Sent to the Devil (21 page)

“I was told you had the key to Alois's office,” I said. “I loaned him a book before he died. I'd like to retrieve it.” To my surprise, I felt no remorse lying to the priest.

“Of course,” Dauer said. “I haven't had the time to get over there and look around. Father Urbanek has been in touch with Father Bayer's sister. We are going to send her a list of his things, in case she should want anything. But I doubt she'll be interested in his books.”

Casanova took several large breaths. I glanced over at him and raised a brow. He shook his head slightly.

“If you see anything you would like while you are there, take it,” Dauer said. “The rest we'll either put in the library at the archbishop's palace or discard.” He pulled a large ring from his cassock pocket and handed me a key. “Keep it if you would like, while you decide. There is no hurry.”

*   *   *

“Are you all right?” I asked as Casanova and I crossed the side plaza.

“Yes, fine,” he answered. “Because I'm so tall, low ceilings annoy me, that's all.”

We entered Alois's office building and mounted the stairs to his office. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The must of old books and the sharp scent of peppermint drops overwhelmed my nose. The muscles in my eyes tightened. I stumbled to the desk, pulled out Alois's chair, fell into it and began to weep. Casanova came and patted me gently on the back.

A few moments later, my grief for my dear friend spent, I took my handkerchief from my pocket, wiped my eyes, blew my nose and stood. “We can't look through all the books,” I said to Casanova. “But let's search through his papers.”

“You think there are messages containing Dante quotations from the killer?” Casanova asked.

I nodded.

Casanova began sorting through piles of notes Alois had kept on his shelf, while I rummaged through the desk. I found them in the small drawer where the old priest had kept his psalter and Bible. My hands shook as I pulled the papers from the drawer and unfolded the first. The paper appeared to be the same as that sent to Hennen—light-colored rag with an elaborate watermark. The lines had been copied out in the same neat, small handwriting
:
“Remember the evil doers formed from the clouds, who, drunken, battled Theseus with their double breasts.”

“More Dante?” Casanova had come over and was reading over my shoulder.

I nodded. “It's about the legend of the Centaurs,” I said. “Ixion was the ancient king of Thessaly, who lusted after Hera, Zeus's wife. To punish him, Zeus formed a cloud that looked like Hera and tricked Ixion into coupling with it. The Centaurs were half man, half horse, thus the double breasts.”

Casanova was silent.

“Sinners in Purgatory are instructed about their sin and given the opportunity to correct themselves and proceed to Paradise,” I explained. “There is one terrace on the mountain for each deadly sin—pride, gluttony, envy, lust, avarice, sloth, and wrath. As Dante and Virgil pass through the terraces, they see and hear examples of the sin and its corresponding virtue. These lines are about gluttony,” I said. “The Centaurs were invited to a wedding, where they became drunk and tried to carry off all the women. Theseus defended the women, killing most of the Centaurs.”

I picked up the second message. “Remember the Hebrews whose drinking showed their lack of care, so that Gideon did not allow them to accompany him when he descended the hills to Midian.”

“I recognize that reference,” Casanova said. “Gideon was leading the army of the Jews against Midian. God instructed him to choose his soldiers by leading them to a river and observing how they drank. The ones who ran into the river and gulped the water were rejected, while those who showed caution by merely scooping up the water and drinking slowly were chosen.”

“Yes,” I said. “It's another passage about the sin of gluttony.”

“You believe he is choosing a victim for each of the seven sins?” Casanova asked.

“I did,” I said. “But now I'm not so sure.” As I folded the pages and tucked them into my satchel, disappointment washed over me. “My idea was that the killer was using the Dante excerpts to accuse his victims of sin. I can see that Hennen might be full of envy. He was a passionate supporter of the war, but could not serve with the emperor because he was crippled. But Alois a glutton? He led the life of an ascetic. He spent what little money he had on books, not on food or wine.”

