Death and the Maiden (40 page)

As soon as the stranger stepped into view Rheinhardt leaped forward and hooked his elbow round the man’s neck. He pulled the man backwards into the porch and held him fast. As his prisoner struggled, Rheinhardt felt something heavy collide with his hip.

‘Keep still and I’ll let you breathe.’ The man didn’t stop moving so Rheinhardt applied more pressure. ‘Keep still, I say.’

Although his captive had a slim physique, he was remarkably strong and limber. Rheinhardt felt his hold loosening and to his
horror the man slipped down and out from beneath his armlock. A moment later, Rheinhardt was deflecting punches that came at him with great force and speed. He wasn’t fast enough to maintain an adequate guard and he got caught on the chin. Another punch drove into his stomach, winding him badly. With bovine determination Rheinhardt snapped his head forward again and butted his assailant in the face, before pushing him with considerable force against one of the caryatids. The man’s hat fell off and rolled across the pavement and into the gutter. Rheinhardt grabbed the man’s lapels but, once again, he could not keep hold of him. The villain escaped, stumbling out of the porch before righting himself and turning to confront Rheinhardt. It was a hard face – expressionless – sharp features, cropped hair, and cold reptilian eyes. The man thrust his hand into his coat pocket and his expression flickered with doubt and uncertainty.

‘I believe you are looking for this,’ said Rheinhardt, producing the man’s gun. He pointed it directly at the man’s heart. They were both breathing heavily. Somewhere, out on the streets, some people were carousing. A woman was laughing as two men sang
Trinke, Liebchen, trinke schnell
from
Die Fledermaus
. ‘Tell your master that the case is closed. His secret is safe with me. I am fully aware that it is no longer in my interests to continue the investigation.’ The man’s eyes darted from the gun barrel to Rheinhardt’s eyes and back again. ‘Do you understand?’

The man nodded and edged backwards to the kerb where he bent his knees and scooped up his hat. After replacing it on his head, he showed Rheinhardt that his hands were empty, turned on his heels, and walked off into the night. Rheinhardt leaned back against the building and massaged his jaw. It hurt a great deal, but there was no blood. Suddenly he was overcome by a profound tiredness. He felt drained of energy and would have liked nothing more than to just
lie down on the ground and rest. Rheinhardt peered into the darkness. The man really had gone.

‘Dear God,’ Rheinhardt sighed. ‘I’m getting too old for this.’

The voices of the carousers could still be heard, but they were already fading.

T
HE EMPEROR AND THE LORD
marshal were seated at the conference-room table. A sudden draught made the candles flicker, and the unsteady light created a general illusion of movement. The bust of Field Marshal Radetzky seemed to leap forward. Franz-Josef was unnerved by the phenomenon. He frowned, drew on his cigar, and fell into a state of meditative contemplation.

They had been discussing the mayor – a subject which reliably lowered the emperor’s spirits. Franz-Josef’s humiliation at the 1896 Corpus Christi procession still haunted him: the crowd, applauding Lueger and slighting their Habsburg sovereign.

Emperor of Austria, Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Jerusalem, King of Bohemia …

Franz-Josef tacitly enumerated his many titles, until he came to
Grand Voyvoce of Serbia
. He felt an acid burn in his chest and the pain made him grip the arm of his chair. Gradually the discomfort subsided and he continued smoking.

Corpus Christi.

This year’s procession was even worse
.

Back in May he had been fulfilling his obligation to God and the people, walking beside the Cardinal Archbishop, when Count Goluchowski had appeared at his side. It was immediately obvious that the man was distressed.
‘Grave news from Serbia, Your Majesty
–
a group of rebel officers have brutally murderered King Alexander and
the Queen.’
Franz-Josef had straightened his back and asked, ‘
Is there anything we can do
?’ He had hoped that Goluchowski would answer in the affirmative, that he would disclose a clever response strategy. Instead, the minister had adopted a regretful expression and replied, weakly, ‘
Nothing, Your Majesty.’
Even though the sun was shining and Franz-Josef had – up until that point – felt hot in his uniform, a chill seemed to settle around his shoulders. Where would it all end? He had thanked the minister and continued walking.

The emperor exhaled and stared in an unfocused way through the dissipating cigar smoke.

‘One must suppose that, once again, the mayor will be re-elected.’

‘Sadly, Your Majesty, that is the outcome we must anticipate.’ The lord marshal made an apologetic gesture.

‘I take it that the delicate matter you have previously referred to has now been resolved?’

Their speech became more elliptical.

‘An unforeseen difficulty did arise, Your Majesty, but it was promptly dealt with by my office.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Franz-Josef stubbed out his cigar and pulled at his mutton-chop whiskers. ‘Even so …’

The lord marshal detected the emperor’s unease.

‘Your Majesty?’

‘I think, perhaps, we should take measures to ensure that the waters remain untroubled. Loyalty should be rewarded.’

‘Indeed, Your Majesty.’

‘One wouldn’t want…’ The emperor did not feel it was necessary to be explicit.

‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

‘Well then,’ said the emperor, indicating with a change of intonation that, as far as he was concerned, their business was concluded.
The lord marshal placed some signed documents in his leather briefcase, bowed, and crossed the floor.

‘Good evening, Your Majesty.’

The emperor responded with a barely perceptible nod of his head.

