The Mozart Conspiracy (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Kinski parked the Mercedes in a sidestreet in central Vienna and they walked to the Sacher Hotel on Philharmonikerstrasse, opposite the imposing Vienna State Opera House. Ben wanted a busy place, as public as possible, for their talk with the detective, and the Sacher was about the most public place in the middle of the city. Even if someone spotted Leigh here, they’d be less likely to come running for autographs. Music stars were nothing new in Vienna.

The Sacher café was bustling with people taking a break from their Christmas shopping for a morning coffee and a piece of the café’s famous cake. Ben guided Kinski to a table in the corner.

‘Where is she?’ Kinski asked, sitting down, expecting Leigh to be there. Not another damned tearoom, he was thinking. He hated these places.

‘You sit here and keep yourself occupied for an hour,’ Ben said. ‘And I’ll be back with her.’

Kinski grunted. ‘Great.’

‘I’ve got people here watching you,’ Ben lied. ‘If you make any phone calls or try to make contact with anyone, I’ll know about it and you won’t see me again until I come to kill you. Is that very, very clear?’

‘Absolutely clear. Thank you.’

Ben smiled. ‘Nothing personal, Markus.’

Left alone, Kinski glowered at the menu. When the surly waiter arrived, he ordered enough black coffee and buttery Malakofftorte to keep him going for the next hour. Then he sat back and waited and thought hard about this guy he’d just met.

Ben walked across the busy Philharmonikerstrasse, heading in the direction of the Albertina Palace. He saw a sign marked Strassenbahn and boarded a tram. Leigh was waiting for him at the cheap bed and breakfast on the other side of the Danube Canal.

Kinski was into his fourth coffee when Ben and Leigh walked into the Sacher café just over an hour later. Kinski rose to his feet as Leigh approached the table and greeted her politely. He turned to Ben. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’

‘Another coffee?’

‘Forget it,’ Kinski said.

Leigh took off her sunglasses and laid them on the table. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and she was wearing a woollen hat. Ben sat down beside her.

She studied Kinski carefully. ‘I believe you have some information about my brother.’

‘Tell her what you told me,’ Ben said.

Kinski spent the next few minutes going back over it, explaining in detail what he knew. Leigh listened carefully as he talked. He described how he’d accidentally stumbled across Madeleine Laurent, who had then turned out to be Erika Mann, which was almost certainly another false name. The whole Laurent episode had been an elaborate cover. Then he took the little plastic bag of spent 9mm cases out of his pocket and laid them on the linen tablecloth in front of Leigh. ‘I found these by the lakeside,’ he said.

She studied them, recognizing what they were. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘My brother drowned. He wasn’t shot.’

‘They weren’t shooting at him,’ Ben said. ‘They were shooting at the ice.’

Leigh closed her eyes for a moment. He patted her hand, gave it a brief squeeze.

Kinski went on. He explained how he’d tried to re-investigate Oliver’s case. How someone had taken Clara from her school and used her to silence him, how his old Chief had been suddenly removed, and with him any chance of reopening the case.

Leigh looked concerned. ‘Where is Clara now?’

‘Somewhere safe. She’s OK.’

‘Tell her what you told me about the guy with the ear,’ Ben said, tapping his own earlobe.

Kinski related what Clara had told him about her abductor. Leigh turned and looked at Ben with wide eyes. ‘The ear,’ she said. ‘The man on Oliver’s video-clip. He had a mangled earlobe.’

‘What video-clip?’ Kinski asked.

‘We need somewhere private with a computer,’ Ben said.

‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ Kinski replied. He got up and approached the counter. He asked for the manager, produced his police ID, and within five minutes they were being shown to a small conference room at the back of the hotel. They sat at a long table and Ben loaded the CD-ROM into the computer’s disk drive.

Kinski watched the clip in silence. His brow furrowed at the end, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen when the victim’s tongue was hacked off and his guts were slashed open. Leigh had turned away and was standing at the window watching the traffic go by.