“We don't know what the killer is thinking,” Casanova said. “We don't even know if it is he who is sending these messages. Perhaps Hennen and Alois were involved in some reading club that was studying
Purgatory.
”

I shook my head. “No, I'm sure Alois would have mentioned such a club to me, even invited me to join. He knew I loved the great Italian poets.”

I closed the desk drawer. As we left the office, I paused at the door to take one last look around the tiny room, and then quietly pulled the door closed.

 

Eighteen

I spent the rest of the afternoon completing the new scene for Cavalieri, and it was seven o'clock when I finally left the theater. In the Michaelerplatz, workmen were lighting the street lamps. The Kohlmarkt and Graben were filled with people enjoying the summery weather. Near the spot where Hennen's body had been found, a vendor had set up a small tent and was dispensing lemonade and ices to the crowd.

No one was about when I arrived home. I climbed the stairs to my room. As I was about to enter it, a door at the end of the hall opened. Sophie, dressed in the same pink dress she had worn to the ball, her hair dressed in a fashionable chignon, tiptoed out of her room and closed the door quietly behind her. She paused to don her cloak, then turned and started when she saw me watching her. I opened my mouth to greet her, but she touched her finger to her lips, nodded toward her mother's door, turned and scampered down the stairs.

I crossed the hall and knocked on Marta's door. There was no answer. I knocked again, and called her name, then remembered she had dined with Christiane Albrechts this afternoon. Perhaps she was still at the palais
.

Once in my own room, I hung my coat and waistcoat in the cupboard and carried my satchel to my desk. Sophie had left the window open when she had cleaned earlier. The bells in the neighborhood church rang eight o'clock. As I started to close the window, a fancy carriage turned into the street and came to a halt in front of the house. The lantern at the front of the house flickered while I watched as von Gerl's manservant, Teuber, helped Sophie into the carriage. He closed the door after her and climbed up to his seat. The carriage turned and headed down the dark street.

A moment later, a figure emerged from the linden trees. I leaned out the window and watched as it hurried to a modest stonemason's cart, climbed in, shouted an order to the horse, and drove off in the same direction.

I drew back into my room, closed the window, and lit a candle on my desk. I pulled the messages I had found in Alois's office out of my satchel and laid them side by side. I picked up one of the pages and studied it, squinting into the candlelight, trying to make out the form of the elaborate watermark. A ring about two inches in diameter had been embossed in the center of the page. Inside the ring, a sinuous serpent rose from the juncture of two long, clawlike leaves. An elaborate crown at the top of the ring hovered over the reptile's menacing head. I frowned. I had never seen such a mark before on any paper I had used. If it was a rare mark— My pulse raced. I would take the sheets to my bookseller, Krenner, the next day. Most bookshops in the city carried a stock of paper, and if Krenner did not sell these sheets himself, he might be able to steer me toward someone who did.

I tucked the sheets back into my satchel and went out into the hallway. I knocked on Marta's door once more. There was no answer. I went back to my own room, undressed, snuffed out the candle, and crawled into bed. It was not long before weariness overcame me, and I fell into a lonely, troubled sleep.

*   *   *

The heat had cleared out during the night, and as I walked to my office on Saturday morning, spring had returned to the city. The air was cool, the sun bright in the sky.

Once at my desk, I continued writing the scene for Cavalieri. But after several minutes, I threw down my pen. My thoughts and emotions were in a tangle. I had tapped gently at Marta's door before I left this morning, but she had not answered. Now my imagination considered unwelcome possibilities. The message she had been reading when I came to her room to take her to the theater—why had she hurried to hide it from me? Had it really been a note from Christiane Albrechts inviting her to dinner, or had it been from someone else? A stab of jealousy shot through me. Had von Gerl finally summoned her? Where had she been last night? Had she indeed dined with Christiane, or had she lied to me and instead gone to von Gerl?

A crash sounded in the hallway. I jumped up, hurried around my desk, and threw open the door. Benda was crouched on the floor, attempting to straighten the pile of warrior's helmets he had knocked over.

“Benda?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

I drew in a sharp breath as he stood to face me. His face was ashen, his hair disarranged, his eyes full of fatigue.

