In Matto's Realm: A Sergeant Studer Mystery (5 page)

It was a lassie who had rung him. I'll give you a ring at
ten, Ueli ... If it was ten, it would be a girl he was going
for a stroll with. Perhaps the "stroll" had been longer
than originally planned, perhaps they had not come
back, but taken the early train to Thun, to Interlaken;
it must be very nice in Ticino, too, now that autumn
was coming.

And the mess in the office had nothing to do with a
crime. Pieterlen's running off was a coincidence, there
was no link to the Director's disappearance, not to
mention Dr Laduner's "imponderables".

Perhaps the chief of police had interrupted his beauty sleep for nothing - though there was still
Dr Laduner's odd request "to be covered by the
police" .. .

There might well be something behind it. Especially
if you took into account the fact that the infamous
Colonel Caplaun was hovering somewhere in the
background too. His son ... anxiety neurosis. All well
and good, but once bitten, twice shy, and Sergeant
Studer had been bitten by Colonel Caplaun.

The handwriting! he thought. The lassie's not been
out of school that long. And he smiled, a rather simple
smile, as he pictured the old Director, in his cape and
black broad-brimmed hat, arm in arm with a girl. The
young girl was looking up, full of respect, at the man
she regarded as a person of consequence, surely
dreaming of becoming Fran Direktor in the near
future.

Dr Laduner would want him to accompany him on
his rounds. Probably. In the course of that he would
presumably meet Staff Nurse Jutzeler and could ask
him what the voice on the telephone had sounded
like. He could cross-examine the nightwatchman,
Bohnenblust and find out how Pieterlen had managed
to escape.

Then everything would be sorted out and he could
get Dr Laduner to drive him back to Bern with a clear
conscience, back home to his flat in Kirchenfeld.
Studer took out his notebook, placed the blue card in
it then started to whistle "The Farmer from Brienz",
softly, but very artistically. He was just starting on the
second verse as he left the casino, but then he broke
off.

A strange vehicle was going past. It was a twowheeled cart and there was a man trotting along
between the shafts at the back. A long chain was attached to the other end of the cart, with four wooden
crosspieces. Each of these crosspieces was held by two
men, so that eight men were pulling the two-wheeled
cart by the chain. Alongside the cart was a man in a
blue overall. He greeted Studer with a smile and called
out, "Whoa. Whoa, I said." The man between the shafts
stopped his trotting and the eight men stood still.
Studer, in a voice hoarse with astonishment, asked,
"What's all this about?"

The man in blue laughed. "The Randlingen
Express!" he said. Then, in confidential tones, he
explained that it was part of the occupational therapy,
in order to give the patients some exercise. "Of
course," he added, "we can only do it with the complete cretins. But they're much quieter afterwards. So
long for now!" Then he shouted, "Gee up, you lot."
Obediently the "Express" moved off.

Occupational therapy! thought Studer, shaking his
head. A cure through work! Those draught animals
were beyond cure. Still, he wasn't a psychiatrist, just a
simple detective sergeant ... Thank God!

The door next to the Director's office burst open with
a crash of wooden panels against the wall, then the
ground-floor hall of the central block was filled with
the low murmur of voices, from which a squeaky, upand-down voice emerged, asking, in the thickest of
Swiss accents, "How about it, Herr Doktor, shouldn't
we be preparing a lumbar puncture?"

Then came Laduner's voice. "For old Schmocker,
you mean? If you like." In comparison, Laduner's Swiss
sounded decidedly odd. Studer moved closer, almost
colliding with Dr Laduner. He was wearing a white
coat, his chest thrust out, still with the strand of brown
hair sticking up like the crest on a heron's head.

"Ah, there you are, Studer. Good thing you're here.
You're accompanying me on my rounds, of course. I'll
just introduce you quickly, then we can get on."

There were four figures in white coats behind him.
Laduner stepped to one side.

"Sergeant Studer, who's going to play the detective
in our little comedy of disappearances - Dr Blumenstein, consultant, distantly related to our missing Director ... Delighted to meet you - Me too. No need to
say anything, I'll speak for everyone." Dr Laduner was
clearly worked up.

