‘“Flour, bread, wine” are definite indications that Reinhardt is now taking us away from the Schloss,’ Isabel said, unaware that Re’s attention had strayed.
She sounded tired and yet when she glanced at him, there was a spark of interest in her eyes.
‘You mean that they belong inside a church or a chapel. Like the Schloss Chapel?’
‘I don’t think he means the Schloss Chapel this time. Because Max is now hinting at the Pilgrim’s Path. So, it could be a church on a Pilgrim’s Path.’
‘Then it should be easy to find.’
‘On the contrary, that is what would make it most difficult to find. Salzburg has always welcomed pilgrims and taken care of them. There are nine major pilgrimage routes, which move from boundary to boundary of Salzburg. The paths are almost a thousand years old, are picturesque and pass through lovely countryside and heritage sites. There’s one that begins at the Cathedral and leads to St Leonhard’s in Tamsweg, and another one that takes the hiking paths and old smuggling routes from Passau and leads to the Slovenian border. Another path goes via the Gaisberg to St Gilgen and finally St Wolfgang. One leads to the Maria Plain Chapel and another is the Path of St Rupert.’
‘Okay, stop!’ Re protested comically. ‘I get it. Where does that leave us? Surely Reinhardt did not mean us to tramp across the entire countryside of Salzburg, looking for the clue? What about “The blessings of Catherine, dissolves all sin?” Every church is built to help you dissolve your sins!’
‘Yes, every church, but we have to look for a church of St Catherine,’ Isabel said sensibly.
‘Do you know of any?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘But something about this clue is familiar to me.’
‘“And in memory of the war brethren” seems more like a museum to me, not a church. Where could you find a combination of a religious, personal and war memorial?’
‘We have to find a chapel or a church of St Catherine where an old bin waits and where the personal and the religious meet.’
‘And you can find solace and peace in the memory of war brethren. I guess we can also call them soldiers,’ Re completed. ‘Could this “memory” be a kind of remembrance in the form of a painting?’
‘Memory of soldiers…a painting! Oh,’ Isabel cried suddenly struck by an idea.
‘What is it?’ Re asked, sensing the change in her.
‘I know where this is—where the personal and religious meet—it’s a private chapel. There are very few in Salzburg. In fact there’s only one that I know of.’
‘Your Maria Luggau Chapel,’ Re supplied, equally awed.
‘Yes. And it has a metal picture plate, which is in memory of the soldiers of the First World War. There are many pictures in that one frame, of course. And that frame certainly brings some semblance of closure and harmony to my mind.’
‘But do you know if Max Reinhardt ever visited your chapel?’
‘He could’ve. He was very fond of churches and cathedrals and old castles and was on the continuous lookout for places to stage his plays. Also to buy. There is a possibility that he approached my great-grandfather for the Chapel. My great-grandfather had once played the organ in one of Reinhardt’s plays and was a part of his group for a while. There’s a note from Helene Thimig to my great-grandfather, and also notes that he kept about his interactions with Reinhardt.’
Re was silent for a moment. ‘“And waits the old bin”—that could be your collection box!’
‘Dating from 1734,’ she completed.
‘But the Pilgrim’s Path?’ Re enquired.
‘The chapel is on the route to the Pilgrim’s Path!’
‘So that leaves us only with the question of where St Catherine comes into it.’
‘I think I know what that means too. St Catherine was the patroness of mills. Of flour mills. Our pensione was a flour mill, remember my telling you? St Catherine blesses both the mill and the chapel.’
They stared at each other, speechless with their discovery.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Re finally shouted. ‘Let’s go!’
