by Frank Tallis
‘No.’
Frau Lachkovics put her arm around her daughter and drew her closer.
‘Inspector, what has happened?’
Rheinhardt took out his notebook and began to write.
‘Has Fräulein Wirth had any other visitors? A gentleman friend, perhaps?’
Frau Lachkovics shook her head, this time with considerable force. Rheinhardt suspected that she might be trying to protect her friend’s honour.
‘Come now,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘It is perfectly reasonable for a woman to enjoy the company of a gentleman. She must have had … admirers?’
‘No. Not Selma. She isn’t interested. She doesn’t want anything to do with men.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘She is lame, did you know that? She can walk, but she gets tired and needs a stick. The muscles are weak. I think she is ashamed.’
‘And what about you, Frau Lachkovics? Do you have any gentlemen friends?’
‘No,’ the woman said firmly. ‘Not after Lachkovics.’ Her hand rose up and she touched her face, as if the sting of a hard slap — administered many years ago — still tingled on her cheek. She shrugged. ‘We don’t need anyone else now. We can cope on our own — me and Jana. We have our little home — and our work — and our friends. We are quite happy — aren’t we, Jana?’ She shook the girl’s shoulders and the movement placed a feeble smile on the young woman’s face. ‘But inspector — what are you asking me all these questions for? She is all right — isn’t she? Selma?’
‘Her rent has not been paid for three months.’
‘Oh. I see. You’ve spoken to Herr Shevchenko.’
‘I have. Why did she get so far behind?’
‘She’s always spending money on doctors. Trying to find a cure. She can’t accept that nothing can be done. You’re not going to arrest her, are you? It isn’t a great sum of money and she’ll pay it back.’
Rheinhardt looked into the woman’s pleading eyes. He found that he had to force himself to speak: ‘I have some terrible news.’ Dismissing thoughts of impropriety he reached out and held her hand. ‘I am afraid Fräulein Wirth is dead.’
Frau Lachkovics appeared stunned. Her mouth worked wordlessly until she finally managed to cry: ‘Oh, Jana.’
Apart from a slight tensing of her brow, the daughter seemed indifferent to her mother’s grief.
Above their heads the waste pipe continued to discharge steam into the atmosphere. Its beat had begun to coincide with a pulse of pain in Rheinhardt’s head.
32
ERSTWEILER APPEARED COMFORTABLE, BUT a muscle beneath his left eye was quivering.
‘To be honest, Herr doctor, I didn’t like my father. He was a domineering man who always thought he was right. I don’t know how my mother put up with him. She was the opposite: a diminutive, genial creature, always prepared to listen to both sides of an argument. My grandfather — my mother’s father — was somewhat impecunious, and I suspect that her family forced her into the marriage. Father was not wealthy, by any means, but he had a secure job in the railway office.’ Erstweiler produced a crooked, sardonic smile: ‘Although he never ascended as far up the bureaucratic hierarchy as my brother — and was never obliged to don the garb of a general!’
Liebermann waited. He could see in his patient’s eyes that memories were surfacing.
‘I remember,’ Erstweiler continued. ‘I once accompanied my father on a trip to Vienna. I forget why. Indeed, I’ve forgotten virtually everything that happened, except one thing. We were walking past the Stephansdom and my father said we should climb to the top in order to see the view. We began our climb, and almost immediately I felt apprehensive. I looked out of the narrow windows and it made me feel dizzy. I remember seeing the Habsburg eagle on the cathedral roof … the city below. I didn’t want to go any higher: I thought the whole spire might tumble down. My father asked me what was the matter and I said: I don’t feel well.’ The memory was so vivid that Erstweiler’s voice suddenly acquired the timbre of a frightened child’s: ‘Nonsense! said my father. There’s nothing wrong with you!’ Again, Erstweiler’s voice changed, becoming officious and unsympathetic. ‘He dragged me up — higher and higher — and I began to cry. He lost his temper and called me cowardly, told me to be a man … told me to stop acting like a milksop. When we reached the viewing room at the summit I sat down on a bench and refused to look out. Even a glimpse of those rooftops, so far below, made my head spin. He pointed out a girl in a pink dress and said, Look! Even she has more courage than you! My father was disgusted with me. He left me there, on my own, full of shame and anger, while he walked around — enjoying the view. I longed for my mother. If she had been present, she would never have let this happen … After a while, I asked my father if we could go down. No, he said. I want to hear the Pummerin. He told me that the great bell had been made from the melted cannons that the gutless Turks had left behind when they fled the city. What did I care … about that?’
