The Strangler's Waltz

by Richard Lord

  In truth, his main activities in Vienna involved pimping, drug dealing and underwriting the shady to criminal activities of others. He used his position at the embassy as both a cover and a conduit for these illegal activities. It wasn’t long before he had amassed quite a tidy nest egg. Along the way, he also managed to bed some of Vienna’s most beautiful women, all of whom were quickly snared by his sultry good looks, his courtly manners, and the air of seductive danger that hung about him. Also, the fact that he could lavish some of the milder drugs on them before and after their liaisons.

  Playing off his name with his French family, he always told his Viennese friends and paramours to call him “Bernhard”, but the police he had contacts with invariably referred to him simply as “the Turk”. And he had quite a few contacts in the Viennese police force.

  * * *

  Dörfner contacted the Turk and arranged to meet him at an unimposing shop he owned on the Tichtelgasse. The shop sold a jumble of Turkish textiles and textile products, but it was mainly a front for his illegal activities. Most of the visitors to this shop were either cops or criminals.

  Dörfner strolled into the shop ten minutes before the appointed time, thinking he might be able to catch the Turk off guard. He kicked aside some bolts of Turkish linen that had fallen to the floor and headed straight for the back room, where he knew all the serious business took place.

  He was halfway there when another man stepped out and placed himself in front of the open doorway, like a sentry. This man was thin but muscular, with dark hair and glaring eyes set off by a ruddy complexion. Dörfner didn’t know this fellow, but immediately determined that he was the gatekeeper to the Turk’s inner sanctum.

  As the inspector got closer, the sentry took a couple of steps forward himself. He positioned himself as if he were a feral animal getting ready to strike. His glare rose a few degrees as Dörfner neared. Dörfner gave his perfected guffaw-snort.

  The inspector had taken out his police I.D. plate before entering the shop and he now held it in his right hand, at his side. As Dörfner had just about reached the door of the back room, the sentry took another stride forward. At just the right moment, he swung his right arm up and slapped the I.D. plate into the other man’s face. As he did, he barked, “Inspector Dörfner of the Vienna Police Department. I have an appointment with your boss.”

  The movement was not only perfectly timed, it was also perfectly placed: the plate landed right in the sentry’s nose and upper lip, stunning him. He fell backwards and spat out an obscenity. Dörfner smiled broadly, proud of how well he had timed the mild assault.

  The other man recovered, and though sniffling from the blow, he reached for the upper left hand side of his coat. But Dörfner grabbed him with both hands before he could grab whatever he was going for. The inspector, taller and bulkier, pushed the man against a counter and said, “Do you understand German, my good man? If not, I can always try to get my message through using hands and feet.”

  But that’s as far as it went, for just at that time Redizade Bahadir stepped out of the backroom. He clapped his hands like someone who had just received a surprise gift. This, despite the fact that he knew Dörfner was coming by. He then turned to the gatekeeper.

  “Vlatko, this is my old and very dear friend, Inspector Dörfner. He’s the man I have been expecting here.” Vlatko did not seem to brighten much at this news. Bahadir turned to Dörfner and smiled. “Just like you, Inspector Dörfner does take a little time to warm up to people, but once he does, he can prove to be a very valuable friend.”

  At this, Vlatko and Dörfner looked at each other warily and exchanged truce nods. Satisfied, Bahadir snapped his fingers and pointed towards the front of the shop. Vlatko nodded and headed off in that direction, still rubbing his nose and lip. As he did, he found a smudge of blood coming from the lip.

  Bahadir then turned his full attention to the inspector. “So, my friend, you are still as ruggedly handsome as ever. But you are looking just a little bit peaked. Are you sure you are getting enough sleep?”

  Dörfner sighed. “Not over the last few weeks. These murder cases, you know. The two ladies.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course, of course. Let us go back into my office and discuss this further.” He threw a quick look towards the front to see that Vlatko was properly occupied, then extended his hand to ease Dörfner into the back room.

  “You have arrived at just the right time, my friend. I was just about to take my afternoon tea. And, of course, some delicious Turkish pastries. I know you will enjoy them; they arrived just this morning, direct from Istanbul.”

  Moments later, the two men were sitting on opposite sides of the Turk’s imposing mahogany desk. The Turk deftly poured tea from a shining silver pot with a long spout into the traditional diminutive Turkish tea glasses. He then slid across a silver plate with an array of sweets on it.

  “Please, my friend, help yourself. I especially recommend the baklava. It’s originally Turkish, you know, not Greek. And I am told by a very religious man that pastries such as these are served to you by the houris the day you arrive in paradise. So, please – give yourself a small foretaste of paradise.”

  Dörfner choose four of the delicate pastries and eased them onto a smaller plate Bahadir had set down in front of him. At that point, his host raised his glass of rich, amber-colored tea. “So – zum Wohl!”

  Dörfner reached and grabbed his own glass. The small vessel disappeared between the three fingers he used to clutch the glass. He hoisted the tea. “Zum wohl.” They both finished the tea in two sips. Bahadir then refilled both glasses.

  “So, Inspector, how can I help you?”

