Mortal Mischief (27 page)

'Theodore.'

Liebermann thought for a few moments, stubbing out his cigar before saying: 'They were aware he might seek revenge.'

'Who, Fräulein Löwenstein and Braun?'

'Yes.'

'Why do you say that?'

'When I hypnotised Rosa Sucher and she spoke in Löwenstein's voice, the name Theo was mentioned.'

'I don't remember that.'

'Yes, right at the every end. It was when her speech had become quite incoherent . . . she was saying things like,
Never, I swear
, and
God help me
. . . Among all that was the name Theo.'

'How interesting.'

'A large city must offer those who live by fraud endless possibilities for deception. Where else could one find so many willing dupes? Once Fräulein Löwenstein and Braun had squandered their ill-gotten gains, returning to Vienna might have been something of a necessity; however, by doing so they were taking a considerable risk. They had ruined Roche – and, as we all know, desperate men are dangerous. It doesn't surprise me in the least that his name should have arisen during their argument.'

Rheinhardt shook his head.

'I don't know, Max. Just because they mentioned his name . . . it doesn't mean that they were worried about him, does it? We don't even know if they were talking about the same Theo.'

'True, but it is a reasonable hypothesis. Did he strike you as a man capable of murder?'

'I fear that all men, once betrayed – particularly by a lover – are capable of murder.'

'And then there is also the tantalising issue of his current occupation: working in an armaments factory. Is it possible that he might have in his possession the means to construct a bullet with unusual, seemingly magical, properties?'

'I really don't see why a former theatre manager, simply by working in an armaments factory, should acquire more knowledge about ballistics than our police experts possess. That seems implausible to me. Also, would a guilty man really make such an admission?'

'How do you mean?'

'He said that he would have killed Charlotte Löwenstein – if only he'd had the opportunity.'

'Perhaps that was his intention, Oskar, to mislead by simulating honesty.'

'No, I don't think so. Besides, the more we find out about Braun, the more likely it seems that he is the perpetrator. Wouldn't you agree?'

Liebermann did not respond.

'It is clear that he was Fräulein Löwenstein's lover and accomplice,' continued Rheinhardt. 'And, being a stage magician, he might have had the ability to work the illusion of the murder scene – you yourself have insisted that it was an illusion.'

Still Liebermann did not respond.

'Clearly, the man has no principles.' Rheinhardt's invective became more impassioned. 'Think, for example, of how he was taking advantage of the little seamstress. It's unconscionable. He's hotheaded, and what's more, he hasn't been seen since the night Fräulein Löwenstein was murdered.'

Liebermann pinched his lower lip and grunted, without committing himself.

'What?' asked Rheinhardt, slightly annoyed at his friend's reticence.

'It still doesn't make much sense to me.'

Rheinhardt gestured, urging Liebermann to elaborate.

'We must ask ourselves what motivated Braun,' Liebermann murmured. 'What did he have to gain?'

'Money. He was happy to ruin Roche for money.'

'That's not quite the same as murder. Besides, Fräulein Löwenstein was hardly wealthy.'

'Perhaps it was something to do with the pregnancy – the children.'

'Unscrupulous individuals rarely expend energy worrying about their illegitimate offspring.'

'Perhaps he killed her on the spur of the moment – during one of their arguments?'

'Impossible. An illusion requires planning.'

'Then the motive is as yet unknown – and we'll find out when we catch him.'

'With respect, Oskar, that is no way to proceed.' After a brief pause Liebermann added: 'It lacks elegance. Wishful thinking should play no part in the process that leads to a satisfying solution.'

Rheinhardt suppressed a smile but could not refrain from raising his eyebrows. Liebermann picked up his glass and, disturbing the brandy with a swirl, inhaled the rich, full-bodied fragrance.

'And there's another thing,' he continued. 'Having gone to the trouble of devising such a brilliant illusion, why would Braun then choose to run away like a common street thief? What purpose could that serve, save to draw attention and create suspicion?'

'He had second thoughts – lost confidence in his illusion, decided that it wouldn't fool anyone after all.'

'Surely not.'

'People behave inconsistently,' said Rheinhardt. 'You of all people should appreciate that. We can't always expect to find elegant solutions.'

'Indeed,' replied Liebermann, 'but I have a firm conviction that the most elegant solutions are also the right ones. Why don't you have another cigar, Oskar?'

Before taking one from the box, Rheinhardt produced from his pocket a photograph, which he handed to Liebermann. 'Take a look at this.'

It was an image of a handsome clean-shaven man in his late twenties.

'Otto Braun?'

Rheinhardt lit his cigar, expelling several clouds of blue smoke as the tobacco kindled.

'We acquired it from a theatrical agent, the man who represented the scoundrel when he was doing his magic shows at The Danube. It's an old photograph but apparently a good likeness. I've had it reproduced and distributed to police departments all over the country.'

Liebermann examined the portrait, tilting it in the firelight.

'So, what do you make of that face, Herr Doctor? Do you see anything of interest?'

'Oskar,' said Liebermann, adopting a pained expression, 'you are asking me to engage in pseudo-science, a form of divination no better than palm-reading.'

'I thought you doctors accepted physiognomy?'

