by Rick Blechta
“On the drive back to Austria, she told me what had happened... and I began to learn the real truth about life, not the fairy tale I’d been living since August. Everything has to be paid for. Things may go along swimmingly for a while, but all the time you’re running up bills, and eventually those bills come due. I’m just realizing now that the bills I’ve run up here in Vienna are starting to come due, too. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to deal with Dai.”
“What will you do?”
“I really don’t know yet. I just don’t. I only know that it’s because of Tory that I’ve changed the path my life was following, and regardless of the fact that I’m going through a bad patch at the moment, she taught me to trust in myself. I owe her for that, and that’s why I’m staying until the bitter end.”
“I just hope that’s not what we’re close to facing: a bitter end.”
“Me, too. I’d hate to see it finish like this.” Elen shivered. “Let’s make some tracks! We’ve still got a long way to go, and darkness comes early.”
As we quickened our pace, I answered, “Tory’s bills came due when she got to Austria—and I think we just got the past due notice this morning.”
***
Being thoroughly chilled, we called a cab from a restaurant partway up the Prater. When our hotel came into sight, the street was once again filled with media vans, trucks and cars.
“Please pull around the corner,” I told the driver. “What the hell’s going on now?”
“It might just be somebody famous, some statesman or foreign potentate,” Elen said hopefully.
“I don’t have that kind of luck. Christ! I wonder what’s happened?”
Elen opened the door of the cab. “Wait right here. I’ll go find out.”
She was gone only a few minutes. Jumping into the cab again, she slammed the door and said, “You’re not going to want to hear this, but someone has spilled the beans about the concerto.”
The cabby turned around and looked at us. “It is true, my friends, they are saying that damned violinist who stabbed our Baron von Heislinger was after a concerto by Beethoven. Nothing else has been on the radio for the past two hours.” Then his eyes widened when he realized who he was speaking to. “That is, I, ah, I mean to say—”
“I know damned well what you meant to say, buddy. How much do we owe you?”
The cab drove off hurriedly, and we were left standing across the street from the side entrance to the hotel. I only saw two people near it who might have been from the media.
“Care to rush the door?” I asked.
“You bet! If you think I want to wade through that crush at the front door, you’re barmy.”
We sprinted across the road and almost made it to the door before anyone spotted us, but wouldn’t you know it? The goddamn door was locked, probably to keep the media hordes from invading the lobby. We were caught, and the stream of bodies, running around the corner when it became known we were there, looked like an outtake from The Ten Commandments.
My third “news conference” in Vienna didn’t go any better than the first two. This time the locals were decidedly unfriendly. It seems as if a lovers’ spat was more acceptable to them than the theft of a manuscript by Beethoven. Pointing out that old Ludwig actually hailed from Bonn didn’t earn me any brownie points, either.
I basically just played dumb. They didn’t have much to go on— just a hot tip and some sketchy facts from an unnamed source.
Nobody questioned the motives of the others who’d been at von Heislinger’s that fateful night, but boy, was Tory (and me by extension) guilty! I have to admit that I was tempted to turn my pockets inside out so the media could see they didn’t contain any errant concerti.
Then they started asking who Elen was and that was a bad moment. I used it as an excuse to challenge their right to trap people at the door to a public hotel, making it sound as if Elen was just another guest, one who’d picked the wrong door at the wrong time.
Eventually we were rescued by a couple of hotel employees who unlocked the door and opened it enough for us to squeeze through. The media looked pretty unhappy as they pressed their noses against the glass.
My favourite desk clerk, a wiry little Turkish guy, came racing across the lobby waving a sheaf of papers before we’d gone five steps.“Herr Lukesh! Herr Lukesh! We have many messages for you!”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” I growled as he gave me the bulging handful. “Anything else I should know?”
“Yes, yes. Your friend Herr Whitchurch arrived about twenty minutes ago. I have let him into your room, since he most obviously could not wait here in the lobby. I have done okay?”
I nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll be going up to my room now. Please hold all calls.”
“I will see that it is done!” he answered and scampered off.
“I think he actually likes all this uproar,” Elen said in amazement.
“He’s probably going to use the material for a tell-all book.” While we were waiting for the elevators, I asked, “I hope I fielded those questions about you all right.”
“Whether you did or not, the damage has probably been done. Some sharpie is going to put two and two together. I guess my bill with Dafydd just got a second notice. Even if he doesn’t see it, somebody is bound to tell him. I was with you, therefore I’ll be considered guilty.”
“I’m so sorry, Elen,” I answered as the doors to the elevator doors slid open.
We found Roderick sitting on the edge of my bed, Scotch from the room’s mini-bar in hand, watching CNN . “Thank the Lord you’re back! All hell has broken loose!” At our grim expressions, he added “I can see that you already know.”
“Things are a lot worse than you know, Roddy dear,” Elen said. “Do you want to tell him about this morning, or should I?” she asked me.
I lay down on the bed. “You do it. I want to think for a bit.”
