Fatal Lies by Frank Tallis Page B

someone,’ said von Bulow.
    â€˜Who?’
    Von Bulow reached down and picked up a briefcase. He released the hasps and produced a photograph which he handed to Rheinhardt – a head-and-shoulders portrait of a young man with black curly hair, a long horizontal moustache and a pronounced five o’ clock shadow.
    â€˜His name?’
    â€˜Lázár Kiss.’
    It was a brooding, unhappy face, and the young man’s eyes had the fiery glow of a zealot’s.
    â€˜A nationalist?’ Rheinhardt ventured.
    Von Bulow did not reply. His jaw tightened.
    â€˜Rheinhardt . . .’ said Brügel, stroking his magnificent mutton-chop whiskers. ‘Given the sensitive nature of this operation, we are not at liberty to disclose any more information than we have to. I must ask you to desist from asking further questions. You will receive your instructions – and you will carry them out. You need not concern yourself with anything more. Is that clear?’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Do you know the restaurant called Csarda?’ said von Bulow.
    â€˜On the Prater?’
    â€˜It is where Herr Kiss dines. He is a creature of habit, and arrives there shortly after one o’clock, every day. Follow him until late afternoon – then deliver a written report of his movements to my office by six o’clock. You will repeat the exercise on Sunday and Monday, and I will then issue you with further instructions on Tuesday morning.’
    So this was the sorry pass he had come to, thought Rheinhardt – reassigned to do von Bulow’s footwork!
    â€˜May I ask . . .’ said Rheinhardt, painfully conscious of the prohibition that had just been placed on all forms of non-essential inquiry. ‘May I ask why it is that I – a Detective Inspector – have been chosen to undertake this task? Surely, von Bulow’s assistant could do just as good a job.’
    â€˜There must be no mistakes’ said Brügel. ‘You are an experienced officer, Rheinhardt. I know you won’t let us down.’
    The appearance of the Commissioner’s teeth in a crescent, whichRheinhardt supposed to be a smile, did nothing to ease his discomfort.
    â€˜And would I be correct,’ said Rheinhardt, risking another question, ‘in assuming that there are some very significant dangers associated with this assignment?’
    What other reason could there be for such secretiveness? If they didn’t tell him anything, he would have nothing to disclose – even if he were captured and threatened with violence.
    â€˜Our work is always associated with significant dangers, Rheinhardt,’ said the Commissioner bluntly.
    Rheinhardt passed the photograph of Lázár Kiss back to von Bulow.
    â€˜No – you can keep it,’ said von Bulow. ‘But do not take it out of the building.’
    Rheinhardt put the photograph in his pocket and looked up at the wall clock. It was eleven o’clock.
    â€˜Csarda,’ he said.
    â€˜Csarda,’ repeated von Bulow. ‘I look forward to receiving your report.’
    Rheinhardt got up, bowed, and made for the door.
    â€˜Rheinhardt?’ It was von Bulow again. Rheinhardt turned, to see von Bulow inscribing the air with an invisible pen. ‘Handwriting?’
    Rheinhardt forced a smile, the insincerity of which he hoped was unmistakable.

18
    PROFESSOR FREUD – ENVELOPED in a haze of billowing cigar smoke – began his third consecutive joke: ‘An elderly Jew was travelling on the slow train from Moscow to Minsk, and at one of the stops on the way he bought a large salt herring. At the same stop a Russian boy got on the train and started to tease him:
You Jews
, he said,
you have a reputation for being clever. How come, eh? How come you are all so clever?
The old man looked up from his herring and said:
Well, since you are such a well-mannered young man, and have asked me so politely, I’ll tell you our secret, but