As the doors closed Franz-Josef lit another cigar. It was his custom to be in bed by eight or nine, but he was disinclined to retire. He suspected that he was going to have one of his bad dreams again. Flames, breaking glass, the Hofburg stormed by agitators. The emperor looked at the bust of Radetzky.

‘Is there anything we can do?’ he said aloud.

The silence that followed was enough to bring a tear to the old man’s eye.

W
HEN
R
HEINHARDT FOUND THE
envelope bearing the mayor’s seal in his mailbox, his heart faltered. He stood for some time, immobilised by anxiety, supposing that the letter inside must contain a list of the mayor’s grievances. A second letter – demanding Rheinhardt’s dismissal – was probably awaiting the commissioner’s perusal. Bracing himself, Rheinhardt began to read; however, he was surprised to discover that it was not a letter of complaint, filled with allegations of professional incompetence, but a plainly worded invitation written by a municipal secretary. The mayor respectfully requested Detective Inspector Rheinhardt and his colleague, Herr Doctor Liebermann, to attend a private meeting at the town hall two days hence.

Thirty minutes prior to their engagement, Rheinhardt and Liebermann sat in the Café Landtmann, drinking pear brandy and speculating on the mayor’s purpose.

‘I don’t like it,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘Whatever can he want?’

Liebermann was concerned that Rheinhardt had imbibed more liquor than was strictly necessary to steady his nerves.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ said Liebermann, ‘We’ll walk around the park a few times before going in. Some fresh air will clear our heads.’

They left the coffee house, crossed the Ringstrasse, and wandered around the green avenues in front of the town hall. In due course Rheinhardt looked up at the clock tower and said, ‘We’d better go
in.’ Ascending the stairs, they stepped beneath the Gothic archway and entered the building. On this occasion they were met by one of Lueger’s green-coated
courtiers
who escorted them straight to the antechamber outside the mayor’s apartment. Soon after they were seated the double doors opened and Pumera appeared, gesturing for them to come forward.

The mayor was sitting behind his desk and stood as they entered.

‘Good morning, gentlemen.’

Rheinhardt and Liebermann crossed the wide expanse of the Persian rug, bowed, and sat down in the two chairs that had been placed in readiness for their arrival.

Lueger offered them cigarettes, which they refused, before lighting one for himself.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, smiling. ‘Congratulations. You got your man. Professor Saminsky, eh? And who would have thought it? I never encountered the fellow but I am given to understand that he was well thought of by his peers and a favourite of the late empress. I’ve been following the revelations in the
Wiener Zeitung
. Have you read the latest? No?’ The mayor picked up a newspaper and pointed at a column. ‘Not only was he a murderer but an embezzler too. It’s all coming out now. Apparently, he pocketed thousands from palace charities. Extraordinary, that he got away with it for so long. No wonder he took his own life. I suppose he knew that his days were numbered.’ The mayor dropped the paper and drew on his cigarette. ‘Gentlemen: would you care for a cognac?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Rheinhardt.

‘Please. You are my guests and I will be offended if you do not accept my hospitality. Pumera? Some cognacs, please.’

The bodyguard moved silently to a cabinet and began to prepare a tray.

‘Mayor Lueger,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘why did you wish to see us today?’

The mayor appeared astonished by Rheinhardt’s question. ‘To congratulate you on solving the Rosenkrantz murder and to thank you for exercising discretion. Things could have turned out very badly for me, had certain sections of the press,’ he smiled benignly at Liebermann, ‘been informed of my . . .’ he hesitated before adding, ‘. . . involvement.’ The
certain sections of the press
to whom he referred were Jewish journalists. Showing no sign of embarrassment, the mayor continued: ‘Yes, a scandal could have been very damaging just before an election; however, as things stand, my campaign is proceeding well and I have every reason to expect a favourable outcome.’

Rheinhardt bowed his head. ‘Commissioner Brügel will be delighted to hear that you are satisfied with our conduct.’

‘And so he should be. One more thing, Inspector.’ The mayor puffed at his cigarette. ‘My letters, the ones that I wrote to poor Ida: given that the investigation is now over, I assume that they can now be returned to me?’

‘Only a few scraps survived.’

‘Still, I would be grateful for their return.’

‘I am sure that the commissioner will not object to such a request.’

‘Good man.’

Pumera appeared by the desk and the brandies were distributed. Lueger raised his glass. ‘Prost! Gentlemen. Your good health!’

Rheinhardt’s glass came up, but Liebermann’s remained resolutely still. ‘I am most surprised …’ he said softly.

‘What?’ The mayor frowned.

Rheinhardt threw a quizzical glance at his friend.

‘Surprised,’ Liebermann repeated, ‘that you are happy to drink
my
health.’

Rheinhardt sensed Pumera bristling. The mayor smiled and said: ‘Herr Doctor, in these rooms, I decide who is a Jew. Your good health!’

With evident reluctance, Liebermann raised his glass.

‘Prost,’ said Rheinhardt, starting to breathe again.

L
IEBERMANN FANCIED THAT HE
could still detect a hint of lavender coming off the manuscript paper. He took a deep breath, which had the effect of intensifying the fragrance, and leaned into a resonant chord. After depressing the sustaining pedal, he then played a glittering figure in which triplets in the right hand were set against pairs of quavers in the left.

Rheinhardt began to sing:

The music modulated continuously, never finding repose, its unpredictable progressions creating a sense of nervous agitation. After an
exquisite third verse the harmonies dissolved into silence, leaving the vocal line to proceed without accompaniment.