A Matter of Breeding (32 page)

In the event, Thielman was eager to join them. ‘I was going to suggest something along those lines myself.’ He hoisted himself out of his chair at the gendarmerie office. ‘The wife not accompanying you today?’ he said to Werthen. ‘Just as well. Von Hobarty might feel constrained in front of a female.’

‘Why the change of mind?’ Werthen asked.

‘I had a chance to sleep on it,’ the inspector said. He turned to Gross, waiting at the door, a dour look on his face. ‘You know me. A stubborn old mountain goat,’ Thielman said. ‘But I come around in the end.’

As they mounted a fiaker in the main square, a tall figure wearing a backpack emerged from behind a sycamore where he had been waiting. He called to another fiaker in the square, and set out after Gross and company.

Von Hobarty was none too pleased to see the trio of men his valet ushered into the library, Werthen and Gross in front and Thielman bringing up the rear. The room was smoky as if the chimney were not drawing correctly, and the mullioned windows were partially open.

Von Hobarty sat at his desk and looked up irritably. ‘I thought we had concluded any business we might have the other day, Doktor Gross. And Thielman, I hope you are not encouraging these two with their snooping about. One would think you all had something better to do with your time.’

‘They don’t need any encouragement,’ he said and then uttered a faint laugh. ‘No, they’re eager enough without me.’

‘What do you mean by this, Thielman?’ von Hobarty said looking suddenly startled. ‘Put that thing away.’

Werthen and Gross both turned to see Thielman in back of them, his policeman’s Steyr automatic in his hand.

‘Really, Thielman …’ Werthen began but Thielman quickly wagged his gun at him and Gross.

‘Over to the desk,’ he ordered. ‘With von Hobarty.’

Werthen looked at Gross, but there was no alarm on the criminologist’s face. Rather, there was a trace of a smile on his lips.

‘Now!’ Thielman barked the command.

‘Careful, Thielman,’ Gross said. ‘The servants might hear. Then how to explain all this?’

‘Shut your mouth. The door is locked. I just saw to that. By the time anybody can get in, the three of you will be dead. You two –’ he nodded at Gross and Werthen – ‘shot by crazy von Hobarty here, and you, von Hobarty, I personally dispatched.’

‘Have you lost your wits, man?’ Von Hobarty looked more amazed than frightened.

‘Quite the contrary,’ the inspector said.

‘You won’t get away with it,’ Gross said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘What is going on here?’ Werthen finally found his voice. But then things suddenly became clear to him. ‘You’re the one, aren’t you? Gross suspected you from the start. Always the inspector and never the magistrate.’

‘Close your mouth, advokat.’

‘You’re right, Werthen,’ Gross said. ‘The telegram from Paulus decided it for me. It wasn’t von Hobarty who was being blackmailed, but Hohewart, a silent partner in the spas.’

‘Paulus?’ von Hobarty said. ‘You mean my manager? The fellow’s in Italy, I thought.’

Gross nodded. ‘The wonders of modern telegraphy.’

‘And what is this about blackmail?’

‘You really should tell him, Thielman,’ Gross said.

‘You’re the clever criminologist, Gross. Let’s hear your theories.’

Gross shook his head. ‘No theories,’ he said. ‘Simple facts. I started to actively suspect you the night of Klapper’s death. You arrived late at the watch on his cabin but never bothered with an explanation. I assume that was when you were killing Krensky. And then when we tracked Klapper and found him over the already dead body of the journalist, Klapper looked up, saw me and then saw you. But it was you he was addressing when he said, “you bastard”. There was the anger of betrayal in his voice. And then you shot him. You said you were going for his legs. Not so, Thielman. You were always a good shot and that was too close to miss.’

‘Not bad, Gross. Amusing, in fact. Why not continue?’

‘It all started with Hohewart and his peculiar taste for virgins. But when one of his victims, Annaliese Reiter, turned out to have some needs and dreams of her own and began blackmailing him, he was desperate. It was imperative his wife’s powerful and well connected family not find out. They could ruin him. So he turned to you for help.’

Thielman smiled at this. ‘And why would he do that, Gross?’

‘Because you owed him. Because he had brought you in early to the Lipizzaner breeding scheme, paid you handsomely to cover his tracks with officials, I suspect. He wanted his problem taken care of and you obliged. You knew Klapper was here. The chief warder at Karlau Prison where Klapper had been held notified you that he was released in your area. I checked on that personally. And you would have remembered Klapper’s telltale birthmark at any rate. You played him. Once you discovered that I was in Styria again, that part was easy. But one thing I have not worked out. Humor me here. How did you find out I was in Graz?’