Erstweiler sighed and twisted his hospital gown in his hand until it bit into his skin like a tourniquet.
‘He was always talking about honour — doing what was right. He always saw faults in others, never in himself.’
‘Did you ever disobey your father?’ Liebermann asked.
‘No. Well, not in his lifetime, anyway.’
Liebermann leaned forward: ‘I’m sorry?’
‘He judged thieves harshly. He said that they should have their hands cut off.’
‘You stole something?’
Erstweiler nodded.
‘What?’ asked Liebermann.
‘A trivial thing.’
‘Yes, but what was it?’ Liebermann pressed.
‘Actually …’ Erstweiler hesitated before saying, ‘It was a kimono for Frau Milena.’
How strange, thought Liebermann, that this disclosure should be connected with reminiscences of his father.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I felt sorry for her. Kolinsky never buys her anything. He is a miser. Her wardrobe was pitiful … rags. I received a delivery of silk kimonos at Winkler’s warehouse — a large delivery of thirty garments. It’s my job to register the stock. I marked one missing and took it home.’ Erstweiler shrugged. ‘Was that so wrong?’
‘Your father would have said so.’
Erstweiler released his hospital gown, allowing the blood to flow back into his fingers.
‘I’ve had enough today.’
‘Did Frau Milena like your gift?’
‘Yes. She looked … She loved it.’
Liebermann noted the slip.
‘Herr doctor … I’m feeling tired. Can we stop now?’
‘Have you had any more dreams?’
‘None that I can remember.’
Liebermann made some quick notes.
Spire — beanstalk. Ogre — father. Frau Milena — goose.
Hand cut off — punishment for masturbation? Desire?
Sophocles.
I’ve always doubted it. But perhaps Prof. F is right!
‘The English fairy-story dream.’
‘What about it?’
‘Have you had any similar dreams since we last spoke?’
‘No. Herr doctor? Can we finish? I really am very tired.’
33
LIEBERMANN AND RHEINHARDT WERE seated in Café Eiles. They had already finished their bauernschnatterer — a pork-and-bean stew, seasoned with pepper and chives — and were now studying the pastry menu.
‘The palatschinken,’ said Rheinhardt to the waiter. ‘What are they filled with?’
‘Curd cheese,’ the waiter replied.
‘I’ll have two, then.’
The waiter turned to Liebermann.
‘Powidltascherln.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said the waiter. He darted off, narrowly missing his colleague who was travelling in the opposite direction. Some civil servants at an adjacent table had drunk too much wine and one of their party — a bibulous gentleman with a large
red nose — started to sing a jolly song from La Belle Hélène. He suddenly fell silent halfway through the second verse.
Rheinhardt was not distracted by the laughter and jibes that followed. He undid one of the buttons of his waistcoat and leaned forward: ‘It was late and Frau Lachkovics had already gone to bed. The girl heard something: footsteps. But, given her mental deficiency, I am not convinced that the poor child’s account reflects what actually happened, although it contains, I believe, a kernel of truth. It would seem that she was disturbed by the perpetrator’s arrival or departure and that there is no way of telling which; however, I think the facts of the case are more consistent with the former than the latter. Jana Lachkovics heard Griesser — let us use his nom de guerre for convenience’s sake — ascend the stairs to Wirth’s apartment, but she did not respond immediately. Enough time elapsed for Wirth and Griesser to become intimate, during which interlude Jana Lachkovics finally reached her decision to investigate. She stood on the landing and shouted “Is anyone there?” and Griesser, on hearing her call and fearing discovery, stabbed Wirth through the heart. He may have already determined (on account of Fräulein Babel’s final act of resistance) that he was going to use a dagger instead of the hatpin he had purchased at Frau Schuschnig’s … or if there was any uncertainty in his mind, I have no doubt that the sound of Jana Lachkovics’s voice resolved the matter. He subsequently chose the less complicated means of dispatch.’
