The Minotaur's Head: An Eberhard Mock Investigation (Eberhard Mock Investigation 4) Page 17

  “Was she or was she not a virgin?” The dark-haired man looked at Doctor Tkocz.

  The deputy director laughed out loud.

  “Was she a virgin? Follow me, gentlemen. Let me show you something! It’s time you met the patient you’re so interested in!”

  RYBNIK, THAT SAME JANUARY 30TH. 1937 A QUARTER PAST TWELVE IN THE AFTERNOON

  They accompanied Doctor Ludwika Tkocz down a long corridor of the red-brick building. The deputy director went ahead at a brisk, energetic pace and her well-defined backside swayed beneath her ample trousers. As he listened to the doctor’s commentary, Popielski thought about daily life in a mental asylum; passing room after room, Mock asked about the history of the hospital, which reminded him very much of the buildings belonging to public service organizations in Breslau. A hospital had also existed here, when this was Germany, so he learned. Both then and now one could hear the hoarse yelling of the patients, their loud discussions and monologues, insults and curses; one was even challenging God to a duel. Then as now there was the clatter of metal plates of groats and crackling, and male nurses stood along the walls.

  “Lunchtime,” said Doctor Tkocz. “We’re in the canteen, and beyond are the solitary cells for particularly dangerous inmates. Please follow me!”

  “Is Maria Szynok dangerous?” asked Popielski.

  Doctor Tkocz ignored the question and summoned a stocky male nurse with three folds of fat on the nape of his neck. He traipsed after them across the canteen, which was separated from the kitchen by a serving counter. Fantastical stains flowered on the ceilings and walls of the rooms, and there was no shortage of them in the small corridor where they now found themselves after descending some narrow stairs.

  “Here are the solitary cells,” said Doctor Tkocz, and with her hand indicated the first door. “Meet the patient Maria Szynok, gentlemen. Through the peephole for the time being.”

  Popielski opened the flap and peered into the depths of the room. He retreated and shook his head.

  “There’s shit in the judas hole again,” said the nurse to the deputy director. “Shall I open it?”

  “Are you strong, gentlemen?” asked Doctor Tkocz, smiling mockingly at the police officers. “Strong, self-confident men who have seen a great deal in life, and whom nothing will horrify? Then let me tell you something first. The wounds on Maria’s cheek were badly operated. The cheek got infected, resulting in proud flesh. Pus sought a way out. Small perforations and fistulae appeared in the vicinity of the wound. The odour from her mouth can be detected from a distance of two metres. Are you strong, gentlemen? If so, we’ll open the door. If not, it’s better not to open it. Shall we open?”

  Mock and Popielski looked at each other in surprise.

  “Please open it,” they replied almost simultaneously, a hint of offence in their voices.

  “Open it, Peter,” she said to the nurse.

  The door opened with a screech. The stench of secretions took their breath away, and both officers held their noses and breathed the air, poisoned by the miasma, through their mouths. Only Doctor Tkocz remained unshaken, as if the scent of her favourite carbides and not the stench of urine and excrement reached her from the room. Nurse Peter appeared amused by the sight.

  The woman within started dancing, lifting her legs high as if climbing over a low fence. With one hand she pressed the hem of her shirt to her temple, hiding a breast and half her face. The rest of her body was uncovered. Her reddened pudenda was starkly on view, and abundant pubic hair, sticky with something, spread over her thighs. A full, hefty breast swung heavily in rhythm to her singular skipping. Around her nipple sprouted three long black hairs. All of a sudden she let go of her shirt, as if shy. The stiff material fell over her body to reveal a mass of round, dark-yellow stains. The patient shoved both hands between her legs and began to back away until she was leaning against the wall. Even at a distance they could see the hole in her cheek. The skin was purple-brown at the edges, glossy and rigid, even when Maria Szynok smiled and closed her eyes as she pushed her fists between her legs, faster and faster.

  Popielski turned from the door and moved aside. Mock immediately did the same. He rested his hands on his knees and breathed heavily. Doctor Tkocz gestured to the nurse, who slammed the door.