***
The run-up to the party was in full swing. Dan stood in the Marble Hall and inspected the tables and the perfect preparations. The welcome party would be in the Venetian Room where a couple of performances had been planned, including Joanna on the violin. After a suitable period of informal chatting, they would all proceed to the Marble Hall for the dining and wining. Dan was proud of the Schloss parties. They worked out the minutest details, added extra staff and ensured the finest quality of cuisine and vintage. He expected the party to go on till late. Tim Wagner had specifically told him that he wanted to enjoy Salzburg at leisure. But Dan knew, that for all his light-hearted banter, he was a man of steel all his professional career. So were the others. He knew that they had arrived with presentations and brochures brimming with ideas in the hope of establishing new paradigms in peace talks over the world. If only all went well. Dan experienced an unease that he had never experienced before. The trail, the Pillars being targeted one after the other, the dead body found in the pond that Stefan had told him about…even the patrolling that was going on in the Schloss premises this very moment. He ought to feel secure and confident. But he didn’t. It just all made him more nervous.
***
‘Cyber Café Untersberg?’ Stefan spoke into the phone. ‘Okay. Check if they have monitoring cameras and if they do, find out who went in an out in the last twenty-four hours.’
Parisgirl. They had traced the mails to the cyber café at the other end of the city. It wouldn’t take long now to find out who actually had sent the mails.
Stefan picked up Justin’s file and quickly began reading his notes. He was glad that he had gone to the effort of doing a background check on Justin, three years ago. Now that Justin was dead, perhaps he would find a clue that would lead to the reason behind his sudden death. Although, earlier, he had hated performing the check. It went entirely against the grain of morality and ethics. His only driving force had been an immense concern for Isabel. What had compelled him to visit her house that evening? What had he said that she had refused to listen to, and made their encounter slip over the edge of decency and turn ugly?
He skimmed through the typed neat print. Justin had studied in the USA and moved to Europe on a clerical job. He had changed jobs frequently, from Switzerland to Munich, to finally Vienna, working mostly on small computer-related tasks. Suddenly his hand stilled at a page and he frowned. It was a report of why Justin had quit his last job as a librarian in a private library. Something had not pleased the owner and Justin had been asked to leave without notice. Odd. Very unlike the image of Justin that he had in mind. He remembered Justin as a handsome guy with an intelligent face and yet a rather cheeky countenance. Rather rakish, perhaps? What had propelled the owner to fire Justin? There was a phone number and name at the bottom of the report. Stefan picked up the landline and dialled the number of the owner.
‘Hello?’ the voice at the other end was soft.
‘Frau Enberg? This is Officer Stefan Weiss from the Salzburg Criminal Department. I have an enquiry for you,’ Stefan said.
‘Yes, what can I do for you?’ the proprietor of the library asked.
‘There was a man called Justin who worked for you three-and-a-half-years ago. Do you remember?’
‘Of course I do. Handsome bloke. Hardworking too.’
‘Then what made you fire him?’
‘He had a rather unsavoury habit. I found him making notes on girls, downloading pictures.’
‘You mean nude pictures?’ Stefan found it extremely difficult to hide his surprise.
‘No, no. But pictures of girls and doing searches on them. I found that very disturbing. When I discovered it, I asked him to leave at once. I didn’t want to take risks.’
‘I see. Wise decision, I’m sure. But would you by any chance still have that file you saw with you?’
‘I don’t quite remember. I di
d think I would delete it, but let me check. I’ll need some time to go through my computer.’
‘Not a problem. Here’s my email id. Could you please send me the file as soon as you find it? This is urgent.’ Stefan rattled off his email address to her.
‘I will.’
‘Thank you. Frau Enberg. I appreciate this.’
Stefan replaced the receiver, a thoughtful expression on his face. What was Justin doing with pictures of girls? What exactly had he got into? And was it in any way connected to his murder? And most importantly, where did Isabel fit into this puzzle? Did she or did she not have anything to do with Justin’s death?
***
The moment Isabel parked her car on the Mulstrasse, the rain staged a re-entrance. It was a light drizzle but the sky was overcast, with only a few pale sunlit patches peeping from within a patchwork of grey.
