Death and the Maiden (33 page)

They fell silent for a short time. Eventually Drasche said, ‘With respect, sir, did you pursue,’ he searched for a euphemism and came up with two, ‘that
matter
– that
business
– after you spoke to Herr Geisler?’

‘I took Herr Geisler’s testimony very seriously,’ Rheinhardt replied, giving Drasche a look that he knew would discourage further inquiry. On seeing the young man’s brow furrow, Rheinhardt felt a pang of
regret. He did not want to discuss the mayor with Drasche but neither did he wish to intimidate the poor fellow. Rheinhardt adopted a heartier tone and smiled. ‘Have you seen Herr Geisler recently?’

‘Yes, sir. He’s still at the hostel.’

‘And has he found a job yet?’

‘Not that I know of, sir.’

‘Well, let’s hope his luck improves – eh, Drasche?’

‘Yes, sir.’

They passed through a line of beech trees beyond which was a small circular lake. It was perfectly still and mirrored a canopy of unbroken white cloud. Set back from the water was a small wooden hut. Beside it stood another constable and a man whose stooping posture betrayed his advanced age. At their feet lay an inert figure dressed in a blue and white swimming costume. Rheinhardt and Drasche walked around the water’s edge. It was preternaturally quiet. Even the birds were silent.

As they drew closer, Rheinhardt increased his speed. Something instinctual – a frisson of anticipatory excitement – sharpened his senses. He became aware of the stagnant smell rising from the rushes, the sound of his shoes grinding the gravel beneath his feet. He could feel his heart in his chest, palpitating, unnaturally enlarged, denying his lungs the extent of their full expansion.

‘God in heaven …’ he muttered under his effortful breath.

He broke into a trot and soon found himself standing over the body, staring into the bleached, lifeless face. The damp material of the bathing suit clung to the man’s torso and exposed the vulnerable contours of his shrunken genitalia. It was Professor Saminsky.

The elderly man came forward. ‘I found him out there.’ He gestured across the lake. ‘He was floating, face down.’

‘What is your name?’ asked Rheinhardt.

‘Herr Ebersbacher. Arnim Ebersbacher.’

‘And what time did you discover the body?’

‘Six-thirty.’

‘That is a very early hour.’

‘I get up early.’

‘In order to swim?’

‘I do so every morning. It keeps me in good health. I’m seventy-five, you know.’ The old man pushed his chest out to emphasise his fitness. ‘He’s usually here at about the same time.’

‘You’ve seen this gentleman before?’

‘Yes, many times. I don’t understand how he drowned. He was such a good swimmer.’

W
HEN
R
HEINHARDT HAD BROKEN
the news of Professor Saminsky’s death to Frau Saminsky, she had fainted. A doctor was called and it wasn’t until the early hours of the afternoon that the inspector was finally admitted into her bedchamber. By that time the nature of her grief had changed and the doctor’s sedating tinctures had begun to take effect. The keening and sobbing had subsided, but what had replaced this mental anguish was – for Rheinhardt – more disturbing. Frau Saminsky’s expression was now devoid of emotion. She seemed numb, hollowed out.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ said Rheinhardt. Frau Saminsky turned to look at him. Her bloodshot eyes communicated nothing of her inner state.

‘What do you want, Inspector?’

Rheinhardt sighed. He did not wish to intrude upon this woman’s private suffering. Yet there was no alternative.

‘I gave Daniel your message.’ She said this as if she thought that the inspector might have come merely to confirm that she had complied with his prior request.

‘Thank you.’ He was tempted to get up and leave. It felt wrong to be there. Instead, he took a deep breath and asked his first question. ‘Frau Professor, did you meet with your husband last night – as planned?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you attended the function in the Redoutensaal?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I ask, what frame of mind was your husband in?’

One of Frau Saminsky’s eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘Actually … he was rather preoccupied.’

‘Oh?’

‘He said very little.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘He was anxious to speak with the lord marshal.’

‘And did he?’

‘What?’

‘Speak with the lord marshal?’

‘Yes.’ Frau Saminsky opened her hand, revealing a crushed handkerchief. She stared at it with drugged detachment, then asked, ‘Where is he?’

‘The body has been removed to the pathological institute.’

‘Have my daughters returned yet?’

‘No.’

‘I do not think I can tell them. I cannot bear to see their faces. Will you ask Doctor Rzehak to …’ Her sentence trailed off and her lower lip trembled slightly.

‘Yes, of course.’

Frau Saminsky blinked at her inquisitor. ‘Drowned.’ The word seemed to hang in the air, resonating like a struck gong. ‘How did it happen?’

‘We don’t know yet. When the autopsy is completed we will know more.’

‘He loved swimming. He said that I should swim too, but I have never been a very active person. I have heard it said that opposites attract. That was certainly true in our case.’

She closed her eyes and a tear trickled down her cheek. Raising her hand, she dabbed her face with the screwed-up ball of her handkerchief.

‘What time did your husband rise this morning?’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t come to bed.’ She opened her eyes. ‘When we got back from the palace last night he went straight to his study.’

‘Why?’

‘He said that he was too agitated to sleep. He wanted to read before retiring.’

‘And when
did
he retire?’

‘He didn’t. He must have been up all night – or perhaps he dozed in his study before leaving the house this morning.’

‘Do you have any idea why he was so anxious to speak with the lord marshal?’

