Death and the Maiden (22 page)

‘April.’

‘I am very surprised to hear this.’

‘She did not tell you?’

‘I knew that she had other admirers, but I did not realise …’

The unthinkable prevented the mayor from continuing. Rheinhardt spoke softly, ‘You do not consider it possible that the child was …’

‘Mine? Don’t be absurd, Inspector. I would never take such a gamble.’

‘Indeed, but accidents happen.’

‘Not to me they don’t,’ said Lueger, his anger flaring. ‘Pumera!’ The door behind the mayor’s desk opened immediately and the bodyguard re-entered. He stationed himself next to the mayor’s chair, his arms folded. ‘Gentlemen, I am most perturbed by this news. I find it extraordinary that a woman who professed devotion and eagerness to marry should have been so disloyal.’

‘It is possible,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘that she conceived after your association ended.’

‘If so, then it must have been within days or weeks, which is equally disconcerting. I can only conclude that Ida’s mental problems were more serious than I had supposed. Perhaps she also suffered from some class of moral illness.’ The mayor looked at Liebermann for confirmation, but the young doctor could not support his assertion. ‘Inspector,’ continued Lueger, straightening his back and assuming a more authoritative mien. ‘If Ida Rosenkrantz was morally destitute and, as a consequence, she submitted her person to an illegal and irreligious procedure, then that is no business of mine. I know nothing about this and can offer you no further assistance. I trust that you are men of honour and will keep your promise of discretion. There is much that I must attend to this morning. Good luck with your investigation.’

‘Thank you again,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘for granting us the great privilege of a private interview. Your help is greatly appreciated.’

The mayor inclined his head but did not stand.

Pumera escorted Rheinhardt and Liebermann to the double doors.

Before the bodyguard opened them, Lueger called out, ‘Inspector?’ Rheinhardt turned. ‘How did you find out about my association with Ida Rosenkrantz?’

Rheinhardt smiled. ‘I am a man of honour, sir, and I gave my word that I would not disclose the name of my informant.’

The mayor accepted Rheinhardt’s unenlightening response with an ungracious grunting noise and Pumera ushered the policeman and his companion into the antechamber. Closing the door behind them, the bodyguard returned to his master, where he found the old man deep in thought. The mayor’s elbows were resting on the desk, his hands clasped firmly together, the strength of his grip making the knuckles pale. Suddenly aware of Pumera’s presence, Lueger looked up.

‘She was insane, Anton, quite insane.’ He reached for his cigarette box. ‘Still … they don’t know what happened. That’s the main thing.’

Rheinhardt and Liebermann crossed the Ringstrasse and walked the short distance to the Volksgarten. The inspector stopped at the gates to buy a bag of roasted pumpkin seeds before they followed a path which took them to a secluded area near the north-east perimeter. They sat on a bench and Rheinhardt encouraged his friend to taste his purchase. The young doctor took a mouthful of seeds and savoured the strong flavours: smoked salt, paprika and some other exotic ingredient that surprised the palate.

‘The vendor’s Hungarian,’ said Rheinhardt, chewing loudly. ‘I would also recommend his almonds. They taste of bonfires, liquorice and bacon.’

Liebermann brushed the salt and paprika from his hands, crossed his legs, and began to speak, ‘When we passed through the gallery of mayoral portraits, did you notice whose likeness was hanging beside Lueger’s?’ Rheinhardt shook his head. ‘It was the same woman whose
photograph was on his desk, a tough, pious
petite bourgeoise
. The familial resemblance was quite pronounced and she is almost certainly his mother. And did you see those items next to the photograph – a rosary, a small purse, and a prayer book with worn edges? We must suppose they once belonged to Frau Lueger. Now, what kind of man would immortalise his mother alongside Catejan Freiherr von Felder and Papa Zelinka? And what kind of man would treat his mother’s possessions as though they were holy relics?’

‘Ah,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘I strongly suspect you are about to talk of Greek legends and erotic instincts.’