“Da Ponte, thank God I've found you,” he rasped. “I've just been out to your lodgings.” His hands shook.

“What is it?”

“He's struck again.”

I drew him into my office and led him to the chair I keep for visitors. “Who is it? Where? Is it the same?”

He buried his face in his hands. “My God! I cannot believe it! Christiane—he's truly a demon!”

“He's killed Christiane? Tell me!”

He raised his head and gulped for breath. “No, no, not her. Out at the Belvedere—Christiane's summer palace. The watchman sent for me—I rushed out there—”

“Is it the same? The cut throat, the markings?”

Benda nodded dumbly. “Why there? Why him? I don't understand. What is this monster doing?”

“Who is the victim? Tell me, please!”

“Christiane's—her neighbor.”

My heart grew heavy.

“Her neighbor, the baron. Valentin von Gerl.”

 

PART III

Masquerade

 

Nineteen

Valentin von Gerl lay comfortably at the foot of a marble statue of Apollo and the nymph Daphne, his blood draining into the gravel of the Belvedere garden. His eyes were closed, and a slight smile played on his lips. His arms spread languorously from his sides. But for the bloody mess around his neck and on his forehead, he would have appeared to be a gentleman napping in the warm April sun.

Benda's carriage had sped through the streets of the city to the Karntner gate. Once out of the city, the driver had rushed by the Karlskirche and the Schwarzenberg Palace to the Rennweg, finally depositing us in a large courtyard.

“This is the back entrance,” Benda had explained as we hurried into the palace. “The grand entrance is on the other side of the property, up the hill, behind the upper palace. He's outside, in the garden.” We walked through a long hallway and out the other side of the palace to the gardens. A constable stood at attention at the door.

As we exited the palace into the garden, I looked about in wonderment. The Albrechts' property stretched up a long, rolling hill as far as the eye could see. Directly in front of us was a long allée. Lined with statues, it was bordered on both sides by a small forest of short trees, their branches beginning to leaf. The allée led to a low, expansive stone fountain flanked by wide steps. Behind the fountain, the formal gardens, dotted with fountains and statues, swept gracefully up the hill. On the horizon sat the grandest palace I had ever seen, the Prince of Savoy's party house.

As Benda led me down the allée, I saw that the trees formed four separate thickets, each with two narrow entrances from the wide path.

“They are called
bosquets,
” Benda murmured. “When the trees have leafed out, they are like private rooms.”

I nodded dumbly as we made our way past the thickets. These garden rooms must be larger than any apartment I had ever lived in. When we reached the end of the allée, Benda directed me to the left, where von Gerl had been found.

I kneeled to examine the baron's lifeless body. He wore breeches and a simple shirt that was soaked with blood. I looked around. His waistcoat, coat, cloak, and plumed hat were nowhere to be seen.

“The slashed throat looks the same as the others,” Benda said.

I nodded. “But look at the cuts on the forehead,” I said. “They are deeper and wider than those the killer made on Hennen.”

“Richter knows we suspect him,” Benda said. “He is in a hurry to finish his fiendish mission. He's in a frenzy.”

“Or perhaps the killer was interrupted,” I said. “Maybe he heard the watchman making his rounds.”

Benda snorted. “The night watchman was in no condition to make rounds,” he said. He gestured toward a middle-aged man who stood at the far side of the garden. “This fellow comes on at six in the morning. There's a small watch house up the hill, behind the upper palace. He found his colleague passed out on the floor in there, next to an empty bottle of apricot brandy. When he was making his rounds, he found the body. He sent for me immediately. I alerted Troger, and went to your lodgings to find you.”

I returned my attention to von Gerl's body. I thrust my hand in each pocket of his breeches, but found nothing. I sighed. I had hoped to find a note like that both the general and Hennen had received before going to meet their killer.

“Look at his breeches,” I said to Benda. “There are three buttons, but only the top one is fastened.”

Benda stooped down to take a look. “He must have received the summons from the killer and dressed in a hurry.”