by Rick Blechta
“You are mad if you think that I murdered Baron von Heislinger and that silly maid of his! Pah! You are an even bigger idiot than I imagined.”
I struggled to keep my emotions level. “You were there that night. And you were in Vienna when Thekla was killed.”
“So was your wife. Ask her.”
“She doesn’t remember anything about von Heislinger’s death.”
“How convenient.”
“When did von Heislinger first get in touch with you?”
Montenegro had been introduced to “Baron Rudolph” by a mutual friend two months earlier. They had discussed the project in a very general way, without von Heislinger revealing much. It was only when the producer balked at getting involved that he had been let in on the secret, but Von Heislinger then made him sign a contract swearing him to silence.
“How did von Heislinger convince you he actually had an unknown Beethoven concerto?” I asked.
“I am a trained musician!”
“Balls!” Roderick said with disgust as his hands fidgeted with a twisted paper. “Surely you asked where von Heislinger got hold of it.” Montenegro’s eyes were glued to what Roderick had in his hands.
“All right, all right! I did ask. I wanted no part in an embarrassing hoax. The baron might have been—how shall I say it?—overenthusiastic in his assessment. He’d had it appraised by experts, but I pressed him further. He admitted that it was a delicate matter, but the precious manuscript had been discovered here in Vienna. It was apparently in a box with some household records.” Montenegro shrugged. “That is all he would tell me.”
“Did he tell you how it came into his possession?”
Montenegro shook his head.
“Did you see my wife at all later that night, the night she played?”
He smirked at my uneasy question. “I left with Lorenza almost immediately after the playing but I did hear your wife say she wanted to talk business with the baron. They both seemed in a good mood, very, ah, happy.”
“Then you knew nothing more until the next morning?”
A very nasty smile appeared on Montenegro’s face. “Somewhere around midnight, I heard Baron Rudolph’s voice in the corridor outside my bedroom. He was talking rather loudly to someone. I went to the door and looked out. I saw the baron with your wife over his shoulder. She had on no clothes and appeared to be very drunk.”
“Did Tory say anything?”
“Baron Rudolph was not speaking to her. It was someone else I could not see. He was saying that your wife had unfortunately drunk more champagne than was good for her. The other person then spoke—I could not hear him at all well—and Baron Rudolph laughed and slapped the derrière of Fräulein Morgan. She jumped but remained silent.”
“And you have no idea who the other person was?”
“The baron and your wife were blocking my view, and I really didn’t feel it was... appropriate to go further out into the hall.”
Oddly, up until that last comment, I’d been believing what Montenegro had been telling us. There was no way a shifty devil like him would not have tried to get the edge in any situation.
“And you wouldn’t care to venture a guess?”
“No. The other man’s voice was quite low.”
Again a lie. I was sure of it.
“Roderick, get CNN on the line.”
Montenegro sweated while Roderick punched numbers into the cell phone and even waited until the phone was obviously ringing. “All right! It was that Italian, Terradella.”
“You’re sure?”
“What? Now you don’t believe the story when I am telling you the truth? Make up your mind!”
“And you didn’t hear any of Terradella’s words?”
“No! I could not make them out. He was speaking very fast in Italian. He sounded quite angry.”
“Did you tell the police any of this?”
“I saw no reason to mention it.”
Yeah, sure. I’d bet that Montenegro had been busy trying to make himself, and more importantly, his tootsie, as invisible as possible so the cops wouldn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer.
“So von Heislinger said nothing other than that Tory was drunk, and you couldn’t tell what Terradella was saying.”
“Yes. That is the truth. I swear it!”
“And the next morning?”
“I came down shortly after nine. I had assumed there would be further discussion about our project. Terradella was already there. Schatzader and his wife appeared about fifteen minutes later. When the Baron did not appear by ten, we sent a servant to look for him. I had business in Paris that evening and could not around wait all day.
“It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later that the alarm was raised. We wasted no time calling in the authorities, but even with that, it took them more than an hour to arrive. Needless to say, I did not make my appointment in Paris.”
I looked at my watch: 2:38. I didn’t think we were going to get much more of use out of the little maggot. Time to drop one last bomb and call it a night. If I were right, the fallout might be something interesting.
“Why hasn’t the press gotten even a sniff about the missing manuscript? That’s very curious, wouldn’t you say?” I motioned to Roderick, and we went to the door. “A word to the wise, Montenegro: watch your step or it might be the police asking you questions next time. You made a very dumb mistake breaking into our hotel rooms.”
We marched out the door and down the hall towards the elevator, ignoring Montenegro’s shouts of: “What are you talking about? I did not break into anyone’s hotel room! You are a crazy man!”
Some hotel guests are so inconsiderate about the noise they make in the middle of the night.
“On the telly, they keep talking about all the horrible things she’s supposed to have done, but when I hear her play the sublime music of Mozart, it’s so tragic and noble, I weep every time I hear it. How can they possibly think a person who plays Mozart like Victoria Morgan does could be guilty of two murders?”