Kinski sat back in his chair when it was over. He exhaled deeply. ‘And you think this happened here in Vienna?’

‘Look at the times,’ Ben said. ‘The film was shot not long before Oliver’s death. It had to be somewhere nearby. It looks like a big house, an old house, and part of it is a cellar or a crypt of some kind.’

‘The victim looked familiar to me,’ Kinski muttered. ‘I’ve seen him somewhere, but I can’t place him.’

‘What about this other guy, the one in the foreground, with the ear?’

Kinski nodded. ‘From what Clara said, it could be the same guy who took her, yeah.’

‘One more question,’ Ben said. ‘Does
Adler
mean anything to you?’

‘Common enough name. What about it?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Ben said. ‘Never mind.’

‘Anything else on this disc?’ Kinski asked.

‘Just some photos.’

‘Show me.’

Ben clicked out of the video file and brought up the images. Kinski shook his head at each of them in turn. Then he said, ‘Wait a minute. Stop. Go back. I saw something.’

The shot of Oliver playing the piano duet at the party came back up on-screen, and the big detective’s eyes narrowed. He pointed with a stubby finger at the second pianist sitting beside Oliver. ‘I know him,’ he said. ‘That’s Fred Meyer.’

Kinski had only seen him once before, and he’d been a corpse dangling from a rope. But it was the same man, no question.

‘Tell me more,’ Ben said.

‘Meyer was a music student,’ Kinski said. ‘I didn’t know he was a friend of Oliver’s.’

‘Can we speak to him?’ asked Leigh.

‘Tricky,’ Kinski said. ‘There might be an issue with availability.’

‘Dead?’ Ben asked.

Kinski nodded. ‘But that’s what’s interesting. He died on the ninth of January.’

‘The same day as Oliver,’ Leigh said quietly. She sat heavily down on a chair. Kinski could see the hurt in her eyes but he went on. She needed to know this. ‘Supposed to have been suicide,’ he said. ‘But I’ve never been happy with that. Didn’t check out at all. Suspicious.’

‘Suspicious how?’ Ben asked.

‘I’ve seen a lot of suicides,’ Kinski said. ‘There’s always a reason why a person makes that decision. Fred Meyer had none that I could find. He had everything to live for. Plus, I don’t like those kinds of coincidences. Two musicians both die on the same night, around the same time, just a few kilometres apart. One dies in an accident that doesn’t add up. The other dies in a suicide that nobody can explain. Tell me that’s not strange.’

‘And now it turns out he knew Oliver,’ Ben said.

Kinski nodded. ‘So now it’s even more suspicious. There’s another link, too. Meyer had a pair of opera tickets.’ He pointed at Leigh. ‘For the first night of your performance in
Macbeth
last January, here in Vienna.’

‘The one I cancelled,’ she said. ‘I was just about to fly over for rehearsals when I got the news that he was dead.’

‘These tickets were for a private box at the Staatsoper,’ Kinski went on. ‘And they cost a bomb, far more than a student can afford. I checked. Meyer was on a budget and big-time opera tickets were way out of his league. His family didn’t have a lot to spare either, so it wasn’t like someone got them as a present. So where did he get them?’

‘Oliver could easily have got them,’ Leigh said. ‘He could get free tickets for any of my performances, because he was my brother. No mystery there.’

‘So they must have known each other well, these two,’ Kinski said.

‘Olly never mentioned him.’ Leigh’s brow creased. ‘But what does it mean that they knew each other?’

‘If Oliver died because he knew something,’ Ben said, ‘why did Meyer die?’

‘Maybe they both witnessed this together?’ Leigh said.

Ben shook his head. ‘It’s clear that the clip was filmed by one person. Oliver was on his own in there. If there’d been two of them, we’d have heard them talking. We’d have seen flashes of the other guy as Oliver was running.’

