The defence lawyer, once so energetic, staggered through the mock-up of his office like a boxer out for the count. He hadn’t said anything to Dr Roth yet. And he wasn’t able to look the psychiatrist in the eye.
Konrad stood there, trembling. With his face to the false window, from which the television had already been removed and where only a chipboard recess was left as a reminder of the installation.
Turning around, Konrad tried to support himself on the edge of his desk, but slipped and just struggled to fall into his chair.
‘You wove Emma’s hair into the enso rug,’ Roth said. Without reproach. Without the slightest hint of sensationalism in his voice. As a psychiatrist he’d come across far more disconcerting abnormalities in human behaviour.
‘That… that’s…’ Konrad stuttered, finding his voice again ‘There’s an explanation for that.’
‘I’m sure there is,’ Roth replied. ‘Everything will be explained. Including the issue of the room number. Was it 1903 or 1905?’
‘What?’
‘Which of the two connecting rooms was it where you replaced the number on the door with 1904?’
Roth could see beads of sweat on Konrad’s brow. He’d turned ashen and his skin had a waxy shimmer.
‘Yes, I know. Nobody likes it when people see through their tricks,’ Roth said. ‘Even though it was an excellent ploy to book both rooms via a foreign hotel portal for a family of four. At Le Zen, as in most Berlin hotels, you only have to present your credit card at check-in, so you just needed someone to pick up the key for you.’ Roth knitted his brow. ‘This is where we don’t know for sure how you did it. We’re assuming that this mother and her three children actually exist – a former client of yours, perhaps, who you invited to come to Germany. But who left a little earlier, which meant that on the day Emma was checking in you had free rein for your plans. You had all the time to put up the Ai Weiwei portrait, right over the frameless connecting door so that Emma wouldn’t notice there was access to the neighbouring room. You waited in there till she went to bed. Unlike in the past you didn’t have to hide in the cupboard.’ Roth gave a wan smile. ‘By the way, I like the name Arthur. I’m a fan of Arthur Schopenhauer too.’
Konrad winced when the provisional office door opened with a loud crunch. A black-haired police officer with Greek features strode confidently in.
‘Professor Konrad Luft, I am arresting you,’ the policeman said. Jorgo Kapsalos stood two metres from the desk, his hand on the service revolver at his hip. ‘I don’t suppose I have to inform you of your right to remain silent.’
Konrad looked up and gazed at the tall, broad-shouldered policeman as if he were an alien.
‘Why?’ he croaked.
Roth, who’d stayed beside the sofa, fancied he could make out a smile on Jorgo’s lips, but perhaps it was just the diffuse light of the desk lamp that gave him this impression.
There was nothing sadistic about Emma’s husband’s former partner. Although Jorgo had been deeply affected by Philipp Stein’s death, because he blamed himself for not having made the connections earlier, Roth didn’t think that Jorgo was driven by revenge. It was understandable, however, that he was feeling great satisfaction now at being able to arrest the Hairdresser.
‘How did you get onto me?’
Jorgo shook his head and he felt for the handcuffs on his belt. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to discuss all that at the station when we take your confession.’
Konrad nodded, acknowledging defeat.
‘Unbelievable,’ he said, letting his eyes marvel at the fake office where he’d thought he was helping Emma, whereas the whole time he himself had been under observation. ‘You pulled the wool over my eyes,’ the lawyer muttered. He looked towards the exit. None of the removal men had come back into the gym; they were obeying the orders Jorgo had given them.
‘It wasn’t about making Emma feel secure here, but me, here, in my familiar environment.’
Even in the moment of his greatest defeat, Konrad’s intellect was working impeccably. ‘You would never have obtained a warrant to search my real office. You orchestrated that perfectly. I give you respect.’
Konrad was supporting himself feebly on the desk, and already then Roth ought to have realised. But even more so when the lawyer breathed out heavily and let both arms fall beneath the desktop.
Konrad was crestfallen, so severely affected by having been unmasked that perhaps he’d never recover. But his transformation had occurred too quickly, especially for someone who’d practised all his life being in control of his body and mind.
We made a mistake, Roth thought, then heard these words echo, but with a slight time delay and in a different voice: they were coming from Konrad’s mouth.
‘But you made a mistake,’ he said.
Within the twinkling of an eye the pistol that the defence lawyer had pulled from a secret compartment beneath the desktop was already in position. Konrad was aiming right between Dr Roth’s eyes.