The Silence (28 page)

Looking outside the massive windows, Werthen could see that the snow had begun again.

‘But I am on your side in this. I want the sale stopped, too. And I might have the ammunition to help you.’

‘Why would you do that, Fräulein Beskiba?’ asked Doktor Gross. ‘It would seem an act of disloyalty.’

‘Do not misunderstand my motives,’ she responded. ‘I am not seeking some twisted revenge on the mayor. In point of fact, I am quite in love with him.’ She looked at each in turn after she announced this. ‘And it is because I love him that I want this sale to be stopped. Do you know why he wants to sell off the Woods?’

‘No,’ Werthen answered. ‘That is the part of all this that makes no sense.’

‘He needs money. Karl is a most ambitious man. He needs money to mount a political campaign that will make him prime minister. Once in that position, he intends to get the small people in back of him and establish a republic, to get rid of the Habsburgs once and for all.’

‘Preposterous,’ Gross said.

But Werthen thought otherwise. The elected government of the empire was disastrously rent by divisions in Parliament. No laws had been passed by that body since 1897 when the emperor took over what little democratic power he had relinquished, ruling by decree according to paragraph fourteen of the constitution. Discontent was everywhere. Were Lueger to mount an empire-wide campaign, his fabulous popularity could bring him victory, Werthen was sure of it. Lueger knew how to talk to the little people, to sway them with rhetoric and emotion. And once he became prime minister Lueger could always turn to the people if the emperor attempted to curb his power. He and he alone could bring disparate groups out on to the streets, perhaps even foment a revolution. And once Lueger had the money in hand from the sale of the Woods, he could use it freely, Werthen knew, for the financial machinations of the Christian Socialists in City Hall were legendary. The money would be hidden in a myriad of ways and Lueger would manage to make the Jews at the center of the sale the villains; like a magician, he would keep the public’s eye off the money and on the supposed perfidy of those who had bought the Woods.

‘He hates them so,’ Fräulein Beskiba continued. ‘Blames the Habsburgs for all the faults in society. It was the emperor himself, after all, who refused to accept the voice of the people, declining several times to allow Karl to become mayor. He will do anything to destroy the Habsburgs.’

‘And to mount a campaign across the length and breadth of the empire he needs large cash reserves,’ Werthen said.

She nodded.

‘And you do not want him to do this,’ he added.

‘No.’ She said it firmly, unequivocally. ‘It would kill him. You may not know it, but Karl suffers from diabetes. The stress of being mayor is bad enough, were he to become prime minister . . .’ She did not voice her concluding thought.

‘Besides,’ said Gross, ‘if he became prime minister, there would hardly be time for you, would there?’

‘Hanns,’ his wife said, shaking her head at him.

‘Yes. That, too, I suppose. One never has pure motives, does one? But now you know. Now you have ammunition. I only ask that you never let him know where you learned these secrets.’

‘Agreed,’ Werthen said.

She rose. ‘I must get back to my portrait now. I imagine you have preparations to make, as well.’

Werthen was impressed by her absolute self-control and self-assurance. He wondered if she would ever manage to get Lueger to herself as she wished.

Leading them out, she turned abruptly. ‘And one thing more. You really cannot believe Karl is somehow responsible for the death of Councilman Steinwitz, can you? Or of this journalist fellow?’

‘I see that very little gets past the mayor,’ Werthen said, but he did not answer her question.

They had a busy afternoon.

Adele left the men to their work, deciding instead to attend to her attire for the upcoming Lawyers’ Ball this Saturday. It was to be the crowning jewel in her ball season and not even a murder investigation or the imminent sale of an enormous section of the Vienna Woods was going to interrupt it.

For the second time in one day Werthen marveled at female strengths. Frau Gross’s ability to compartmentalize her activities so thoroughly was quite amazing. It was obvious to Werthen that her husband did not share her childlike eagerness for the gala evening. For Gross, a ball was clearly the last thing on his mind now that they were getting so close to the heart of the matter with their investigations.