‘I’ll fetch the key,’ Isabel said as she ran into the B&B. Re strolled down the slope to the studded, heavy entrance door of the chapel. What a lovely location for the chapel. Right across the street from the picture-perfect pensione. From where he stood, he could see the verandah, bordered by a stone wall and bright red flowers. The sloping chalettype roof over a big balcony was elegant.
The door of the B&B reopened and Isabel ran out again, dangling the keys. Re couldn’t help comparing her behviour to the last time she had done the same thing. Was it only yesterday morning? When she had stood at the door and asked him if he would like to see the chapel? She had seemed so grim and sad at that time. She still seemed a little pensive, but there was a spring to her step, which was obvious to the eye. A lot had happened since then, too. Yesterday, she was lost, and desperate to find her husband. Today she had almost found him at the cathedral. She had, hadn’t she? A small voice spoke in his head. Had Isabel really seen Justin in the crypt? She had claimed to see him twice today. Once in the morning when she had arrived late, and then, in the crypt. But she was the only one who had seen him. Stefan too had voiced his doubt. Had Isabel imagined that she had seen her husband, or was she lying? Re clamped the small voice shut instantly. He had to believe her.
Isabel unlocked the large door, opening it wide. Re was once more struck by the charm of the place. Wooden pews with red-cushioned seats, old paintings on the walls, a central light which hung from the ceiling, stained-glass windows on either side, heavy brocade curtains. A grilled door separated the altar from the seating for devotees. Twilight was falling fast and, past the open door, Re could see the winding street rising steeply, like an unfurled ink-coated ribbon, vanishing into a wet, purplish haze through the door.
‘Here we are—where the personal and religious meet,’ Isabel announced, glancing around her. A look of unconscious pride crossed her face.
‘It’s a wonderfully all-embracing place,’ Re agreed.
‘And this is “in memory of the war brethren”,’ Isabel declared, pointing to a metal frame of a series of pictures of men carrying rifles. The colour had chipped and faded and the metal was black, with a surface rough to the touch.
‘This was a difficult clue,’ he commented.
‘Perhaps Reinhardt’s friends knew about this place and he didn’t really think they would have trouble finding it,’ she said.
‘Perhaps, but honestly right now, I don’t care,’ Re said impudently. ‘Should we?’ he continued, standing before the big black collection box.
‘Please, let me find the clue this time,’ she suggested, and Re instantly stepped back.
‘Go ahead. It’s your chapel, after all.’
Isabel nodded and lifted the U-shaped lid of the bin. She swept a hand inside the box, extracting only a handful of coins.
Re could barely control his excitement. The second last clue.They were very close to finding the Gift now.
‘It’s empty,’ Isabel’s voice sounded strange.
‘It can’t be empty. Look for a crack, or a hiding place. Perhaps a false bottom,’ Re insisted, with a slight twinge of impatientce.
Isabel tapped and knocked and slid her hand into all the corners. Finally, she shook her head, despair on her face.
‘Okay, let me take a look,’ Re offered and spent the next ten minutes replicating Isabel’s actions.
At length, he paused and glanced at her, his lips pursed. ‘Drôle! Is there any other old bin in the chapel?’
‘No, none that I know of.’ She perched on a bench, her shoulders slumping.
‘Could someone have removed the clue, do you think? After all, it’s been here all these years, someone may have found it and thrown it away, unaware of its significance?’ Re voiced his fear.
‘Possible. Anything is possible. In fact I would say we were lucky that we discovered as much as we did till now. I would have been surprised if we hadn’t reached a snag at some point. Oh, but what a waste of a Trail if we cannot complete it,’ she said dolefully.
‘We will complete it,’ Re insisted with conviction but a frown marked his forehead.
‘And how do you plan to do that, without the seventh clue?’ she challenged.
Re did not respond. Instead, he returned to the bin and began a meticulous search all over again. Fifteen minutes later, he expelled a huge sigh and shook his head.
‘I can’t believe this,’ he muttered.
‘It’s such an anti-climax isn’t it?’
