Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“And I can show you at least five of his recent pieces and make the comparisons to other works.”
“Oh, my gosh. Graf mentioned something like that, too. So when you said he was a fraud, you weren’t just saying that? He really is one?”
Dieter nodded. “He used to pick lesser-known works, so the average person wouldn’t know. Even the experts don’t know, because as a fraud, he’s a very good one. But Liebestraum, one of Liszt’s greatest works? That took guts.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Of course I did. I told the conductor. He said he’d take it under advisement and bring it before the board. I don’t think he ever did. Or maybe he did, but nothing ever came of it.”
“Why? How is that possible?”
He laughed. “Because Lukas Huber sold tickets. And it was like, the more people complained about him being a fraud, the more fame he got. And he loved it. So they swept it under the rug. It was like he could do no wrong. Like, he probably could’ve appeared on stage and done nothing but rip an enormous fart, and his throngs would’ve applauded wildly. Ridiculous, right?”
She laughed. “If you say so. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s made it this far on such lies.”
“Well, the world isn’t fair, that’s for sure. I learned that much. It’s why people like me are forced to play in the closet, and men like him get all the fanfare.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“And you can imagine, a young pianist like me, watching that pompous ass, day in, day out, performing his knock-off junk, getting applause and bows and fame, when there are real musicians, better musicians, who practice for hours and hours and hours on end, are so much more worthy than he is?” His voice got distinctly sharper and more intense, and a little spittle flew from his mouth. When he looked at her, a shock of his dark hair tumbled wildly in his face. “You don’t know how long I wanted to wring his little pencil neck. Anyone in my position would. Right?”
Wring his neck.
A wave of fear swept over Diana. She took a step back. “Right,” she said softly, something suddenly clicking in place in her mind.
Dieter had clearly been jealous of Lukas Huber.
Dieter had called Lukas Huber a fraud, from the start.
Dieter wanted what Lukas Huber had.
Dieter had been at Musikverein on the night in question.
And as an employee of the music hall, Dieter could probably go anywhere he wished without raising suspicion.
He placed his fingers on the piano, ready to play. “I’m not sorry he’s dead,” he said in a low, bitter voice. “That’s for sure.”
Suddenly, he began to play Chopin’s Marche Funèbre, the funeral march, and the notes were like a death knell, reverberating deeply in Diana’s very soul.
A chill gripped her, slipping its icy tendrils all the way down her spine. No, maybe she didn’t know enough about music to tell a fraud from a talented composer. But she had a good feeling that she was in this great, grand music hall . . . with a killer.
*
Diana stood frozen to the spot, each note reverberating inside her, almost like the seconds of a ticking time bomb. She was trying to decide what to do, but her brain felt useless, rehashing the words he’d said: I wanted to wring his little neck. Suddenly rushing out of the place would probably raise suspicions. Dieter was young and spry and would probably catch up with her before she made it to the door.
She’d always wanted to be in the golden halls of Musikverein. But die here? That was another thing entirely.
As he played his Chopin, he looked over at her, a sick smile on his face. It was that unsettling smile that stuck in her mind and tangled her gut. She needed to find some way to distract him so she could leave and alert the police, outside. Luckily, because of the “vigil-that-was-more-of-a-protest”, she knew exactly where to find them.
As she was trying to formulate an excuse, tinkling notes filled the empty space in between the Chopin.
It was The Entertainer, and it was coming from her purse.
She fished it out. Good timing. For once. She stared at the display. It was Evan.
Normally, she’d have let it go to voicemail. She always did, with her ex. But now, she’d never been so happy to have him intruding on her life. As Dieter continued to play, Diana pointed at her phone and headed off the stage. “I have to take this.”
She pressed the button to take the call and said, in an exaggeratedly happy voice, “Hi, Evan! So glad to hear from you!”
There was a pause. “Diana? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me.”
“Are you drunk?”
It was only when she’d made it to the edge of the stage that she realized the music behind her had stopped. “No, don’t be silly,” she said. “But I’ve got to—”
“Listen to me, Love. I’ve been speaking with Bea and she says that she’s worried you might be under a lot of stress. Lily said something about another incident you might be tied up in? So if there’s anything you need me to come help with, let me—"
“Evan, I really can’t—” she began, her heart in her throat as she turned.
Dieter was standing right behind her. He looked bigger than she remembered, more frightening. “You won’t tell,” he said, his voice desperate. “Will you?”
She shook her head. “I won’t. Of course not.” She smiled. Keep it light, Diana. “Don’t you have that date coming up with Sheil—"
“You’re lying.” He reached over and plucked the phone from her hand. She could hear Evan calling her name on the other end, but the Dieter pressed a button and disconnected the call. The beautiful hall, where all sounds were elevated, seemed to elevate the sound of her beating heart, making it echo in her ears. “I shouldn’t be using that piano. I can get a lot of trouble for that. And this job—this hall—is everything to me. You know that. You love music. You have to know that. You have to know what the music means to me. I can’t be taken away from here.”
