In Matto's Realm: A Sergeant Studer Mystery Read Online Free Page B

porter, wore a waistcoat with sewn-on
sleeves of some shiny material with an apron tied over
it. He was busy sweeping the corridor. Studer stood in
his way, arms akimbo.
    "Now then, Dreyer."
    The man looked up with a vacant stare. His left
hand, still resting on the brush handle, was bandaged.
    "Yes, Sergeant?" So the man knew who he was. All
the better.
    "Cut yourself?"
    "Nothing serious," said Dreyer, lowering his eyes.

    Drops of blood on the office floor, the porter with a
cut - on his hand! Now then, Studer, he told himself,
don't go jumping to conclusions. Just note: Dreyer, the
porter, has a cut on his hand, and get on with it.
    "Was the Director married?"
    The porter grinned. Both his eye-teeth had gold fillings. It bothered Studer and he looked aside.
    "Twice," said Dreyer. "He was married twice. And
both of his wives are dead. The second started as his
cook - housekeeper, that's what they called her. Quite
a family she came from, too. She was very good at
finding positions in the clinic for her relations, her
brother as mechanic, her sister in administration as
bookkeeper - and her brother-in-law, the husband of
her other sister, is one of the consultants."
    It was just as Studer had expected. Porters really did
know everything that was going on. And they liked to
talk. Not as wittily as Dr Laduner, for example, but
more to the point.
    "Thank you," said Studer in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Did the Director receive a sizeable sum of money
yesterday?"
    "How did you know that, Sergeant? Between May and
August he was ill. He took leave, but he was insured,
and the money came yesterday. A hundred days at
twelve francs per day, that makes exactly 1,200 francs."
    "Aha," said Studer. "Presumably he also took his
salary on the first, that was yesterday too?"
    "No, he always leaves that with Accounts until
there's a decent amount built up, then he has it sent to
his bank. He hardly needed any money: board and
lodging free. He didn't want to employ another
housekeeper, so the kitchen sent up something from
the first-class menu every day."
    "How old was the Director?"

    "Sixty-nine. Next year he would have been seventy."
    Then, as if that was it, Dreyer set off, pushing the
black brush in front of him. For a moment the smell of
floor polish and pharmaceuticals was overlaid with the
smell of dust.
    "Did he keep the money on him? I mean the 1,200
francs."
    The porter turned round to answer his question.
"One 1,000-franc note and two 100s. He stuffed all
three into his wallet. He told me he was going to put
the money in the bank tomorrow - that is today now.
He had to go to Bern anyway, he said."
    "Where was the harvest festival held?"
    "Go out by that door at the back there and the
casino will be right in front of you. The door's open.
You won't be disturbed."
    The "casino"! Just like in Nice or Monte Carlo! And
here he was in Randlingen Psychiatric Clinic.
    It looked like the aftermath of an office party: cigarette
ash on the floor, torn streamers festooning the walls,
white tablecloths strewn with pieces of bread. The air
smelt of stale cigarette smoke. At the back was a stage
with a table on it, wine glasses ... The "dignitaries", as
Dr Laduner had put it, had not been drinking tea, then.
Windows with pointed arches and cheap coloured
glass gave the room a churchy look, an impression that
was strengthened by the pulpit fixed to one of the side
walls, a little above floor level. Perhaps that was what
churches had looked like during the French Revolution when the Feast of Reason was celebrated in them.
    Studer took a chair and sat down facing the stage.
He lit a Brissago and started making little gestures with
his right hand, like a director giving actors their places
at the beginning of a scene.

    The Director ... He was probably sitting in the middle of the table, in that armchair that wasn't quite
straight, as if someone had got up in a hurry. To his
right would have been Dr