As Adele left them after the interview with Fräulein Beskiba she said blithely, ‘I am sure you men will have things completed by the weekend.’

Werthen could not understand her optimism; though they had gotten to the crux of the Vienna Woods sale, he was not sure that it brought them much closer to finding the killer of Steinwitz and Praetor. Clearly the fact that the two men were planning to disrupt the sale with their reporting provided motive to someone involved in the business proposition, but to whom? Could it be the huckster-like Remington with his dreams of a ‘Tales from the Vienna Woods’ park? Perhaps the commission for the killings came from Wittgenstein and his shadowy band of investors, who stood to lose millions if their proposed estate development fell through? Or had orders for the killings come from Lueger himself, so intent on his dreams of power that he would let no one stand in his way, even an old schoolmate? After all, it was now apparent, according to the testimony of his lover, that Lueger had eyes and ears everywhere. Surely he would know of Steinwitz’s defection, of his meetings with young Praetor.

Increasingly Werthen was coming to believe that their main suspect was indeed the mayor himself. Yet how to prove it?

This afternoon, however, they concentrated on stopping the sale of the Vienna Woods; finding the murderer of Steinwitz and Praetor would have to wait for another day.

To that end they paid a call on Victor Adler at the offices of the
Arbeiter Zeitung.

It was dinnertime when Werthen returned to his flat; Gross and his wife would be dining with friends of Adele tonight. Werthen knew his parents were also staying in this evening, as his mother had caught a touch of the grippe and did not want to spread the illness to baby Frieda. He was looking forward to a quiet evening alone with his wife and child. He needed it, a sort of psychic recharging.

As he fitted the key into his apartment door and began turning it he realized, however, that this intimate evening was not to be. Instead he heard voices from inside, and as he opened the door, they grew clearer. In the foyer he saw a leather valise by the coat rack. His disappointment at not being alone with Berthe and Frieda was supplanted by a more positive emotion.

He burst into the sitting room, from which issued the voices, and was well pleased to see his father-in-law seated on the leather couch. Frieda sat astride his thigh bouncing gently to the nursery song,
so reiten die Damen
 . . . ‘this is the way the ladies ride.’

‘Herr Meisner! How wonderful to see you.’

The older man looked up from the child, evident glee in his eyes.

‘And you, son.’

They said nothing of this miraculous reconciliation during dinner. Instead, Werthen regaled them with the course his investigation had taken, and Herr Meisner seemed to take it all in as a youth would the adventures of Old Shatterhand from a Karl May novel of the West.

It was not until later, with Herr Meisner off to the guest room, Frieda happily asleep in her crib, and Werthen curled around his wife, that he discovered Berthe understood her father’s return no better than did he.

‘You mean he gave no explanation?’ Werthen asked.

He felt her shrug.

‘And you didn’t ask?’

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. ‘I did not witness you jumping into the fray, either, Karl.’

‘But does he still insist on the naming ceremony?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t know. I just know it is good to have him here again. To see him with our baby.’ And they left it at that.

Eighteen

H
e had time for a brief visit to Frau Steinwitz the next morning before he was to meet Gross at the Rathaus.

I’ll be in the quarter, anyway, Werthen told himself, feeling guilty that he had not yet contacted the woman. Of course, they had left it that she would get in touch with Werthen if she needed help, but he knew she was a proud woman; perhaps too proud to ask for help.

So he was out early to make this call before confronting Lueger. Ushered into the Steinwitz flat by the same maid, he was led down the hallway once again past the glass cases full of family heirlooms and weapons to the sitting room where they had talked before. The curtains, however, were still drawn and the room sat in a melancholy gloom.

It was ten minutes before Frau Steinwitz entered, dressed in riding clothes: a sapphire-blue satin skirt surmounted by a waist-length jacket in moss-green suede. The maid bustled in beside her and finally opened the curtains, casting off the noxious pall.

‘Advokat, I was just on my way to the Prater for my morning ride.’

‘Sorry to interrupt, dear lady,’ he said, kissing the air just above her proffered hand. ‘But I realize I have been remiss in my duties.’