She backed up until she found a wall behind her. She nodded, glancing to the side. The doors were open. She could yell, hoping someone would hear her. But there’d been no one else in the place, before. She could jump off the stage and make a run for it and hope he somehow didn’t catch up with her. “I won’t tell.”
“And I don’t believe you. You’re just another person who will stand in the way of me getting where I want to be. Like everyone else,” he said, biting off each word as he gripped her phone in his hands. He was so close, his spittle hit her face. And the wild look in his eyes told Diana that he was capable of anything. Even another murder.
“Dieter, you’re scaring me. I don’t know what to say. I promise you, I won’t say anything about . . . anything,” she said. “Just let me go.”
He shook his head. “That’s not good eno—”
Before he could finish, she slipped to the side. He tried to grab her, but she shook him loose and broke into a run. She jumped from the stage, clumsily hitting her knee on the ground, but gaining her footing quickly and rushing for the aisle.
“What are you—come back here!” he shouted after her. Footsteps pounded behind her.
He was in pursuit.
She tried to pick up speed, but she hadn’t run this far and this fast in ages. She had the new shoes that Tilda had given her in Verona, but they lacked traction and slipped upon the carpeted runner. Reaching for the doors, she propelled herself through them and managed a glance behind her. He was so close, practically on her heels. If she had to stop to open a door, he’d catch up with her.
“Stop!” he called after her.
No way, she thought, pumping her legs as fast as they could go as she headed into the lobby. Of course, no one was there.
Flying past the box office, she reached the door to the outside. When she grabbed the handle, she felt his hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her back. “No!” she screamed, ripping open the door with such force
that as she moved aside, it collided with his face.
He let out a groan of pain and cupped his hands around his nose as he stumbled back. It gave her the time to slip out the door. By that time, darkness had fallen, and so frantic was she from the chase that she couldn’t make out a single shape in the distance. The sound of crowds chanting, Find the killer! were still going on, but sounded as if they were miles away. As she rushed down the steps, to the sidewalk, she heard the door behind her slam closed, and fast footfalls, catching up with her.
“Help!” she cried, wishing she hadn’t been able to shake Ugbodu. If she hadn’t, he’d be here, and witness to this. “Help!”
But everyone must’ve been at the rally, because the side street was empty. No one heard her cries. Not a single person came to her aid. She was alone, with a killer on her heels.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Diana ran down the street, toward the front of Musikverein, screaming at the top of her lungs. It did little good. Though her voice was loud, the voices of the other mourners were even louder. As she approached them, she saw a police car and ran to it.
But there was no police officer.
She glanced behind her just as Dieter reached over and grabbed her by the fabric of her shirt. She heard it ripping, felt the seams popping as she pulled away, and again, she was on the run. When she reached a corner, she went to cross the street, but a car zoomed past, nearly running over her toes. She stumbled back, right into Dieter’s chest. He grabbed her, and as he did, she spied Detective Moser, across the street. “Detective!” she screamed.
He saw her at the same time, and his eyes went wide. Hand on the holstered gun at his hip, he went to cross the street, only to be pushed back by the traffic.
“What are you—" Dieter’s grip loosened on her.
She took advantage of that momentary reprieve, bolting off, down the street. She didn’t get far before she heard a guttural “oof” behind her. Whirling, she found Detective Moser, pinning Dieter to the ground. Cheek pressed against the cement sidewalk, he moaned, “Not my wrist! Not my arm! Watch my fingers! I need those! Ow!” as the detective wrenched his arm back and cuffed him.
Catching her breath, Diana returned to them as the detective said, “What do you think you were doing, chasing after her? Grabbing her like that?”
“He killed Lukas Huber,” she shouted, breathless.
“What? No, I didn’t!” he whimpered, his voice muffled by the cement. “I swear, I didn’t. I just want to play!”
Diana almost laughed. How could he say that, after everything he’d told her? “You confessed to me,” she said.
Detective Moser looked up. “He did?”
“Well, practically.” She circled around them as Dieter looked up at her miserably. She noticed her phone lying near his body and stooped to pick it up. As she did, he scowled, and Diana backed away, brushing the dust off her phone display. She had four missed calls from Evan. I’ll call him later.
“Are you crazy, lady? How can you say that? I didn’t say anything like that. I—”
“Did you confess to the murder?” Detective Moser said as he wrenched him upright.
“I didn’t!” he insisted. Now, he looked less like a man and more like a frightened boy. Just as that thought came to her, he began to sob, and a big tear fell down his cheek. Diana almost felt bad for him.
Moser shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll bring you in for assault and iron the rest out from jail.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Dieter moaned. “I just didn’t want to get in trouble . . . if I lose my job at the hall . . . it’s the only thing I have!”
“I think he may have been jealous of Huber,” Diana murmured, avoiding his pleading eyes.
He sniffled. “Yeah! I was jealous. I’ll admit it. I’ll admit I thought he was a fraud. But you’ve got the wrong guy. I swear!”
