Sent to the Devil (25 page)

“To re-create burning in Hell,” Benda whispered. “My God. This man is the devil incarnate.”

I shook my head. “He is just a man, like you and me,” I said. “Something has perverted his mind and soul to make him act this way. We must find him, quickly. He's already killed four times. There are still three more sins to go before he completes his mission.”

*   *   *

I walked home slowly in the dusk, my thoughts on Marta. Her reaction to the news of von Gerl's death had left me disappointed and confused. I had hoped that she had realized that von Gerl had abandoned her, and that she had determined to make a fresh start with me. It was possible that her grief yesterday was merely the natural shock of someone who had just learned of the death of a friend. But part of me worried that her anguish was something more. I had to admit to myself that I was afraid to go to her. I should give her some time to grieve. And it was probably wise to refrain from demanding that she assess her feelings for me so soon. I might not be happy with the results of such an examination.

As I picked up my pace and hurried by the cathedral, I realized that I had not seen the man in the green cloak since I had confronted him Friday morning. Had I just imagined that he was following me? Had my glimpses of him throughout the city been mere coincidences? I smiled grimly. If so, he would avoid me in the future, steering clear of the crazy man who had accosted him in the university square. And if he were indeed trailing me for nefarious purposes, perhaps I had discouraged him by showing my anger.

I had just started down the Wollzeile, picking my way through the horse dung that littered the street, when a sharp cry made me look up. A woman leaned out the third-floor window of an apartment several doors down, calling a child to come indoors. The young boy climbed off his stick-horse and grudgingly carried it into the house.

The long street was empty except for a lone figure walking a block ahead of me. My eyes widened.
Was that…? No! It couldn't be.
It was impossible. I was tired, and my eyes were playing tricks on me in the shadows. I was imagining things.
But then—who else in Vienna wore a hat like that?

I ran down the street after him. “Von Gerl! Wait!” I shouted.

The man glanced back at me, hurried past the university plaza, and turned left. A moment later, I arrived at the corner. I stopped to catch my breath and looked around. No students stood chatting outside the long dormitories that lined the first block of the street. Up on the hill, the tall wooden doors of the Dominican Church were closed, the building silent. Von Gerl had vanished. The street was empty.

 

Twenty-five

The Hoher Market was Vienna's oldest marketplace, a long wide strip that connected the Bauernmarkt and the Tuchlauben at the southeastern edge of the city's Jewish quarter. Once famous for its fish vendors in the Middle Ages, the market was now lined with apartment buildings. At the center of the quadrangle stood the lofty Nuptial Fountain, built by the current emperor's great-grandfather to commemorate his heir's safe return from battle. Four tall, fluted columns held a highly ornamented marble canopy, under which a high priest blessed the betrothal of Joseph and Mary. A fountain stood in each of the two side niches in the base of the monument. It was at the base of one of these that Hieronymus Dauer lay staring upward, his heart-shaped mouth frozen open, his throat cut from ear to ear. His right arm was draped along the blood-splattered base of the monument; his left lay peacefully at his side. His forehead was clean.

Once again Troger's driver had come for me in the early hours of the morning, telling me that another murder had occurred. Now I stood with Troger, the driver, and a few constables, gagging as the pungent, sweet smell of burned flesh washed over me.

“Where is Benda?” I asked him. “Hasn't he been notified?”

“I don't know,” Troger answered. “When the constable found the body and alerted me, I sent my carriage to the Palais Albrechts.”

The driver stepped forward. “I went there first, sir,” he said. “I knocked on the door several times. When a servant finally answered, he told me the count was not at home.”

I frowned. “Did he say where the count had gone?”

The driver shook his head. “I asked, sir, but the man said he did not know. He did not want to disturb his mistress, so I came to fetch you.”

That was odd, I thought. Benda had said nothing to me about leaving Vienna when I had spoken with him yesterday.

“Count Pergen will be in his office soon,” Troger said. “I must report to him. I cannot wait for Benda to arrive.”

