Deception On the Danube

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  Twenty minutes later, Burke stood at the front counter of the Vienna Police Directorate, asking to see Chief Inspector Alex Eisler. The middle-aged, uniformed officer, a sergeant, asked if Burke had an appointment.

  “No, but he might be interested in talking to me,” Burke said, not sure if that was the truth.

  The officer asked for Burke’s name. Burke gave it to him.

  “Sit over there and we’ll see,” said the sergeant, pointing to a bench in a corner of the foyer.

  Burke did as he was told. He watched the desk officer pick up a phone and talk for a few moments. Then he hung up, looked in Burke’s direction and shook his head. Burke was obviously out of luck.

  As people came and went including a couple of TV reporters, Burke remained seated, wondering what to do next. Maybe it was time to let the police do their jobs without any of his interference. He would just do his blogs and then return home with Hélène and Claude, putting this bizarre, nightmarish episode into the past. When he thought about his life in the old village part of Villeneuve-Loubet, he couldn’t help but smile. It would be good to get back there.

  He decided he’d try one more tactic and, if that didn’t work, he’d leave the whole matter to the police.

  He texted Karl Plaschke, saying he was in the foyer of the police station and would like to talk to him. He added that since he had helped Plaschke, maybe the Krems cop could repay him by answering another question or two.

  He doubted Plaschke would agree.

  He got a reply within two minutes.

  “Meet me outside by the bench near the street,” Plaschke said. “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

  Burke left the police station and went to the bench which was vacant. Plaschke came out of the station in just over 10 minutes. He looked exhausted.

  “Isn’t this location awkward for you?” Burke said, starting to stand.

  “Actually, it isn’t and you can stay seated,” Plaschke replied, sitting beside Burke.

  “You’re not afraid you’ll get in trouble by talking to a member of the media?”

  “I doubt it. Besides, I need a breather. I’ve been watching child-pornography videos that were captured on some of the computers of your Sunna passengers,” said Plaschke, shaking his head. “I don’t know how the cops who work the child-porn beat do it. The stuff I’ve seen is ugly, nasty, brutal. I mean, we’re talking about sex with kids as young as two. The people who watch this stuff are very sick individuals.”

  “From news reports, it seems like hundreds of arrests have been made in different cities and communities.”

  “Are we off the record here?”

  There it was again. And as before, Burke agreed it was, grateful he wasn’t a reporter. Too many tough decisions to make with that job.

  “Well then, it’s safe to say more than a thousand people have been arrested in Austria and in other countries. And virtually every person arrested has been male. Most of them come from backgrounds most people probably wouldn’t associate with child porn: Doctors, lawyers, teachers, professors, government bigwigs, even a couple of politicians.”

  “How did the various police agencies find out about all these people?”

  “Your Sunna shipmates, the ones you call the inner circle, quickly understood what they were facing and started telling us everything we wanted to know. In fact, with the advice of their lawyers, they couldn’t spill the information fast enough in hopes of a deal that would keep them away from maximum-security prisons. It was like a race to get the best arrangement. Once we had that information, Interpol got various national police forces involved.”

  ”Do you think the members of the inner circle will get their deals?”

  “That’s a good question and beyond my pay grade.”

  “Are you working personally with Interpol on any of this?”

  “Just on the sidelines, answering a question or two. As it turns out, Interpol had been conducting its own investigation for some time into this child-porn ring. They just needed a little push in the right direction and the Sunna people provided that. Now all the dominoes in the investigation are falling very fast.”

  “How does Bennett Blake fit into this mess?”

  “The Sunna people were being blackmailed by him. They told us that Blake somehow discovered their hobby and started using it against them.”

  “So Blake wasn’t interested in child porn on his own?”

  “No. He was only interested in squeezing the others for favours within the company. If he wanted some support for a new contract, he’d lean on someone. When there was some special project he wanted to be involved in, he’d reach out and apply some pressure until he got an invite. He never asked for money.”

  “But he was still blackmailing them, right?”

  “He rose up the corporate ladder and planned to go even higher with their support.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t just ask them for money.”

  “Blake was smart. By demanding their support when he wanted it, he looked like he was doing a good job and getting lots of respect from colleagues elsewhere. He got the money, too, but not in the standard way. As he got promoted, his salary went up – a lot. Very smart when you think about it. To the outside world, it just looked like he had their support. No paper trail. No risk.”

  “But it bothered the inner circle, right?”

  “Definitely. Away from the public, he treated them like lackeys and perverts, which they didn’t like to think of themselves as.”

  Burke recalled a handful of occasions when he’d witnessed Blake talking to one of the inner circle like a minion. Blake had clearly enjoyed those moments. The more discomfort the other person showed, the more satisfaction Blake got. Maybe that’s why Kendall Young seemed to be Blake’s favourite target; he took the jibes and threats more personally than anyone else.

  Plaschke smiled slightly, shaking his head. “You know what else he was? A snob. He wanted the big-time job, but he also wanted to rub shoulders with the cream of society and so he demanded the others pull whatever strings they could to get him into special events. I’ve heard that the English are still somewhat class oriented. Blake definitely was. He wanted to climb the social ladder and was happy to blackmail all those in the inner circle to help him do that.”

