Deadly Communion (18 page)

Lieberman raised his coffee cup as if toasting his friend.

‘That makes perfect sense, Oskar. Yet there is one thing that troubles me. You said that Frau Lachkovics was insistent that Fräulein Wirth did not entertain gentlemen friends.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Yet Fräulein Wirth admitted Griesser into her apartment and intercourse appears to have been consensual. She obviously knew him.’

‘There are two explanations. Either Frau Lachkovics wanted to protect her friend’s reputation or she was entirely ignorant of the association. I am inclined to believe that Fräulein Wirth’s relationship with Griesser was clandestine.’

‘Why would she wish to keep a relationship secret from her closest acquaintance?’

Rheinhardt shrugged.

‘I have no idea.’ The waiter returned with two lightly browned pancakes and a triangular pastry sprinkled with cinnamon and
icing sugar. ‘Fräulein Wirth,’ Rheinhardt continued, ‘was visited earlier on Thursday evening by a friend — a woman called Vogl. I understand that she is a famous dress designer.’

‘Kristina Vogl?’

‘Yes.’ Rheinhardt drew back and produced an exaggerated, theatrical expression of amazement. ‘I did not know you were conversant with the world of haute couture.’

‘I’m not. But my sisters are. Vogl’s name, if I am not mistaken, is associated with the
reform
movement.’

Rheinhardt transferred some pancake into his mouth. He closed his eyes and communed with the flavours: clarified butter, honey, vanilla pods, and grated lemon peel.

‘Yes,’ he said, opening his eyes again. ‘Reform. Else explained it all to me. I had no idea that corsets were so political.’

‘I don’t like them.’

‘What? Corsets?’

‘No. Reform dresses.’

‘You surprise me. You usually like everything modern.’

‘They are shapeless …’ Liebermann broke his pastry with his fork. The plum purée inside the folded parcel spilt out onto the white porcelain. ‘They obscure the curves of the female figure. I am sure that reform dresses are very comfortable to wear — but I am not sure they are very pleasing to look at.’

Rheinhardt stopped eating for a moment: ‘Be that as it may, I have some sympathy with the cause, don’t you? It is a sobering thought — what a woman has to endure with respect to her wardrobe. The countless hooks and eyes that have to be fastened from waist to neck, the corset which has to be pulled so very tight, the petticoats, camisoles, jackets and bodices — layer upon layer — encasing her body like a suit of armour. Required to wear gloves, even on a hot day, bespangled in heavy jewellery and other adornments: stockings;
garters; hair curled, braided, built up beneath the canopy of a monstrous hat, lush with vegetation and exotic fruits; perfumed, plumed, powdered. Really, Max. It’s a wonder that any of them can move at all.’

Liebermann smiled at his friend, impressed by his humanity.

‘You are quite right, Oskar. It is selfish of me to object to reform dresses on aesthetic grounds. I doubt if I could survive more than ten minutes in a corset!’ Liebermann touched his throat. ‘This collar is bad enough.’

‘I’m going to pay a call on Frau Vogl this afternoon.’

‘Really? Where does she live?’

‘Not very far. The sixth district. Near the Theater an der Wien.’

‘They say that she is greatly admired by the artists of the Secession. I wonder what sort of woman she is?’

‘Why don’t you come and see for yourself?’ Rheinhardt recovered his fork and guillotined his pancake. ‘I could do with some company.’

Their destination was a smart town house, three storeys high, with baroque window hoods and a balcony that bellied out above the front door. They were admitted by a maidservant and introduced to Kristina Vogl’s secretary — an attractive girl whose elegance was undermined by an unfortunate stoop.

‘Madame is unwell. She has taken to her bed. Even so, she is willing to receive you upstairs — if you don’t mind …’ The girl smiled, pointed at the ceiling, and remained in this position for longer than was necessary to achieve her purpose. Rheinhardt indicated that he had no objection. ‘This way, please.’

The secretary led them up a wide, somewhat ostentatious staircase, and down a corridor that led to the rear of the house. She knocked lightly on one of the doors.

‘Madame?’

A muffled voice: ‘Come in.’

The secretary ushered Rheinhardt and Liebermann into her mistress’s bedroom and closed the door behind them.