  “You wouldn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of a decomposing corpse.” Doctor Tkocz yanked up her trousers which were slipping down. “But you can’t bear to see what contempt for her own body has done to this unfortunate woman! This is the result of our hypocritical society, of which you are the guardians!”

  “Now you’re going to go and say that I’m the one who did it!” Mock glared at the doctor with the same dislike as he had glared at Zubik that morning. “I’m supposed to feel guilty, am I?”

  “And you, Doctor,” said Popielski, moving close to the doctor so she could smell his scent, “were you by any chance brought up in an orphanage? With contempt for your own body?”

  “No!” Confusion was reflected in the psychiatrist’s eyes. “How dare you! What’s it to do with you anyway?”

  “Because you dress” – Popielski moved in even closer, and Doctor Tkocz leaped away as if burned – “as if you disdain your body. And I’m sure that it’s not to be disdained …”

  He nodded to Mock and they made their way back to the canteen, where they were met by the unbearable din of metal bowls. Doctor Tkocz stood in the corridor burning with anger.

  KATTOWITZ, THAT SAME JANUARY 30TH, 1937 FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON

  Popielski sat at a window in the corner apartment of Hotel Monopol, translating for Mock the report of Maria Szynok being found with a gnawed face exactly five months earlier:

  “‘On August 30th, 1936, Police Constable Pampusz Karol, of Police Station III, was alerted on his rounds by Rabura Józef, aged twelve, that Szynok Maria, aged twenty, subtenant and home help of Mrs Wozignój Gertrude, aged sixty, residing at 4 Mieroszewski, in Kattowitz, was found at her employer’s in a serious condition. Miss Szynok, wearing only her underwear, was unconscious and had suffered numerous bloodied injuries to her face. According to Mrs Wozigóra Gertrude, Miss Szynok Maria had been found in this condition by the aforementioned on the threshold of her abode. Apart from this, the injured woman had with her a handbag, the contents of which are described below. Miss Szynok Maria was still conscious when she declared that the wounds on her face had been inflicted by “a count who had bitten her”. Necessary action was taken.’ The signature’s illegible.”

  “Is that it?” Mock was lying on a chaise longue with both legs propped up on the armrest.

  “No, there are three further annotations. The first is from the pathologist. ‘Serious injuries to the right cheek and numerous bruises and contusions to the entire body were discovered. The untidy wounds to the cheek, combined with injury to the tissue were most likely inflicted by an animal, perhaps by a dog’s teeth. After regaining consciousness Miss Maria Szynok has been displaying symptoms of mental illness. Doctor Zygmunt Mierzejewski, Forensic Pathologist.’ The following annotation is dated October and comes from Investigative Judge Manfred Dworniok, and it reads: ‘Due to an inability to communicate with the sick woman, who since the incident has been residing at the Institution for the Mentally Ill in Rybnik, and conflicting information from the neighbours and acquaintances listed below, the investigation has been discontinued.’ And the last annotation. ‘Contents of handbag: comb, rosary, needle and thread, fake-leather pouch containing coins to the sum of four złotys, fifteen groszys and a shaving block, also a picture of Our Lady of Piekary, lipstick, matches, handkerchief and three Grand Prix cigarettes.’ That’s all, Ebi.”

  “What did that unfortunate woman need a shaving block for?” Mock wriggled around on the chaise longue and settled with his arm beneath his head.

  “Maybe she wanted to pass off as a virgin?” Popielski interlocked his hands on his bald head and rocked gently on his chair.

  “And how was she supposed to pass herself off a
s a virgin?” said Mock, growing animated.

  “I don’t know. It’s the first thing that came to mind.” Popielski continued to rock and his unbuttoned waistcoat rippled. “All this reminds me of something … I once knew a young lady who rubbed her pubes with an alum shaving block. The skin somehow shrunk and tightened, and penetration of her antrum amoris was rather difficult.”

  “Wait, wait.” Mock leaped to his feet. “We have the following situation. Maria Szynok pleasured herself before our eyes in a horrible, lamentable and provocative manner. That is not the way a virgin behaves. That’s the behaviour of a woman who is debauched … That, if I may say so, is what one of our companions did on the train… But to the point. That’s the first thing …”

  “What you say is not at all certain.” Popielski got up, approached the window and stared for a long time at the covered market, from which horse-drawn carts were departing. “She is insane, after all. And insanity can turn a nun into a courtesan.”

