Frank Tallis - Deadly Communion

‘Possibly,’ said Rheinhardt.

Kristina raised a trembling hand to her temple.

‘Oh, this is dreadful. Quite dreadful. Are you sure, inspector? Are you sure it was not Sprenger?’

Rheinhardt nodded solemnly.

‘Frau Vogl, we are very much in need of your help. Think very carefully. Did Fraulein Wirth give you any reason to worry about her safety? Did she say anything that might be pertinent?’

Kristina looked from Rheinhardt to Liebermann — and back again.

‘Yes.’ The word was tentative, experimental. ‘Yes, she may have …’

Rheinhardt took out his notebook and pencil.

‘Please …’

‘Selma despised the landlord’s agent.’

‘Shevchenko?’

‘Was that his name? I only knew him as the landlord’s agent.’

‘Why did she despise him?’

‘She said he was ill-mannered — uncouth — an animal — and…’ Kristina touched her colourful brooch as if the stones were magical and might endow her with the strength to continue. ‘I think he once presented her with an obscene proposition.’

‘I am afraid you must be specific, Frau Vogl.’

‘He offered to cancel her debt, if she …’

‘Submitted to him,’ Rheinhardt offered helpfully.

‘Yes. If she submitted to him.’

‘I see.’

Rheinhardt made a few notes.

‘Frau Vogl,’ said Liebermann. ‘You say that you think Shevchenko made an obscene proposition. Why think? Surely, if Fraulein Wirth told you this, it is not speculative.’

‘I’m sorry … The agent did make such a proposition. Yes.’

‘Selma told you this?’ asked Rheinhardt.

‘Yes. She did.’

The inspector bit the end of his pencil: ‘Frau Vogl. Why did you not mention this before?’

‘It had slipped my mind. You must understand — this conversation — we had it almost a year ago. And Selma never referred to it again. I naturally assumed that after Selma had refused him the landlord’s agent had refrained from making further advances. Nor did I imagine that Shev — … Shev — …’

‘Shevchenko,’ said Rheinhardt.

‘That Shevchenko would perhaps — one day — force himself upon her. If I had thought such a thing I would have demanded she leave the apartment — whatever she said, however she objected — and made appropriate provision.’

Rheinhardt looked up from his notebook. Liebermann sighed as he saw the flame of admiration reignite behind his friend’s melancholy eyes.

They found a coffee house close to the cathedral.

‘I’m going to telephone Haussmann,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘I’ll get him to locate Shevchenko and call me back here if he has any success.’

Rheinhardt went to find the telephone booth and on his return Liebermann saw his friend talking to the head waiter. A few coins changed hands and the waiter bowed obsequiously.

‘Ah,’ said Rheinhardt, delighted to see that their order had arrived. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this.’ He sipped his Turkische and cut through the plum flan with the edge of his fork. It was a generous portion: a slab of moist pastry, covered in crescents of purple fruit and sprinkled with icing sugar. He chewed slowly to prolong his first moments of pleasure. ‘Excellent. What did you order?’ He looked at Liebermann’s nondescript white wedge.

‘Cheesecake,’ said Liebermann.

Rheinhardt shrugged, took another sip of his coffee and resumed eating. When he had consumed roughly half of his flan he remembered his companion and said: ‘Well. What did you think?’

Liebermann stirred his Schwarzer and stared into his cup as if the answer he should give was written on the spiral of light brown froth.

‘Something isn’t right.’

Rheinhardt stopped chewing.

‘You thought she was, what? Lying?’

Liebermann put down his spoon.

‘From the moment she saw you, she seemed anxious to disarm you. She offered her hand, flattered you, and smiled like a coquette.’

‘Perhaps she saw in my person an admirable figure of manhood — and was unable to contain herself.’

Rheinhardt smiled into Liebermann’s surly visage.

The young doctor considered his friend’s remark and proceeded as if it had never been made.

‘She said that Selma Wirth had looked different and was about to say that Wirth had bought a new dress; then, on remembering that Wirth was in no position to make such a purchase she changed her mind and opted for an innocuous comment concerning the woman’s grooming habits.’

‘You are not a psychic, Max. That is pure supposition.’

‘She seemed bemused when you first mentiond the man with the bowler hat, and I strongly suspect that this was because she had only the faintest recollection of having claimed to have seen him. When you announced that Wirth’s killer was still at large, her reaction was most interesting: she was more concerned about how you had come to that conclusion than her own safety: and when you pressed her for more information concerning Fraulein Wirth’s circumstances, she seemed to pluck the Shevchenko incident out of the air. The way she was speaking sounded to me like … like an improvisation. Particularly when she pretended that she couldn’t remember his name. In fact, she has a very good memory for names.’ Liebermann picked up his fork but the utensil halted before reaching its destination. ‘Frau Vogl said that Wirth had told her about Shevchenko’s proposition almost a year ago — without the slightest hesitation. Most people, when recalling an event in the past, pause or slow down so that they can calculate the time that has elapsed. The absence of a pause suggests that no calculation was necessary.’

‘Which means?’

‘Contrary to appearances, she had already given the matter of Shevchenko’s indecent proposal much consideration, or …’

‘What?’

‘She was making it all up.’

Rheinhardt pushed the remains of his plum flan around the edge of his plate.

‘You know, Max, I am in danger of being persuaded.’

The inspector finished his cake and took some cigars from his pocket. He gave one to Liebermann, lit it, and then lit his own. Liebermann turned his head and gazed out of the window. Rheinhardt wanted to ask his friend what he was thinking but knew there would be little point. The young doctor had retreated into himself.

If Rheinhardt had asked the question and Liebermann had responded candidly, the answer would have taken Rheinhardt by surprise. Indeed, it would have shocked him. For at that precise moment Liebermann was thinking of Miss Lydgate inserting her fingers into Bathild Babel’s sex. This image — which had previously disturbed Liebermann — was suddenly no longer prurient, but expressive of certain possibilities …

They smoked their cigars in silence and passed the next hour in desultory conversation. The only topic which moved them to fluency was the music of Karl Goldmark — in particular, the early songs, and his opera Die Konigin von Saba. In due course the head waiter came to their table. He bowed low and said: ‘Inspector, your assistant is on the telephone.’

Shevchenko’s office was in a room above a piano shop which seemed to attract a very accomplished clientele. Bursts of Beethoven — played with great power and ferocity — rose up through the floorboards. The music created a curious tension in Liebermann’s fingers. They began to twitch sympathetically. It was as if the spirit of Beethoven’s violent genius had stormed his brain and taken possession of his nervous system. Liebermann locked his hands together, fearing that he might be compelled to shadow the presto agitato of the C sharp minor Sonata on an imaginary keyboard.