Lieberman raised his coffee cup as if toasting his friend.
‘That makes perfect sense, Oskar. Yet there is one thing that troubles me. You said that Frau Lachkovics was insistent that Fräulein Wirth did not entertain gentlemen friends.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Yet Fräulein Wirth admitted Griesser into her apartment and intercourse appears to have been consensual. She obviously knew him.’
‘There are two explanations. Either Frau Lachkovics wanted to protect her friend’s reputation or she was entirely ignorant of the association. I am inclined to believe that Fräulein Wirth’s relationship with Griesser was clandestine.’
‘Why would she wish to keep a relationship secret from her closest acquaintance?’
Rheinhardt shrugged.
‘I have no idea.’ The waiter returned with two lightly browned pancakes and a triangular pastry sprinkled with cinnamon and icing sugar. ‘Fräulein Wirth,’ Rheinhardt continued, ‘was visited earlier on Thursday evening by a friend — a woman called Vogl. I understand that she is a famous dress designer.’
‘Kristina Vogl?’
‘Yes.’ Rheinhardt drew back and produced an exaggerated, theatrical expression of amazement. ‘I did not know you were conversant with the world of haute couture.’
‘I’m not. But my sisters are. Vogl’s name, if I am not mistaken, is associated with the reform movement.’
Rheinhardt transferred some pancake into his mouth. He closed his eyes and communed with the flavours: clarified butter, honey, vanilla pods, and grated lemon peel.
‘Yes,’ he said, opening his eyes again. ‘Reform. Else explained it all to me. I had no idea that corsets were so political.’
‘I don’t like them.’
‘What? Corsets?’
‘No. Reform dresses.’
‘You surprise me. You usually like everything modern.’
‘They are shapeless …’ Liebermann broke his pastry with his fork. The plum purée inside the folded parcel spilt out onto the white porcelain. ‘They obscure the curves of the female figure. I am sure that reform dresses are very comfortable to wear — but I am not sure they are very pleasing to look at.’
Rheinhardt stopped eating for a moment: ‘Be that as it may, I have some sympathy with the cause, don’t you? It is a sobering thought — what a woman has to endure with respect to her wardrobe. The countless hooks and eyes that have to be fastened from waist to neck, the corset which has to be pulled so very tight, the petticoats, camisoles, jackets and bodices — layer upon layer — encasing her body like a suit of armour. Required to wear gloves, even on a hot day, bespangled in heavy jewellery and other adornments: stockings; garters; hair curled, braided, built up beneath the canopy of a monstrous hat, lush with vegetation and exotic fruits; perfumed, plumed, powdered. Really, Max. It’s a wonder that any of them can move at all.’
Liebermann smiled at his friend, impressed by his humanity.
‘You are quite right, Oskar. It is selfish of me to object to reform dresses on aesthetic grounds. I doubt if I could survive more than ten minutes in a corset!’ Liebermann touched his throat. ‘This collar is bad enough.’
‘I’m going to pay a call on Frau Vogl this afternoon.’
‘Really? Where does she live?’
‘Not very far. The sixth district. Near the Theater an der Wien.’
‘They say that she is greatly admired by the artists of the Secession. I wonder what sort of woman she is?’
‘Why don’t you come and see for yourself?’ Rheinhardt recovered his fork and guillotined his pancake. ‘I could do with some company.’
Their destination was a smart town house, three storeys high, with baroque window hoods and a balcony that bellied out above the front door. They were admitted by a maidservant and introduced to Kristina Vogl’s secretary — an attractive girl whose elegance was undermined by an unfortunate stoop.