  Dörfner then explained how he and his partner had run into a series of dead ends in their investigation. They needed to speak to the second victim’s pimp. But none of the people they had interviewed could tell them who it was.

  “I see. Well, let me make inquiries and see what I can discover for you. I will certainly make every effort I can to find this information.”

  Since Dörfner did not wish to share any details of the two murder investigations, the two swung back into gossip and small talk. There was a discussion about the nature of Turkish pastries. When it became all too clear that the meeting was about to come to an end, the Turk slipped in his own appeal.

  “Oh yes, I almost forgot: now, I know that this is not a matter for the Homicide Division, but you might want to pass along the information to your colleagues who are responsible here.

  “It has come to my attention that there is a shipment of some value coming all the way from Persia. Now, as I understand it, a man will be arriving by train this Thursday at the Westbahhhof. This man will be carrying a large, bright red valise. In that valise will be ample amounts of both opium and heroin. Very nasty things, as we both know.”

  “Now when this gentleman arrives, he will be greeted right there on the platform by a ‘long-lost cousin’. These two cousins have, of course, never met before. They will exchange a code, and embrace each other. Then the arriving man will turn and go off in one direction while his “cousin” will pick up the red valise with all those nasty drugs and he will start to walk off in another direction entirely.”

  Dörfner nodded. “So, a delivery of contraband drugs.”

  “It would seem so. And it …it pains me to say that the man who will receive these illegal drugs is one of my own countrymen. But that is the truth here. And I thought that your colleagues in the illegal drugs department will want to know about this.”

  “I’m sure they will. Thank you very much.”

  The Turk nodded. “You’re welcome. I see it as my duty as a resident guest in your wonderful city.”

  And then, fifteen minutes after he’d first entered the shop, Dörfner announced that he had to get back to headquarters. He rose, but Bahadir got up even before him, stepped around the desk and escorted him all the way to the front door of the shop. Then he put his hand around Dörfner’s arm and gave him a friendly
clutch.

  “So, just remember: this Thursday, the train coming in from Varna. Scheduled to arrive at 6:45, though it is almost always late. And in the meantime, I will do everything I can to find out who was this poor girl’s pimp. We can discuss it again towards the end of the week.”

  Dörfner smiled and nodded; he knew how these deals with the Turk worked. When the drug mule and dealer were arrested on Thursday, the Turk would tell Dörfner who Maria’s pimp was. It was pure quid pro quo.

  The Turk was a highly valued informant, but his information always resulted in some profit for himself. For instance, when he ratted out some fellow drug dealer, it was almost always to remove a competitor from a field that was very profitable for the Turk himself. By cutting the supply of opium and heroin in Vienna, the Turk could increase his own prices for these items. And he already had very handsome profit margins on these items as serious drugs were becoming very fashionable among the Viennese avant-garde.

  The Morality police were well aware of this devil’s bargain they were involved in, but they readily accepted it. Their rationalization was that by snaring Bahadir’s competitors in the drug trade, they were removing large amounts of these dangerous items from circulation.

  And even the fact that the arrests ultimately helped Bahadir’s own business did not trouble them much. After all, they reasoned, by allowing the Turk to hoist his prices for the drugs, they assured that only those with a comfortable store of disposable income would be able to afford them. This kept the drugs out of the hands of the poorer classes, those who stood to become the worse victims of drug addiction. Morality cops and top politicians all liked to think that wealthier Viennese would use the drugs responsibly, as a form of recreation.

  The inspector and his “good friend” shook hands and went back to their respective duties. Early Thursday evening, the train arrived from Varna, a man alighted with two light bags, one of them bright red in color. As predicted by Bahadir, he was greeted by another man, who moments later walked off with that red valise. Six policemen then descended on the pair and arrested them both. Early the next morning, a message arrived at police headquarters for Inspector Dörfner: his friend in the textile trade had ascertained the information he requested.

  Dörfner and the Turk met again at his shop early that afternoon. At this meeting, the Turk handed Dörfner a sheet of paper with a man’s name written on it in precise script. Below the name were several places where the inspector and his colleagues would be likely to find this man.

  The Turk then added some information. This man was not actually the dead girl’s main employer. He was the on-site agent for the employer. But he was responsible for the day-to-day activities and so he was, in fact, the best person to speak with in order to get the information sought. And then the Turk appended a request of his own.

  “Please, if possible, don’t be too diligent in your interrogation of this fellow. I mean, diligent in a physical way. It is my understanding that he is a very reliable and valuable worker and that his employer has a high regard for him. He would not want him to lose any work days due to an unfortunate injury.

  “I also understand that this employer has already spoken with the pimp and told him to cooperate fully with the police and to tell the inspectors everything he knows about the girl and her situation.” He then took a long breath. “You can rely on everything this man Hochner tells you.”

  Dörfner read the code immediately. The Turk himself was Maria’s pimp, but he had wanted to hold back any information until his drug-dealing competitor was taken out of action. Dörfner also accepted that the sub-pimp would give them all the information they needed, as it was now a matter of honor to Bahadir that the police receive anything that might help them move their investigation forward. Dörfner expressed his gratitude, and the Turk acknowledged this with a warm smile.

