by Richard Lord
After they got outside, Stebbel informed the hooks that they would have to stand watch for an hour or two. They needed to be sure that Arnold Brunner did not pay a “surprise” visit to his sister in that time. If he did arrive, they were to hold him there, at gunpoint if necessary, and notify headquarters that they had Brunner in custody.
“And how will we know him, Herr Inspector?”
Dörfner answered. “He’s … big. Bulky … strong. And he’s got dark hair … dark brown probably.” He turned for corroboration to Stebbel, who nodded. “He’s not a bad looking guy, a bit on the handsome side actually. But it’s an ugly handsome, if you know what I mean.”
The three junior policemen shook their heads. Dörfner was at a loss to explain what he’d just said.
Stebbel stepped in. “That means he doesn’t look very warm or friendly. He’s not someone you’d strike up a conversation with in a café.”
The two loupes then gave the hooks a few more instructions about what to do if someone looking vaguely like that should appear at the front door of the building they’d just left. They also told the hooks they should keep the police vehicle with them and drive back when their reinforcements arrived. Stebbel promised to arrange a second shift of surveillance officers as soon as they got back to headquarters. The two inspectors said they themselves would take a taxi back to headquarters.
But on their way to find a taxi, they found a convenient café and dropped in for refueling and a post-mortem of the session. Along the way, they touched on the interrogation.
“Think she was lying?” Dörfner asked.
“Maybe. At least about some things. We’ll just have to sift out the lies from the truth.”
By this time, they had entered the café and started looking for a secluded place where they could conduct a summation of what they’d just discovered. Dörfner, already in a buoyant mood, was even more cheered when he threw a peek at the café’s pastry chest and was greeted by an imposing four-storied chocolate cake with lush cocoa cream fillings. He rubbed both palms together and asked the counter staff to slice him a generous wedge of that delight. Wiley intimidation followed by chocolate cream cake – it was looking more and more like into an afternoon of one sweet triumph after another.
Dörfner and Stebbel took up their post in a corner of the café. “Well, that went quite well, didn’t it? I thought we were really working as a team. Partners, you know. In perfect timing; like with a waltz.”
“Yes, we were … rather effective there.”
Dörfner gave an apologetic smile. “I know you weren’t totally happy with how we managed to be so effective.”
“I … had misgivings.” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t feel that comfortable using our position to bully a hapless widow.”
“A widow trying to protect a brother who has this quaint hobby of killing women.”
Stebbel sighed. “That’s why I did it. We had to. That’s why we worked together so well.”
“The only problem now is that she might get to a telephone somewhere and call her brother.”
“If he has a telephone.”
“Good point. Anyway, I think we put a good fright into the dear lady. She might not even dare to call her brother, as much as she might want to.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see if blood is thicker than adrenaline.”
“Adren … What the hell is that?”
“Adrenaline is a natural hormone the body secretes at higher levels when fear strikes.”
“Oh yeah? Did you study Chemistry at university?”
“Biology. Two courses. My first year at the university, I was a medical student.”
“A medical student? No shit!”
Stebbel shrugged. “It was my father really. He wanted me to be a doctor. But by the end of that first year, I knew I could never be a doctor.”
“Why?”
“I …” Stebbel stopped, considered whether he should answer honestly, then chuckled slightly. “I couldn’t stand the sight of blood.”
“Couldn’t stand the sight of blood? So you became a cop? And then you got yourself assigned to the Homicide Division?” Dörfner produced one of his large, full-bellied laughs. “You are really funny, Stebbel. You should sit down one day and write a book. A funny one. People like funny books. Yours will be a roaring success, I’m sure.”
“Or maybe I’ll just put all the stories together and go on the stage. I’ll perform it in cabaret.”
“I’d go to see you every night.”
“So maybe that’s just what I’ll do that when this is all over. I think I may need a change of profession.”
* * *
Back at headquarters, the two inspectors arranged for replacements for the surveillance trio they had left behind at Frau Keuler’s place.
Stebbel then took out the casebook and the two loupes sat down to reconstruct the interview they’d just conducted as close to accuracy as they could. At the end of the reconstruction, Stebbel added an editorial commentary, as was his wont.
“Following upon this interview and everything that Frau Keuler said – and didn’t say – I am now even more convinced that Arnold Brunner, one-time imperial guardsman, is indeed our vicious killer. I further believe that Herr Brunner suffers from severe personality disorders, and that these killings are a form of harsh revenge. He evidently blames women for some wrongs that were done to him years ago.”
He finished the sentence and capped his pen. Dörfner, who had moved to the other side of the room to pour himself some mineral water, came back and asked to see what his partner had just written. Stebbel could hardly refuse him, as they were partners on this case and the reports in that book were supposedly opinions shared by both men. He slid the book towards Dörfner.
After reading the addendum, Dörfner nodded.
“Are you in agreement? With everything I wrote there?” Stebbel asked.