  Burke recalled the website photos showing Blake and his wife at various social events, the two of them in fancy attire and smiling for the camera. He had a thought. “You know that Wilson Talbot’s death could be connected to all of this.”

  “I realize you’ve got your ideas about him and I do as well, but right now virtually all police resources here and elsewhere are going into breaking this child-pornography ring as wide open as possible.”

  Burke decided to put aside the Talbot death. “OK, so what can you tell me about Niklaus Gast?”

  Plaschke stood. “I have to get back. There have been developments in the Gast matter which is changing by the minute. You’ll learn about them soon enough. By the way, I should tell you, Herr Burke, that I will be leaving the Krems police detachment soon. I’ve been offered a sergeant’s job here in Vienna. Plainclothes detective. I got it in part because of this Sunna matter. It seems no one cares about my skin colour here in Vienna.”

  “That’s good.”

  Plaschke took a couple of steps and turned back to Burke. “I guess I should thank you for some of that new promotion. Without your ideas, I might not have made all the connections.”

  “So, tell me about Niklaus Gast.”

  Plaschke walked away without another word.

  Chapter 66

  Instead of returning to the ship where he expected to be bombarded with questions by anxious, angry passengers, Burke decided to eat dinner downtown. He opted for a small, inexpensive café down a quiet street that served fantastic schnitzel; he had eaten there his last time in the city. It was popular with locals and hadn’t yet been discovered by tourists despite being just two blocks from
Stephansplatz.

  Finding a small table outside, Burke ordered a Gösser, the local beer favourite, and a pork schnitzel. The beer came immediately and was nicely chilled. The schnitzel would take a while, but Burke was fine with that. He wanted to relax and think.

  The child-porn case was proceeding at full speed; with the international notice it was receiving, police in Austria and elsewhere couldn’t do otherwise. The consequences of the case were likely to be debated in legislatures in a dozen different countries and covered by media around the world.

  Burke knew his involvement was done. He couldn’t contribute anything even if the police asked him to. They were the pros and they knew what had to be done. Besides that, they were probably eager to destroy the ring and arrest everyone involved since their political masters – and the public as well – wouldn’t accept failure.

  And to reinforce the point, two middle-aged couples took the table beside him, talking about the child-porn case as they settled themselves. They were disgusted and hoped politicians wouldn’t get in the way of the investigation. They debated the extent of the child-porn ring, agreeing it was probably larger than what had been reported in the media. Only when the server came to take their drink orders did the group move onto another topic.

  Burke figured similar discussions were being held all over the city and, for that matter, in a dozen other countries.

  When the schnitzel finally appeared at his table, it covered the entire plate. Burke took a bite and was amazed at how the schnitzel exploded with flavour; the meat had been marinated in lemon juice and garlic, and cooked in a coating of puffy bread crumbs. When he was finished eating, Burke sat back, sipping a peach schnapps and watching people stroll by. The world was peaceful, at least at that moment and in that corner of the great city. But he knew he couldn’t stay there indefinitely and so, after his schnapps, he paid the bill and left. It was time to return to the Sunna. Hélène and Claude would still be busy, but maybe the meal had taken the edge off people’s mental state. Or maybe they had finished eating and retreated to their cabins. Burke could only hope.

  When he walked into the Sunna’s dining room a half hour later, Burke instantly noticed a much calmer atmosphere. About 20 passengers were still there, but they were quiet, lingering over coffees or drinks and chatting in low voices. No one paid much attention to his arrival.

  He spotted Thierry Delisle, Renata Hable and Carmen Moreau sitting at a corner table and went over.

  “We wondered where you were, Paul,” Delisle said.

  “I was downtown talking to some people,” he said, expecting to get a lecture from the tour boss.

  “You missed another superb buffet. Claude and Reinhard – with help from your Hélène – outdid themselves.”

  Burke was surprised at Delisle’s calm demeanor. A great buffet? He had expected to see Delisle feasting on fingernails while worrying about what to do next. But Delisle was placid. Hable was, too. As for Moreau, she was smiling.

  What had happened? Or what had not happened?

  “The police came and told everyone they were finished their investigation that involved the Sunna, and that all the passports would be returned tomorrow morning,” Delisle said. “They said they understood how difficult the last few days had been for everyone and then they left.”

  “Who did the talking?”

  “Chief Inspector Eisler. He calmed everyone done, answered a couple of questions and told us we would be free to go wherever we wanted once the passports were delivered.”

  “Did he come alone?”

  “He had two other officers with him. One was that Krems flic, Karl Plaschke. But Eisler did all the talking.”

  “So what’s next for us?”

  “We have some paperwork to complete with Captain Keller and then we’re done with him. After that, all that’s left is a conference call with head office tomorrow afternoon.”

  “About what?”