‘So what did Fred know, and how?’ Leigh asked. ‘Did Olly tell him what he’d seen, show him the clip?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t think he’d have had time to show him the clip. Maybe he called him.’

‘Or they were planning something together.’

Ben thought about it. ‘We need to know more. I’d like to talk to the Meyer family.’

‘They won’t tell you anything they haven’t told the police,’ Kinski said.

‘I’d still like to talk to them.’ Ben paused, thinking hard. ‘Now, this place you’ve hidden your daughter Clara. Where is it?’

Kinski smiled. ‘We’re trusting one another now, then?’

‘I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t. I’d have left you dead in the car.’

‘Thanks,’ Kinski grunted. ‘OK. She’s in a convent. An old friend of mine is the Mother Superior there.’

‘Nearby?’

‘No, it’s out of the country,’ Kinski said. ‘Over the border into Slovenia, about five, six hours by car. In the mountains.’

‘Secure?’

‘Totally. Nobody could ever find her there, and nobody knows about it, not even the few cops I still trust.’

Ben looked Kinski in the eye. ‘Could Leigh go there too?’

Leigh exploded. ‘What?’

Kinski thought about it and nodded. ‘I could arrange that, sure.’

‘Good,’ Ben said. He turned to Leigh. ‘Because I think it’s getting far too dangerous for you. I want to put you somewhere safe until this is over.’

‘We’ve had this discussion,’ she said hotly. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Ben looked hard at her. ‘I wanted you to go to Ireland. You wouldn’t go. I gave in to you, and look what happened.’

‘You won’t dump me like that,’ she said. ‘I want to be involved, not out on a limb somewhere waiting for you to call.’

‘Make a choice,’ Ben said. ‘Either you let me do this my way, or I walk. Hire another bunch of steroid-poppers to look after you. You’ll be dead in a week.’

Kinski glanced at him. Ben was playing tough tactics, but it worked. Leigh sank her head into her hand. She let out a long sigh.

‘I’ll go crazy,’ she said. ‘I’ll be worried all the time.’

‘But you’ll be safe,’ Ben replied. ‘And if I know you’re protected I can work better.’

‘He’s right,’ Kinski said.

She let out a long sigh. ‘OK,’ she said reluctantly. ‘You win.’

Ben nodded and turned to Kinski. ‘So now you need to tell me the way to this place.’

Kinski smiled. ‘I can do better than that.’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Kinski drove the Mercedes fast on the autobahn. They headed south past Graz, then Wolfsberg, Klagenfurt, and finally crossed over the border into Slovenia. Kinski’s police ID got the Mercedes waved through the border with no paper checks.

By the time they were approaching Lake Bled night had fallen and it was snowing hard. The forests were heavy with a canopy of white, and every so often a fallen branch blocked the road, snapped off by the weight of the snowfall. The roads became narrow and twisty, and Kinski had to concentrate hard as the windscreen wipers slapped quickly to and fro with a hypnotic beat. Leigh was asleep in the back seat. As Kinski drove, Ben went through everything he knew, telling it calmly, slowly, methodically.

‘The Order of Ra,’ Kinski snorted. ‘Give me a break.’

‘I knew an African dictator,’ Ben said. ‘He put a tin crown on his head and declared himself a deity. That sounded funny too, but people stopped laughing pretty fast when he had their arms and legs cut off and forced them to eat them in front of him.’

‘Holy shit,’ Kinski said.

‘I don’t care what these bastards call themselves. It doesn’t make them any less real or any less dangerous.’

Kinski didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he asked, ‘What happened to the dictator?’

Ben smiled in the darkness. ‘Someone ate him.’

Their destination was deep in the heart of the Julian Alps, situated in a long valley between snowy mountains. The only road leading to it was a rutted track, and the snowdrifts were deep. They had to stop and fasten snow-chains to the wheels of the Mercedes. Soon afterwards, Kinski pointed to a pinprick of light in the distance. ‘There it is.’