“Of course. As much of it as I can understand.” He then squeezed out his impish smile. “One thing though …”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you think you should, at the end, write ‘with deep gratitude to Doktor Sigmund Freud, my mentor and idol.’ ” Dörfner’s smile then exploded into a laugh. Stebbel managed a half-smile, took back the casebook, closed it tightly and placed it back in the drawer.
Now almost content, he leaned back in his chair. Outside their office, the sky had darkened with approaching rain, but Stebbel felt there were finally some rays of light streaming into the Spittelberg Strangler case. And in spite of whatever his highly opinionated colleague felt, Stebbel was deeply grateful for the assistance of Professor Doktor Sigmund Freud.
Chapter 29
The surveillance at Frau Keuler’s home extended into the early afternoon of the next day. Three different teams took up the watch in shifts. But the only male who appeared during that whole time was a late middle-aged man of meager build who lived in one of the flats above Frau Keuler. Stebbel looked over the brief reports of all three teams and clenched his lips.
“Do you think maybe she did get in touch with Brunner and warned him to stay away?” Dörfner asked.
“I have no idea. But it doesn’t really make any difference, does it? All that really matters is whether we get our hands on him or not. And at present, we don’t have him in our custody. He’s still out there. Somewhere.”
Dörfner shrugged. “Maybe he’s been reading the same newspapers we have, and decided that these sidewalks have become too hot for his feet. Maybe he’s already left Vienna, and he’s holing up somewhere else. Maybe he even … caught a train, went abroad.”
“Maybe. Though I think it’s more likely he would have read those newspapers and felt quite flattered at those comparisons to Jack the Ripper. And now he’s planning to become even more notorious than old Jack.”
“What we need … what we really need is to get his picture posted in every police station in town, let every cop know who it is we’re looking for. It can’t be just the two
of us running around with that one sketch, showing it to people who will forget his face ten minutes later.”
“You’re right. You know, you’re all too right.” Stebbel’s mind was then working quickly. “Wait a minute – didn’t our Herr Hitler say that was a copy he was giving us? That he still had the original?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it … I think he did. I think he did.”
“OK, so we need to get in touch with Hitler and ask him to make more copies for us. As many as he can make. Remember, he said that it’s easy for him.”
“You think he’ll do it?”
“We’ll pay him. He says he’s a professional artist. Well, he doesn’t seem to be floating in a sea of financial success as an artist. So we’ll offer him a fee for every copy he makes.” Stebbel nodded at this own idea. “We have an address for him, right?”
“Ja, he’s at the hostel there on Meldemannstrasse. Number 27, I think it is.”
“I know the building. So we’ll send someone around to arrange another meeting. We’ll see if he can make those copies for us. Then we can distribute them here at headquarters, as well as at other divisions.”
Dörfner agreed whole-heartedly with the plan. They then headed over to Rautz to clear the idea with him and then get him to requisition some funds to pay the struggling artist for his work.
* * *
Although he was fully unaware of the commission he was about to receive from the Vienna constabulary, it had already been an unexpectedly successful day for Adolf Hitler the artist. In the late morning, he had set up at the Danube canal and managed to sell several of his cheesy watercolors to tourists. In the afternoon, he had gone to see two of his regular clients and his success there was much more thrilling.
First he had gone to see Jakob Altenberg for his regular weekly visit. He knew Altenberg was running low of sample paintings and he expected to sell him a few. But much to his surprise, Altenberg asked for a dozen as his business had been brisk that week and he expected it to stay that way through the late spring home-remodeling period.
Hitler’s next stop was to Samuel Morgenstern. Samuel and his wife Emma ran a popular glazier cum frame shop in the Liechtensteinstrasse. As Hitler entered the shop, Morgenstern gave him a friendly salute. He then came around to the end of the main counter while Emma and two assistants tended to the needs of the customers already there.
Business had obviously been good that week for the Morgensterns as well, and Samuel was in an especially buoyant mood. Though Hitler had just dropped in on a spec call to see if Morgenstern needed anything, his long-time client immediately said he’d like to see what Hitler had to offer. The young artist quickly pulled out the remaining pieces from his leather case. Morgenstern started going through the paintings rapidly, then selected seven of the ones he thought his customers would find appealing.
None of the customers of shopkeepers like Altenberg, Morgenstern or Herr Schiefer were actually purchasing the paintings as such. They were only buying the frames. The paintings of unknown and threadbare artists such as Hitler were inserted into the frames to let customers get an idea of what those handsome frames might look like when filled with a painting. But when they purchased the frames, they got the paintings as a little extra.
The shopkeepers didn’t really know what the customers would do with those frame-fillers when they got home and put in the paintings that were actually hung in their homes. They suspected that many of them simply used the sample artwork to wrap garbage before disposing of it in municipal bins.
But that day, after selecting his seven frame-fillers, Morgenstern went through the other paintings Hitler had laid out on the counter. Three of them caught his eye; these he held up to a better light and inspected closely. He started nodding slowly and Hitler had no idea what was going through his mind.
Morgenstern turned back to his “house artist” and smiled broadly. “My friend, I would like to buy these three paintings from you. But not to put in the frames I sell here. I want to keep these for myself, for my own private collection.”
