The Keeper of Hands (9 page)

‘How so, Doktor Gross?’ Berthe asked, with real interest.

‘Her choice of hiding place –
Joshua: 2
. I do not believe it is accidental. If you look here,’ Gross said, lifting the Bible, closing it, opening it again at random, and showing its bottom edge to Werthen and Berthe. ‘This is a relatively unused Bible. The book itself is not new, but its owner has not spent a great deal of time or study with it. That is not to say that your Fräulein Mitzi was not religious. Indeed, I think she was. Otherwise how would she have known which passage to choose? So she must have purchased this Bible during her residency at the Bower. Now, do you see how the pages, fanned out as they are, show a slight bulging at one particular spot?’

Werthen did see what Gross meant.

Turning to that bulge, Gross again came to the hiding place,
Joshua: 2
in the Old Testament

‘Almost as if it were bookmarked,’ said Berthe.

‘Precisely.’

‘I’m sorry to admit my ignorance, Gross,’ Werthen said. ‘But what exactly does
Joshua: 2
talk about?’

But Berthe answered instead. ‘It deals with the spies that the children of Israel sent into the land of Jericho, and how they were saved by the harlot Rahab
in the harlot’s house.’

Gross nodded in agreement. They sat in silence for a time.

‘Coincidence?’ said Berthe. ‘Mitzi the prostitute and Rahab the harlot?’

‘Maybe,’ Werthen suggested, ‘that’s something else we’ll find out once the note is translated.’

F
rau von Suttner arrived punctually at eleven the next morning and was now seated in the sitting room overlooking Josefstädterstrasse. The former Countess Kinsky carried herself with a regal attitude. She was dressed in a somewhat outmoded black silk gown, and she seemed as nervous as Berthe felt.

Frieda, wearing a pinafore, was standing next to her seated mother, gripping the precious stuffed bear in one arm and putting her head in Berthe’s lap and then lifting it again, playing peekaboo, auburn curls bouncing as she did so.

Meanwhile, Frau Blatschky bustled about the room getting the tea things in order. Berthe picked Frieda up, placed the girl on her lap, and then smiled at Frau von Suttner as the housekeeper fussed.

Berthe was familiar with the woman’s history. Born into an impoverished military family, the Countess took a job as governess in the von Suttner household. It was there she and the youngest son of that family, Baron Arthur Gundaccar von Suttner, fell in love. Ten years his senior and without a dowry, the Countess Kinsky, despite her title, did not seem an appropriate catch for a scion of the von Suttner family. She left the household and went to Paris, where she served as Nobel’s secretary for a short time. But the young Baron von Suttner would not be thwarted; he and the Countess eloped to the Caucasus, where they made a precarious living for a decade as writers and language teachers. It was during this time that both of them began to focus on the cause of peace.

Eventually, in 1885, the von Suttner family relented in their opposition and the couple returned to Austria, taking up residence in the Suttner family’s summer home, Harmannsdorf Castle in the Waldviertel. It was there she penned her famous books on pacifism. Berthe admired the woman for her work as much as for her fairy-tale life.

Frau Blatschky finally finished her ministrations and nodded at Berthe.

‘Go to Frau Blatschky,’ she told Frieda.

The little girl crawled off her lap. ‘Baba,’ she said.

‘Yes, come to your Baba,’ Frau Blatschky said.

Left in peace, the two women began speaking at the same time, filling the sudden vacuum.

‘Sorry,’ said Berthe, motioning for the older woman to begin.

‘I just wanted to thank you for receiving me at such short notice. Frau Mayreder speaks very highly of you and your husband.’

Rosa Mayreder – the author, painter, musician and feminist – was a Renaissance woman who was connected to many of the new movements in art and thought in Vienna. Berthe counted her among her friends, having met her through her work helping the less fortunate children of the working class gain an education.

‘How is Rosa?’ Berthe asked, for it had been months since she last saw her. Indeed, since becoming a mother, her time was no longer her own.

‘Well,’ Frau von Suttner said. ‘Very well and hard at work on a new book.’

‘As you are yourself, I assume?’ Berthe asked.

Frau von Suttner sighed. ‘Oh, yes. Always scribbling away. I’ve got to keep a roof over our heads. The problem is it’s a vast castle roof, always in need of repair.’

