Frank Tallis - Deadly Communion

‘Shall I wait with your patient?’

‘Yes. That would be most helpful.’

Liebermann advanced towards his visitor.

‘Herr Doctor Liebermann?’

‘Yes.’

The constable clicked his heels.

‘You are a difficult man to find, Herr doctor. I’ve been wandering around the hospital without success for some time — I got quite lost, in fact, ended up by the Fools’ Tower. There must be more passageways in here than in the Hofburg! You wouldn’t think so-’

‘Did Detective Inspector Rheinhardt send you?’ Liebermann interrupted.

The constable rolled back on his heels.

‘There has been another …’

‘Murder,’ said Liebermann, helpfully.

‘Yes,’ whispered the constable. ‘In Neubau.’

‘I am afraid I cannot come at once. I am with a patient.’

The constable took out a notebook, wrote down an address, and tore out the page. Handing it to Liebermann he said: ‘What shall I say to Inspector Rheinhardt?’

‘Tell him I’ll do my best to be there within the hour.’

The constable bowed, moved as if to depart, then stopped and asked: ‘I’m sorry, Herr doctor, but … how do I get out?’

‘Proceed down this corridor, turn left at the end, descend the first staircase, turn left again — then right — then left again.’

The constable repeated Liebermann’s instructions, bowed once again, then took his leave, attracting curious glances from two nurses pushing men in wheelchairs.

When Liebermann entered the shabby parlour he experienced a jolt of surprise. Firstly, he had wrongly assumed that he would discover the body in the bedroom and secondly, he had not expected to see any blood. The sight of so much made him hesitate.

Rheinhardt was standing by a chest of drawers. He had obviously been examining the contents, removing papers and documents that were now piled between two iron candelabra. The inspector gestured towards the dead woman, his hand moving uselessly in the air beside him.

The parlour was situated on the second floor of an eighteenth-century apartment building. It was not a large room and the few items it contained created an impression of restricted space. In addition to the chest of drawers, there were two chintz sofas, several potted plants on three-legged stands, a glass-fronted cabinet, and a stove. The glass-fronted cabinet contained some chipped porcelain figures, tarnished silverwear, and an assortment of commemorative plates featuring images of the deceased Empress Elisabeth.

A distinctive rusty taint permeated the air and caught at the back of Liebermann’s throat.

Between the two sofas, lying on the floor, was a woman in her thirties. She was wearing a simple low-cut blue dress, the bodice of which was stained almost black. The hilt of a dagger indicated the location of her heart. No part of the blade was visible. It had been pushed in deep, between her ribs and angled beneath the protective plate of her sternum. The hem of her dress had risen above a pair of scuffed boots and her white legs were spread apart, crooked slightly at the knee. Discarded on the floor beside the body was an undergarment: red silk bloomers with a trim of black lace.

Liebermann crossed the floor to the window, pulled the curtain aside and looked down into a tiny courtyard. The light was failing and the proximity of the opposite wall was claustrophobic. He noticed a walking stick resting against the windowsill.

‘Does this belong to her?’ asked Liebermann.

‘Yes,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘She had a bad leg.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Her name is Selma Wirth. She was discovered by the landlord’s agent — a Ruthenian gentleman called Shevchenko — around five o’clock. Fraulein Wirth owed three months’ rent and Shevchenko had come to collect it.’

‘Was the door open when he arrived?’

‘No. The door was closed; however, it had not been locked.’

Liebermann let go of the curtain and his attention was drawn back to the corpse.

‘What did she do for a living?’

‘She was a laundry worker.’ Rheinhardt lit a cigarette and dropped the blackened matchstick into a cracked glass ashtray. ‘The undergarment seems to have been removed before she lay on the floor.’

‘I wonder why she chose to receive her guest here, rather than in the bedroom? I presume there is a bedroom?’

‘Yes, it’s the next door along.’ Rheinhardt waved his cigarette towards the corridor. ‘One must suppose that Fraulein Wirth and her companion were so overcome that in the heat of the moment comfort was not a consideration.’

‘Are you sure she was … taken?’

‘It certainly looks like it.’

Liebermann knelt on the floor, lifted the woman’s skirt, and shook it to displace the trapped air. He sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and shook his head.

‘I can’t tell. I don’t possess Professor Mathias’s nose for such things.’

‘What do you make of the dagger? Was Fraulein Wirth killed by the same fiend who killed Adele Zeiler and Bathild Babel, or did someone else do this?’

Liebermann stood up.

‘My thoughts go back to something Professor Mathias said concerning the hatpin used to kill Bathild Babel. You will recall that he observed a kink — near the sharp end — which suggested a failed first attempt to breach the foramen magnum. This blunder might have given Fraulein Babel an opportunity to retaliate — hence the blood discovered beneath her fingernails. Encountering resistance might have caused the perpetrator to review his modus operandi. A dagger pressed into the heart is a less elegant but more efficient means of dispatch.’

Rheinhardt took some papers from the top of the chest of drawers and placed them in his pocket.

‘I haven’t been able to find an address book, which is a shame. Babel’s proved very useful. It included the name of a man — Griesser — who gave Cafe Museum as his mailing address. He collected only one letter and hasn’t been back since. The head waiter described him as educated and smelling of carbolic. One of Babel’s admirers — Frece, an accountant — can remember her flirting with a customer in Frau Schuschnig’s establishment …’

‘Frau Schuschnig?’

‘The proprietor of the hat shop where Babel worked. Frece gave a similar description, and also remarked on the man’s hospital smell. That cannot be a coincidence. One must assume that the man who called himself Griesser and the flirtatious customer were the same individual. Taken together with previous reports, a clear picture is emerging: a young gentleman, educated, well dressed, with black hair and blue or blue-grey eyes. A professional man with a knowledge of human anatomy …’

‘Frece saw this gentleman in Frau Schuschnig’s hat shop. What was he doing there?’

‘Buying a hatpin. He must have made the purchase before Fraulein Babel’s sharp fingernails forced him to reconsider his procedures.’

Liebermann acknowledged the point with a curt nod and sat down on one of the sofas. Selma Wirth’s face was deeply lined. Yet the height of her cheekbones and her well-defined chin suggested that she must have been beautiful once.

‘Did the landlord’s agent tell you anything about her history?’

‘No. He didn’t know her very well — and I haven’t been able to glean much from her documents. He advised me to speak to her neighbour, Frau Lachkovics. She lives downstairs with her daughter. Apparently Frau Lachkovics and Fraulein Wirth were good friends.’

‘She’s not in yet — Frau Lachkovics?’

Rheinhardt shook his head.

There was a knock and both men turned to see Haussmann’s head craning round the door.

‘Sir. The mortuary van has arrived.’

‘Very well — tell them to come up. Have we had a reply from Professor Mathias yet?’