Morley Torgov - The Mastersinger from Minsk

“I know it’s none of my business,” I replied, “but how can a cellist — even a successful cellist like you — afford the rates here? You must have a patron back in Düsseldorf. Come clean, Helena; who is subsidizing this lavish lifestyle of yours?”

Her voice low and resonant like the low notes of her instrument, Helena said, “I have a lover in Düsseldorf, Hermann. I perform for him privately. He lies back in his bed and sighs with satisfaction every time I embrace my cello, and when I begin to play, no matter what the piece, he closes his eyes and lies there with the sweetest smile on his sweet face. Alas, Hermann, you will never know what it is to be adored, but I must tell you it is a sublime experience.”

“And does this sweet man know about you and me?” I removed Helena’s arms from around my neck. “Or are you playing a cello with eight strings, so to speak?”

I thought the coldness in my voice would take Helena aback, but instead she threw her arms around my neck again. “He is eighty-three years old, Hermann, bedridden, probably dying — ”

“But rich, eh? And who is this angel of yours, may I ask?”

“An old friend of yours, Hermann. In fact, more than a friend; a man who did much to advance your career when you were a member of the Düsseldorf Police.”

“You don’t mean — ?”

Helena sat up in bed, a hint of triumph in her smile. “The Baron himself. Baron von Hoffman.” She fingered a slender gold chain that encircled her neck, smiling even more broadly at me, awaiting my next question, knowing what it would be.

“From him? From your eighty-three-year-old lover?”

“And more, darling. Much more. A chest full, in fact.”

“The baroness … how does she view all this?”

“From the grave, I suppose. She passed on not long after you left Düsseldorf for Munich. They had no children, you know.”

“So you’re the daughter the Baron always wanted. How convenient. The recital you’re giving tomorrow night at the concert hall … I understand it’s sold out, but even your fee can’t possibly cover the bill here. Let me guess, Helena: the Baron showers you with his wife’s jewels; you then sell them to — ”

“To another old friend of yours in Düsseldorf.”

“Not that scoundrel Thüringer! Please, Helena, tell me it’s not true.”

“The old bastard drives a hard bargain but so do I, Hermann. The pattern is always the same. I take a piece of jewellery to his shop. He starts off by offering me half of what I know it’s worth. We fence back and forth and then I move in for the kill. I remind him that you managed to keep him out of prison for years even though you were aware he was more often than not selling stolen goods from his shop.”

“That’s not quite fair, Helena. After all, Thüringer did fulfill a useful role. He was my most reliable informant. I’ve lost count of the number of thieves and fraud artists I was able to apprehend thanks to Thüringer’s eyes and ears.”

“Nevertheless, he knows that I know enough about him that one word from me to the right person at the Düsseldorf Constabulary and he’d be behind bars dining on bread and water for the rest of his days.”

I sat up in bed now and held Helena by the shoulders. “My God, Helena, what happened to the sweet innocent young cellist I found so enchanting back in Düsseldorf?”

“The sweet innocent young cellist made the mistake of falling in love with a certain police inspector. Or have you forgotten that fact, Hermann? Whenever I so much as whispered the first syllable of the word ‘marriage’ you fled to the other side of the planet. And you still do. Sweetness and innocence and youth have a tendency to disappear when that kind of rejection occurs often enough. So yes, you’re absolutely right, my dear. The woman you are holding so firmly has become a tough old bird.”

“But a beautiful tough old bird.”

Helena pulled away from me. She sat eyeing me suspiciously for a moment or two. “All right, Hermann, out with it. What is it you want?”

I tried very hard to appear insulted. “Me? What do I want? I was only — ”

“You were only flattering me. Don’t try to fool me, Hermann Preiss. I know you better than you know yourself. ‘Beautiful old bird’ indeed. I’ve never yet received a compliment from you that didn’t have some slime-covered motive attached to it. Out with it, Hermann!”

“You are absolutely right,” I confessed. “You do know me better than I know myself. Beauty, brains, intuition, you have them all, Helena. Which is why I need your help.”

Helena shook her head, looking at me more in sorrow than anger. “Just as I thought. Please tell me it isn’t about that Schumann business back in Düsseldorf. Don’t tell me that case has come back to haunt us.”

“No, Helena, it’s over and done with as far as I’m concerned. But I’ve got myself involved with another bunch of musicians, here in Munich this time. Does the name Richard Wagner ring a bell?”

Helena said, “You must be pulling my leg, Hermann. Of course the name Richard Wagner rings a bell. Rings a lot of bells, in fact. Let me guess: in addition to the many crimes he’s been accused of, he has now murdered somebody. How delicious! Who, Hermann? Who’s the victim? One of his lovers? An unpaid creditor? Wait, I know who: a soprano, one of the many young virgins Wagner ravages before hiring them.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, “but this is one of the rare times when your intuition fails you. Fact is, somebody has issued a threat against Wagner, a rather vague threat but one which must be taken seriously.”

I followed this with a complete account of my involvement thus far in the Wagner case, including my introduction to Henryk Schramm, Karla Steilmann, and Sandor Lantos. I explained as well my dilemma, my duty on one hand to carry out the orders of the commissioner and mayor, and my obligations on the other hand to seek out and apprehend whoever had issued the threatening note.

When I’d finished, Helena frowned. “It’s all fascinating, Hermann, but I’ve never met any of these people. Except for Wagner, of course, I know nothing about any of them. So why would you want my help?”

“After your recital tomorrow evening, I’ve arranged for a small dinner party at a favourite restaurant of mine, Maison España — ”

Helena clapped her hands. “Wonderful! I love Spanish food!”

“Sorry to disappoint you again, dearest, but Maison España is about as Spanish as Johann Sebastian Bach. The proprietor’s name is Ziggy Bolliger, a charming fake if ever there was one, but in fairness his schnitzels are the finest in Europe. Now then, Helena, I have to be honest with you. This is not intended to be purely a culinary treat. You see, I’ve invited two singers who have the leading roles in Die Meistersinger , the tenor Henryk Schramm and the soprano Karla Steilmann. I need your special feminine insights about these two after you’ve had an opportunity to spend some time with them, even if it’s only over dinner.”

“Why?” Helena wanted to know, frowning again. “Surely you don’t suspect them? ”

I replied as patiently as I could, “Helena, darling, how many times must I tell you? A detective suspects every body.”

“You mean even I could be a suspect?”

“I mean even my own mother could be a suspect.”

“Your mother has been dead for years, Hermann.”

“That’s entirely beside the point.”

“Be serious, Hermann. What am I supposed to be discerning during this late supper you’ve arranged? I’m always famished after a recital. I hope I can at least dine on your friend’s famous schnitzel before I have to go to work, so to speak.”