  “Secondly, she uses alum.” Mock obstinately pursued his reasoning, as if he had not even heard Popielski’s reservations. “Let’s assume she uses it to fake virginity … The most important question is: why would a woman fake virginity?”

  “Non-virgins are in a difficult situation on the marriage market. The answer’s straightforward: the woman was twenty and wanted to get married!”

  “Good. She had some alum in her handbag. What was it for? Well, let’s say it was to fake virginity. And what does a woman carry in her handbag? The bare necessities: cigarettes, handkerchief, needles, a rosary … Alum sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s not a bare necessity, unless she was a prostitute pretending to be a virgin at a client’s request, like your one …”

  “You’re right, Ebi.” Popielski turned away from the window. “Alum sticks out like a sore thumb. And yet it was in her handbag, meaning she needed it for something. A handkerchief is something you always carry with you because you don’t know the day or the hour when your nose is going to start running, but you don’t always carry a condom, surely – you only have one with you when you’re out to get girls! You can’t always predict a runny nose, but canoodling you certainly can! She had some alum with her because she was out to have sex and play the role of a virgin!”

  “That’s it!” Mock slapped his thigh. “You’re right! And the Minotaur bit her but didn’t kill her, because she had already been deflowered. And he only murders women who are untouched.”

  The men began to pace nervously around the table, and several times bumped into each other. The pale-green wallpaper turned darker; dusk spread slowly over the couch, chaise longue, table and the clock that stood in the corner of the parlour. This did not bother them. Mock had a headache from thinking so hard; Popielski chased around the table as if wanting to catch a vital premonition which had been sparked but then immediately extinguished during his German colleague’s last utterance. Without warning he came to a standstill.

  “Was she going to see someone? Yes. Was she going to have sex? Yes. With whom? With some beau, let’s say. And now the most important question: where did they come across each other? Where did she meet this man? If she called him ‘a count’ then he must have been introduced as ‘a count’. And where can a simple girl meet a count?”

  “In a brothel.” Mock sat down at the table, lit a cigarette and automatically pushed the cigarette case across the table with such force that it fell on the floor. “That’s it! A brothel! And that’s where she passed herself off as a virgin! We’ll have to scour every brothel in the city.”

  “They might not have met in a brothel,” said Popielski, deep in thought. “Remember what that smart-arse at the mental hospital said? She said that Szynok fantasized about getting married to a count, a knight on a white horse … Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t meet in a brothel, but in a marriage bureau. Maybe that’s where the Minotaur searched for his victim.”

  “Let’s go!” Mock got up, straightened his tie and put on his jacket.

  “Marriage bureaus are closed at this hour,” said Popielski. He turned on the light and looked at Mock, who was bursting with energy.

  “We’ll check the bureaus on Monday,” grunted Mock, slipping on his shoes with the aid of a long shoehorn. “But brothels can be visited at any time.”

  “Still not had enough?” asked Popielski with a smile.

  “Poland, my dear man” – Mock grinned broadly – “is famous for its beautiful women. May I finally savour this speciality or must I be satisfied with poor ersatz, those two gap-toothed sluts from the train?”

  KATTOWITZ, MONDAY, FEBRUARY 1ST, 1937 TEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

