J. Jones - The Third Place

Now he managed a smile at his reflection in the mirror. He was still wearing the fake glasses. He took them off quickly. He would leave them with the rest of the priest clothes in the room. The other new suit he’d purchased yesterday would help him look the part of a man from the Tyrol.

As he was finishing dressing he suddenly remembered the young girl he was holding as hostage to make the old frau do his bidding.

Leave her there to rot, he thought. He did not want to waste energy on killing her nor risk being seen going to the cellar. Neither did he have time now for revenge on the bureaucrat who had betrayed him with Postling.

He had time for something else, though: a gift for Doktor Gross.

As he was leaving his room dressed in his new clothes and freshly cleaned, his hair pomaded and parted in the middle, he passed an elderly couple in the hallway making their way to their room. They nodded at one another as they passed. The old man reminded him of someone, but Klavan could not make the connection.

At twelve thirty-two that night the night clerk at the Hotel zur Josefstadt made his way down to the wine cellar, using the special key kept behind the desk and marked ‘X’. The porter, Wilhelm Kraiczek, heard the day clerk one time comment on the X-factor knowingly with Frau Steiner, their bookkeeper. It took him another month to learn what that meant: it was their secret way of referring to the special wine cellar below stairs. Since that time, he had used it judiciously when all the clients were safely tucked in their beds.

Herr Kraiczek could not afford good wine on his salary, and so he occasionally treated himself to a bottle of Bordeaux. The hotel would never miss it.

He was just inserting the key when he heard what sounded like sobs coming from the gloom deeper in the cellar. He held the candle above his head to try and illuminate the darkness.

The sobbing grew louder, as if in response to the light. He wanted to turn around and flee back to the safety of the front desk, but something about the sobs drew him into the darkness. He was startled with a skittering in the shadows and saw a rat darting along the wall. He pushed on and then he saw a bundle of clothes crumpled on the floor. He almost dropped the candle when the lump of clothes suddenly stirred.

Then he could see the long hair and frightened eyes blinking out of the darkness at him.

Gross was just buttering his semmel the next morning in the breakfast room at his hotel when he saw Inspector Drechsler stumping down the stairs in the company of the desk man and another police officer. Drechsler noticed Gross at the same moment and looked startled at first, then shook his head, a grin on his face.

‘Fancy finding you here, Doktor Gross,’ the inspector said as he approached Gross’s table.

‘It is my usual residence when visiting Vienna,’ Gross said. ‘The surprise is to find you here.’

Drechsler rubbed his long chin. ‘Not much surprise in that. I go where crime has been committed.’

This piqued Gross’s curiosity. ‘And what crime has been committed at the staid Hotel zur Josefstadt? Perhaps someone has made off with the shoes of a guest left out in the corridor for polishing?’

A shake of Drechsler’s head. ‘Real crime, Gross. Crime that you should be interested in. A kidnapping.’ He eyed Gross closely. ‘And by a priest, no less. Or someone dressed like a priest.’

‘ Mein Gott ,’ Gross bellowed, disturbing the other guests. He could not help himself. ‘You don’t meant to say he hid the girl here?’

‘Not only that – he was staying here himself.’ Drechsler, despite the seriousness of the matter, seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘Imagine he wanted to be close to the great criminologist to find out your next move.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Well, the night clerk apparently heard sobs coming from the cellar. The girl had badly damaged her mouth managing to partially remove the tape.’

‘I don’t mean that,’ Gross said irritably. ‘I mean how can you know Klavan was staying here?’

‘The girl’s description of the man who abducted her matched that of one of the guests, a Father Hoffmann, he called himself. A clerk called the police Praesidium and we investigated this morning. Gone, of course. But he left behind his calling card. A dark jacket with blood on the left sleeve. He’d been here a couple of days, as it turns out. In room 206.’

‘Well, that is the most dastardly thing I have heard of,’ Gross sputtered. ‘Room 206 is just above my own.’

At that moment, Werthen’s parents entered the breakfast room. The father, Emile von Werthen, had an eager look on his face. He was a man who enjoyed his breakfast. Seeing Gross, his face lost a bit of glow, for he also liked eating his first meal of the day in the privacy of his wife’s company.

Frau von Werthen, on the other hand, was only too glad for some company at breakfast, and took the opportunity to approach.

‘What is so dastardly, Doktor Gross?’

Gross and Drechsler both glanced around the breakfast room. This was not the sort of conversation to be having in public. The attempted assassination at the Hofburg yesterday was, like the earlier one at Schonbrunn, being kept out of the press. No mention was made to those involved of what was actually in the atomizer.

Gross decided to redirect the conversation. ‘Might I present Inspector Drechsler?’ he said. And then to Drechsler, ‘These are Advokat Werthen’s parents.’

They made small talk for a time, discussing the advantages of proximity of this hotel to Werthen’s flat and the coming Easter holiday.

But Emile von Werthen was not to be put off. He might want privacy in the morning, but given the opportunity to reflect on the situation, he decided he enjoyed receiving insider knowledge on the workings of the criminal justice system in Vienna even more.

‘And what brings you to our hotel?’ he asked Drechsler. ‘It can’t be solely for the possibility of socializing with Doktor Gross.’

‘Emile!’ his wife said, touching his arm in reproof.

‘It’s quite all right,’ Gross said to her.

‘You mentioned room 206,’ von Werthen plunged on. ‘That is quite near our own.’

Drechsler and Gross again exchanged glances.

‘Perfectly nice chap staying there,’ von Werthen added. ‘We saw him last evening just as we were coming back to our rooms.’

‘Interesting,’ Gross said, controlling his excitement. ‘Can you describe him? A priest, was it?’

To which von Werthen laughed lowly. ‘Hardly. By the looks of him the man was from the west. Tyrol, perhaps.’

‘You’ll pardon me for asking, sir,’ Drechsler said, ‘but how could you tell that?’

‘The trachten , of course. Fellow wore a green loden jacket, leather britches and cardinal red vest. He was either from Tyrol or the Burgtheater.’

He laughed at his little joke, but neither Gross nor Drechsler joined in. Klavan had opted for a new disguise, a new persona. At least they knew he was still in Vienna, which meant that he planned to go on with his mission.

Where would he strike next?

He almost missed the note.

They left the von Werthens in the breakfast room without an explanation. Gross wanted badly to examine room 206 to see if he could find any clue overlooked by Drechsler and his men.

In the event, they reached the room just in front of two cleaning ladies who were intent on preparing it for new guests.

Drechsler looked embarrassed that there was no policeman on duty to keep out intruders. Then he protested: ‘They’ve been thorough. Noting to be found here but a bloody coat.’

Gross made no reply, waiting for the inspector to unlock the door. There was a close and stuffy odor to the room once the door was open. Gross immediately went to the curtained windows and drew back the heavy drapes. Light flooded into the room. He began methodically going through every drawer of the night stand and dressing table, examining the interior of the wardrobe, digging through the medicine chest of the bathroom. The killing business must pay well, Gross ruefully thought; he himself could only afford a room with a bath in the hall on a professor’s pay.