The Silence (14 page)

They reached Bielohlawek’s office after ten minutes of fairly arduous stairs. Workmen were busy at the door as they approached the corner office. It seemed that it necessitated three of the workers to install a small bronze plaque over the lintel with Bielohlawek’s name. Werthen glanced at the one recently removed and now lodged in a tin refuse pail. It bore the name of Councilman Steinwitz.

Bielohlawek, it appeared, was coming up in the world, not only taking over the coveted office of the deceased councilman, but also, most likely, Steinwitz’s position as personal aide to Lueger.

Werthen and Gross made their way around these workmen, and Werthen used the brass globe of his walking stick to knock on the closed door. An instant later they received a
basso
command to enter. The workmen now doffed their hats at the gentleman as they entered through the door.

Bielohlawek, dressed in a dark three-piece suit and stand-up collar, was seated at the desk formerly occupied by Steinwitz. Or had they got rid of that piece of furniture? Werthen wondered. After all, the councilman had killed himself while seated at it. One did not have to be overly squeamish to wriggle at that thought, though Bielohlawek did not look the sort to be easily upset. He had a street fighter’s face with deep-set eyes, brown hair cut short and bristling like a hedgehog, long, tapering sideburns, and a moustache curled up at the ends. His jaw line was camouflaged partly by premature jowls, but still Werthen could see that it was jutting and strong.

Much of the parquet floor beneath their feet was covered by what appeared to Werthen to be a Ushak medallion carpet of a delicate ochre hue.

‘You’ll be the two investigators, I suppose.’

Werthen had heard more enthusiasm in the greeting from a condemned man to his executioner. Everything about Bielohlawek was gruff and rough-edged, even the sound of his voice. There was a strong hint of Czech heritage in his accent, though Bielohlawek had been born in Vienna. A man of about forty, the newly elected city council member was, according to some accounts, the chief clown in Lueger’s court, and to others, a shrewd political operative who used his street-thug façade to conceal his machinations. He was, at once, a man who could call the great Russian master Tolstoy an ‘old dope’ or ask for the deportation of all of Vienna’s Jews to Devil’s Island along with the Frenchman, Dreyfus, while at night studying French and Latin to better himself.

‘I doubt I can be of help regarding our friend, Steinwitz. But Karl, Bürgermeister Lueger, that is, says our doors should always be open to our electorate. You vote, I assume?’

Werthen was about to make a polite response when Gross jumped in.

‘That is hardly your concern, my good man. As a
Beamter
you have only to know that citizens, who pay your salary, have a query for your office.’

Bielohlawek visibly stiffened when called a civil servant.

‘We appreciate you seeing us on such short notice,’ Werthen began, attempting to smooth things over, but Gross was having none of it.

‘Now, if we could get down to business. We are investigating the death of one Henricus Praetor.’

Bielohlawek scowled at the name. ‘Papers say he shot himself.’

‘Quite,’ Gross said. ‘One cannot, however, always believe what is reported in the press.’

‘What’s it to do with me?’ the city councilman said. ‘I’m a busy man. I thought you wanted to ask about Steinwitz.’

‘You see—’ Werthen began, but was once again cut off by Gross. He thereafter relinquished the interview to the criminologist, who appeared to have his own sense of how to handle the brusque Bielohlawek.

‘You were a friend of the deceased councilman’s?’ Gross inquired.

‘We knew one another. Colleagues more than friends. But what does all this have to do with that
Schwuchtel
?’

Werthen felt the hair bristle at the back of his head at this coarse usage of fairy for homosexual.

‘I assume you are referring to Herr Praetor?’ Gross calmly replied.

‘I repeat, I’m a busy man. And a simple one. Just tell me what you want and no fancy stuff.’

‘What we want is to know if Councilman Steinwitz had any friendships strong enough at City Hall that someone might want to seek redress for his victimization.’

Bielohlawek stared at Gross as if he had been speaking a foreign language.

‘You mean kill the scrawny journalist because he broke the scandal?’

‘Precisely.’

Bielohlawek broke into sudden laughter. ‘Oh, that’s a rich one. I thought you told the deskman you were investigators, not comedians out of a
Hanswurst
show.’

