
    â€˜Indeed, but I have . . .’ Rheinhardt stopped himself.
    â€˜You have what?’ asked the Commissioner.
    There it was again:
I have a feeling . . . a feeling, a feeling.
    â€˜I have . . .’ Rheinhardt blustered ‘. . . yet to interview the mathematics master – Herr Sommer. He may have some important information which, I believe, will shine new light on Zelenka’s fate.’ Rheinhardt was playing a perilous game – and he hoped that the Commissioner would not press him.
    â€˜What makes you think that?’
    â€˜It is not my opinion, as such . . .’
    â€˜Then whose?’
    â€˜Doctor Liebermann’s.’
    Von Bulow shifted in his chair and made a disparaging noise.
    â€˜With respect, von Bulow,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘May I remind you that Doctor Liebermann’s methods have proved very effective in the past – as you well know.’
    â€˜He’s been lucky, that’s all,’ retorted von Bulow.
    â€˜No one could possibly be
that
lucky.’
    â€˜Well,’ said von Bulow. ‘There’s no other explanation, is there?’
    â€˜Psychoanalysis?’
    â€˜Jewish psychology! I think not!’
    â€˜Gentlemen!’ Brügel growled.
    The two men fell silent under the Commissioner’s fierce glare.
    Rheinhardt seized the opportunity to continue his appeal. ‘Sir, I have already arranged for Doctor Liebermann to interview the boy Perger on Saturday. The mathematics master, Herr Sommer, is expected to return to St Florian’s very soon . . .’
    â€˜Enough, Rheinhardt,’ said the Commissioner, raising his hand. ‘Enough.’ Brügel examined the photograph of Zelenka again andmumbled something under his breath. He tapped the photograph and grimaced, as if suffering from acute dyspepsia. ‘Very well, Rheinhardt,’ he continued. ‘You may continue with your investigation.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir,’ cried Rheinhardt, glancing – as he did so – triumphantly at von Bulow (whose expression had become fixed in the attitude of a sneer since he’d uttered the words
Jewish psychology)
.
    â€˜But not for long, you understand?’ the Commissioner interjected. ‘Another week or so, that’s all – and then only if you can get out to St Florian’s without compromising the success of your new assignment.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘I understand.’
    â€˜Good,’ said the Commissioner. ‘Now, let us proceed . . . What I am about to reveal, Rheinhardt, is classified information. You must not breathe a word of it to anyone – not even to your assistant.’ He paused to emphasise the point, and continued: ‘Inspector von Bulow is currently overseeing a special operation – a joint venture with our colleagues from Budapest – the outcome of which is of paramount importance. The very stability of the dual monarchy is at stake. Needless to say, we are directly answerable to the very highest authority.’
    Brügel leaned back in his chair and tacitly invited Rheinhardt to inspect the portrait hanging on the wall behind his desk: the Emperor, Franz Josef, in full military dress.
    â€˜What do you want me to do?’ asked Rheinhardt.
    â€˜We want you to follow