‘Madame is unwell. She has taken to her bed. Even so, she is willing to receive you upstairs — if you don’t mind …’ The girl smiled, pointed at the ceiling, and remained in this position for longer than was necessary to achieve her purpose. Rheinhardt indicated that he had no objection. ‘This way, please.’
The secretary led them up a wide, somewhat ostentatious staircase, and down a corridor that led to the rear of the house. She knocked lightly on one of the doors.
‘Madame?’
A muffled voice: ‘Come in.’
The secretary ushered Rheinhardt and Liebermann into her mistress’s bedroom and closed the door behind them.
Liebermann was impressed by the decor. It was decidedly modern. The furniture was black and boxlike, unencumbered by redundant detail. A beige carpet with a red grid pattern covered the floor and the wallpaper was enlivened by a subtle recurring motif of stylised leaves. The air was fragrant with rose and lavender.
Kristina Vogl was sitting up in a large double bed, surrounded by sketchbooks and fabric samples. Liebermann studied the famous couturière with interest. She possessed fine, regular features, and eyes of an uncommonly pellucid blue. Her hair was dark brown and fell down in loose curls to her slim shoulders, which were wrapped in the shimmering crimson swathe of a kimono. Gold dragons disported themselves across the silk. On a bedside cabinet stood a lamp which Liebermann identified as the work of Josef Hoffmann.
‘You are Inspector Rheinhardt?’
Her accent was brittle.
Rheinhardt’s bow was more florid than usual — almost foppish. He gestured towards his friend: ‘And my associate, Herr Doctor Liebermann.’
Kristina tilted her head to one side, tacitly questioning why a detective inspector should be accompanied by a medical man; but Rheinhardt did not give her an answer. Instead, he clasped his hands together over his heart.
‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see us today. I wish you a swift recovery. Permit me also to offer you our most sincere condolences.’
The woman coughed. Liebermann thought the action rather forced, like a hysterical patient with tussis nervosa.
‘You are most kind, inspector. It was a shock, of course. I could hardly believe it. You read of such things in the newspapers but you never consider that your own life will be touched by such terrible events. Poor Selma.’
Rheinhardt took a step forward.
‘I understand that Fräulein Wirth was a close friend.’
Kristina’s brow furrowed. When she spoke, her delivery was hesitant: ‘I wouldn’t say that we were close. But I have known her a long time.’
‘Since childhood?’
‘Yes. But the nature of our relationship …’ Kristina appeared a little discomfited. ‘I think before we proceed any further it would be advisable for me to clarify a few points.’
‘As you wish.’
‘Selma was the daughter of my mother’s laundry maid. We were very fond of each other as children and we corresponded as adults; but, naturally, our lives have followed somewhat different courses.’ Kristina’s expression became pained. ‘We did not have a great deal in common. Further, I feigned a deeper affection than, in fact, really existed between us. You will ask why. Well, Selma was a proud woman and it was only by invoking our friendship that I could persuade her to accept financial assistance. I hope that God will forgive me this small deception which was practised only in the service of charity.’
‘I see.’ said Rheinhardt. ‘I am sure that in the ledgers of heaven such an act of human kindness will not be counted against you.’ Kristina dismissed the compliment with a languid flick of her wrist. ‘You may not have been bosom companions,’ Rheinhardt continued, ‘but I assume you were familiar with Fräulein Wirth’s general circumstances?’
‘Yes — that is true.’
Rheinhardt nodded and checked the horns of his moustache.
‘Then could you tell me if Fräulein Wirth had any gentleman friends?’
‘She had many when she was younger. She was very striking. But as soon as her leg problems started she became markedly less interested in flirtations and romance.’
‘What about recently? Did she mention meeting anyone?’
‘No. But …’
Kristina shook her head.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing …’
‘Please,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘You were going to say something.’
‘On my last visit — and the previous one — I thought there was something about her, something different, something changed. She seemed in higher spirits and more conscious of her appearance. And I must admit, it did cross my mind …’
‘That she had begun a relationship?’