So the Director's brother-in-law was called Blumenstein. Studer looked at him. Well over six feet tall, a
pink baby face and - those hands! They weren't hands,
they were small tennis rackets. And he was married, Herr Doktor Blumenstein. Hmm, he didn't look married. He looked a bit like those giant children they
exhibit at fairgrounds.

"One moment," said Dr Laduner. "Introduce yourselves - or Blumenstein, you see to it ..." And Dr
Laduner was gone. Up the stairs.

He has to talk to Herbert Caplaun, the anxiety
neurotic, as he calls him. If I could only listen in on
what those two are saying, Studer thought to himself,
not really concentrating on the names he was being
given. The second white coat was obviously Swiss
French, since he said "Enchante, Inspecteur," and then
the two others, they were - my God, it couldn't be true!
- women! He had a decided distaste for working
women. These two didn't look interesting, anyway.
Colourless, if anything. Wearing heavy shoes with rubber soles and cotton stockings over their skinny calves.

They stood around and waited. Someone had been
ignored and now this someone introduced himself. It
was the possessor of the voice with the thick Swiss
accent that had talked of the "lumbar puncture".

"Ah, so you're this Sergeant Studer, very pleased to
meet you. I'm Weyrauch, senior nurse." He had a red
face, his cheeks covered with jolly little veins, and wore
horn-rimmed spectacles, the lenses of which concealed intelligent little piggy eyes. His white coat was
open, revealing an apron, also white, and his belly protruded, protruded in such a majestic curve that the
apron stretched tight and the watch chain adorning
his waistcoat stood out in relief under the cloth.

Putting on his most official expression, Studer took
out his notebook and made an entry in his tiny writing.

"Hey, what's that you're writing, Sergeant?"

"Your name."

"So I'm going to get into police records after all," Weyrauch said, laughing long and loud until he was
forced to cough.

"A real treasure is our 'ead nurse, our Weyrauch,"
said Neuville. He had a centre parting, very white hair,
and beneath it a small, pale face. He reminded Studer
of a weasel.

"You'd better put Dr Neuville in your book, too,"
said Weyrauch. Studer followed his suggestion.

Weyrauch, senior nurse.

Blumenstein, consultant; brother-in-law of the Director.

Neuville, junior doctor.

If it went on like this, he'd have to buy another
notebook. He wasn't interested in the two women doctors. One was tall, the other short, what did their
names matter?

Then Dr Laduner returned and the group set off.
No one seemed to object to Studer joining them. With
long strides, Dr Laduner led the way, the ends of his
white coat fluttering up in the air when his knees
pushed against them. Weyrauch waddled along beside
him. Now he was putting the key into the wooden door
that closed off the central block on the right-hand
side. "If you'd be so good . . ." he said, and the group
filed past him.

Studer was at the back, wearing his grimmest expression. He felt superfluous. The two women were walking in front of him. They walked with a very stiff gait,
they didn't swing their hips. Their hair was kept short,
shaved at the neck. They seemed sexless.

A long corridor. A fourth element joined the smell
of pharmaceuticals, floor polish and dust: the smoke
of cheap tobacco. On the left a row of tall windows. But
their construction was odd: they were divided up into
tiny panes held together by iron bars. Studer had a
surreptitious look at them and glanced out. The courtyard. The sergeant was standing opposite the
rowan tree with its red berries and bright yellow leaves.
He found the tree comforting ...

Studer had always imagined a lunatic asylum as an
infernal place, but there was really not a trace of the
infernal about it. Here was a room painted a rich
orange colour, with benches round the walls and tables
in front of them. Outside the windows, with their tiny
rectangular panes, were pine trees swaying in the gentle breeze. Men were sitting at the tables. The only
noticeable thing about them, perhaps, was that they
had stubble that was at least a week old. Their eyes
were a little strange, but not really any stranger than
those of people Studer had visited in Thorberg Prison.

Men in white aprons were standing around. They
had no collars on, the buttonholes at the top of their
shirts were held together by brass collar studs. Nurses,
apparently.

Dr Neuville appeared at Studer's side. "We are in P,"
he whispered, full of self-importance, "the ward for
placid patients. Dr Laduner do not like the nurses
here, 'olyjoes the lot of them."

