The Silence (33 page)

‘She was seen leaving the scene of her husband’s death,’ Werthen reminded him, for they had appraised Meindl of all their evidence.

‘Ah, that.’

Werthen did not like the sound of this response.

‘Herr Kulowski was very clear about it.’

‘Yes, well, the mayor’s office has been in contact since. It seems that there may be some debate about this sighting. Herr Kulowski, it turns out, does not have very perfect eyesight. In fact, he should be wearing spectacles, as I do, but in his line of work, as the mayor explained, Herr Kulowski feels such apparel might make him appear less than imposing.’

‘And the mayor offered this because . . . ?’ Gross said.

‘He was afraid that Herr Kulowski’s information might lead you two to the wrong conclusion about Frau Steinwitz. As it clearly has.’

Gross turned his head to look out the window to the gray and forbidding sky over the Schottenring. Werthen too refrained from comment. It was clear to him that Lueger had played a double game. The mayor, through Kulowski, had given the information about Frau Steinwitz in order to take suspicion off himself, and then proceeded to call it into question in order to keep the Gutrums in his debt. Politicians relished such machinations, Werthen knew.

Inspector Meindl took their silence as an admission of defeat.

‘When and if you have more conclusive evidence, we will surely act, have no fear.’

Werthen read about it in the next day’s
Neue Freie Presse.
It was under the society news.

Twenty

‘
S
o much for justice in the Habsburg realms,’ Herr Meisner said. His recovery had been speedy and seemingly full. He was sitting up in his hospital bed, munching unhappily on dried toast with all the appearance of a martyr. Crumbs collected in his salt and pepper beard.

‘Don’t think about it, Father,’ Berthe said, resting her hand on his, which lay on the counterpane. ‘We should not have told you about it.’

‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘It is not as if I am an invalid. I simply bumped my head.’

‘The doctor says you should not become overly excited,’ Werthen told him, feeling a fool now for having mentioned the outcome of his case.

‘You’ll be coming home tomorrow,’ Berthe said.

‘About time, too.’ Herr Meisner cast the piece of dried toast a baleful glance as one might a person expectorating in the street.

‘And we are arranging the Aliya,’ Werthen added.

Herr Meisner dropped the toast and reached a hand out to his son-in-law.

‘It takes a bump on the head for this to happen?’

But it was said in good humor.

‘As a matter of fact, it did. Life is simply too short for such quarrels.’

‘You’ve made an old man very happy,’ he said.

‘Hardly old, Father. But this doesn’t mean we are going to keep kosher.’

‘Please,’ Herr Meisner admonished her, ‘do not even mention that word until after I get a good meal in my stomach.’

And so the Werthen residence returned to a semblance of normality as February passed into March. Werthen’s parents did indeed depart for their estate in Lower Austria, though he was sure that the estate factotum, ‘young’ Stein – now approaching forty – would hardly be happy to have the old man back to bark out orders. And they held the naming ceremony as promised, Frieda taking the middle name of Ruth. Had his parents remained in the capital, Werthen would have maneuvered them into a christening instead of baptism, but without their presence it just did not seem important. Perhaps on their next visit.

At the office, Fräulein Metzinger was still observing a period of mourning, but Werthen no longer heard her sniffling mid-morning.

Werthen dreaded most speaking with Doktor Praetor, father of the murdered journalist. He did not want to tell the man that the murderer of his only son was beyond justice, for Austria and Switzerland had no extradition treaty. He had no idea how the man would react. Would he go to the newspapers? In which case Werthen could find himself in the midst of a nasty slander suit. But the man deserved the truth. Both Werthen and Gross met with Praetor and explained the events.

‘The daughter of Colonel Gutrum,’ he said, almost in awe.

The surgeon appeared to be a realist; he understood how things worked in Austria and made no overt protests.

‘At least we know,’ Doktor Praetor said. ‘But she is lying to you about the motive, mark my words,’ he said with fierce vehemence. ‘My son was no homosexual.’