Liebermann was impressed by the decor. It was decidedly modern. The furniture was black and boxlike, unencumbered by redundant detail. A beige carpet with a red grid pattern covered the floor and the wallpaper was enlivened by a subtle recurring motif of stylised leaves. The air was fragrant with rose and lavender.

Kristina Vogl was sitting up in a large double bed, surrounded by sketchbooks and fabric samples. Liebermann studied the famous couturière with interest. She possessed fine, regular features, and eyes of an uncommonly pellucid blue. Her hair was dark brown and fell down in loose curls to her slim shoulders, which were wrapped in the shimmering crimson swathe of a kimono. Gold dragons disported themselves across the silk. On a bedside cabinet stood a lamp which Liebermann identified as the work of Josef Hoffmann.

‘You are Inspector Rheinhardt?’

Her accent was brittle.

Rheinhardt’s bow was more florid than usual — almost foppish. He gestured towards his friend: ‘And my associate, Herr Doctor Liebermann.’

Kristina tilted her head to one side, tacitly questioning why a detective inspector should be accompanied by a medical man; but Rheinhardt did not give her an answer. Instead, he clasped his hands together over his heart.

‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see us today. I wish you a swift recovery. Permit me also to offer you our most sincere condolences.’

The woman coughed. Liebermann thought the action rather forced, like a hysterical patient with
tussis nervosa.

‘You are most kind, inspector. It was a shock, of course. I could hardly believe it. You read of such things in the newspapers but you
never consider that your own life will be touched by such terrible events. Poor Selma.’

Rheinhardt took a step forward.

‘I understand that Fräulein Wirth was a close friend.’

Kristina’s brow furrowed. When she spoke, her delivery was hesitant: ‘I wouldn’t say that we were
close.
But I have known her a long time.’

‘Since childhood?’

‘Yes. But the nature of our relationship …’ Kristina appeared a little discomfited. ‘I think before we proceed any further it would be advisable for me to clarify a few points.’

‘As you wish.’

‘Selma was the daughter of my mother’s laundry maid. We were very fond of each other as children and we corresponded as adults; but, naturally, our lives have followed somewhat different courses.’ Kristina’s expression became pained. ‘We did not have a great deal in common. Further, I feigned a deeper affection than, in fact, really existed between us. You will ask why. Well, Selma was a proud woman and it was only by invoking our friendship that I could persuade her to accept financial assistance. I hope that God will forgive me this small deception which was practised only in the service of charity.’

‘I see.’ said Rheinhardt. ‘I am sure that in the ledgers of heaven such an act of human kindness will not be counted against you.’ Kristina dismissed the compliment with a languid flick of her wrist. ‘You may not have been bosom companions,’ Rheinhardt continued, ‘but I assume you were familiar with Fräulein Wirth’s general circumstances?’

‘Yes — that
is
true.’

Rheinhardt nodded and checked the horns of his moustache.

‘Then could you tell me if Fräulein Wirth had any gentleman friends?’

‘She had many when she was younger. She was very striking. But as soon as her leg problems started she became markedly less interested in flirtations and romance.’

‘What about recently? Did she mention meeting anyone?’

‘No. But …’

Kristina shook her head.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing …’

‘Please,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘You were going to say something.’

‘On my last visit — and the previous one — I thought there was
something
about her, something different, something changed. She seemed in higher spirits and more conscious of her appearance. And I must admit, it did cross my mind …’

‘That she had begun a relationship?’

‘Yes. But I cannot say for certain. She did not say anything to confirm my suspicions.’

‘What
did
she talk about when you last saw her?’

‘How much she disliked working at the laundry. I had — of course — offered her a good position among my household staff on numerous occasions, but she always refused. Pride again, you see. She talked about her leg; although she
always
talked about her leg. She wanted to go to a spa in Switzerland where she had read about a new miracle cure.’

‘When you visited her on Thursday evening, did you see anyone else?’

‘I saw her neighbour — looking out of the window. And there was a man in the yard.’

‘Did you recognise him?’

‘No.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘I wasn’t paying much attention.’

‘How was he dressed?’

‘I think …’ Kristina bit her lower lip. ‘I think he was wearing a bowler hat and a long coat.’

‘Did he have a beard? A moustache?’

‘I really can’t remember.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘He wasn’t doing anything — he was just standing.’

‘Waiting?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Did he see you?’

‘I imagine so.’

‘In which case, I would urge you to be very vigilant. If you see this man again, you must not hesitate to contact us.’

