Doctor Death by Lene Kaaberbøl Read Free Book Online Page A

still.
    “I am not sure that my father can do without me,” I said, embarrassed to note that it sounded like what it was—a schoolgirl’s excuse.
    At that moment there were steps in the corridor outside. The professor raised his head and listened.
    “You had better discuss that with your father, then,” he said. “I expect to have a result in a few days.”
    Through the door burst a long-limbed blond young man,also sweaty and out of breath and dressed in a luminously white fencing costume.
    “What is keeping you, Gussi?” he said. “We can’t manage without you! They have brought von Hahn, and Grawitch is about to shit his pants from fear . . .” He came to a sharp halt when he noticed me. “Aha!” he said. “The cause of the delay. I must ask the Fräulein to excuse me. I did not realize that there was a lady present.”
    “I was just leaving,” I said quickly. “Professor, my father is deeply grateful for your help. We look forward to learning the results of your studies.”
    “Let me show you out,” said the professor.
    “I have delayed you long enough,” I protested. “Goodbye.”
    I left before he could offer any further objections and walked away with rapid steps that resounded between the corridor’s shiny walls. That there was an element of flight in my retreat, I knew only too well.

    “What did he say?” my father shouted as soon as he could hear me in the hallway. “Did he know what it was?”
    “He wanted to study it more closely,” I answered awkwardly, with one of my hatpins between my teeth. “It will be a couple of days before we know more. How have things been? Are you feeling better?”
    “I am completely fine,” he growled.
    But when I came into the salon, I saw that his facial color was still awful and his breathing heavy from laudanum drops. He was not well.
    “I am sending Elise for Doctor Lanier,” I said, and this time Iignored his protests. They were not as vigorous as before, I noted, which further increased my concern.
    “Has the Commissioner been here?” I asked.
    “Yes. At noon. They still have not found Father Abigore’s body.”
    “And the dog?”
    “No, not that, either.”

    Two days later, the Commissioner was once again seated in the mahogany armchair. It was his habit to drop by at lunchtime, and there was usually an evident relief in the way his solid, square figure sank into the chair. The Commissioner had neither wife nor children, and at the age of fifty-two it seemed unlikely that this would change. He lived in a rooming house nearby and in many ways probably led a lonely existence. He was a presentable man with a good position in life, and although his income was not princely, it was still quite reputable. He was perhaps not the type to set young girls’ hearts aflutter, but why not a calm, good-natured widow with a bit of sense? Did the dead scare them off, or did he? If you did not know him, he might seem severe and inaccessible.
    In any case, the house on Carmelite Street was the closest he came to a home during this time. He stopped by most days of the week, sometimes even twice a day if he thought a case provided him with sufficient excuse.
    “How are you feeling, dear friend?” he asked.
    “Fine,” answered my father, and then, with an acknowledgment that it had been more serious than he would previously have admitted, “better.”
    It was true. My father was much improved. Doctor Lanier hadplaced a plaster cast both on his arm and the broken leg according to Antonius Mathijsen’s method, instead of the primitive splints that the medics had used. It was clear that this immobilization led to a dramatic easing of the pain. He now used the laudanum drops only to fall asleep at night and in much smaller doses. This had restored his pallor and his breathing to levels considerably more normal, and he had regained his customary sharp wits.
    “Have they found Father Abigore?” he asked.
    “No.” The Commissioner sighed. “Marot