J. Jones - The Third Place

Berthe felt a sigh of contentment as they drew near.

‘I hope somebody remembered to bring cards,’ Emile von Werthen said. ‘A bit of Tarock might be in order this evening.’

‘Or we could play charades,’ Frau Juliani suggested.

‘Yes, poetry charades,’ Frau von Werthen said as they marched along. ‘My first is a letter, my second I mix, my whole points direction no compass can fix.’

‘Cunning,’ Herr Meisner uttered.

Berthe focused on the problem. The first syllable made the sound of a letter. Not much help there. The second syllable formed a word that meant to mix. The whole word was a direction.

‘I’ve got it!’ Frau Juliani said. ‘Easter.’

‘Excellent,’ Frau von Werthen said.

‘I do hope someone brought cards,’ Herr von Werthen muttered, which made the others laugh.

‘What?’ he said. ‘Cards are convivial.’

Reaching he farmhouse, they saw the luggage piled on the step as arranged. Berthe unlocked the door and threw it open for light and fresh air. They had not been here since Christmas, and there was the usual musty smell of a closed house.

Herr Meisner and Herr von Werthen brought the luggage in while the three women took sheets off the furniture and opened curtains and windows on both sides of the long sitting room. In the meantime, Frieda was running about shrieking for joy. Several minutes later they were about to prepare the various rooms when there came a knock at the door. Berthe went to answer it as Herr von Werthen peered out the window.

‘Now what’s he doing here?’

Berthe had just begun to open the door when Herr von Werthen added, ‘That Tyrolean chap from the hotel.’

She immediately tried to close it, but Klavan burst in, a revolver leveled at her chest.

‘That’s no way to welcome a guest, Frau Meisner.’

They were both winded by the time they reached the water tower with its ornamental roof that made it look as if a muezzin should appear at any moment and call the Musulman to prayer. Built only a few years earlier, it already looked part of the environment, its brownish-orange brick exterior seeming to grow out of the landscape.

They stood sucking in air while Gross surveyed the place.

‘There are a thousand cubic meters of water inside there,’ the criminologist said.

More of his vast store knowledge, much of it useless. Useless, that is, Werthen thought, until a time like this.

‘He’s planning on poisoning the water supply,’ Werthen said.

Gross did not bother with a reply, but opened the gate surrounding the tower. The massive front doors were secured with a padlock of gargantuan proportions. Undeterred, he began walking around the unguarded, untended building. Of course, there would be no one in attendance: this was Easter weekend. Even the trams were idle.

The building was banded with a series of latticed windows ten feet high each. One of these in the back of the building had been shattered.

‘He’s been here already,’ Werthen said. ‘He never gave us a chance to pay his ransom.’

‘I don’t like this, Werthen.’ Gross stepped first through the window, which led to a walkway around what appeared to be a huge indoor swimming pool.

Gross looked into its depths. ‘The water supply for a quarter of the citizens of Vienna, Werthen.’

‘No.’ Werthen was not listening to Gross. Instead, his eyes focused on the rim of the tank not four feet from where they were standing.

A glass vial lay there next to a paper plug. The vial was empty.

Gross looked at these for a moment, neither he nor Werthen speaking. Gross suddenly took out a pocket handkerchief and, holding it with both hands, began unfolding the crumpled stopper.

‘What are you doing, Gross? There could still be bacilli on it.’

But the criminologist did not stop until he had it laid out flat and could see the words scrawled on it:

This has been fun, Doktor Gross. I hope you too are enjoying my little puzzle game. Feel free to keep the money yourself. But do carry on! Carry on to the third place!

‘This is a disaster,’ Montenuovo said. ‘What is to be done?’

‘Quarantine the districts the tower supplies,’ Gross said. ‘Immediately. This is no time for half measures.’

‘How can we be sure he dumped the contents of that vial into the water?’ Inspector Drechsler said. ‘Perhaps it was one he had already used for the atomizer – just a bluff.’

‘You don’t really believe that, do you, Inspector?’ Werthen asked. ‘Not after seeing what Klavan is capable of last time we went up against him.’

The tall inspector let out a sigh long enough to empty his frame.

‘A disaster,’ Montenuovo repeated. He looked incapable of action, stunned by the news.

‘Prince,’ Gross said, trying to get through to the man. ‘We have no time to waste. Delay will cost lives.’

The telephone on Montenuovo’s desk jingled to life. The prince could only stare at it as if it were a bomb about to explode.

‘Prince Montenuovo,’ Werthen said. ‘Should I answer it?’

Montenuovo sank back in his chair, waving a listless hand at the phone in assent.

Picking up the receiver, Werthen announced himself and then listened to the man on the other end.

‘Just a moment,’ he said into the speaker, then handed it to Gross. ‘It is Professor Doktor Nothnagel.’

Gross took the telephone. ‘Gross here.’

He listened for a time. Werthen could hear the excited tones of Nothnagel on the other end. Gross nodded once. ‘You are sure of this?’ More loud speaking from Nothnagel, loud enough to make Gross move the earpiece more distant from his ear. Another nod.

‘Very well, Professor. And many thanks.’

He put down the phone, looking grave.

‘What is it, Gross?’ Werthen asked.

He seemed to come out of a momentary reverie, blinking his eyes as he spoke.

‘It was Nothnagel at the General Hospital.’

‘We know that Gross. What did he say? Have there already been cases of the plague?’

‘No, not at all. Quite the contrary. In fact, the researchers inspected the two cologne atomizers and found no living bacilli. That made them curious, and after re-examining the entire batch of plague bacilli from which Klavan stole his vials, they conclude that the bacteria was no longer viable.’

‘What are you saying?’ Drechsler asked.

‘It is dead. It is harmless.’

‘So even if he dumped it …’

Gross shook his head. ‘No. It could do nothing.’

‘Well, that is tremendous news,’ Drechsler said with more volubility than he usually showed. ‘Why so glum, Gross?’

‘This is wrong. We have been playing Klavan’s game all along. He led me to the note in the hotel. Then he expected us to track Postling and discover his connection to the water tower. The note he left there proves that. This is not over.’

‘But where next?’ Werthen asked.

‘It’s in his note. The “third place.”’

They wasted the next hour scouring first the Cafe Burg and then Werthen’s cafe, the Frauenhuber. No sign of Klavan.

And then Gross did a very uncharacteristic thing. He took off his derby and swatted his thigh with it in disgust. ‘I’ve been a fool. It’s not about cafes. It’s another type of third place. Home, office and country home.’

Gross gave him a look filled with fear and pity.

‘God, no,’ Werthen cried out. ‘It can’t be.’

‘I fear it is so, Werthen. Call them quickly. Tell them to lock the doors.’

‘There is no phone,’ Werthen said. This had been a solace, that their country home would be a sanctuary from the outside world.

‘The gasthaus across the road, then.’

Another shake of the head from Werthen.