Thielman uttered another of his choking laughs. ‘That’s the beauty of it. I just saw you one day leaving the hospital in Graz. I followed you to your hotel. I found out about your son’s treatment. It was all easy. After all, I am a policeman. I am allowed to be nosy.’

‘Ahh,’ Gross said. ‘That explains it. Serendipity at work in the world.’

‘Thielman, I order you to put that gun away.’

‘You’re no longer in the ordering business, von Hobarty.’ He aimed the pistol at the man’s head.

‘But we should continue,’ Gross urged. ‘Once you discovered I was here, then killing those poor young girls became mere sport for you. You convinced the deranged Klapper that he could get even with me for sending him away to prison, and by leaving certain clues behind, disfiguring the bodies, and drafting several messages you could try to outwit me, embarrass me, compromise me, perhaps even have me convicted of the crimes. You hate me that much, do you?’

‘You are an arrogant swine, Gross. I have waited many years to tell you that.’

‘Then why not just tell me that and save all the bloodshed?’

‘Continue. I am enjoying this.’

‘So you had Klapper kill those two unfortunate girls. The Reiter girl because she was blackmailing Hohewart and the Feininger girl simply because she might join in. Ursula Klein was an attempt to implicate Herr von Hobarty.’

‘You animal,’ von Hobarty muttered.

‘You yourself led me to that conclusion,’ Gross said to von Hobarty. ‘A casual remark from you teased my mind for days until I finally remembered what you had said. You told me that you tried to get Thielman here to take care of the problem of the Klein girl for you. Well, he did, but not in the way you were intending. Her death put you straight into our sights though as the one person to benefit. But once I knew that Thielman was also aware of the situation …’

‘Pleased with yourself, aren’t you, Gross,’ Thielman said bitterly. ‘But I had you running around in circles with those mutilations. I especially liked the two marks I left post mortem on the Klein girl’s neck. Started a real vampire craze, that did.’ Then to Werthen: ‘And you, I had you feeling like the great detective at the Stiegl crime scene.’ He let out a high laugh.

Werthen shivered at this; the man was more insane than Klapper.

‘I confess to being confused by those,’ Gross admitted. ‘The Stiegl girl was pure misdirection, of course, but then Krensky was another murder with a possible motive.’

‘That journalist threatened my retirement fund,’ Thielman said. ‘He had to be stopped. I arranged for the meet while you were waiting for Klapper to come out of his cottage on All Hallow’s Eve. An easy kill.’

‘I wondered about you being late that night while waiting for Klapper to come out of his cottage. I assume you also planted the incriminating evidence under the floorboards in Klapper’s bedroom. Simple enough to do with me in the kitchen and you alone in the bedroom at first. I also assume you carried the cigar box in that back pack you wore that night.’

Thielman nodded at this with smug satisfaction
.
‘They were Klapper’s trophies, mind you. He just kept them better hidden.’

‘And Hohewart?’ Werthen said.

Thielman smiled proudly. ‘That was good, wasn’t it? Once I found out you were back in Graz,’ he said to Gross, ‘I just couldn’t help playing with you again. I led you to the conclusion of the faked suicide.’

‘Hoping again it would all tie back to von Hobarty,’ Gross said. ‘But you had motive for that murder, as well, right?’

‘I do not like being pressured by anyone. He had threatened to expose my involvement with the Lipizzaner matter if I did not kill the Reiter girl. I waited patiently for my opportunity to pay him back for that.’

‘And the unfortunate Captain Putter of the riding school?’ Werthen asked.

Thielman shrugged. ‘Why not satisfy your curiosity? It was Hohewart. He told the man the whole breeding scandal would be blamed on him for not paying close enough attention. Told him to do the honorable thing. Hohewart did not like loose ends.’

He sighed. ‘But this is now becoming tedious. I think we have had enough revelations. Time to die.’

He leveled the gun at Gross who did not make a move. Just then, through the open window came a whooshing sound and Thielman’s forehead spouted a red flower of blood with a steel crossbow bolt at its very center. He dropped the gun in a clatter on the wooden floor and slowly sunk down to his knees and then toppled forward.

Werthen moved to the fallen man, but could see immediately that he was dead.