  A droschka carried Mock and Popielski down Marszałek Piłsudski. The cabby had thoughtfully covered their legs with a fur-lined overcoat, their cheeks burned a healthy pink, and their brains were functioning in totally differing gears. Mock, glutted with alcohol, tobacco and the debauchery to which he had devoted himself the previous night, now sat in silence beneath the sheepskin, gazed at the buildings and tenements they passed and was amazed at the increase in warmth he felt for the city. It was extraordinarily similar to Breslau. The Zdrój Okocimski beer hall on Stawowa, where they had begun their Saturday tour of the temples dedicated to all manner of immoderation, reminded him of Kissling’s on Junkernstrasse in Breslau. Both there and here, there was a discreet garret with rooms on offer where gentlemen could spend a few ravishing moments in the arms of a lady; both there and here they could savour frankfurters in mustard sauce; and both there and here, an excellent Pilsner was served. But the similarities Mock had noticed were not only in all eleven bawdy houses, some of which he had visited with Popielski on Saturday, and some alone on Sunday. He also noticed them in the vicinity of his hotel: a building on Piłsudski Street reminded him deceptively of a tenement on Tiergartenstrasse; the secondary school on Mickiewicz was like a twin of the Elisabethgymnasium, differing only in colour; and the brick school on Stawowa was built in the same style as hundreds of schools in Breslau and across the whole of Germany. Mock felt at home in Kattowitz; more than at home because the women here were far prettier. In one of the brothels he visited, the criminal director was so taken by the beauty of one young lady that he did not limit himself to routine questioning.

  Popielski had no such appreciation of Kattowitz, since none of the towns he had seen to date – well, apart from Vienna perhaps – could compare to the greatest garden of all, his beloved Lwów. Let alone this mining-town of houses that may be comely, but were covered in black dust which got into every nook and cranny. He was in a bad mood anyway, because usually at this time of day he was in bed.

  Unlike Mock, he had spent his Sunday decently and diligently. He had eaten his breakfast alone, because his German colleague had slept the sleep of those greatly wearied by alcohol. On Saturday night the commissioner had been greatly incensed by the entire Kattowitz investigation, which they were conducting at an insane speed and had not in any way co-ordinated with the Silesian police. He now reproached himself for having told Mock about the dog he had heard growling during his epileptic fit. He had drunk little, and did not share the merriment of Mock, who, at the sight of any and every dog, would ask if this was the one from his vision. On Sunday, therefore, Popielski was as fresh as Lwów’s Kajzerwald wind and after an afternoon walk, while Mock was recovering, the commissioner had set about furthering the investigation. He had found an address directory for the Province of Silesia and noted down the details of two marriage bureaus in Kattowitz. He and Mock had then eaten a generous dinner at a German restaurant, Zur Eisenbahn on Dworcowa, and had gone separately to the remaining brothels. Mock had stayed in one of these until morning.

  Popielski sat there a little gloomily; he was not observing the town as they passed through it, but thinking instead about the next steps in the investigation and the participation of police officers from Kattowitz. He had just had an extremely unpleasant and agitated telephone c
onversation with Commissioner Zygfryd Holewa, who had used strong language to condemn their inspection of the bawdy houses of Kattowitz without his knowledge and had threatened to throw the two pests – neither of whom were officials of the Silesian Provincial Police – out of town! Only Popielski’s promise to acquire special authorization in the future had pacified Holewa. To make matters worse the investigation had not progressed an inch despite their visits to the temples of debauchery. Nobody in those houses of ill-repute had ever heard of an aristocrat paying a visit; the highest spheres of society with which Kattowitz courtesans had any physical contact were office workers from the plants and mines, or agents and travelling salesmen. In Hestia marriage bureau, where they had been that morning, a very pleasant and polite clerk had merely rolled his eyes and was even a little moved when he heard about some count and a poor girl from the lower classes. He was sorry that nothing like that had happened in his establishment since he would have made good use of it in his publicity. Now that they were on their way to the second bureau, Matrimonium, it was not surprising that Popielski was gloomy about their results to date and thinking about the no doubt hopeless course of action he would have to take alongside the reluctant Commissioner Holewa. “The Silesian is going to undermine everything for me,” thought Popielski. “After all, he’s the one who closed the Szynok case. There’s absolutely nothing in it for him to open a new investigation which might uncover some error he’s made in the past.”

  Thinking about the words he would use to placate Commissioner Holewa, whom they were to meet at precisely noon, Popielski jumped out of the now-stationary droschka and onto the snow-covered pavement. Mock awoke from his light nap and blinked. They were parked in front of a tenement on Stawowa. Above the door marked No.10 hung a sign which read MATRIMONIUM MARRIAGE BUREAU, with a drawing of a dove wearing an absurd lace collar and holding interlinked wedding rings in its beak.