“I'm sure we'll hear from him sometime this morning,” I said. “I'll go over to the cathedral now and bring the priests the news.” Troger nodded and climbed into his carriage. A hearse pulled into the plaza from the Tuchlauben end.

“Oh, by the way, Da Ponte,” Troger called from the carriage. “When you see Benda, tell him that the protester, Richter, is still in prison. The paperwork to release him took longer than we expected. He'll be out this afternoon.”

*   *   *

Except for a few of the faithful from the immediate neighborhood who waited in the chilly nave for the early mass to begin, the cathedral was quiet. When Maximilian Krause saw me enter through the front portico, he hurried toward me.

“Good morning, Lorenzo,” he said. “Have you come for the mass? It's rare that we see you here.”

“I'm afraid not, Maximilian,” I said. His friendly face grew pale as I told him about Dauer's murder.

“Was it the same as the others?” he asked. “I've heard the rumors, that these killings are particularly gruesome.”

“Yes,” I said. “It seems to be the same killer.”

“What is happening, Lorenzo? Do you have any idea?”

I shook my head. “I've been helping with the investigation, but we aren't getting anywhere.”

“Why is this monster choosing these men? First Father Bayer, now Father Dauer—it's as if he has some sort of grievance against the cathedral.”

“There have been three other victims who were not connected to the cathedral,” I reminded him gently.

“Yes, I'd forgotten.” He sighed. “It's too easy to simply think of the ones I knew myself.” He signaled to a deacon, who came to us. Krause murmured in the young man's ear, and then the deacon went to the waiting worshipers and ushered them into one of the side chapels.

“Where was Father Dauer found?” Krause asked.

“In the Hoher Market. The hearse had just arrived when I left a few minutes ago.”

“I must go there to attend the body,” the priest said. He started toward the door.

“Before you go,” I said, catching his arm, “will you tell me when you last saw Father Dauer?”

His brow creased in concentration. “Yesterday—yesterday afternoon. Yes, he had come over from the archbishop's palace to lead vespers.”

“What do you know about him?” I asked.

“Not very much,” he said. “As I told you a few weeks ago when I introduced you to him, he came here from the abbey at Melk.” He sighed. “I haven't had much time to talk with him. He runs—ran—from one meeting to another.”

“Had he made any enemies since he arrived?” I asked.

Krause shrugged. “I have no idea. He and I do not work at the same level. He was involved in all of the planning meetings regarding the cathedral. It's possible someone he met over at the archbishop's palace resented his arrival here. Or someone in the hierarchy might have opposed his ideas to modernize the church administration.” He shook his head. “But to cut a man's throat, as if he were a farm animal? I cannot imagine such an act of anyone Father Dauer would have met here.”

“Where is his office?” I asked.

“Upstairs.” Krause motioned toward the steps off the north tower portico. “But he always kept it locked. I believe Felix is up there. He has keys to all the offices. He can direct you.” He turned and hurried out the door.

*   *   *

I trudged up the worn stone stairs to a mezzanine, where a long corridor ran the length of the cathedral's nave. A waist-high balustrade lined the left side of the hall, closed office doors ran down the right. At the end of the hallway, a door stood open. I walked down to it and knocked.

Felix Urbanek looked up from his reading. “Signor Da Ponte,” he said. “Good morning.” He stood and smiled at me. “Have you changed your mind about the priesthood? Have you come to lead our morning mass?”

“I have terrible news,” I said. “Father Dauer has been murdered.”

Urbanek gasped and clutched the edge of his desk. “What? Are you sure? But where—I must go—”

“Please sit down, Father,” I said. “There is nothing you can do for him now. Father Krause has gone to see to the body.”

Urbanek collapsed into his chair and put his head in his hands. His lips moved in silent prayer. When he had finished, he looked over to where I stood near the door. “Was he killed the same way as Father Bayer?” he asked.

I nodded.

