Anne Perry - Funeral in Blue

“I’m sorry,” Josef said rather formally. “I must write to him. It is good of you to have told us.” He made no remark of surprise that Kristian had not told them himself. The omission gave Monk a feeling of unease. In his mind’s eye, he saw Hester’s turmoil of distress over Charles’s pain, and it gave him a sharp sense of loneliness for Hester. He thought of his own sister, Beth, in Northumberland, and how seldom he wrote to her. He was the one who had broken the bond, first by leaving the north, then by answering her letters only perfunctorily, giving nothing of himself but bare facts, no feelings, no sharing of laughter or pain, none of the details that make a picture of life. He had done it for so long that Beth wrote only at Christmas and birthdays now, like someone who has had the door closed in her face too often.

The conversation seemed to have died. They assumed he had called merely to inform them of Elissa’s death. In a moment they would politely wish him good-bye. He must say more, just to jolt them into reaction. “It is not so simple as that,” he said a trifle abruptly. “Mrs. Beck was murdered, and the police have arrested Kristian.”

That certainly provoked all the emotional reaction he could have wished. Magda buckled at the knees and sank onto the sofa behind her, gasping for breath. Josef went absolutely white and swayed on his feet, ignoring his wife.

“God in heaven!” he said sharply. “This is terrible!”

“Poor Kristian,” Magda whispered, pressing her hands up to her face. “Do you know what happened?”

“No,” Monk replied with less than the truth. “I think the beginning of it, and perhaps even the end, may be here in Vienna.”

Josef jerked up his head. “Here? But Elissa was English, and they both lived there since ’49. Why should it be here? That makes no sense at all.”

Magda looked at Monk. “But Kristian didn’t do it, did he!” It was an exclamation, almost a challenge. “I know he is very passionate about things, but fighting at the barricades, even killing people-strangers. . for the cause of greater freedom. . is quite different from murdering someone you know. I can’t say we ever understood Kristian. He was always. .” She gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. “I’m not sure how to explain it without giving a false impression. He made quick decisions, he knew his own mind; he was a natural leader, and other men looked to him because he never never showed his fear.”

“He was hotheaded,” Josef said simply, looking at Monk, not at Magda. “He didn’t always listen to reason, and he had no patience. But what my wife is trying to say is that he was a good man. The things he did which were violent were for ideals, not out of anger or desire for himself. If he killed Elissa, then there was a cause for it, one which would surely act as mitigation. I assume that is what you are looking for, although I doubt it is actually here in Vienna. It is all too long ago. Whatever occurred here is long since resolved, or forgotten.” He was looking at Monk and did not notice the shadow pass across Magda’s face.

“Did you know a man named Max Niemann?” Monk asked them both.

“I’ve heard of him, of course,” Josef replied. “He was very active in the uprisings, but I believe he has made a good life for himself since then. There were reprisals, naturally, but not long, drawn-out reprisals. Niemann survived quite well. It was wise of Kristian to have left Austria, and certainly for his wife to have. She became. .” He hesitated. “She was quite famous among a certain group. But all the same, I don’t find it easy to imagine that someone held on to a hunger for revenge for her part in the uprisings all those years, and went all the way to England to kill her.” He frowned. “I wish I could be of assistance to you, but I assure you, that really is too unlikely to waste your time with.” He made a slight gesture with his hands. “But, of course, we will do anything we can. Do you have names, anyone you wish to meet or to make enquiries about? I know several people in government and in the police who would assist, if I asked them. It might be wiser not to mention that Kristian himself is suspected.”

“It would be helpful to hear other stories of his part in the uprising,” Monk said, trying to keep the confusion and disappointment out of his voice. “Even other opinions of Kristian himself.”

“You want witnesses for his character?” Magda asked quickly. She glanced up at Josef, then back at Monk. “I’m sure Father Geissner would be willing to do that, even to travel to London, if that would help.”

“Father Geissner?” For a moment Monk was lost.

“Our priest,” she explained. “He is very highly regarded, even though he supported the uprisings, and actually ministered to the wounded at the barricades. He would be the best advocate I can think of, and-”

“Absolutely!” Josef agreed instantly and with enthusiasm. “Well done, my dear. I don’t know why I didn’t think of him. I shall introduce you-tomorrow, if you wish?”

“Thank you.” Monk grasped the unlikely thought immediately. Perhaps the priest would give him a clearer picture of Niemann. He might have observed subtler emotions than the rather colorful stories that had grown up in the thirteen intervening years, mostly of the acts of courage and loyalty or betrayal, death and the closing in of the old oppressions again. The human jealousies or wounds were lost in the political needs.

“We must see him anyway, to have a mass said for Elissa’s soul,” Magda added, making the sign of the cross.

Josef hastily did the same, and bowed his head for a moment.

Monk was taken by surprise. He had not realized that Kristian was Catholic. It was another dimension he had not considered. For that matter, he did not know what his own religious background was. What had his parents believed? He had no memory whatever of having gone to church as a child. But then he had only the barest snatches of anything at all from that part of his life. It was all gone, as if dreamed long ago. Surely if faith was worth anything it should inform a person’s entire life. It should be the rock upon which everything was built, guide all moral decision, and in time of distress give the comfort to sustain, to heal, to give meaning to conflict and make tragedy bearable.

He looked again at Magda Beck’s round, serious face, and saw a flicker of some inner certainty in it, or at least the knowledge of where to reach for it.

When he got home he must make sure that Kristian had a priest to visit him as often as he wished and it was allowed.

“Thank you very much,” he said with more confidence. “I should like very much to speak with Father Geissner.”

“Of course.” Josef looked happier. He had been able to do something to help.

Monk was about to ask where and when they should meet, and then take his leave, when the footman came to announce the arrival of Herr and Frau von Arpels, and Josef told him to show them in.

Von Arpels was slender, with wispy fair hair and a lean, rather sharp face. His wife was plain, but when she spoke her voice was surprisingly attractive, very low and a little husky.

Introductions were made, and Josef immediately told them of Elissa’s death, although not the cause of it. Suitable distress was expressed, and both of them offered to pray for her soul and to attend mass for her.

Von Arpels turned to Monk. “Are you staying in Vienna long, Herr Monk? There are many sights for you to see. Have you been to the opera yet? Or the concert hall? There is an excellent season of Beethoven and Mozart. Or a cruise on the river, perhaps? Although it is a little late for that. Too cold by far. The wind comes from the east and can be rather biting at this time of year.”