‘But I took very little notice of him. He isn’t someone I’d recognise.’

While Rheinhardt and Frau Vogl continued their conversation, Liebermann’s attention was drawn to a series of lithographs. They were executed in a style that reminded him of illustrations he had seen in
Ver Sacrum,
the journal of the Vienna Secession. The female figures, in mannered stances, were greatly influenced by Klimt. Liebermann moved closer and examined the autograph: Carl Otto Czeschka. Each image showed a scene from the fairy story ‘Ashputtel’. He followed the narrative: the ugly step-sisters, confiscating Ashputtel’s fine clothes and giving her instead an old frock; Ashputtel, by the wishing tree, taking delivery of her ‘magical’ dresses — each more beautiful than the last; the handsome prince sliding a golden slipper onto Ashputtel’s dainty foot as the stepsisters reel back in horror …

A gentle knock rescued Liebermann from the phantasmagorical world of the Brothers Grimm. On the other side of the room a door was slowly opening. The man who appeared was middle-aged and dignified. Before the newcomer closed the door again, Liebermann saw that the adjoining chamber was also a bedroom.

‘May I introduce my husband,’ said Kristina. ‘Doctor Heinz Vogl. My dear, these gentlemen are Detective Inspector Rheinhardt and his colleague, Herr Doctor Liebermann.’

Heinz Vogl bowed: ‘
Doctor
Liebermann?’

‘I am a psychiatrist.’

‘And you work for the security office?’

‘Doctor Liebermann is a psychological consultant,’ interjected Rheinhardt.

‘I see,’ said the older man. ‘Then I sincerely hope, Herr Doctor Liebermann, that your branch of medicine — controversial though it is — can provide such insights as lead to the swift apprehension of this …’ his features screwed up in distaste ‘… monster!’

He inclined his head in modest deference and went to his wife, who reached out to him as he approached. Taking her hand, Vogl sat down on the bed beside her.

‘Are you all right, my darling?’ Kristina responded with a faint smile and then coughed. Her husband addressed the visitors: ‘A chest infection. She needs to rest.’

‘Of course,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘We will not disturb you for very much longer.’

Heinz Vogl picked up one of his wife’s sketchbooks.

‘You have been working, my dear.’ The tone of his voice carried a gentle censure.

‘I was bored,’ Kristina replied.

The physician shook his head and sighed.

‘Were you acquainted with Fräulein Wirth, Herr doctor?’ Rheinhardt asked.

‘Yes, I met her once. Kristina wanted me to examine her — to give an opinion. I’m not really a leg man, so I arranged for her to see a colleague, Alvintzi. I met her briefly at the hospital.’

‘What was wrong with Fräulein Wirth?’

‘It was difficult to establish. Alvintzi wasn’t sure whether it was a muscular or orthopaedic problem.’

‘Frau Vogl must take great care,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘The man she saw outside Fräulein Wirth’s—’

‘What man?’ Vogl cut in. He looked from Rheinhardt to his wife. ‘You saw a man?’

‘Hush now,’ said Kristina.

‘You didn’t say.’

‘It was nothing.’ She made an appeasing gesture. ‘Really, Heinz …’

‘With the greatest respect, Frau Vogl’ said Rheinhardt, ‘I would not describe the observation of a man waiting outside Fräulein Wirth’s apartment on the evening of her murder as
nothing
— particularly since he also saw you. If he was the murderer, then you may be in great danger.’

‘My dear,’ said Heinz Vogl, brushing a strand of hair from his wife’s face. ‘What did you see?’

‘A man … in the courtyard. I thought nothing of it. He could have been anybody.’

‘Frau Vogl,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘You cannot be complacent about such things.’

‘It’s just as well you haven’t been out,’ said Vogl to his wife.

‘I intend to be at the salon tomorrow morning,’ she replied tartly.

‘But you are unwell.’

‘I am feeling much better today.’ A trace of irritation had entered Kristina’s voice.

‘My wife,’ said Vogl, a little exasperated, ‘is a dress designer of some reputation.’

‘Indeed,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘Frau Rheinhardt is a great admirer of Frau Vogl’s creations.’

‘Ashputtel,’ said Liebermann. All eyes fastened on the young
doctor — the flow of conversation was halted by his exclamation. ‘These lithographs,’ he continued. ‘They tell the story of Ashputtel.’