She laughed slightly at her own little joke, but Berthe had the feeling there was no mirth in it.

‘It must be wonderful living in the country, as you do, and devoting yourself to writing and just causes.’

‘Wouldn’t it be, though?’

‘How do you mean?’ Berthe asked.

‘May I have some tea?’

‘Oh, please excuse my manners. Of course.’ She made to serve the tea.

‘I can serve myself, that’s fine.’ And she did, pouring a cup for Berthe, as well.

‘Rosa tells me you are a sensible young woman. And a person to be trusted. I feel I must disabuse you of some notions you have of my life. Harmannsdorf Castle still belongs to my husband Arthur’s family, many of whom are continually in residence. The estate farm and its quarry have shown no profit in more years than I care to talk about. The von Suttners have been on the verge of bankruptcy for years, and it is only my literary efforts and Arthur’s that have kept the place solvent. Novels and serial stories have become my ball and chain, stealing valuable time from important work in the peace movement. To be honest, there are times when I cannot even afford to travel from the Waldviertel to Vienna.’

She set her cup down.

‘I hope I’m not shocking you.’

‘Not at all,’ Berthe said.

‘Because what I have come about is family business.’

Frau von Suttner paused as if offering Berthe a way out.

‘I work with my husband on private inquiries. Whatever you have to tell me will be in the strictest confidence.’

The other woman nodded.

‘I mentioned that there are many von Suttners in residence at the castle. One of them is my husband’s niece, Marie Louise. She came to us as an orphan at fourteen. Such a lovely young girl and so devoted to Arthur.’

Another pause.

‘I am sure you see where this is going,’ Frau von Suttner said. ‘So tawdry. Human, all too human. Marie Louise is no longer a sweet young girl. She is now a quite handsome young woman. And one of means, I might add, for she attained a contested inheritance two years ago. She continues to live with us, and continues to be the devoted companion of her Uncle Arthur. She even paid for him to visit a spa last year. I could not visit him more than once a week. The cost of the rail ticket, you see. But Marie Louise took rooms nearby to keep him company.’

She stopped speaking, shaking her head. ‘This is so embarrassing and I feel such a fool. I have devoted my life to the cause of peace and cannot even assure peace within my own family. You see, Arthur is younger than I am. A good deal younger. And Marie Louise is so vibrant, so full of life.’

‘What is it you would like my husband and me to do, Frau von Suttner?’

‘Arthur has taken to educating Marie Louise in the world of art. To that end they have been coming to Vienna quite regularly. Oh, she pays for the trips. Quite the
grande
dame
. And when they come back there is a charged atmosphere in the castle. Something unspoken, but manifest nonetheless.’

Berthe was trying to make it as easy as possible for Frau von Suttner.

‘And you would like us to follow your husband and niece when they come to Vienna? To ascertain . . .’ Berthe paused, not knowing how blunt she should be. ‘To discover where they go and what they do when in town.’

‘Precisely. I need to know. It is destroying me. Jealousy is a terrible thing.’

‘You’re looking well, Gross,’ Detective Inspector Drechsler said. They were sitting in his office in the Vienna Police Praesidium.

The pictures of Drechsler’s family, Gross noted, had changed since he was last here. Growing up all too fast.

‘Feeling fit,’ Gross responded. ‘And I assume the same of you and your good wife?’

Drechsler brightened at this comment. ‘Yes, she is doing mar-velously. Had you heard?’

Gross simply nodded at the photograph of her on the desk as a reply. Frau Drechsler was looking portly and radiant.

‘Ah, yes. Always the detective at work.’

The previous year Drechsler’s wife had badly needed an operation, which she refused to have. Gross and Werthen, while engaged in their last investigation, had been able to put her in the hands of one of Vienna’s top surgeons. With positive results.

They chatted for a time about Gross’s visit to Vienna and his coming interview for a new post in Prague. But finally Drechsler had had enough of small talk.

‘It’s clear from your good humour that you’re on a case, Gross. Are you working with Advokat Werthen again?’

Gross beamed at him. ‘You see, never too late for a dog to learn new deductive tricks, Inspector. I am not my usual bearish self; ergo I must be investigating something. Yes, the matter of the death of a prostitute in the Prater. And my good friend Werthen seems to be gaining a reputation as a private inquiries agent. I am also assisting him on a case of bodily assault.’

