Frank Tallis - Deadly Communion

As they retraced their way down the corridor Rheinhardt was conscious of the sphinxes on their pedestals. They were close cousins of the sphinxes in the garden of the Belvedere Palace, with wings, braided hair and breastplates. He remembered the discovery of Cacilie Roster’s body, and how, overcome with despair, he had begged one of the great stone beasts for assistance. It was absurd — and he knew it. But he could not quell the conviction that his entreaty had been heard.

Sprenger’s apartment block was located on one of the side roads between the Hoher Markt and the Danube canal. On entering the building Haussmann was about to ascend the stairs when Rheinhardt restrained him. His assistant looked puzzled.

‘The concierge,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘I want to talk to the concierge first. You wait here.’

Rheinhardt found the concierge’s quarters further down the hall. A nameplate read Herr Adolf Kolowrat, Hausmeister and beneath this was an electric bell. Rheinhardt pressed it and shortly after the door was opened by a middle-aged man holding a meerschaum pipe.

‘Herr Kolowrat?’

‘Yes.’

‘Inspector Rheinhardt. Security office. May we come in?’

The concierge led Rheinhardt and Liebermann into a shabby little parlour.

‘Please take a seat, inspector.’

Rheinhardt declined. ‘I would like to ask you some questions about one of your tenants: Herr Sprenger.’

‘Herr Sprenger? Yes. First floor.’

‘Do you know if he’s in?’

‘Yes. I passed him on the stairs a few minutes ago. He’s just back from work.’

Somewhere in the building a door slammed shut. Rheinhardt and Liebermann exchanged glances.

‘Herr Kolowrat, can you remember what time Herr Sprenger returned on Sunday night?’

The concierge looked uncomfortable. Most apartment blocks in Vienna were locked by ten o’clock, obliging latecomers to wake the concierge and pay an admittance fee — the Sperrgeld. Kolowrat exhaled, producing a cloud of dense smoke, the acrid fragrance of which was not unlike burning leaves. His response to Rheinhardt’s question was hesitant: ‘Herr Sprenger returned … very late.’

‘How late?’

‘I’m not sure. I didn’t check the time. I just let him in and then went back to bed.’

‘Was it after midnight?’

‘Very probably.’

‘How was he acting?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘His behaviour … was he, for example, agitated?’

Kolowrat bit the stem of his pipe, revealing his yellow teeth.

‘No. I wouldn’t say that.’

‘Did he look dishevelled?’

‘No. He looked perfectly respectable.’

‘Does Herr Sprenger often return late?’

‘He’s a young man,’ said Kolowrat, smiling indulgently and raising his hands. ‘Yes, he often comes back after I’ve locked up. But he never returns drunk — not like some. And he’s always very respectful,’ the concierge paused before adding, ‘and generous.’

Rheinhardt lowered his chin — a curt acknowledgement that he understood Kolowrat’s meaning.

‘Where do you think Herr Sprenger goes — when he returns late?’

The concierge glanced at Liebermann.

‘Where all young men go.’

Rheinhardt adopted a more severe expression. The concierge, responding to Rheinhardt’s disapproval, took the pipe from his mouth and corrected his posture.

‘Has he ever returned with a woman?’

‘No.’

‘Has he ever mentioned a woman by name?’

‘With respect, inspector, we do not talk of such things. I let him in, we discuss the weather, he gives me ten hellers — sometimes twelve — then I go back to bed and he goes upstairs.’

Rheinhardt thanked Herr Kolowrat for his assistance and as they were leaving pressed a one-krone coin into the concierge’s palm.

‘At last,’ Rheinhardt whispered to Liebermann. ‘We have him!’

‘Well,’ Liebermann cautioned. ‘The evidence is certainly mounting. But we cannot be sure — as yet.’

‘I beg to differ,’ said Rheinhardt.

‘Policeman’s intuition?’

Rheinhardt smiled.

‘Something like that.’ Rheinhardt was not inclined to mention his desperate appeal to the Belvedere sphinx or his peculiar conviction that some nameless force was now working to their advantage. ‘You know,’ Rheinhardt continued, ‘for weeks I have been eager to confront this monster. I have thought of little else. But now the time has arrived …’ Rheinhardt abandoned the sentence and shook his head. ‘I must confess to being more than a little apprehensive.’

‘You would be a very peculiar fellow if it were otherwise, Oskar.’

They joined Haussmann and walked up the stairs to the first floor. In a metal frame screwed below the knocker of a painted door was a card on which the name Herr Markus Sprenger was written.

‘Gentlemen: are you ready?’ whispered Rheinhardt.

Liebermann and Haussmann nodded.

Rheinhardt took a deep breath, lifted the knocker, and let it fall.

Footsteps …

Time seemed to slow, intensifying expectation.

A bolt disengaged and the door swung open.

Eyes …

This was Liebermann’s first impression.

Eyes like stained glass — a dark, luminous blue. The blue of cathedral windows and lapis lazuli, made even more arresting by their appearance beneath a shock of jet-black hair. Sprenger was clean-shaven and strikingly handsome, with well-defined features that recapitulated the physical perfection of sculpture — an impression that was reinforced by the pallor of his unblemished marmoreal skin. He stood, studying his visitors with detached interest.

‘Herr Sprenger?’ said Rheinhardt.

‘Yes.’

‘I am Detective Inspector Rheinhardt.’ He produced his identification but Sprenger did not look at it. ‘This is my assistant, Haussmann, and my colleague, Herr Doctor Liebermann.’

‘You wish to speak with me?’ Sprenger sounded mildly surprised.

‘Yes.’

‘What about — may I ask?’

‘Perhaps, Herr Sprenger, it might be better if we continued this conversation in private?’

‘Yes, of course. This way, please.’

Rheinhardt and his two companions followed Sprenger down the hallway and he admitted them into a reading room. The shelves of a substantial bookcase sagged beneath the weight of a well-stocked library. Every available space in the bookcase had been used up — additional volumes had been inserted horizontally above the vertical spines of others. Some architectural prints hung on the walls and heavy half-drawn curtains created a sombre, shadowy atmosphere. There were only two places to sit.

‘Please …’ said Sprenger, gesturing towards an old chesterfield. He pulled a chair from beneath a table and offered it to Liebermann and Haussmann.

‘My associates are happy to stand,’ said Rheinhardt. Sprenger sat down in front of his portly guest. ‘We have just come from the premises of Schopp and Sons.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Where you have been employed for the past year?’

‘Indeed.’

‘You are an undertaker.’

‘That is correct.’

Rheinhardt smiled.

‘Herr Schopp speaks very highly of you.’

‘I always try to do my best.’

‘He told us that the references supplied by your previous employer were excellent.’

‘That would be Herr Hanl. He was very kind.’

‘You enjoyed working at Concordia?’

‘Very much so.’

‘Then why did you leave?’

‘The position that I took at Schopp and Sons — my present position — was a more senior post.’

‘And more remunerative, no doubt?’

‘Yes — although money was not my only consideration.’