The old convent was almost in total darkness as they approached. The Mercedes’ headlights swept the craggy walls as they passed through a crumbling arch and pulled up in a little courtyard. The convent consisted of a rambling complex of buildings that looked as though they had grown up out of the valley and changed very little in the last five or six centuries. The main entrance was an iron-studded oak door, black with age and framed with ivy.

A warm glow of light appeared in an arched window as the Mercedes pulled up. The old door creaked open and little Clara Kinski came skipping out over the snow. Behind her stood a tall woman in a nun’s habit, carrying a lantern. She looked more than seventy, but she stood straight and walked with a firm step.

Kinski turned off the engine and they climbed out of the car, stretching after the long drive. Clara flew excitedly into her father’s arms. Max the Rottweiler also came running from inside the building and made a big fuss of him, jumping up and licking his hands.

The nun approached with the lantern. Kinski greeted her warmly and introduced Ben and Leigh. ‘This is my old friend Mother Hildegard.’

The Mother Superior welcomed them and led them across the courtyard, showing the way with her lantern. Ben and Leigh followed her. Kinski trailed along behind with Clara hanging on his arm and Max trotting happily in his wake.

They went through a dark cloister and under another arch. Ben could hear the soft lowing of a cow in a stall, and the rustic smell of fresh hay and manure wafted on the cold night air. Beyond the sprawl of convent buildings was a little farm with dry-stone outbuildings and enclosures. Mother Hildegard led them through a gateway to a simple cottage. ‘This is where you will stay, my child,’ she said to Leigh.

Leigh thanked her. ‘You’re sure it’s all right for me to stay here a while?’

‘Karl the groundsman lived here for many years,’ Mother Hildegard smiled. ‘But he is very old now, and has gone to live in a retirement home in Bled. His cottage is likely to be unused for a long time. The simple life we lead does not appeal to all.’

‘As long as I’m not imposing,’ Leigh said.

The nun laid a hand on Leigh’s arm. ‘Any friend of Markus’ is more than welcome here,’ she said.

She showed them inside the simple cottage. It was warm and cosy, and a fire crackled in the log stove. ‘I lit the fire for you, but you men will have to split some logs in the morning.’ She pointed to a cupboard in the small entrance. ‘In there you will find rubber boots and heavy jackets for the cold,’ she said. Keeping warm on top of the stove was a cast-iron tureen of delicious-smelling mutton stew, and the simple wooden table was laid with earthenware plates and cups.

The old nun was watching them closely. She knew all too well that they were in some kind of trouble, but she wasn’t about to ask questions. ‘And now, I will leave you. Clara, you may stay here for an hour, and then you must come straight back and be ready for bed.’

They were all tired, and Clara did a lot of the talking over dinner. They passed around the pot of stew until it was empty. Ben drank one of the bottles of the nuns’ home-made dandelion wine. Clara took a lantern and went running back to the convent building. Max wanted to stay with Kinski, refusing to leave his side. ‘You don’t mind if he shares the attic bedroom with you and me, Ben?’ Kinski asked.

Ben eyed the huge, slavering dog. ‘As long as he doesn’t sleep in my bunk.’

‘Well, I’m beat,’ Kinski said, yawning. He headed up the wooden stairs with Max at his heel.

Ben and Leigh were left alone. ‘I feel like walking,’ she said. ‘Want to come along?’ They found pairs of boots that fitted them, and went out into the night.

The moon’s reflection on the snow made it almost like day. The place was completely still, the scenery breathtaking even in semi-darkness. Leigh felt more relaxed than she had in days. ‘I didn’t want to come here,’ she said as they walked over the crisp snow, their boots crunching. ‘But I’m glad you insisted. I feel protected here.’

Ben nodded. Kinski had chosen well. There was no way anyone could find this place. He was glad that Leigh was happy. Tomorrow he’d be able to head back to Vienna with a clear mind, knowing that she was safe.