‘What if I am?’

‘Well, I was hoping you would have something of a more practical nature to offer, something of direct relevance to the investigation.’

‘Unresolved Oedipal feelings are
directly
relevant to the investigation.’ said Liebermann. ‘The mayor has always cultivated a particular image of himself for public consumption, the bachelor king, dedicated to his work and the city. I had assumed this was politically motivated. Unmarried, he is available to the women of Vienna as an object of fantasy, an idealised husband. He wins their adulation and support more readily. This strategy has been most effective. Who else among our politicians has attracted a nickname like
beautiful Karl
! However, I now realise that another, more fundamental factor must be taken into consideration. He has never married because he is obsessed with his mother.’

‘That’s all very well,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘But—’

‘A mother’s love is a jealous love,’ Liebermann interjected, unwilling to entertain objections before his exposition was complete. ‘She resents those who seek to usurp her. Thus, no woman, no prospective spouse, can ever be good enough for her
golden boy
. One can imagine the voice of the matriarch, rising from the depths of the mayor’s unconscious,
warning him about the wily ways of temptresses, vixens and femmes fatales. He described his relationship with Rosenkrantz as a
dalliance
, which suggests toying or trifling, a minor diversion. I suspect that
all
Lueger’s relationships with women have been emotionally void, because his unresolved Oedipal feelings prevent him from forming a mature adult attachment. Now, imagine if one of these dalliances went wrong, posing a threat to his career and reputation. Imagine then how loudly the voice of his mother would resound in his head. Her shrill rhetoric, her powerful denunciation of sluts and sirens! And what would he do – what would he be willing to do, I wonder – to appease his mother, to atone?’

Rheinhardt held his hands up. ‘Dear God, Max! What are you saying? You cannot make such extravagant claims, just because the mayor has an excess of filial respect.’

‘Filial respect! He has put a portrait of his mother up alongside the great and good of Vienna. That is not respect, that is insanity!’

‘Come now, Max. You are overexcited! Let us be more considered. In my opinion, we should not be getting bogged down in too much . . . theory. There is a simple question we must answer before venturing into such treacherous territory. Was the mayor telling us the truth about the last time he saw Fräulein Rosenkrantz? If he was telling us the truth then Herr Geisler’s testimony was nonsense and I have made a grave error of judgement. Commissioner Brügel will not be happy.’

Liebermann turned and studied his friend’s face. The inspector looked anxious.

‘Lueger was lying,’ said Liebermann.

Rheinhardt sighed with relief. ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. He was evasive, wasn’t he?’

‘The first time you asked the mayor when it was that he had last seen Rosenkrantz, he acted as if he hadn’t heard the question. He seemed
distracted by reminiscences and spoke of how Rosenkrantz had wanted to marry him and how Vienna was the only bride he’d ever know. It is possible that he was simply trying to divert you from your purpose, but I am inclined to believe that these musings on marriage were in fact connected with what was discussed during the
real
final encounter – not the one he told us about which took place in the private dining room. The mayor tried to repress the episode and, as Professor Freud’s system of psychology predicts, that which was most forcefully dismissed from consciousness was that which most forcefully returned. Lueger could not stop himself from alluding to the truth, albeit indirectly. At that point he glanced at his mother’s photograph. He was trying to appease her!’

‘Did you notice,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘how quickly Pumera responded to the mayor’s call?’

‘The man was clearly waiting,’ Liebermann replied, ‘listening on the other side of the door.’

‘And he made no attempt to disguise this.’

‘The mayor certainly knew he was there, eavesdropping.’

‘Moreover,’ said Rheinhardt, squeezing the tips of his moustache, ‘the mayor was perfectly content for us to reach that conclusion.’

‘Well,’ said Liebermann, tapping his temple, ‘he was letting us know something.’