Roderick looked as glum as the rest of us by the time Elen had finished. I made the obligatory calls back to the States and fortunately didn’t have to speak to Marty, since he was out when I called. I asked his secretary if he was getting therapy. She laughed and said that wasn’t a bad idea. I certainly didn’t tell Tory’s mom and dad about the bombshell Tory had dropped. As it was, I barely held them off from catching the next plane over.
“Why didn’t you tell Tory’s folks about this morning?” Elen asked. “Surely, they should know.”
“For the moment, no. It wouldn’t do any good. What did you find out today, Roderick?”
“Well, as I said last night, it would have been better to beard the lion in his own den, but I did manage to get some decent information over the phone, although I had to be on the dickey side of the law most of the time to accomplish it.”
“What are you two talking about?” Elen demanded.
“As you know, Rocky found out that von Heislinger probably paid a couple of respected Viennese critics for glowing reviews for an under-talented opera singer—one of his early conquests. So we surmised that he might have paid somebody for a harsh review about Tory. Say Easterbrook? Certainly we should check out that lead.”
“How would you do that? Surely a perfect stranger can’t just go up and ask—!”
“Ich spreche Deutsch ziemlich gut, nicht wahr?” Roderick said, then laughed uproariously at the poor girl’s expression. “Guess you’ve never seen my bio, have you? If you had, you’d know that I studied here in Vienna for two years after I finished at the Royal Academy in London. You learn a language pretty well in that amount of time, especially when you shack up with someone who really doesn’t speak English.”
“So what does German have to do with it?”
“I work for the late Baron von Heislinger’s estate, don’t you know. We needed a further bit of aid from Easterbrook, something demolishing along the lines of what he did for us earlier. And boy, did he buy it or did he buy it, hook, line and bloody sinker! His price was pretty steep, though: 5000 quid. I’m afraid th
e poor lad was a tad disappointed when I had to admit to whom he was actually speaking. He’s probably cowering in his basement right now, waiting for the cops to come knocking.”
“Serves him right, the bastard!” Elen said hotly.
“Anything else?” I asked.
Roderick looked at the ceiling, thinking. “Let’s see... Oh yes. I spoke to Ernesto Segurro, the original conductor for Tory’s Vienna concert. His broken leg might or might not have been an accident. Somebody on a bike hit him while he was rollerblading. Hard to prove either way.”
“I’d say we have enough to make a case against von Heislinger as far as destabilizing Tory to the point where she might be more malleable to his suggestions. That’s something Schultz can use.”
Elen said, “But now all of this is useless. She’s admitted stabbing von Heislinger!”
“Elen, we still need evidence to defend Tory. Schultz feels that justifiable homicide could be proven. It will be tough, but I think if anyone can pull it off, Schultz can. Von Heislinger manipulated her, cut her off from the outside world and then sexually assaulted her. The damage done to Tory physically proves that. Not to put too fine a point on it, that sort of sex is not on her radar. Wouldn’t that draw anyone towards violent retaliation? So thanks to Roderick’s prodding, we’ve got some information that will directly help Tory.”
Roderick spoke up. “And there’s Thekla’s video. What was on it that would clear Tory?”
Something hit me right between the eyes. I should have seen it immediately when Schultz had replayed Tory’s confession.
Elen looked at me with surprise on her face. “What is it, Rocky? You have the most beatific smile on your face!”
Heading for the door, I said, “Tell you later. Right now I need to speak to Ertmann in the worst way!”
TORY
I began to seriously contemplate how to kill myself that night.
Waking up somewhere in the blackest part of the night, feeling like your head has been stuffed with sawdust and realizing that you’ve admitted to yourself (and to the world) that you’ve stabbed someone to death is not a good recipe for cheerful thoughts. I’ve occasionally wondered how many people have come to the decision to end it all in the dark hours when the weight of the world always seems the heaviest.
I got up and stood looking down at Tristan in his case for a long time. With my hands trembling, I lifted him up, stuck him under my chin and riffled my right hand over the strings. I knew without even taking out the bow that it was no good. My confession hadn’t done a thing to ease my inability to play. If anything, it was worse.
If I couldn’t play, would have to rot in jail for who knew how long and would be a source of shame to those I loved and cared about, what was the point in living? I didn’t make my decision out of self-pity or shame, but out of the knowledge that I would make things easier for everyone in the long run.
The question was how to do it when I knew someone would always be watching me on those damned monitors.
ROCKY
I made a call to Ertmann’s home using the payphone near the swimming pool, not trusting my new cell phone any more than the phones in our rooms. At our last meeting, he’d made it clear that he was sticking his neck out a long way for me. He referred to it as “going against the interests of the state”.
“Even if that means someone who might be innocent is convicted wrongly?” I’d asked.
Ertmann had sighed quite heavily. “Sometimes this bad thing must be done.”
“But not in this case?”
“No. But it is not a decision which rests easily. We must be very careful of what we do. You understand this?”
“Perfectly,” I’d answered, looking straight into my benefactor’s eyes.