Gross heard from Nagl in Czernowitz the day after Frau Steinwitz bolted. As suspected, Praetor was writing to confirm a meeting with her the very night of his death.

Additionally, Werthen happened to meet Oberbaurat Wagner again, this time in the company of Gustav Klimt. Out for a quick bite, he happened upon the artist and architect at one of his favorite eateries, The Red Stork, and accepted their invitation to join them at table. They exchanged pleasantries for a time, and then Werthen said, quite casually, that he was surprised to learn of the presence of Frau Steinwitz at the Rathaus the day of her husband’s suicide. Wagner, who had discovered the body, merely shook his head.

‘What is so surprising about a wife attempting to visit her husband at his place of work?’

‘Ah, then you also saw her,’ Werthen said, quite innocently. ‘But of course you would have. Being first on the scene.’

‘Of course I did,’ Wagner said, taking offense. ‘My eyes are perfectly fine.’

Werthen took this morsel of information as well as the decipherment of Praetor’s typing ribbon to the Police Praesidium. Meindl, supplied with this evidence, merely shrugged.

‘Still not very convincing. But in any case, she is out of our jurisdiction now,’ he told them. ‘As you well know, Switzerland failed to renew its extradition treaty with us last year.’

Werthen could not restrain his anger. ‘Perhaps if Austria recognized the right of political asylum, then we might have such treaties with the rest of the civilized world and not just countries such as Russia and Prussia.’

Meindl smiled at him as if he had just made a bon mot. ‘But when she returns to the empire, we shall take the matter up.’

Meanwhile the Steinwitz children were living with their grandfather on his estate near Vienna. Rumor had it that he was to adopt them and change their names to Gutrum.

After attending the Lawyers’ Ball on Saturday, March 3, Gross and his wife Adele returned to Czernowitz for the spring semester. Ash Wednesday came on March 7, marking the end of the ball season.

He was suddenly awake, disoriented. Berthe was leaning over him.

‘You were grinding your teeth again,’ she said.

He brushed his hand over his face; it felt sweaty.

‘Sorry.’

‘You must stop thinking about it. There is nothing you can do.’

‘She killed twice and is free.’

‘Not free,’ Berthe said. ‘She can never come back home.’

‘And that is fitting punishment?’

‘Go to sleep,’ Berthe said, laying a soothing hand on his forehead. ‘It’s over.’

Next morning, Werthen was catching up on legal work. Fräulein Metzinger had been so dislocated by the tragedy of Huck that she had not been able to complete an urgent brief, so he was finishing it. But no sooner had he sat down with the brief than Fräulein Metzinger announced the arrival of a visitor, showing in a young man in clerical garb.

‘Father Mickelsburg,’ Werthen said when he finally recognized his visitor, the priest from the Theresianum whom he had earlier questioned about Hans Wittgenstein. ‘An unexpected pleasure.’

The priest smiled as he took an offered chair.

‘I have come for a bit of absolution, I am afraid.’

‘Don’t you have things reversed, Father?’

‘You seem like a good man, Advokat Werthen.’

‘I suppose I try to be.’

‘I as well, though sometimes the flesh is weak.’

Father Mickelsburg looked suddenly miserable, as if he were suffering from an illness.

‘What is it you have come to tell me, Father?’ Werthen still found it odd to use the title with a man several years younger than him.

Mickelsburg produced a rosary from under his clothing, and began counting the ivory beads with a thumb, a gesture Werthen had seen often enough in cafés frequented by the Greek merchants of the city, but never by a Catholic priest.

‘I understand you found the Wittgenstein boy, then. Hans?’

‘Yes, quite soon after I spoke to you, as a matter of fact. Herr Praetor, his young friend, told me he had gone to the United States. The family received confirmation of that. You know of Herr Praetor’s death, of course?’

Father Mickelsburg nodded. ‘Yes. Ricus told me about your visit.’ He stopped tallying the beads.

‘Ricus?’ Werthen said.