He looked up to see young Kurt Reiter peeking through the open window. ‘I told you I would get the man who killed my sister,’ he said.

They shared glasses of brandy to settle their nerves. Kurt explained how he had used the last of his sister’s money in order to hire fiakers and follow Gross and Werthen, and eventually they had led him to von Hobarty’s estate. He had overheard everything through the open window.

‘Well, you saved our lives, young man,’ von Hobarty said.

Werthen looked at Gross. ‘If you already suspected Thielman when we came here, how could you let us be drawn into a trap like this? We could all have been killed if not for Kurt.’

Gross smiled at this. ‘Not quite, Werthen. You see, coming back from the telegraph office in the train station this morning after collecting the message from Paulus, I stopped by the gendarmerie. Thielman was not yet in, but his weapon was hanging from a rack near his desk. I got the sergeant on duty to look for some evidence bags, and meanwhile I took the bullets out of his gun.’ He reached into his pocket and displayed a fistful of cartridges. ‘It was the only way I could think of. There was no hard evidence.’

‘That makes me feel better,’ Werthen said, picking up Thielman’s gun and playfully pulling the trigger as he aimed at the ceiling. The gun went off with an ear-splitting bang, and debris fell from the damaged ceiling.

Gross stood red-faced, brandy in hand, as plaster rained on his head.

All four candles were lit on the huge advent wreath hanging down from the ceiling of the art studio. Christmas was only two days off, and there was a festive air to this art show, featuring the work of Tina Blau’s students, foremost among them the equine paintings of young Franzl Hruda.

The sun was out, glinting off the snow in the Prater and filling the aula of the studio with warm light.

The gathered guests were enjoying hot punch and Christmas cookies, served by none other than the painter and former vandal, Herr Kleinwitz, who had been converted to the notion of having women in the arts after teaching some of Blau’s talented and rather attractive pupils. The guests were speaking in polite, low murmurs as they examined the paintings. Berthe even had one on display, Werthen noted; a somewhat tortured picture of an espaliered apple tree with fruit, but bare of leaves.

‘My Rembrandt stage,’ she joked in his ear. He loved the feel of her warm breath on him.

Frieda was running about quite indecorously, playing tag with Berthe’s father, while Frau Juliani shook her head in mock disgust at such frivolity. Werthen’s parents had been unable to come; his father had a sinus infection and was laid up at their home at Hohelände in Upper Austria, being waited on hand and foot by his wife, Werthen imagined. He, Berthe, and Frieda would pay a visit to his parents after Christmas. But Werthen’s father
had
sent his personal thanks for taking care of the Lipizzaner affair. Not exactly the resolution he or Berthe had been seeking, however.

Gross, too, was missing from this little get-together, back at his post in Czernowitz where he continued to battle the upstart sociology department while waiting to hear if his appointment to the University of Prague would finally be approved. No mention of his son, Otto.

This quiet, comfortable affair suddenly took a turn for the more formal when Werthen spied out the window a large touring car pull up in front of the art studio and none other than Archduke Franz Ferdinand emerge from it.

The guests went silent as he entered, along with several aides. He carried a bouquet of hothouse roses, which he presented to Tina Blau, and then he approached Werthen and Berthe.

‘The best of the season to you,’ he said, nodding to them both, and then thinking better of it, taking Berthe’s hand and kissing the air an inch above it.

‘How good of you to come,’ Berthe said.

‘I could hardly refuse such a fine invitation.’

One of Franzl’s horse paintings had been printed up for the formal invitation.

‘And where is this miraculous young artist?’

Werthen led him to Franzl, looking awfully shy and much smaller than the canvas he was standing next to.

‘Herr Hruda,’ Franz Ferdinand addressed the boy with great formality. ‘I must congratulate you on two counts.’

The boy continued to stare at the archduke as if struck dumb by his presence.

‘First is your art. These are wonderful paintings of our fine Lipizzaners. A testament to your skill and our stables.’

Berthe and Werthen exchanged glances. The upshot of all their hard work had been that the Lipizzaner matter was buried. With Hohewart dead, it was felt that von Hobarty was an unreliable witness. But at least Franz Ferdinand had mounted a full-scale investigation into the affairs of von Hobarty, promising to make life very difficult for him if he ever breathed a word of the breeding scandal. The one bit of justice done was that ‘Herr Hobarty’ now had the ‘von’ stripped from his name.