His face was gray. “Where did they find him?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Over at the Hoher Market,” I answered.

“Who could have done such a thing?” he asked me.

“I don't know, Father,” I said. “But I'm helping the police investigate the murders. Can you think of any enemies Father Dauer may have made in his short time here? Or any information that would be of use to us?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I didn't know Father Dauer very well. He was involved in the political side of the cathedral.” He thought for a minute and frowned. “He was found in the Hoher Market, you said? That doesn't make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Father Dauer lives right here, in the archbishop's palace across the plaza. He has very wealthy patrons. Why would he be over on that side of the city? He has no need to go to the market to buy food. I've heard that the archbishop employs a very fine cook. I don't understand.”

“It's possible that he went to meet the killer there,” I said.

But Urbanek was not listening to me. “Perhaps he was visiting Father Krause,” he mused. “He lives over there, in the Judengasse. Yes, that's the explanation. He must have been with Father Krause last night. The murderer came upon him when he was crossing the market on his way back to the archbishop's palace.”

“We think that the victims—”

Urbanek shook his head. “No, that's not right,” he muttered. “Why would he have been visiting Krause? Those two haven't been friendly, not since—”

I leaned forward. “Since when?”

“Oh, I shouldn't say. It's just an impression I had, that is all.”

I took a deep breath. “Please. Anything you know might be helpful.”

Urbanek sighed. “Many years ago, Father Bayer served as Christiane Albrechts's confessor. She is the daughter of the late general.”

I nodded. “Yes. I am acquainted with her.”

“After Father Bayer retired, the young lady could not make up her mind as to who would be her new confessor. She tried one priest, then another, but none made her happy.” He clucked with disapproval. “As if choosing a confessor is some sort of contest.”

I clenched my teeth, willing him to get to the point. “But what—”

“After a few years of changing her mind again and again, she had finally settled on Father Krause. He had just begun to prepare her for her marriage to Count Benda when Dauer arrived. It did not take Dauer long to see that the Albrechts family would be valuable patrons. He courted the young lady and her father assiduously, almost as though he were planning to marry her himself.” He gave a wry smile at his own joke. “But his efforts were fruitful, for she informed Father Krause that she had decided to choose Father Dauer.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Just a few weeks ago, two or three days before her father died,” the priest answered.

I sighed inwardly. Surely this man did not believe that one priest would kill another over such a trivial matter.

He read my thoughts. “You think it is meaningless, I know. But a relationship with a powerful, wealthy family like the Albrechts can help a priest's career in many ways. Father Krause might seem a quiet scholar on the surface, but I can tell you he is as ambitious as the next man.” He stood. “Is there anything else you wish to ask me? I must go down and pray for Father Dauer's soul. Will you come with me?”

“I cannot,” I said. “I must search Father Dauer's office. Do you have a key?”

He crossed over to a cupboard and took out a ring of keys. He shuffled through them and chose one, and then handed it to me. “It's the first door after the stairwell,” he said. “Just leave the key on my desk when you are finished. I never lock my door.”

*   *   *

When I opened the door to Dauer's office and stepped inside, I understood why the priest had insisted on keeping it locked. The walls of the large room were hung with paintings and tapestries from the cathedral's cellar treasury. The small marble Pietà Dauer had been admiring the day Casanova and I had spoken to him sat on one of the bookcases. The desktop was clear except for a neat pile of documents. I riffled through them, but found no messages from the killer.

I opened the right-hand drawer of the desk. My pulse quickened as I saw a packet of letters neatly tied with a ribbon. I grabbed the packet, untied it, and scanned the letters. Most of them were from the dead priest's family. I swore in frustration and turned to the left-hand drawer. I pulled at the knob, but the drawer was stuck. I jiggled it, but it still did not open. I took Dauer's paper knife from the top of the desk and inserted the sharp blade into the space between the desk frame and the recalcitrant drawer, then moved it up and down and side to side. The drawer loosened, and I pulled it open.