‘It is. But I am more concerned about what would happen if we fail to find the Gift in time.’
He felt even more worried than he sounded. In fact, he had never felt more worried in his life. There was something sinister about the way the Pillars had been targetted and it proved that someone meant business and was unwilling to stop at anything. If they didn’t find the Gift, perhaps the anonymous threat would be extended to additional pillars and the destruction would continue ad infinitum and perhaps even without warning.
Re sensed that the danger to the town was like a living, breathing monster who showed no signs of relenting.
‘What do we do now?’ Isabel asked helplessly.
Re rose and began pacing the floor. He glanced at his watch. 7.45 pm. Time was falling short. They had no choice but to find the seventh clue, but how? He had checked the collection box thoroughly. They both had. There wasn’t the slightest chance that they had missed an opening or a hidden panel.
‘Maybe we got the wrong chapel. Perhaps there’s another chapel on the Pilgrim’s Path dedicated to St Catherine?’
Doubt showed clearly on Isabel’s face. ‘Not that I know of. But let’s read the clue again.’
Re spread the sheet on the wooden bench and began reading each line out slowly.
***
Stefan gaped at the file Frau Engberg had sent him. It was seriously bizarre. Had Justin really collected all these names, with their photographs and backgrounds? There were twenty-six pages of resumés and Stefan went meticulously through each one. Why in heaven had Justin spent so much time and effort compiling these background checks? Stefan wondered. A frown marred his face, as his finger tapped the forward button. He sat up abruptly, his heart beginning to race. A picture of a cheerful Isabel appeared on the screen. Details of her school, university, family, B&B, even Officer Stefan Weiss himself. A chill ran down Stefan’s back. Justin had researched Isabel, hunted her down, had pretended to fall in love with her and then married her. Why? Why did he have to go through such an elaborate process? It was almost as if he had narrowed down on her by elimination and chosen her for a sort of an experiment. And poor Isabel had fallen head and shoulders in love with this guy! If that was not all, he had jotted down those strange words on the note, indicating that he knew what was going to transpire at the Schloss—and then gone missing. And now he was dead and Isabel was the chief suspect.
Out of nowhere surfaced a long-buried memory. The summer before she met Justin, he had taken Isabel to visit Louise, his sister and her kids. Stephan loved his nephews and wanted her to meet them. He clearly recalled how the two children had taken to her. She was a natural w
ith kids and he had stood on the sidelines, content to watch as she bonded with them and had them in splits with some droll stories she told. That moment, he had known that he wanted Isabel in his life forever. His pride and faith in his girlfriend had been the strongest in those moments. And then Justin had stepped in and swept her off her feet. Had his own relationship with her been altogether a farce, then?
His phone tinkled, interrupting his thoughts.
‘“Sir, we checked the video at the cyber café,” Kurt reported. ‘There were at least four people who turned up more than once at the café in the last twenty-four hours. But just one person who matched our given time-frame. A guy with a beard, wearing dark glasses and a cap pulled low over his face. The owner of the café recalls seeing him, but he barely spoke a word, sat for ten minutes on both occasions and then left.’
‘That’s great. He’s the man we are looking for—Richard—who stayed at the Schloss and then disappeared. Thanks, Kurt. If there’s no other lead you may join the security at the Schloss. We will need as many men as we can spare tonight.’
‘Right, sir!’
Stefan switched off the phone, a little uncertain as to why he had admitted his sense of insecurity. Why did he think he would need so much security at the Schloss? His mind was in a tailspin. Why was Richard on this dramatic path to destruction? What was his real intention in targetting the Pillars? Most importantly, what did he hope to achieve from all this? It was beginning to get more and more obvious to the officer that somehow, Justin’s was deeply connected to the theft of the archbishop’s heart.
They had to get hold of Richard, once and for all, before he set off to destroy the final Pillar.
***
‘The blessings of Catherine,
Dissolve all sin
The Trail of Four Page 24