Hitler didn’t know how to respond. In fact, at first he thought Morgenstern was making a light joke at his expense. But then he read the face more closely and saw that Morgenstern was sincere: he actually wanted the paintings. He would hang two of them, Viennese street scenes, in his shop here and another one, a portrait of a young girl, in his home.
Morgenstern then explained: he felt that Hitler had made quite an advance as an artist. Hitler had always been known as a competent craftsman, but his paintings were always seen as hopelessly superficial. That was one of the reasons given for his two rejections from Vienna’s art academy. But with these new paintings, which Hitler had actually done within the past month, he had clearly made a breakthrough.
“You’ve managed to catch something deeper here, my friend. These two street scenes … here you’ve found another dimension, a richer perception of the scenes. And in this girl’s face, the way she holds her head and her shoulders … damn, I think you’ve really caught the soul of your subject. Most of your portraits, I must say, don’t seem true at all. But here you’ve shown you’re really able to plumb the human spirit and bring that into the painting.”
Hitler was so exhilarated by this unexpected praise that he offered Morgenstern the three last paintings at a bargain rate. The shopkeeper accepted immediately and even threw in a few extra kroners to encourage this new turn in the young man’s art.
As he left the shop, Hitler was bursting with joy and energy. In fact, he bounded down the street for the first few minutes and even did a little dance of triumph at one corner when he was sure no one would be looking.
As tragic as the death of that young woman in the Spittelberg alley was, Hitler felt that the whole experience – banging into her killer and then discovering her still warm dead body – had unleashed something within him. As Morgenstern realized, Hitler was now becoming the serious artist he always knew he was destined to be.
That, anyway, is what he thought on that day of one fine triumph after another.
Chapter 30
The two inspectors decided it was time to share some of the latest developments with the husband of the first victim, the most powerful and wealthiest of the survivors.
They met again at von Klettenburg’s pied á terre. But this time, it was in the secondary dining area just off the main salon. The Geheimrat had arranged for tea, coffee and pastries to be served.
“Do try the cakes. They’re from Demel’s – special order, prepared only this morning.”
“Thank you,” said Stebbel as Dörfner was helping himself to three of the pastries.
Small talk was kept to a minimum as they didn’t have a common cache of topics. Most of what talk was passed about involved the pastries themselves and how delectable they were.
Finally, Herr von Klettenburg pulled back the curtain. “You said you had some news. Regarding the investigation, I believe.”
Stebbel placed his cup back on the table. “Yes. We think we … may have a suspect in the crimes.”
Von Klettenburg’s cup stopped midway on its journey to his lips. He was obviously caught completely off guard by this. “A suspect, you say?”
Dörfner briskly nodded, almost spilling his plate as he did. “A member of the Imperial Guard.”
“The Imperial Guard? At the Hofburg?” He took a full sip of his tea, almost as a way of helping to swallow this news. “What … What’s the man’s name? It’s even possible I may have heard of him.”
“I’m afraid we can’t divulge that. Not just yet. As my colleague said, at the moment, he’s just a suspect. He might not even be involved at all. So it wouldn’t be fair for us to … name him yet.”
“Of course. I understand. But what makes him a suspect?”
“There was a witness.”
“A witness?”
Stebbel nodded. “To Frau von Klettenburg’s murder.”
“Someone saw my wife being murdered??”
&
nbsp; “No, but he saw someone fleeing the scene. Had a collision with the man actually. So he happened to get a prolonged look at that man. Our suspect.”
“I see. I see. This is all … so … remarkable. I … I’m so grateful that you came and shared this news with me.’ He took a few troubled breaths. “I was beginning to harbor doubts that you would ever find the man involved. And now, what you’re saying is … my dear wife may actually find justice. We may bring this fiend to justice.” He rushed another swallow of his tea. “This is splendid news.”
They then traded other bits of news and observations. Both inspectors turned down the offer of a second cup of tea. They also said they couldn’t eat any more cakes at that point, but von Klettenburg insisted they take most of the remaining assortment along with them, to enjoy later. Stebbel obliged by having two of them wrapped up in a paper serviette. Dörfner enthusiastically agreed to take along the remaining half dozen or so.
This time, Von Klettenburg himself escorted them to the front door. As they shook hands and bade goodbye, the Geheimrat held onto the hands of both men a bit longer than even a well-trained Viennese gentleman normally would.
“And I want to thank you once again, gentleman. Both for having made a significant breakthrough here and also for taking the trouble to come here and share this news with me. I feel that two large stones have just been removed from me: one that was hanging around my neck, the other lodged around my heart.”
A servant waited at the lift, and he escorted the two policemen back down to the main entrance. He made a modest bow as he opened the door and watched them leave. Their exit was more assured this time, suggesting two skilled craftsmen proud of the assignment they had just carried out rather successfully.
As they walked back the long way, through the park, Dörfner remarked on the fact that von Klettenburg did seem more upset about his wife’s murder this time. He actually showed the wounds within. Stebbel immediately agreed.