‘No.’

‘Did they speak for long?’

‘Yes, they did.’ Frau Saminsky raised a hand. ‘I cannot answer any more of your questions, Inspector.’ This was not a protest but a simple statement of fact. ‘I really can’t.’ She let her arm fall and it landed heavily on the counterpane.

Rheinhardt stood up, bowed, and made his way to the door.

F
ROM THE POST OFFICE
in Hietzing, Rheinhardt had sent a telegram to the
Obersthofmarschallamt
– the lord marshal’s office. Under the emperor’s personal direction, the
Obersthofmarschallamt
oversaw all the House of Habsburg’s legal business. Rheinhardt had hoped (somewhat optimistically, he knew) that – given the
Obersthofmarschallamt
and the security office were both, in the broadest possible sense, legal organisations – his request might be given special attention. To his great surprise, he discovered later that day that his optimism had been vindicated. At the Schottenring police station he was handed an envelope bearing an imperial seal, and inside was an invitation to the palace written in the lord marshal’s own hand. Rheinhardt had rushed to the pathological institute to collect Professor Mathias’s autopsy results, and then home in order to get changed into his evening suit – palace protocol demanded that visitors wear either a suit, military uniform or national costume. His carriage had rolled under the massive dome of the Michaeltract with only seconds to spare before the appointed time.

Rheinhardt was led by a liveried servant through a series of rooms. He was conscious of a general impression of opulence, flowing past him on either side as he followed his guide: red, cream and gold, illuminated by the pendant brilliance of chandeliers. The atmosphere was redolent with the scent of freshly cut flowers. Rheinhardt kept his eyes fixed on the servant’s shoulder blades. He was sure that looking
around in the awestruck manner of a country bumpkin, newly arrived in the city, would be in breach of palace etiquette.

After what seemed like an eternity they emerged onto a landing. The servant invited Rheinhardt to sit on a Louis XIV sofa and tapped lightly on the first of two sets of double doors. A voice called out and the servant entered the room. Shortly after, the servant reappeared and said, ‘Please come forward.’ Rheinhardt stood up, checked that the tips of his moustache were sufficiently sharp, and marched towards the open doors. As he entered the room, the servant introduced him with a pompous declaration. ‘Detective Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt of the Viennese security office.’ As soon as he had stepped over the threshold the doors closed behind him.

Rheinhardt found himself standing in a modestly proportioned room, albeit one with a gilt ceiling and a Gobelin tapestry hanging on the wall. The lord marshal was a hawkish man in his late fifties. His beard was neatly trimmed and his moustache projected outwards beyond his cheeks. He was dressed, like Rheinhardt, in an evening suit and white bow tie. However, his chest was decorated with various ribbons and medals. He was sitting behind a writing desk with curved, spindly legs.

‘Inspector Rheinhardt,’ said the lord marshal, gesturing towards a chair. ‘Do sit down.’

‘Lord Marshal.’ Rheinhardt bowed. ‘Thank you for granting me this interview. I am indebted.’

‘Not at all,’ said the lord marshal, rearranging the papers on his desk. ‘I knew Professor Saminsky. I want to know what happened.’

Rheinhardt lowered himself onto the chair and took out his notebook. ‘May I ask, sir, how it was that you and Professor Saminsky were acquainted?’

‘Saminsky assisted with the management of the late empress’s medical charities. My bureau was frequently consulted vis-à-vis the ratification of documents related to his work with them.’

‘Then you will permit me to offer my condolences.’

‘He was a fine fellow, a man of industry and intelligence. He will be greatly missed. You said in your telegram that he drowned?’

‘There is a small lake near his villa in Hietzing. It was his custom to swim there in the early hours of the morning. His body was discovered by a fellow bather.’

The lord marshal squeezed his lower lip. ‘Some kind of accident?’

‘There was nothing to suggest that his death was attributable to misadventure. Moreover, the autopsy results showed that he was in good health, which means that we are obliged to consider other possibilities.’

‘What? You think he might have killed himself? Why ever would he do such a thing?’

‘I was hoping that you may be able to help answer that very question.’

‘Me?’ The lord marshal touched his chest. ‘How should I know? We were acquainted, but not intimately so.’

‘I spoke with Frau Professor Saminsky this afternoon. She told me that Saminsky was in a rather agitated state last night and anxious to speak with you. There was a function in the Redoutensaal?’

‘Yes, there was.’

‘And Saminsky
did
seek you out.’

‘Yes, he did.’ The lord marshal assented. ‘And I have to say, now that I think about it, he
was
out of sorts. Saminsky was usually a jovial, lively fellow, but yesterday he was definitely not himself.’

‘Depressed?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say depressed – more distracted.’ The lord marshal stroked his beard, ‘Restless, unable to keep his mind on one thing.’

‘What did he want to speak to you about? It was Frau Professor Saminsky’s view that her husband wished to speak to you concerning a
particular
matter.’

‘None of what we discussed required urgent attention.’

‘Forgive me, but may I inquire as to what it was, exactly, that you discussed?’

‘Saminsky was somewhat preoccupied with the possible financial implications of his status as charity trustee. He wanted to know what would happen if any of the charities amassed debts. Would he, for example, be called upon to pay them?’

‘And what did you advise?’

‘I told him that I would get my assistant Ackermann to review the relevant contracts.’