  Chapter 17

  Early Saturday morning, Gerhard Hochner was awoken by heavy pounding on the door of his room. He fell out of bed and staggered to the door, where two tall and beefy policemen were waiting. Hochner simply nodded; he knew what they were there for. His boss, Redizade Bahadir, had given him adequate warning and details on what he should say. Hochner asked the policemen to give him about ten minutes to get ready. They nodded and stood to the side. But when he tried to close the door, the beefier of the policemen blocked the motion with his beefy arm. Hochner nodded in resignation and turned to wash and dress.

  Not quite an hour later, Hochner was at police headquarters, sitting in the interrogation room with Stebbel and Dörfner. He peered out from aching eyes, their dark pupils in the middle of deep red sloshes.

  “A long evening yesterday, was it, Herr Hochner?”

  “Well … Friday. You know what Fridays are like.”

  “Especially in your business.”

  Hochner offered a lopsided smile. “Especially in my business.”

  And that was the full extent of the pleasantries. After that, the grilling started; a light grilling, but a grilling nonetheless. Hochner told the two loupes everything he knew about Maria Kolenska. They asked further questions, some of which Hochner could answer, some of which he couldn’t. Neither of the inspectors felt he was lying, or even swallowing the truth on any of these points. The pimp even seemed upset about the young woman’s death.

  “She was … innocent. I mean, really innocent. Even after a few months in the game. At the end of every month, she sent a little money back to her family in Galicia. And she kept on telling her friends that she only intended to work for a year or two, then she was going to use whatever she could save to go back and help her parents buy a shop. It was going to be … well, some kind of shop. They owned a little shop when she was a kid, but then they lost it somehow.”

  Hochner let out a shallow laugh. “When she was a kid? She was still a kid. She even had this toy lion that she kept in the room where she … entertained her clients. And there was always something … little girlish about her.” He took a deep breath. There seemed to be wide glints, from tears perhaps, in the red of his eyes. “No, gentlemen, she had no real enemies here. Whoever killed her had no good reason to do it.”

  Stebbel and Dörfner knew at that point that the interrogation was coming to an end. They asked a few more technical questions, just to tie up the matter. And then they escorted Herr Hochner to the door. Stebbel even opened the door for him. But just before he stepped out, Hochner turned, looked both inspectors in the eyes and spoke strongly.

  “When you do catch this swine, please make him suffer. Make him suffer a lot for what he did.”

  The two inspectors agreed to see justice done. Then a young policeman walked up, greeted Gerhard Hochner and guided him to the paternoster.

  Back in their own office, Stebbel and Dörfner discussed the interview. Both agreed that Hochner seemed quite sincere. For a pimp anyway. They didn’t see any reason to proceed further.

  “So it wasn’t the pimp,” said Stebbel. Dörfner hesitated a few moments before answering. His answer was a simple “no” in agreement. He didn’t think it added anything to pull in the Turk at this point. They focused on one thing that Hochner had said: that she had no real enemies here in Vienna.

  That squared with everything her streetwalker friends had said. It seemed that the killer had chosen Maria at random, that she had simply been an unlucky victim of a sick mind.

  This conclusion was doubly troubling for the two inspectors, as it probably meant that Anneliese von Klettenburg’s murder had also been something random. If so, there was no logic, no matter how dark or twisted, behind it. Both crimes were simply the tumble of fate’s dice and left no traces of motive other than the killer’s desire to inflict humiliation and death on two attractive young women. When they went in to see the district commander at the end of that week, they were forced to report this conclusion and tell him what little progress they had made, or were likely to make. Like hamsters trapped on the wheel in a cage: no matter how hard they labored, how wildly they turned the
wheel, they were getting nowhere.

  * * *

  The tension in the office was thick that morning. It didn’t take long for it to combust.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Maria’s real pimp was the Turk?”

  Dörfner had let this slip out in a blah-blah session with Inspector Glotz, and Glotz casually mentioned it to Stebbel.

  “I didn’t think it was … helpful at that point.”

  “Karl-Heinz, you know everything is sort of helpful at this point. Everything.”

  Dörfner was in the middle of a defensive response, when he stopped. He looked at his partner point blank. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you as soon as I found out.”

  “Fine. But now I say we should bring the Turk in for an interrogation. He has to be considered a suspect.”

  “He wouldn’t do something like that. Besides he’s not strong enough, his hands are thin and delicate.”

  “Alright; but he could hire someone else to do it. We should bring him in for questioning. Just so we know we’ve covered everything.”

  “OK. Then why don’t we drag in your friend Doktor Freud at the same time and question him. The way I see it, he’s just as much a suspect as the Turk. Probably even more.”

  “Doktor Freud? Are you crazy?”

  “No, he sits there listening to all these nasty things, the women telling him all their secret wishes, all their fantasies. And you know how he operates? I asked somebody: he has his patients lie there on a couch, just lying there spread out, telling him all their inner thoughts. So he’s watching this beautiful woman, Frau von Klettenburg, lying there in front of him, session after session, and finally he can’t control himself anymore. So one night he follows her, catches up with her, tells her he wants to have her, she refuses, maybe threatens him with exposure, and he has to kill her.”