‘That he trusts his
courtiers
completely and any one of them would consider it an honour to perjure themselves on his behalf?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Which means that even if we are now wholly confident that Herr Geisler’s testimony is true, his evidence is ultimately worthless. The mayor will have a convincing alibi prepared and God knows how many witnesses ready to come to his aid.’

The two men fell silent as a cavalry officer marched past.

Rheinhardt took out his notebook and began recording his
thoughts. In due course he said, ‘What did you make of Lueger’s reaction to the news of Fräulein Rosenkrantz’s termination?’

‘He seemed genuinely shocked.’ Liebermann spotted a few grains of salt on his trousers and began flicking them off. ‘But he is an accomplished actor.’ Indicating a white façade in the distance, he added: ‘Good enough for the court theatre.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Further, the obvious narrative which suggests itself, leading from the mayor’s birthday celebrations to Rosenkrantz’s death, is much more cohesive if we assume that Lueger made Rosenkrantz pregnant – and had been informed of this.’

Rheinhardt raised his eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?
Obvious
narrative?’

Liebermann lowered his voice. ‘The mayor had allowed Rosenkrantz to believe that they would be married. How attractive that prospect must have seemed to the singer! How she must have looked forward to the day when she would bid farewell to the opera house, the gruelling rehearsals of Director Mahler and the scheming of her rivals. I suspect that, initially, Lueger himself might have found the idea quite appealing. Rosenkrantz was very popular. She was a vote winner. But the relationship soon began to deteriorate. Demands, arguments, tantrums! And the internalised voice of Frau Lueger was becoming more insistent. You can’t marry
her
, she’s not good enough! Don’t trust her! She’s a seductress, a gold-digger, a glorified shop girl! And then: disaster. Rosenkrantz fell pregnant. A lawyer by profession and renowned for his powers of oratory, Lueger made Rosenkrantz accept that it was in the best interests of all concerned if the pregnancy was terminated. It was not the right time. They had to keep up appearances. Besides, there would be many other opportunities in the future. Rosenkrantz – hysterical, highly strung, and vulnerable – agreed. But after the operation, the mayor informed her that their relationship had sadly
run its course and Rosenkrantz became seriously ill. The complications caused by the termination might have been life-threatening. During her convalescence the singer had much time in which to reflect on the sorry pass she had reached: long, sleepless, painful nights in which to incubate feelings of resentment and anger.’

Liebermann paused to remove some more grains of salt from his trousers.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Rheinhardt impatiently. ‘Go on ...’

‘They met occasionally, and Rosenkrantz did her best to win back the mayor’s heart. But it was hopeless, his heart belonged – and had always belonged – to his mother. As Rosenkrantz became more resentful, she also became more desperate. On Monday the seventh of September she telephoned the mayor and insisted that he come to her house in Hietzing. It was foggy, and he refused. She then issued a threat.’

‘What kind of threat?’

‘She would create a scandal, ruin his election prospects. She would tell the newspapers about the termination or show them some incriminating correspondence.’

‘If she had done that, she would have also ruined her own career.’

‘We are talking here about a woman who had significant psychological problems. She wasn’t thinking rationally. Whatever the precise nature of the threat, it was sufficient to get the mayor to leave the town hall and travel up to her villa in Hietzing. When Lueger arrived, he calmed her with more false promises and encouraged her to take some of the medication on her bedside table. Laudanum, to help her sleep.’

‘You really think he killed her?’

‘He is a ruthless individual.’

Rheinhardt finished his pumpkin seeds and screwed up the paper bag.

‘I should never have agreed to you coming.’

‘Why do you say that? I think I’ve been extraordinarily perceptive.’

‘You have,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘And that is what worries me. From now on you must be very careful, Max – do you understand?’ Rheinhardt glanced over his shoulder. ‘He knows who we are now.’

R
HEINHARDT STOOD IN
F
RÄULEIN
R
OSENKRANTZ’S
parlour, humming the introductory melody of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E minor. He found it particularly conducive to thought.