‘I fail to see the humor,’ Gross said.

Bielohlawek stopped his laughter as abruptly as he had begun. ‘This is the Rathaus, not some army corps with outdated ideas about honor.
Verstehst
? We’re all big boys here, with thick skins.’

Werthen could keep quiet no longer. ‘You mean to say that you doubt Steinwitz killed himself over the embezzlement scandal?’

‘Bravo. That is exactly what I mean.’

‘Then why kill himself?’ Werthen wondered out loud.

‘You’re the investigator,’ Bielohlawek chuckled. ‘You tell me. And something else you can tell me. Who hired you?’

But they left then, without mentioning their employer. Victor Adler, Werthen supposed, would not be looked upon favorably in the hallowed halls of the Rathaus.

On the way out of the office they ran, quite literally, into a massive man in a tight-fitting suit, his hair cut so short it bristled like a hedgehog.

‘Sorry,’ Werthen said, as the three of them made contact, for the large man was just coming into Bielohlawek’s office.

The beefy man said, in a surprisingly high voice, ‘Yes.’

Which made no sense, but Werthen, who recognized the man as one Adalbert Kulowski, bodyguard to the mayor, knew that the man seldom made any sense. With that much brawn, it was hardly his brains for which Lueger employed him. Kulowski had been a fixture at the Rathaus ever since some madman had attempted to stab the mayor during his first year in office.

‘A pompous ass,’ Gross muttered once they were on the portico of the Rathaus.

Gross, Werthen understood, did not mean the bodyguard.

‘Only one way to deal with that sort.’

‘You
were
rather abrupt with him.’

‘Civil servants.’ Gross sneered as he said the words. ‘A greater misnomer I have never heard. There is nothing civil about them, and as for being a good servant to the people?
Bitte.
’ Said with heavy irony.

‘Did you believe him?’ Werthen asked, lifting the collar on his overcoat against the cold.

‘I assume you mean the manner in which the councilman discounted our theory of revenge as a motive for Praetor’s death.’ A moment’s pause. ‘Yes. I do. You knew Steinwitz. Was he the thick-skinned sort?’

‘A veritable hippopotamus.’

‘Then again one ponders your earlier question. Why would the good councilman commit suicide?’

A chilling thought occurred to Werthen. ‘Perhaps Steinwitz did not kill himself.’

‘Well, the authorities were wrong about Praetor’s death,’ Gross allowed.

‘I think we need to pay the widow a visit,’ Werthen said.

‘After which I must prepare for dinner.’

‘I can visit the good lady on my own.’

‘Nonsense,’ Gross said. ‘You’d be lost without me.’

Werthen made no response to this; it was useless to do so with Gross.

He knew the Steinwitz address from the time the deceased councilman was his client. The widow lived in the Reichsratstrasse in the fashionable RathausViertel, or quarter, only minutes from where they were now standing. Steinwitz himself could never have afforded the location on his pay as a city councilman; his wife, the former Valerie Gutrum, came from an old family and old money. Werthen and Gross headed toward the house, midway between the City Hall and Parliament. It was a handsome street with its ground floor businesses elegantly concealed behind galleried arcades as in the Rue de Rivoli in the French capital.

Reaching the Steinwitz house, they took the master stairway up two floors to the so-called
Nobelstock
, the noble floor, above which were the less imposing apartments. A maid answered the door and, after delivering Werthen’s card to her mistress, she ushered them down a long hall filled with glass cases containing museum-quality family heirlooms and a collection of weapons large enough to remind Werthen that the woman’s father was Colonel Gutrum, a shibboleth of the Kaiserlich und Königlich, Imperial and Royal army.

They were finally shown into a sitting room with windows looking out to the RathausPark and, far to the right, to the back of the Parliament.

Werthen was appreciating the view when a rustle of silk skirts caught his attention and made him turn. Frau Steinwitz was dressed in emerald green, her thick blonde hair piled atop her head attractively. A good-looking woman in her thirties, she did not have the appearance of a grieving widow, but rather of someone preparing perhaps for a ball later that evening. Werthen withheld judgment on that, however. He knew people reacted in all sorts of ways to the death of a loved one.