‘I was not forthcoming with you when we met at the school, and I have felt badly about that ever since. He thought you were one of the “great pious ones.”’ Mickelsburg laughed lightly at the expression. ‘It was Ricus’s way of talking about the bourgeoisie, those who would not understand his . . . our lifestyle.’

Werthen raised his eyebrows at this admission from the priest.

‘You mean you and Herr Praetor were . . . special friends?’

‘Lovers,’ the priest said. ‘Let me finally use the word I would never use with Ricus himself.’ A look of extreme pain passed over his face. ‘You see, Advokat, I believe I killed him.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘I was also one of the “great pious ones” Ricus railed against. I would not . . . could not admit my love. Perhaps that is why he sought it elsewhere, why he was killed.’

Mickelsburg had obviously accepted the official explanation of young Praetor’s death: a homosexual tryst gone wrong. Werthen was not about to disabuse him of that by accusing Frau Steinwitz of the crime. Apprising Doktor Praetor of the actual circumstances had been the least he could do, but Father Mickelsburg was owed no such honesty.

‘Perhaps.’ But his curiosity got the better of Werthen. ‘I understand there may have been a relationship between Herr Praetor and Councilman Steinwitz.’

Suddenly Mickelsburg broke out into uncontrollable laughter. His body shook with the force of it and it took him several moments to regain his composure.

‘I am sorry, Advokat, but that suggestion is, as you have witnessed, quite laughable.’

‘How can you be so certain?’

‘One simply knows these things. Did you ever meet the man?’

‘I was his attorney for several years.’

‘Well, then, did he strike you as someone who might fancy men?’

Werthen shook his head. ‘But then, neither did you.’

Mickelsburg nodded at this riposte. ‘I, however, am quite adept at disguises, Advokat. I met Councilman Steinwitz once in the company of Ricus, and I can tell you for a certainty that the man had no sexual designs on him. Councilman Steinwitz was a deeply troubled man, but that had nothing to do with confused sexual identity. Rather, I think it had to do with his wife. He made a few pointed comments about her. I do not remember the exact words, but there was a feeling of disappointment from him.’

‘Did Herr Praetor tell you the nature of his and Steinwitz’s connection?’

‘You mean exposing the scheme to sell the Vienna Woods? Of course. I was very proud of him.’

‘Do you think you might be less than objective when you insist there was nothing more between them? After all, we all experience jealousy.’

‘I assure you, Advokat, Councilman Steinwitz was not interested in men. If you have heard otherwise, somebody is trying to mislead you.’

He rose. ‘And now, I have taken enough of your time, Advokat. But it has been preying on me that I was not completely honest with you before. Was not completely honest with Ricus.’

Werthen could not let it go. This new information from the priest gnawed away at him until finally he set out in the early afternoon to confirm his reawakened suspicions.

He went to see the journalist, Karl Kraus. When he and Gross had paid a visit to find out about Councilman Steinwitz’s possible friends and enemies inside the Rathaus, Kraus had ended their conversations with that confounding remark about a circle of ‘special friends’ the councilman was rumored to have. At the time, this offhand remark did not seem important; now it seemed to scream at him for some kind of explanation.

Kraus was busy as usual with the latest edition of
Die Fackel
, but made time and space – clearing away stacks of old newspapers from the only available chair – for Werthen.

‘I am sorry that my cryptic comment has given you pains,’ he said after Werthen explained the reason for his visit. ‘I should be delighted to expound on that, provided you assist me in another matter of curiosity.’

Kraus did not offer schnapps today; it sounded as if he might have a cold or a bronchial complaint. But despite illness, he still wore that Cheshire cat grin of his.

‘I assume you refer to Frau Steinwitz?’

‘Assume away, Advokat.’

‘The newspapers say she is undergoing therapy in Switzerland.’

‘Yes,’ Kraus said. ‘The newspapers say a lot of silly things.’

‘This goes no further,’ Werthen said.

Kraus assented to the request.

Werthen quickly outlined the case against Frau Steinwitz and the visit to her, which had elicited a confession.

‘Could I not perhaps have gotten this from another source?’ Kraus said after Werthen finished. ‘Such a story needs publication.’