‘How so?’ she asked brightly. ‘I believe we left it that I would contact you if I felt the need.’

‘Yes, but then I have also felt a good deal of guilt about that meeting. Though I continue to have no time personally to conduct protective services for you, I wanted to ensure that you . . . well, that you—’

‘Were still alive?’ She smiled condescendingly. ‘I greatly appreciate the consideration, Advokat, but I believe my earlier fears were completely unfounded. A simple case of nerves. In fact I hope you do not take seriously my contention that someone killed my poor husband and this journalist fellow. I was still in shock. No, worse. I was being a silly female. I believe I shall be quite safe without a
bodyguard
.’

‘I am glad to hear that your fears have been allayed,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you from your ride any longer.’

Frau Steinwitz nodded, and then asked as an afterthought, ‘And how is your investigation proceeding? Will you continue now? I mean, I hope my earlier misinformation did not put you on completely the wrong path.’

‘Not at all,’ Werthen said. ‘Gross and I are approaching the truth.’ Hardly, but he felt suddenly defensive that Frau Steinwitz should think he had been basing his entire investigation on her tales and fears. Frau Steinwitz was the sort of coddled Viennese woman who felt the world revolved around her.

‘If that is the case,’ she said with a cold edge to her voice, ‘then I will not detain you either.’

She rang for the maid and Werthen found himself on the landing, given short shrift.

What was that about? he wondered. Had somebody from the Rathaus gotten to her, either paid her off or made further threats? Why so eager to distance herself from her earlier comments?

In the event, of course, it was Werthen who had to wait in the bitter cold for ten minutes. Gross made no apologies when he finally arrived, merely asking Werthen if he had got the sheets from Adler.

‘In my coat pocket,’ Werthen answered.

They mounted the steps to the vestibule, and inside the same hefty ex-military fellow was on duty at the information desk.

‘We would like to see Mayor Lueger,’ Gross said to the man.

This request was greeted by a plosive sound in the man’s nostrils: half snort and half snigger.

‘I’m sure you would. So would half of Vienna. Do you have an appointment?’

They had purposely not tried for an appointment, ensuring that the element of surprise would be on their side.

Gross nodded to Werthen, who pulled a folded front-page dummy of a newspaper out of his coat pocket.

‘Perhaps you could show him this. I believe he will see us.’

The guard took the newspaper and tossed it on to his desk along with other mail.

‘Now,’ Gross said with an authority to his voice that made the man sit ramrod straight.

‘I can’t very well leave my desk,’ he protested.

‘We will keep watch over it, right, Advokat?’ he said to Werthen.

‘Absolutely,’ Werthen agreed. Then to the guard: ‘You really should hurry. That is this afternoon’s edition and I believe Mayor Lueger might have something to say about it.’

‘Or should we tell Mayor Lueger later that his own vestibule guard was responsible for the end of his career?’ added Gross.

The man rose, suspicion written on his face. ‘This better not be some damn trick. When I come back, I expect to see you two waiting here.’

Gross saluted him. ‘We won’t budge from this spot.’

They waited several minutes as other well-dressed men entered and departed the vestibule. Each time steps descended the wide marble staircase they looked expectantly for the returning guard, only to be disappointed.

Suddenly the inter-office telephone on the guard’s desk rang. The abrupt jingle of it startled them at first, but then they returned their attention to the stairs. The telephone continued to ring. A most persistent caller, Werthen thought. And then the realization struck.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ he said.

‘I am waiting,’ came the voice on the other end of the line. ‘Bielohlawek’s office.’

Werthen knew that high, resonant tone. It was Mayor Lueger himself.

They wasted no time in getting to the councilman’s office, not knowing what to expect there, wondering if they had over-played their hand. At least they had come armed, for at Gross’s insistence each was carrying one of the Steyr automatic pistols the criminologist always traveled with.

Reaching Bielohlawek’s corner office, however, they were met by the mayor’s bodyguard, Kulowski, who demanded to search them.