‘Advokat Werthen.’ She extended her hand to him and he held it a discreet few inches from his lips as he bent over it.

‘
Küss die Hand, gnädige Frau
,’ he said in the timeworn greeting whose meaning was closer to ‘Your servant, madam,’ than to the literal ‘I kiss your hand, dear lady.’

‘How nice to see you again,’ she said, sounding as if she meant it. ‘And your colleague.’

‘May I introduce Doktor Hanns Gross?’ Werthen said.

‘Dear lady,’ Gross murmured as Frau Steinwitz nodded at him.

‘I was not aware Reinhold had further business with you, Advokat.’ She motioned toward a pair of damask-covered fauteuils, while she perched on a settee.

‘No,’ Werthen said, sinking into the armchair. ‘He didn’t. And may I extend my condolences for your loss. I was very sad to hear of his passing.’

She managed a small sniffle, but then shrugged it off as if such emotion were a failing on her part.

‘We all miss him very much,’ she said flatly. ‘It was good of you to come in person to convey your commiseration.’

He felt Gross’s reproving eyes on him.

‘Not at all, Frau Steinwitz. Actually, I am also engaged in another inquiry. The death of a certain Henricus Praetor.’

Werthen noticed a sudden red at her cheeks with the mention of this name; already sitting with a straight back, she seemed to stiffen even more on the settee.

‘You recognize the name?’

‘Of course I do. He is the journalist Reinhold was working with.’

This comment took Werthen aback. ‘Working with?’

‘Yes, Advokat Werthen.’

‘But Praetor was the one who implicated your husband in a financial scandal.’

She nodded. ‘I think I can trust you. Reinhold always spoke well of you, even after he found other representation. It was nothing personal, you see, but when he became a city councilor, they demanded he avail himself of an older attorney.’

‘No need to explain, Frau Steinwitz. I fully understand. I believe he found further representation with a member of the Christian Social party.’

In other words, a non-Jew.

She nodded glumly.

‘That party,’ she hissed.

‘You were mentioning trusting my esteemed colleague,’ Gross said. ‘Perhaps it were better if I afforded you some privacy.’

‘Herr Gross is my valued associate,’ Werthen quickly explained to the widow, ‘as well as an internationally recognized criminalist.’

Only then did he notice that she was not listening. Rather her shoulders jerked forward several times spasmodically, and a flood of tears flowed down her cheeks.

Werthen went to her, putting a caring hand on her shoulder, but remaining silent. He knew words would not soothe at this point.

She took deep breaths, and her sobs diminished finally. ‘You must pardon the outbreak. You see, I have been so frightened. I did not know to whom I should turn. My father has a poor heart, and I do not want to worry him.’

‘Frightened,’ Werthen said, realizing he had misunderstood her tears. ‘Whatever of, madam?’

‘As I said, my husband was working with young Praetor. After publication of the initial story implicating Reinhold, my husband contacted Praetor in an effort to clear his good name. He was giving the journalist all manner of information. Reinhold would not talk to me of it, but I am sure it was very serious indeed. Poor Reinhold could not sleep for weeks before he . . . before his . . .’

‘What manner of information, Frau Steinwitz?’ Gross inquired.

‘I did see one of the files my husband later gave to the journalist. It detailed missing funds from a public building project.’

‘
One
of the files?’ Gross said.

‘They met several times at this flat. Perhaps they had other meetings as well. Each time, Reinhold had a thick file to hand over to the young man.’

Werthen withdrew his hand from her shoulder. ‘And that is what is frightening you, these disclosures.’

‘Don’t you see? First my husband and then Praetor. Someone killed them both to silence them. Maybe the same person will come for me and my children. I do not know where to turn.’

‘Never fear, madam,’ Gross said with utter conviction. ‘If such is the case, we shall find the culprits and bring them to justice.’

She nodded and sighed at Gross, then turned her attention to Werthen.

‘And in the meantime?’

‘Perhaps you should go to the police,’ he offered.

She shook her head violently at this suggestion. ‘The police are for criminals. And the scandal it would cause.’

Werthen was not surprised at the illogic of such a reaction. Here was a woman essentially saying she feared for her life, yet would not go to the police because tongues would wag about the Gutrum name. It was the Viennese thing to do.