'There are many who subscribe to Lombroso's doctrine that it is possible to identify a criminal by the location of his ears or the size of his jaw; however, I have very little sympathy with that school of thought.' Liebermann turned the photograph towards Rheinhardt. 'Look at him. Can you see the stamp of our animal ancestry in his face? Atavisms? I certainly can't. In fact, I would go so far as to say that his appearance suggests the very opposite. There is something rather noble about the configuration of his lineaments. He looks more like a romantic poet – a young Schiller, perhaps – than a cheat. No, Lombroso is wrong. A criminal cannot be identified by the cast of his nose and mouth. Only the nature of his mind has any significance.'

Liebermann handed the photograph back to Rheinhardt, who glanced at it once more before shrugging and slipping it into his pocket.

'And what about the other members of the Löwenstein circle?' asked Liebermann. 'Have you found out any more about them?'

'Yes, I have,' said Rheinhardt. 'I started taking an interest in Bruckmüller after we saw him with the Mayor at the Philharmonic concert.'

'Oh?'

'I thought it rather odd, that a man who mixed with the Mayor and his friends – men concerned with the commerce and traffic of the real world – should also attend seances in Leopoldstadt.'

Liebermann turned the brandy glass in his hand and observed how the refracted light splintered into a kaleidoscope of jagged rainbows.

'There are many superstitious people in the world, Oskar.'

'True. But I can remember, even as I was interviewing him, thinking
This man isn't the right type.
The locksmith, yes. Or Záborszky – the mad Count. But Bruckmüller? No.'

'You also felt the same way about Hölderlin – the banker.'

Rheinhardt started: 'Yes, I did. However did you know that?'

'Never mind,' said Liebermann, waving his hand. 'I'm sorry, do carry on.'

'I decided to make some inquiries,' continued Rheinhardt, looking at his friend suspiciously. 'The first thing I learned was that Bruckmüller is an active member of the Christian Social Party – so, there's the Lueger connection. And the next thing I learned was that he's betrothed to Cosima von Rath.'

'The heiress?'

'Indeed. Do you know much about her?'

'Only that she is very rich and very large.'

'She is also very strange.'

'Why do you say that?'

'She is greatly interested in the occult, and believes herself to be the reincarnation of an Egyptian princess. It's no secret. In fact, her arrival at certain society functions has become something of a spectacle. One wit, I think it was Krauss, said that her entrance at a society gathering is more impressive than a production of
Aida
.'

Liebermann laughed.

'I should get
Die Fackel
more often. He's a great wit, Krauss, but he's so conservative when it comes to art . . .'

'This von Rath woman,' continued Rheinhardt, 'is a great patron of spiritualist organisations. Apparently it was von Rath who discovered Fräulein Löwenstein, introducing her fiancé at a later stage. Bruckmüller remained loyal to Fräulein Löwenstein's group, while von Rath continued her spiritual quest elsewhere, sampling numerous other circles and psychics – as was, and still is, her wont.'

'How do you know all this?'

'Bruckmüller told me, when I interviewed him. But, at the time, I had no idea that Cosima von Rath was his fiancée.'

Liebermann placed his glass on the table and turned to look at his friend.

'I wonder if she is a devotee of Seth?'

Rheinhardt nodded, silently savouring the implications and possibilities of such a connection.

'Anyway,' Rheinhardt continued, 'there's more to tell. Yesterday I received a note from Cosima von Rath, urging me to abandon my futile investigation. Apparently she has been in receipt of a communication from the spirit world confirming that Fräulein Löwenstein's demise was a supernatural event.'

'How very good of her to keep you informed. What else do you know about Bruckmüller?'

'Not a great deal. He's very much a self-made man – and highly ambitious. He was born the son of a provincial butcher, inherited the family business, and through hard work and some very shrewd investments managed to better himself. As you know, he is the proprietor of Bruckmüller & Co, the surgical instrument suppliers, and I believe he owns two factories.'

'And now he's marrying into one of the wealthiest families in Vienna.'

'Which, as you can imagine, has been the subject of much gossip. When old Ferdinand dies and Cosima inherits her fortune, Bruckmüller will be in a position to wield considerable political influence.'

Both men fell silent.

'You mentioned the locksmith . . .' said Liebermann. 'Have you learned any more of his history?'

'Yes, although it's all fairly inconsequential. He's a peculiar fellow, and the nature of his work inevitably arouses suspicions. But . . .'

'You still don't think he did it.'

Rheinhardt shook his head.

There was a soft knock. The double doors swung open, and Ernst stepped into the room.

'I'm sorry to trouble you, sir, but Inspector Rheinhardt's assistant is outside. He says it is a matter of some urgency.'

'You had better show him in,' said Liebermann, rising from his seat.

'Always something!' said Rheinhardt. 'I should never let them know where I'm going to be.' He stood up and walked to the fireplace where he rested an elbow on the mantelpiece. A few moments later Ernst reappeared, accompanied by Haussmann.

'Herr Doctor, Inspector Rheinhardt.' The young man bowed.

The servant discreetly excused himself and the doors closed.

'Haussmann, what is it now?' Rheinhardt was unable to conceal his irritation.

'My apologies for disturbing you sir, and the good doctor, but something's just happened that I thought you'd want to know about.'

'Well, man, what is it?'

'Otto Braun, sir. He's just presented himself at the Grosse Sperlgasse station. Gave himself up – said he'd like to help us solve the mystery.'

Rheinhardt said nothing. He drew on his cigar and threw what remained of it into the fire.

'I had to act on my own discretion, sir. I couldn't find a senior officer. I hope—' Liebermann raised his hand, indicating that he didn't need to justify himself.

'Well . . .' said Rheinhardt, puffing out his cheeks, hopelessly searching for words that might express his surprise.