Stefanie Ertmann answered the phone. Recognizing my voice, she asked teasingly, “Why did you not tell me about this wonderful concerto? I think you are a very bad man!”
“I, ah...”
“Have you heard it? Tell me about it!”
“Stefanie!” Ertmann’s voice barked from another phone. “Häng sofort auf!” His daughter clicked off after registering her dissatisfaction with a big sigh. “I thought that I would hear from you.”
“As we say in English, ‘the shit has hit the fan.’”
“When you told me about this concerto, my feeling was that we were living on time that has been borrowed.”
“Borrowed time,” I said absently.
“Ah, yes,” he answered. “I have spoken to Müller, and he is trumpeting about securing the final piece to his puzzle. With such a strong motive for the baron’s murder, he knows that he has Fräulein Morgan in a very tight place.”
“He doesn’t know how tight, Ertmann. Tory remembered today that it was her hand that stuck the knife into von Heislinger.” I brought him up to speed about the results of the hypnosis session that morning.
Ertmann didn’t speak for a moment after I finished. “This news is very grave indeed. Is Fräulein Morgan’s plea to be changed, then?”
“I don’t know at this point. I hope not.”
“But that is madness if she admits to killing him!”
“There are two things you should be aware of, Herr Ertmann: first, we have discovered that von Heislinger used all sorts of nasty tricks to upset Tory to the point where she was ready to dump everything and set off wherever he wanted. Once there, he cut her off from almost all contact with the outside world and then attacked her. Maybe she was only protecting herself.”
“That will be a hard thing to prove in the court, the prosecution will use her reputation against her and there are no witnesses to what happened.”
“I think there was someone else in that bedroom, someone Tory, for whatever reason, hasn’t remembered. Think about this: she only said she stuck the knife in von Heislinger’s chest. She didn’t mention slitting his throat. She said only that she stabbed him.”
“Ah...”
“It took me all afternoon to spot it. My dad’s always told me, ‘Calm down first and then think.’”
“Why is it that we never listen to our parents?”
I smiled to myself, knowing he was speaking of his daughter. “Because children always know better.”
“Now my friend, surely you did not call to tell me about the leak of the concerto and to commiserate about your wife’s, ah, remembering. I have become familiar with the way you operate. What do you want?”
“Oh, just a couple of small things, and then if I’m correct, one very large one.”
“On the face of it, she’s guilty, but man oh man, is all this publicity great for sales! She’s going to have buckets of money to pay for her defense—if her record company ever settles up.”
—record store owner Michael Waite, interviewed in Toronto
Chapter 29
ROCKY
I finally managed to get to sleep sometime after midnight. Unfortunately, Doc Seidelmann called shortly before six a.m. His call had priority with the front desk to get put through immediately.
“Herr Lukesh, I am very sorry to have to call you at such an early hour, but—”
“It’s Tory, isn’t it? Something’s happened to her.”
“Yes, something has happened to her, but I want to reassure you that she’s—”
“What’s happened?”
“Herr Lukesh, please try to remain calm. My news is distressing, but your wife is all right.”
“What’s happened?” I repeated, only slightly more calmly.
“I’m afraid that she has tried to take her life.”
“What?”
“It will be better to explain all this in person. Can you come out to the hospital? And let me assure you again that she is all right.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, an hour, tops. Won’t you need permission for me to come?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary under the circumstances.”
***
Seidelmann met me at the front entrance, and we hustl
ed along endless corridors to a different part of the vast hospital. The only people about at that hour, orderlies and nurses silently going about their business, gave the place a Kafka-esque feeling of unreality—or perhaps that was just my state of mind.
The psychiatrist explained as we walked. “Fräulein Morgan awoke around one a.m. from the sedative I had given her earlier. About three hours later, she complained that she couldn’t get back to sleep, because the room was too light. She refused another sedative but managed to convince the person on duty to turn off the night lights in the room. This meant that we could not properly observe her on the monitoring system. In the gloom, she was able to take the strings off her violin, fasten them together and form a loop which she put around her neck. It was a simple matter to attach this to—”
I had to stop him at that point. I didn’t need all the gory details. “But Tory’s all right?”
Seidelmann looked at me. “Barely. It was only because one of the guards looked through the window in the door that we got to her in time.
We’d arrived at a nursing station at that point. Seidelmann spoke to the person at the desk for a moment and then turned to me. “She is sleeping at the moment.”
“Can I see her anyway?”
“Of course. Come with me.”
It wasn’t hard to identify Tory’s room. I didn’t think that too many patients would warrant guards sitting on either side of the door. Seidelmann went in by himself while the guards and I glared at each other suspiciously.
Sticking his head out the door, Seidelmann said to me, “She is awake, but groggy,” then fired off some rapid German to the guards, who nodded but didn’t look any happier.
I went into the darkened room. Tory was covered by a blanket, but I was appalled to see that her wrists were wrapped in a bandage sort of thing and secured to the side rails of the bed. Tory’s face looked as white as the thick bandage covering her neck. As I came in, she turned her head away.
