Free Phantoms of Breslau by Marek Krajewski Page B

briefcase under his arm or a belt holding a pile of exercise books slung over his shoulder. They were hurrying towards Matthiasgymnasium to be on time for their second lesson. Some of them dawdled, standing beneath the statue of St John Nepomuk to throw stones at the bursting husks of chestnuts. A coachman shouted in annoyance at some supplicants who were leaving the High Court and swarming into the road. An elderly man in a bowler hat approached the schoolboys and reprimanded them fiercely. “The schoolmaster, no doubt,” thought Mühlhaus. He closed the window and regretfully returned from the land of school memories. He looked at the gloomy, tired and irritated faces of his employees and felt a wave of despondency. He did not want to talk to these thick, hungover mugs; he did not know how to begin.
    “Commissioner, sir.” Mock saved him the trouble of opening the discussion. “You can relieve all these men from the Four Sailors case, sir. They’re not needed …”
    “I,” Mühlhaus said slowly, “am the one to decide who is going to work with me on this case.”
    “Yes, Commissioner, sir.”
    “And, just as a matter of interest” – the Commissioner approached thewindow once more, but this time did not open it – “why do you say ‘all these men’ are not needed? And what does ‘all’ mean? All except you? Is that what you had in mind, Mock?”
    “Yes, that’s what I had in mind.”
    “Explain yourself!”
    “The murderer, as we have already established, wants me to admit to some mistake. So he murders four lads with pouches over their balls. It’s supposed to be a spectacular murder, one that the whole town will be talking about, and is to prevent me from ever sleeping peacefully again. The image of the murdered boys with gouged eyes is to forever work its way into my head.”
    “We already know that, Mock,” said Reinert, sounding bored.
    “Shut up, my friend. It’s not your name that swine’s putting in his notes.”
    “Reinert, don’t interrupt Criminal Assistant Mock,” Mühlhaus snarled. “Let him continue.”
    “Smolorz has observed quite rightly” – Mock gazed in concentration at Reinert’s face as waves of anger passed over it – “that the murderer is going to carry on killing unless I admit to my mistake. And, unfortunately, he’s proved himself a good prophet. Gentlemen, the victims have nothing in common with each other …”
    “Oh, but they do,” Kleinfeld spoke for the first time. “They’re somehow connected with water. The first four were sailors, or pseudo-sailors. They were, as Mr Mock has suggested, debauched regulars at brothels. It’s not for no reason that they were wearing sailors’ hats and leather pouches on their balls. The next victim is an old sailor and a police collaborator. All sailors, some inauthentic, one authentic.”
    “I do not know, Mock,” Mühlhaus said, ignoring Kleinfeld’s statement, “how you intend to justify your peculiar suggestion that everyone except yourself should leave the investigative team. Besides, I’m notinterested in your justification. I’m not going to dismiss anyone or dispatch them to other cases. Gentlemen, there are now eight of us.” He looked around at his men and counted them out loud. “Holst, Pragst, Rohs, Reinert, Kleinfeld, Smolorz and Mock. Eight, and that’s how it’s going to stay. And now, down to business …” He went to the revolving board and below the words “doubting Thomas = Mock, Christ = murderer, murdered sailors = warning for Mock” written by Mock the previous day, he added: “In which brothel did the murderer meet the four sailors?” “Smolorz is going to look into that. As an employee of the Vice Commission he knows every brothel in the city. You’ll be assisted by my trusted men, Holst, Pragst and Rohs.” Below this the Commissioner wrote: “Ollenborg’s last moments”. “Kleinfeld and Reinert will take care of this. I want to see you all here, in this room, on