Yes, Dr Laduner had gone up to one of them and
was giving him a ticking-off in a low voice, at the same
time pointing to a corner of the room where a man was
sitting slumped, doing nothing. The others, those at
the tables, were busy sticking paper bags together.
There were bowls of glue standing around.

"The old Director, he like the 'olyjoes very much
because they never complain. Only Jutzeler! He want
to organize the workers in a union. Last week we have
almost a strike. Jutzeler get the sack, but Dr Laduner,
he protect him. I call Dr Laduner l'eminence blanche.
You know that in French history there was the eminence
prise who pull the strings in the background? Dr Laduner, he too pull the strings in the background ...
The old Director? Beuh!" And the junior doctor
(Neuville, wasn't it?) made a dismissive gesture with
his hand.

One of the woman doctors was trotting along beside
Laduner, who was shaking hands, asking people how
they were. The fixed smile never left his lips. Studer
was convinced Laduner thought his smile was heartwarming, encouraging. He patted a shoulder here,
leant down there over a silent patient who wasn't
answering. One got overexcited and started shouting.
Dr Laduner turned round and whispered something
to one of the white aprons ... He went across to the
overexcited patient and - and the little group left the
room.

Another wooden door, a long corridor, the parquet
floor gleaming. And a little manikin with bandy legs
and a big fat cigar in the corner of his mouth strolling
towards them across the gleaming parquet. The manikin looked very pleased with himself.

`What's Schmocker doing in T Ward?" Dr Laduner
asked in a loud voice. The shorter of the two women
doctors went up to him and whispered something in
his ear. The only word Studer managed to catch was
"isolate".

"But, my dear girl, that's impossible," Dr Laduner
said, showing his irritation. "The man has to work,
like other people. Even if he did share a room with
Pieterlen, that's no reason ..."

By that time the fat manikin had reached them. He
started to make a speech in a booming, soapbox voice.

He demanded, he declared, to be handed over to
the federal authorities, his crime was political and
he should not be in a lunatic asylum, surrounded
by madmen and murderers, he had always been respectable, had earned his bread by the sweat of his
brow, and if they refused to listen to his justified complaints, then he would resort to other measures. Politically he had always been a loyal citizen, conservative,
he believed democratic government was the best of all
possible systems, but if they insisted on treating him
like this he would put his weight behind the dictatorship of the proletariat. Then certain very important
people would be in for a big surprise ...

Dr Laduner stood there before him, stiffly upright,
his hands in the tiny pockets of his white coat. He
spoke in formal German when he replied. "What you
are telling us, Herr Schmocker, is beside the point.
You will return to P and glue paper bags together.
Otherwise I will have you put in the bath. Goodbye."

The little man went red and swelled until Studer
was afraid he was about to burst. His voice quavered as
he said, "On your head be it, Herr Doktor." He took a
pull at his cigar, but it had gone out during his
speech.

"Sure-ly," said Dr Laduner, heading off through the
next door, which Weyrauch was holding invitingly
open.

"If you would be so good. . ." he said.

"Otherwise there's nothing special in T is there, my
dear?"

"No, Herr Doktor." A gracious gesture and the
young lady was dismissed. Dr Laduner waved Studer
over. Weyrauch closed the door gently.

They were in an empty corridor, which was rather
dark - presumably the end of one of the arms of the Ushaped building since the corridor ended in a wall. A
window in it was open.

"Anyway, come with me for a minute," said Dr
Laduner, then abandoned Studer to turn to the shorter of the women doctors. "Didn't Schmocker say
anything? I mean about Pieterlen's escape?"

"No, no, Herr Doktor." The woman blushed, her ears
were burning. "He just refused to work this morning, so
I thought itwas better to isolate him a little." She started
to gabble, then fell silent. She, too, spoke formal
German, but with the harsh accent of the Baltic coast.

"Good, good, my dear girl, there's no need to get
worked up. Take a note, Weyrauch. We'll give
Schmocker an hour in the bath after all, perhaps that
will help him get over his manic state more easily ...
No, no injection ... Were you going to say something,
Studer?"