  “About what’s happened these last two days and how we’ll deal with any fallout as a result of Blake’s murder and the child-porn ring. Apparently the company has hired a public relations expert who specializes in dealing with emergencies.”

  “So, they’re still worried.”

  “I’ve talked to our senior administration a couple of times in the last few hours and they are concerned but, at the same time, they’re not panicking. They now believe any fallout the company gets will be minimal, but they still want to be prepared which is only good planning. They think the biggest problems will be connected to Worldwide Events Consulting. That might be the PR specialist talking, but our overlords seem confident. Now it’s just about being careful.”

  Burke nodded.

  Delisle looked around the table. “I’m going to recommend we meet here for breakfast at 7:30 and go over what we’ll tell the passengers as they depart. We could do it now, but you never know if there’s going to be another change although, to be honest, I doubt it. At that time, we can also review our thoughts for the conference call. Are we fine with that plan?”

  Everyone was.

  “Then I’m going to head to my cabin and wish you all a goodnight,” Delisle said.

  He left.

  “It’ll be good to get off this ship and go home,” Hable said. She looked at Burke and Moreau, and smiled. “I’m not saying I won’t miss you both – you did exceptionally well under difficult circumstances, to say the least – but I never thought I’d be involved in a team-building tour that ended with murder and passengers being jailed. After this, Amsterdam is going to feel quaint and quiet.”

  Both Burke and Moreau smiled. Then Hable and Moreau left for their cabins.

  Burke went to the kitchen where he saw the kitchen staff cleaning up. They all looked exhausted and no wonder. The challenges of the last couple of days had added hours to their work load.

  “Just another half hour or so, chéri,” Hélène told him as she polished some knives.

  “Can I help at all?”

  “No need. We’re almost finished.”

  “When you’re done, why don’t you join me on the top deck? It’s warm, the sky is cloudless and this will be our last night on board.”

  “Good idea. I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

  Burke kissed her lightly on the lips and waved at Claude who was talking nearby with Reinhard, probably about the next day’s breakfast which would be the final meal for the tour group. Then he went into the empty bar lounge, bought a half carafe of Riesling, took it and two glasses and went onto the top deck. It was deserted except for two staffers for Jean Poirier. They nodded at him and returned to gazing longingly into the other’s eyes. They hadn’t been a couple at the start of the tour, but they seemed to have found some magic amidst all the chaos. Burke went to a distant corner to give them some peace.

  Twenty minutes later, Hélène joined him. “Vienna is so beautiful,” she said, accepting a glass of wine. “I think it’s almost as lovely as Paris.”

  “It’s hard to believe how much of it was ruined during the war,” Burke said, referring to the devastation of the Austrian capital during the Second World War. “It was a ruin, even the cathedral. They had to rebuild a huge amount of the city.”

  “How do you know all this, chéri? Did you read a book about Vienna? I know you like history.”

  Burke smiled. “I read some tourism pamphlets, but mostly I got my information from an old movie called The Third Man. It was filmed right here in the city four or five years after the war. The place was still devastated even then. I watched the movie after I signed on to work with the team-building tour. I figured a good movie about the place could save me some time and might be entertaining.”

  “Was it?”

  “It was quirky with this strange music playing throughout and was about this American novelist who goes to Vienna to find out why his old friend died. Except maybe his friend didn’t die. The more the writer pokes around, the more he learns that nothing is as it
seems. Everyone is trying to fool everyone else.”

  “Who’s the third man?”

  “If I tell you now, it’ll ruin the show if you ever watch it – and, to be honest, I’d like to see it again with you.”

  A thought came to him and he paused, looking at the Danube but not really seeing anything.

  “What are you thinking, chéri?” Hélène asked.

  “I think I need to do a little more research.”

  “I expect it doesn’t involve Vienna or some old movie, does it?” she said, noticing the intensity in his face.

  “Not exactly, but it does involve deception.”

  Chapter 67

  While Hélène slept quietly, Claude was snoring, but Burke didn’t care. Stretched out on the bed with his laptop, Burke was in his third hour of searching when he spotted two familiar faces in a video.

  He zoomed in and, although the screen became more pixilated, he did indeed know the two people: Felicity Blake and Wilson Talbot, running side by side in a half-marathon race in Amsterdam three months before. They were just going under the Start banner, smiling at each other. Burke ran the video another couple of seconds and saw Blake touch Talbot on the arm. It was a quick moment, but conveyed intimacy. Ten minutes later, he was watching another video of them at the finish, still side by side and enjoying the moment. When they crossed, they leaned in and kissed each other on the lips.

  He dug into the London race and managed to find Felicity Blake in one of the scores of photos posted on the race website. And beside her once again was Wilson Talbot.

  He repeated his efforts with the Manchester race and got the same results, grateful that the various race organizers had put up so many videos and photos to publicize their events.

  Felicity Blake and Wilson Talbot had been having an affair. Had Bennett Blake known? And if he had, had he killed Talbot? Good questions for which Burke had no answers.

  “What are you doing with your laptop?”

  Burke looked at Claude who was staring at him.

  “I was doing a little research,” Burke said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Hélène.