—Martin Smith from a personal CD review on Amazon.co.uk
Chapter 23
TORY
Doc Seidelmann picked up the third of his ever-present cups of coffee and watched over the rim as I took a sip of mine. “So, my dear, you are feeling well this morning?”
The trouble with psychiatrists is that you have to wonder what trickiness lies behind every comment they make, just as they must wonder about their patients, I suppose. I wasn’t completely sure about Seidelmann, but at least he gave off good vibes. Considering that he was supposed to decide whether I was mentally capable of standing trial for a double murder, this wasn’t a bad thing.
“I, ah, feel okay,” I answered, afraid that something showed on my face.
“You slept well last night?”
“I think so.” I tried to make my sip of coffee look as natural as possible. “Uh, did your cameras tell you anything different?”
Seidelmann smiled encouragingly. “No. You stayed in bed quietly all night, no outbursts, but your sleep did seem quite restless. Would you like to tell me anything about it?”
“No.”
“I have been thinking about what we discussed yesterday.”
“And?”
“I am certain hypnosis might yield some valuable results. Are you willing?”
Ever since he’d brought it up the day before, I’d been thinking about a rather wild party I’d attended while I was still in high school. Someone had brought along their twenty-five-year-old psychology-post-grad brother, who had offered to hypnotize anyone willing. I’d been first in line, of course, and had turned out to be an incredibly easy subject. The guy had gotten me to do the usual silly party things like standing on a table and reciting nursery rhymes, acting like a cat, but everyone who knew me said I would probably have done that without hypnosis. He’d then told me to do a striptease, but some friends had called him off when the shouted suggestions from the guys at the party as I da
nced had begun to cross the line. I didn’t have a shred of memory about it afterwards. It had all been kind of spooky.
“How is this going to work?” I asked warily.
“It will all be very easy. You have nothing to be concerned about. You do want to find out why it is that you can no longer play, do you not?”
“Yes...”
“Well then, hypnosis could be the most expedient way to accomplish this.” At that moment, the phone on Seidelmann’s desk buzzed. “You will excuse me,” he said as he went over to answer it. He came back looking satisfied. “Your husband and your lawyer are here.”
Seidelmann let them in by a different door than the one I’d been using, and I realized that this was because mine led only to the hospital and the other led to the outside world. For one wild second, I thought I might actually try making a break for it.
Dangling from the end of Rocky’s hand was Tristan, once again in a case befitting his station in life. This one had a beautiful huntergreen canvas cover on the outside. My eyes misted over—and it wasn’t from seeing my precious violin again.
I ran over and hugged Rocky around the waist, breathing in his comforting smell while he awkwardly put his arms around me, Tristan making it more of a family hug than anything.
Rocky kissed the top of my head. “How are you doing?”
“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself more.”
Seidelmann introduced himself, got us all seated and Schultz, like the good lawyer he was, immediately spotted the tape recorder on the table.
“You are recording your sessions with Fräulein Morgan?”
The psychiatrist sized up the lawyer. “It is my general practice to do this.”
“And what becomes of these tapes?”
“I use them to make up my notes and reports, and that is all. They are my property, and what is on them is strictly confidential. I understand what you are thinking, and you do not need to worry about your client, Herr Doktor Schultz.”
Rocky cleared his throat and they both looked at him. “Is it permissible to ask what’s been going on?”
Both started to speak at once, then stopped awkwardly before the psychiatrist continued. “There are standard tests which I am administering. These are required by the examining magistrate, but I have also been interviewing your wife at some length. She seems most concerned by her inability to play.”
The way Seidelmann said that to Rocky was loaded with meaning.
Loyal Rocky, regardless of what he thought of that, merely nodded, saying, “We both are. It is the most awful thing that can happen to a musician.”
There was no venom in the way it was said, merely sadness, because poor Rocky had been going through exactly the same thing for the past four years.
“And what is your opinion on why Fräulein Morgan cannot play?” Schultz asked.
“At this time, I prefer not to say what the diagnosis may be,” Seidelmann replied. “There is much to do yet. Just now, Tory and I were discussing hypnosis as a means to understanding her problems. It can be most useful in these situations.”
“I would like to observe this.”
“I feel that would not be a good idea.”
I looked over at Rocky, who also seemed interested in watching, and decided that this was the last thing I wanted. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with an audience.”
Seidelmann looked satisfied. “Then that is settled,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Can’t I talk with Rocky for a bit before he leaves?”
Everyone looked instantly awkward.
Seidelmann spoke. “I am sure that you would want to do that in private, and I am afraid it is not permitted. I have already bent the rules allowing him to bring you the violin.”
Schultz chuckled. “Müller would not be happy if he knew! Come, Herr Lukesh, we have done our work here this morning.” He shook hands with Seidelmann, then bowed to me. “Fräulein Morgan, I will return shortly to speak with you at length. There is much to discuss.” And to Seidelmann: “Please remember your promise to keep your tapings confidential.”
