J. Jones - The Third Place

Gross was taken aback by the question. ‘What?’

‘Who stole the vials. It sounds like the work of an anarchist.’

‘We’ll know that when we find our man. So breathing in the infection from those who have it, you say. Can it be atomized?’

The doctor clasped his hands together. ‘I don’t see why not. Somehow sprayed. Yes, that is a distinct possibility.’

Meanwhile, Werthen was meeting at Inspector Drechsler’s office.

‘We got word of it this morning. What were you thinking of?’ Drechsler was enjoying this.

‘He was there. Or he had been. There’s no doubt of that.’

‘And there was also no evidence of it, Advokat.’

‘His suitcase.’

‘Somebody’s suitcase. A distant cousin, according to this Dumbroski.’

‘Orzov is her real name. Lisette Orzov.’

‘Says your archduke.’

‘No.’ Werthen felt his anger rising. ‘Says our archduke and future emperor.’

But anger was unhelpful. ‘Now what we need to be doing instead of trading barbs is getting this description out as widely as possible. Hotels, pensions, restaurants. Anywhere a man with no place to call his own might be found.’

Drechsler looked at the sheet of paper Werthen had handed him earlier, reading the description again.

He looked up at Werthen. ‘The only thing distinctive is the little fingers. Otherwise, he could be anybody. It would help if there was a picture.’

Werthen shook his head. ‘We don’t have one.’

‘I’m still not convinced that this Klavan is out to kill the emperor. Everything you tell me is circumstantial – or worse, assumptions.’

‘Nothing circumstantial about him being a killer. You know that. You investigated the murder of that young woman when Klavan was last in Vienna.’

‘You’ve got to be some kind of animal to snip off the finger like that. Like it’s a memento.’

‘A prize, more like,’ Werthen said. ‘So it doesn’t really matter why we capture him, does it? For the murders he committed last time he was in Vienna, or for plans to assassinate the emperor. He’s a mad dog. Mad dogs need to be put down.’

Drechsler looked at the description once again as if he could gain some insight to Klavan.

‘Well, there’s one good thing about that fiasco last night,’ the detective finally said.

‘What’s that?’

‘He knows you’re coming for him. It’s not just his game anymore. Somebody else is playing. Sometimes that makes a man nervous; forces him to make a mistake.’

The telephone rang three times before Berthe was able to dislodge herself from a Frieda hug and answer it.

‘Werthen residence,’ she answered, and wondered for the hundredth time why she did not include her name in that salutation.

‘I am trying to reach a Frau Meisner. Is this the correct number?’

It was a man’s voice, low and with the tone of authority to it.

‘Yes, this is Frau Meisner. How may I help you?’

‘Good afternoon. I hope I am not disturbing you, but Prince Montenuovo indicated you desired to speak with me. This is Oberstabelmeister Johann Czerny. May I inquire what this is in reference to?’

‘Yes, of course. I would very much like to talk to you about your old friend, Herr Andric.’

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then: ‘Andric? No, I can’t say as I- Wait. You mean Herr Karl Andric. Sorry. Because of his work he always referred to himself as Herr Karl. Sorely missed. A good man.’

‘So you do know of his passing?’

‘Yes, yes. I was able to take time away from my duties at the Hofburg to attend his burial. How may I help you? I understand you are a private inquiries agent. But what is there to investigate? Poor Karl slipped on the ice and cracked his head.’

‘It is not quite that simple, Herr Oberstabelmeister …’

‘Herr Czerny will suffice. How is it not simple?’

‘The police are now treating Herr Karl’s death as a murder. One of a string of murders, in fact.’

An extended silence from his end this time.

Finally Berthe said, ‘Herr Czerny?’

‘Yes, I am still here. It’s a bit of a shock though. Who would want to kill Karl?’

‘That is what I am trying to find out, as well. May I come and talk with you?’

‘Of course. Could you be here in half an hour? This is an extremely busy time for me what with the ceremony tomorrow, but I will make time. Though I doubt there is anything I can tell you.’

‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there.’

Frau Blatschky was only too happy to sit with Frieda, and Berthe hailed the first fiaker she saw, even though she could easily walk to the Hofburg in under thirty minutes.

She was pleased to see the same officious clerk on duty at the Oberstabelmeister’s Bureau; even more pleased when she told him she had an appointment with Herr Czerny. He reluctantly showed her into the man’s office.

Berthe was surprised to meet Herr Czerny. From his voice on the phone, so commanding, she had pictured him as a large, florid man who might take his eating seriously. But now she discovered he was a man of medium height and slight build. He seated her in a comfortable leather chair across from him and then took his place in his own chair.

‘As I said on the telephone, Frau Meisner, I am not sure how I can be of help to you. This is rather a shock. Poor, dear Karl. It is as if I must mourn him all over again.’

‘You saw one another regularly?’

‘Oh, yes. We met for a weekly game of chess at one cafe or the other, but never the Cafe Burg. On his day off, Karl said he deserved a respite from the Burg.’

‘And did he seem different of late?’

‘Different?’

‘Out of sorts. Or as if something was troubling him.’

‘Not really. Though I did receive an urgent telephone message from him just before he died. He told me that he needed to talk with me. We set a time for him to come here the next day.’ Czerny sniffed a tear back. ‘I am sorry, Frau Meisner.’

‘That’s quite all right. He was your life-long friend, after all.’

‘Yes.’ He applied a silk handkerchief to his eyes. ‘Well, he never showed up for the appointment. He died … was murdered you now tell me … the night before. How terrible to think of him with the back of his head smashed in.’

Berthe paused a moment at this comment, then asked, ‘Did he have any enemies?’

‘Enemies? Karl? Everyone loved Herr Karl. He was an institution as head waiter.’

‘Did he mention a man named Klavan? Or perhaps Wenno?’

Czerny twisted his mouth as if tasting the names. ‘Can’t say I ever heard of either. Were they customers?’

‘Perhaps. Herr Czerny, I need to mention something about your friend, something that does not put him in the best light. I am not trying to be offensive nor to slander his name, but this may be germane to the investigation of his killing.’

‘I can’t imagine anything that Karl might have done to put him in a bad light. He was as honest as the day is long.’

She took a moment to explain Herr Karl’s little system of bribery and kickbacks, not making eye contact with Czerny as she spoke.

When she finished, Czerny chuckled. ‘The old devil. How Viennese of him. How very Viennese. But you can hardly imagine somebody would murder him for such paltry sums, can you?’

‘I thought I should mention it in case you knew more about it.’

‘No, nothing. Funny, you think you know a fellow …’

They spoke for several more minutes about the friendship between the two men, their rise from humble origins, the fact that they had both remained bachelors, their deep enjoyment of the weekly chess match. But there was nothing to be discovered.

Czerny glanced at the clock on the wall meaningfully.