“Then why were you chasing after this woman? You’ll have to tell that to the court,” the detective said, handing him off to two police officers, who guided him to the back of a police cruiser.
Diana shuddered. She expected to feel relief, but now, she felt nothing but dread. Detective Moser glanced at her. “You all right?”
She nodded as she watched the police car drive away. In the back window, she could just make out the head of Dieter, hanging low, chin to his chest. “Yeah. I guess . . . I have children about his age. It just . . .” She clutched at her heart. “Got me.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I have kids that age, too. This generation, huh?”
She didn’t know. Truth was, for all the people of her generation complaining about the entitlement and laziness of millennials, she actually liked that generation. Because she liked her kids. And she’d like Dieter, too. She understood how it was to work hard at something, only to have it not be recognized, or taken away by another person who maybe hadn’t played by the rules. In short, she felt bad for him.
But murder wasn’t the answer. In the end, he had to have known that.
He said, “How did you know?”
“I didn’t. I came back here, yes . . . even though you told me not to, because I realized whoever did it was probably someone known by everyone, who could easily slip in and out of the back area without being seen. And then I found him there, playing the piano. He told me how jealous he was of Lukas Huber, said he was a fraud. He wouldn’t let me leave. And when I escaped, he chased after me.”
Detective Moser’s strong square jaw worked as he peered down at her. “So he didn’t actually confess to murder?”
She said, “No. I guess not. But I’m sure you would agree, if you saw him. He had this wild look in his eye. And he was talking crazy. He said that years and years of playing and watching Huber, who he believed to be a fraud, getting all those accolades, made him want to wring his neck.”
The detective raised an eyebrow. “He said he wanted to wring Huber’s neck?”
She nodded.
“All right. But that’s not the same as actually doing it. Or confessing to doing it. We all say things like that from time to time, don’t we?”
“Well . . .” True. She’d wanted to wring Evan’s neck more times than she could count. “I guess. Still. I’m sure. He had the motive, the opportunity, everything. He was an usher, taking tickets, for the performance. So he could’ve easily slipped in without anyone noticing.”
The detective pulled out his pad and paged backwards, then stopped. “His name is Dieter Hausman. Twenty-one. Lived in Vienna all his life. He’s been working here since he was sixteen. Said he worked here until nine-thirty, when he took a bus home to his apartment, where he lives alone. Arrived there at ten.”
“Ah-ha. Alone. That could be a lie. He has no one to corroborate that, I bet.”
“As a matter of fact, he doesn’t. The landlady at the apartment building says she was asleep, and they don’t have cameras.”
“Ah-ha.” Diana said. “Just as I thought.”
“Not only that, he has a prior arrest.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Breaking and entering when he was fifteen. Which he probably hid in order to get his job at the music hall.”
Diana said, “So what will happen to him?”
Moser shrugged. “We’re going to question him some more, see if we can get him to confess. If nothing else, he’s looking at an assault charge. I’ll have you come down to the headquarters so you can make a statement.”
“Oh, I don’t want to press charges for the attempted assault, if that’s all you have him for,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Well, I—”
“If he’s a murderer, then—”
“Yes, but . . . I like him. He might be misguided but he seemed nice. And he’s talented.”
Moser shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”
She shrugged, unable to understand herself. All signs seemed to point to Dieter. And yet, once again, something tickled in the back of her mind. It was a feeli
ng she’d had before, of everything not being all right, but she tamped it down. Don’t be silly, Diana. The reason you’re feeling that way is because he reminds you of your own kids. You should be happy that you helped to get a violent criminal off the streets.
But maybe that was it. Dieter Hausman didn’t seem violent. Wacky, yes. Obsessed with his music, of course. And though he’d chased after her, he hadn’t exactly threatened to harm her. He’d just been really . . . intense. Her life had been in danger, though, hadn’t it? He’d wanted to hurt her, though, right?
Now that she looked back at it, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d just wanted her to promise not to tell anyone about playing the piano. Because music was everything to him. His job, and being close to the music hall he loved, was important to him. Maybe he’d just been desperate about that?
Oh, stop overthinking things, Diana. The murderer has been caught. Case closed.
Detective Moser pointed across the street with his chin, to the chanting fans of Lukas Huber. “Well, I know a couple of thousand women who’ll think you’re a national hero,” he said nonchalantly.
“I really didn’t do anything,” she said.
“I think those people would beg to differ,” he said, closing his pad and stuffing it into his pocket. “Good night, Frau St. James. Oh, and by the way, I suppose you’re clear, now. You’re free to leave the country, if those were your plans.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She let out a breath of relief.
He paused. “Were they?”
She shrugged. “Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought of it.” She looked around. Now that she had so much time on her hands, she could do anything. But she’d seen most of what she’d wanted to see. She’d experienced the most beautiful music in the greatest hall on Earth. She’d toured many neighborhoods on her walks through Vienna, and she’d enjoyed the local cuisine. What more could she want? “Where do you think I should go next?”
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