Rocky stood up as I went over and took his hands in mine. “Rock, please keep yourself safe. I couldn’t go on without you.”
“You don’t know how true that is,” he said with a thin smile. “Everyone sends their regards.” He bent down and kissed my left cheek. “This is from your mother.” Then the other. “And this is from your father.” Then on my lips. “And this is from Roderick and Elen and me. I’ll come to see you as soon as I can.”
I felt a cold wind sweep through my heart as the door shut behind them.
From behind me, Seidelmann said, “Well, my dear, are you ready to begin?”
I thought about it for a long moment, then reluctantly nodded.
***
Stretching luxuriously, I felt as if I were waking up from a most satisfying nap. Seidelmann was on his way to open the curtains, so the room was still pretty dark.
“How do you feel, my dear?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Very good,” I said yawning. “So what did you find out?”
Seidelmann didn’t answer until he’d sat down across from me again. “It was most interesting.”
“Did you find out why I can’t play?”
Seidelmann’s gaze went over to Tristan’s case, which oddly stood open. “We made some progress in that area.”
“Can’t you tell me anything? Why can’t I remember anything about being hypnotized?” I demanded.
Seidelmann’s answer was to clap his hands twice. From what I had heard about hypnosis, this was probably a post-hypnotic suggestion which would make me remember everything. Oddly, no great revelations surfaced, but I did remember a few things.
“Do you recall the question I asked you when you first went under?” Seidelmann asked, pencil and pad once again at the ready.
“You asked if I remembered anything about...the baron’s death that I hadn’t told you.”
“It is very significant your answer.”
“I don’t recall saying anything.”
“That is what is significant.”
“But I really don’t know what happened that evening! As far as my memory is concerned, one minute I was drinking a champagne toast and the next minute I was lying in bed covered in the baron’s blood. In between there are just a few blurry images, like... like underexposed photographs.”
Seidelmann nodded and wrote something. “Is there anything at all which you can tell me? What things do you remember prior to your blacked out period?”
It took me several minutes to answer, but he didn’t press. Part of the delay was the lassitude I was feeling about everything in general, but more importantly, I had no idea how to answer. The hours after I’d finished playing the concerto were something I had been trying hard not to face.
“We were in the baron’s indoor garden. He made a pass at me. He... offered something if I would have sex with him. I told him no and tried to smooth things over, and he seemed to accept it. He poured me some more champagne and then... nothing. I’m telling the truth when I say that the next thing I remember was waking up in my room with this God-almighty headache, and the baron was lying... was lying next to me.”
“You have no recollection of the passage of time?”
“As I said, some fleeting impressions, nothing more.”
“Would you tell me about those?”
“Do I have to?”
Seidelmann leaned forward and patted my hand. “My dear, if I am to be of any help to you, you will have to be brave, and trust me. Something very awful happened to you, and if you are to get better, you will have to face it, understand it and try to move on.”
“I thought I was here for observation?” I said, angling for more time.
“I would also like to help you if I can. Your husband asked me to do this when he called yesterday about bringing your violin. He is very worried about you—and this is not only for being put on trial for murder. He is worried
for you, personally.”
At the mention of Rocky, tears began rolling down my cheeks. Since that terrible night, I had constantly been perilously close to weeping, but the image of my long-suffering husband, still loyal and concerned after all of this, was too much for me to hold them back. As I cried, Seidelmann asked if there was anything he could do for me, anything he could get. Whether it was professional or real concern, I couldn’t tell, but it made me weep all the harder.
The waterworks felt as if they lasted for days. Seidelmann handed me a box of tissues which stayed clutched in my lap even after I’d dried my face and blown my nose.
“What were you thinking as you were crying, my dear?” Seidelmann finally asked.
I told him about the pact I’d made with Rocky, how I’d promised I wouldn’t succumb to... that particular temptation any more. “I’m desperately afraid that I... that I finally agreed to make love to the baron, that I’d let Rocky down yet again. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember what happened! Maybe I’m too ashamed of it.”
“But you should not feel that way. I have seen pictures of Baron von Heislinger, and he was a handsome fellow. These things can happen, even when we want desperately for them not to. By your own admission, this has happened before. Have you told your husband any of this?”
“Sort of...”
“But it hasn’t changed the way he feels about you?”
“I guess not.”
“Then give yourself permission to accept that something of this nature may have happened. It is a very important step to take. Even though it will be painful, think about it. Try to see through the mists. You may find that your memory begins to clear once you have given yourself permission to remember.”
“If you say so.”
He smiled. “I do, and I am your doctor! Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”
My face felt stiff as I tried to return his smile. “There is one more thing. I know how the baron hurt me. I remember lying over a table and he was inside me... from behind, I mean... anally. It hurt horribly. I wanted him to stop, but I couldn’t do anything. He was out of control, laughing and grunting like an animal and not caring. It felt as if he were tearing me apart.”