‘Sounds like police business to me,’ Drechsler said.

‘Well, in the case of the prostitute, our client appears to believe the police have better things to do than search for the murderer of a lowly prostitute. And in the matter of the assault, our client . . . Well, shall we say our client is hesitant to come forward for personal reasons.’

Drechsler wrinkled his nose at this. ‘Don’t sound very promising, either of them. Though I believe I know of the one case. A girl from the Bower, Frau Mutzenbacher’s establishment?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘A very popular place the Bower is. Exclusive clientele.’

‘And that exclusive clientele wish to keep their identities secret, one assumes.’

‘Besides, the girl wasn’t killed on the premises. It was in the Prater. There may very well be no connection to the Bower at all.’

‘Surely you don’t believe that, Inspector?’ Gross said.

Drechsler shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. But our friend Meindl indicated the investigation should be given low priority.’

Though elfish in size, Drechsler’s superior, Inspector Meindl, was a force to be reckoned with. He had once worked with Gross in Graz, before he moved to the Police Praesidium in Vienna. Punctilious in his efforts to secure his rise in the police force, Meindl had made a specialty of protecting people in high places.

‘The case is still open,’ Drechsler added.

‘I am sure it is, and that is why, in part, I have come to see you.’ He drew the sketch out of his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the desk.

‘We have come into possession of this likeness. A witness tells us this man was a frequent client of the unfortunate young woman.’

Drechsler picked it up, squinted at it closely, and then placed it back on the desktop.

‘That’s not going to do you much good.’

‘Why would that be, Inspector? It seems a rather good likeness.’

‘Oh, it’s a good likeness alright. Problem is the man’s dead. Food poisoning incident. It made quite a stir a few weeks ago. Ate some bad shellfish, it seems. We investigated, had to. An important man. Count Joachim von Ebersdorf, from the Foreign Office. But there was nothing to it. Just as suspected, some bad oysters.’

Gross nodded. That was why the sketch looked familiar. He had once met the Count. At the opening of Gross’s new institute at Czernowitz, von Ebersdorf had been an emissary of the government.

‘When exactly did this occur?’ Gross asked.

Drechsler exhaled, focusing on the ceiling as if the answer might lie there. ‘Must have been the first week of May. Perhaps the fourth or fifth. I would have to check.’ He paused, fixing Gross in his gaze. ‘You’re not going to try to tie these two deaths together, are you? Just because the prostitute was found on May Day and von Ebersdorf died a few days later?’

‘He was, after all, her continual client.’

‘Says who? This “witness” who made the sketch? And who would he be, another of the girl’s clients?’

Drechsler seemed to be gaining interest in the case now, but then a sudden change came over his face.

‘As I say, we are still looking into the matter. If you have evidence, you should share it with us.’

And with Inspector Meindl, Gross thought.

As Gross was about to leave, a few minutes later, Drechsler tapped a finger on his desk. ‘And this other case, Gross. Since when have you been working on a mere assault? Somebody important, I assume?’

‘Yes, he is,’ Gross said. ‘If you must know, it’s Schnitzler. The playwright. A fellow beat him senseless. Schnitzler thinks it is on account of his new play.’

‘Well, I heard it was bad, but that’s taking criticism to the extreme!’

Gross smiled at this weak attempt at humor.

T
hey conferred again over dinner. Gross was dining with Berthe and Werthen again, though he was staying at the nearby Hotel zur Josefstadt in the Langegasse, where Werthen’s parents stayed when visiting. But now, with the construction of an estate in the Vienna Woods, they would soon be part-time residents of Vienna. Werthen had tried not to think of that little complication. It only served to bring on feelings of guilt and extreme frustration. Guilt that he should feel so churlishly toward his parents; frustration that they could not let him have his own bit of turf. Werthen would much rather focus on the investigations under way.

‘So, Frau Berthe,’ said Gross, laying his fork down after finishing his second serving of Frau Blatschky’s
Backhendl,
golden and crispy fried chicken, which she always paired with parsley potatoes. ‘What of your countess?’

‘I’m afraid it’s the sort of thing you do not much care for, Karl,’ she said to her husband, ignoring Gross and his ironic tone.