Funeral in Blue - Anne Perry [129]
A look of irony and grief crossed Niemann’s face. “Who waited thirteen years?” he said incredulously. “Why?”
A waiter came by, and Monk asked Niemann’s permission, then ordered coffee with cream and chocolate in it, and Niemann ordered a second coffee with hot milk.
“Of course we had quarrels then, loves and hates like any other group of people. But they were all over in hours. There were far bigger issues to care about.” His eyes were bright, his brow furrowed a little. The noises of crockery and voices around him seemed far away. “It was passionate, life and death, but it was political. We were fighting for freedom from Hapsburg tyranny, laws that crushed people and prevented us from having any say in our own destiny. The petty things were forgotten. We didn’t wait to murder our enemies in London thirteen years later; we shot them openly at the time.” He smiled, and his eyes were bright. “If there was anything on earth Elissa hated it was a hypocrite, anyone, man or woman, who pretended to be what they were not. It was the whole charade of the court, the double standards, that drew her into the revolution in the first place.”
“Do you believe Kristian could have killed Elissa, even unintentionally, in a quarrel that got out of control?” Monk asked bluntly.
Niemann appeared to consider it. “No,” he said at length. “If you had asked me if he would have during the uprising, if she had betrayed us, I might have thought so, but he would not have lied, and he would not have killed the second woman, the artists’ model.” He looked directly at Monk without a shadow across his face. There was no guard in him, no withholding of the deeper, more terrible secret. He had used the word betrayed quite easily, because as far as he knew it had no meaning in connection with Elissa.
Monk hated the knowledge that he would have to tell him, and see the disbelief, the anger, the denial, and at last the acceptance.
“You know him well.” Monk made it half a statement, half a question.
Niemann looked up. “Yes, we fought side by side. But you know that.”
“People change sometimes, over years, or all at once because of some event—for example, the death of someone they are close to.” He watched Niemann’s face.
Niemann fiddled with his coffee cup, turning it around and around in his fingers. “Kristian changed after Hanna Jakob’s death,” he said at last. “I don’t know why. He never spoke about it. But he was quieter, much more . . . solitary, as if he needed to consider his beliefs more deeply. Something changed in his ability to lead. Decisions became more difficult for him. He grieved more over our losses. I don’t think after that he could have killed someone, even if he or she was a liability to the cause. He would have hesitated, looked for another way . . . possibly even lost the moment.”
“And you didn’t know why?” Monk said, compelled to press again to see if Niemann had any idea of the betrayal, or if all he knew was the subtle guilt in Kristian, the perception of his own bigotry which troubled him ever after that.
“No,” Niemann answered. “He couldn’t talk about it. I never knew what it was.”
“Do you think Elissa knew?” The question was a double irony.
Niemann thought for quite some time, then eventually answered with sadness edged in his voice. “No. I think she wanted to, and was afraid of it. I don’t think she asked him.”
Monk leaned forward a little over the table. “You went to London three times this last year. Each time you saw Elissa, but not Kristian. You did not even let him know you were in England. What happened to your friendship that you would do that?”
Niemann looked up at him, then away. “How did you know that?