Frank Tallis - Deadly Communion

Erstweiler sighed and twisted his hospital gown in his hand until it bit into his skin like a tourniquet.

‘He was always talking about honour — doing what was right. He always saw faults in others, never in himself.’

‘Did you ever disobey your father?’ Liebermann asked.

‘No. Well, not in his lifetime, anyway.’

Liebermann leaned forward: ‘I’m sorry?’

‘He judged thieves harshly. He said that they should have their hands cut off.’

‘You stole something?’

Erstweiler nodded.

‘What?’ asked Liebermann.

‘A trivial thing.’

‘Yes, but what was it?’ Liebermann pressed.

‘Actually …’ Erstweiler hesitated before saying, ‘It was a kimono for Frau Milena.’

How strange, thought Liebermann, that this disclosure should be connected with reminiscences of his father.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I felt sorry for her. Kolinsky never buys her anything. He is a miser. Her wardrobe was pitiful … rags. I received a delivery of silk kimonos at Winkler’s warehouse — a large delivery of thirty garments. It’s my job to register the stock. I marked one missing and took it home.’ Erstweiler shrugged. ‘Was that so wrong?’

‘Your father would have said so.’

Erstweiler released his hospital gown, allowing the blood to flow back into his fingers.

‘I’ve had enough today.’

‘Did Frau Milena like your gift?’

‘Yes. She looked … She loved it.’

Liebermann noted the slip.

‘Herr doctor … I’m feeling tired. Can we stop now?’

‘Have you had any more dreams?’

‘None that I can remember.’

Liebermann made some quick notes.

Spire — beanstalk. Ogre — father. Frau Milena — goose.

Hand cut off — punishment for masturbation? Desire?

Sophocles.

I’ve always doubted it. But perhaps Prof. F is right!

‘The English fairy-story dream.’

‘What about it?’

‘Have you had any similar dreams since we last spoke?’

‘No. Herr doctor? Can we finish? I really am very tired.’

Liebermann and Rheinhardt were seated in Cafe Eiles. They had already finished their bauernschnatterer — a pork-and-bean stew, seasoned with pepper and chives — and were now studying the pastry menu.

‘The palatschinken,’ said Rheinhardt to the waiter. ‘What are they filled with?’

‘Curd cheese,’ the waiter replied.

‘I’ll have two, then.’

The waiter turned to Liebermann.

‘Powidltascherln.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said the waiter. He darted off, narrowly missing his colleague who was travelling in the opposite direction. Some civil servants at an adjacent table had drunk too much wine and one of their party — a bibulous gentleman with a large red nose — started to sing a jolly song from La Belle Helene. He suddenly fell silent halfway through the second verse.

Rheinhardt was not distracted by the laughter and jibes that followed. He undid one of the buttons of his waistcoat and leaned forward: ‘It was late and Frau Lachkovics had already gone to bed. The girl heard something: footsteps. But, given her mental deficiency, I am not convinced that the poor child’s account reflects what actually happened, although it contains, I believe, a kernel of truth. It would seem that she was disturbed by the perpetrator’s arrival or departure and that there is no way of telling which; however, I think the facts of the case are more consistent with the former than the latter. Jana Lachkovics heard Griesser — let us use his nom de guerre for convenience’s sake — ascend the stairs to Wirth’s apartment, but she did not respond immediately. Enough time elapsed for Wirth and Griesser to become intimate, during which interlude Jana Lachkovics finally reached her decision to investigate. She stood on the landing and shouted “Is anyone there?” and Griesser, on hearing her call and fearing discovery, stabbed Wirth through the heart. He may have already determined (on account of Fraulein Babel’s final act of resistance) that he was going to use a dagger instead of the hatpin he had purchased at Frau Schuschnig’s … or if there was any uncertainty in his mind, I have no doubt that the sound of Jana Lachkovics’s voice resolved the matter. He subsequently chose the less complicated means of dispatch.’

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 Fraulein Wirth did not entertain gentlemen friends.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Yet Fraulein 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 Fraulein 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. ‘Fraulein 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 puree 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?’