They walked on a while. She clapped her hands together. ‘I wish I had some gloves. My hands are freezing.’

‘Let’s go back.’

‘No, it’s beautiful out here. And so nice to be free to walk about without worrying that someone’s going to start shooting at you.’

Ben took her hands and clasped them in his own. ‘My God, they’re so warm,’ she exclaimed. ‘How do you do it?’

Their eyes met, and she suddenly realized they were standing there in the snow facing one other holding hands, and he was smiling at her in the moonlight. She drew back quickly and put her hands in her pockets. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. ‘Maybe we should get back now.’

The nuns were up and about at six the next morning, attending to the animals and starting their morning chores before prayers and breakfast. Clara ran over to the cottage and thumped on the door.

Ben had risen early, and he was tending to the stove when he heard the child knocking. ‘Your father’s still asleep,’ he said as he let her into the cottage. She was wearing a quilted anorak and a pair of heavy woollen trousers.

‘Daddy always sleeps late when he can,’ she said brightly, hanging her anorak on the back of a chair. She sat down and swung her legs.

‘So you thought you’d come and wake him up before sunrise?’

She giggled. ‘I want to show him Sister Agnes feeding the piglets. They’re so cute!’

‘He can see them later, OK? He needs to sleep.’

‘Can I stay here with you?’

‘Sure. Want some breakfast?’

‘Mother Hildegard left some eggs in the cupboard,’ she said, pointing. ‘They’ve got so many chickens here that there’s always piles of eggs to eat.’

‘I guess we’re having eggs, then.’

‘I like them boiled, just a little bit runny with a piece of
Schwarzbrot
to dip in them. Please,’ she added.

‘How come your English is so good?’ he asked as he filled a saucepan with water.

‘Because I go to St Mary’s College.’

‘What’s that, a bilingual school?’

She nodded. ‘Most of our lessons are in English. Daddy says it’s the most important language to learn nowadays.’

‘By the time you’re twenty, kids your age will all be learning Chinese.’

She leaned her little elbows on the table. ‘Why’s that?’ she asked.

‘Because the world changes all the time,’ he explained. ‘That’s grown-up stuff you don’t want to know about.’

‘Does your friend Leigh sing in Chinese? They have Chinese opera, don’t they? I saw it on the TV.’

He laughed. ‘I think that’s a little different.’

‘I’ve seen her on TV too. She sings in Italian and French and German.’

‘She’s very clever.’

‘Daddy bought me her Christmas album last year,’ Clara said. ‘It’s called
Classical Christmas with Leigh
Llew— Llew—
’ She smiled. ‘I can’t say it right.’

‘It’s a Welsh name. They speak funny in Wales.’

‘Wales is part of England, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t say that in front of Leigh.’ Ben smiled.

‘Is Leigh your girlfriend?’ Clara giggled, dimples appearing in her cheeks.

He turned and looked at her. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

‘That’s how I learn things.’

‘You’re too young to learn about things like that.’

‘She
should
be your girlfriend,’ Clara said seriously, playing with a wooden spoon. ‘I think she wants to be.’

‘Oh really? And how might you know that?’

‘Last night at dinner she was looking at you. You know. Like this.’

Ben laughed. ‘She was looking at me like that? How come I didn’t notice?’

‘And when she speaks to you she does this with her hair.’ Clara sat back in her seat, raised her chin and brushed her fair hair back with her fingers. ‘That’s a sign that a woman likes a man.’

Ben nearly choked. ‘I can see I have a lot to learn from you. Where did you get that from?’

‘I read it.’

‘Not in one of Mother Hildegard’s books, I hope.’

She laughed. ‘No, it was in one of Helga’s magazines.’

‘Helga?’

‘My sitter. Daddy likes her, I think.’

The eggs were ready. Ben spooned one out into an egg-cup and put it down on the wooden platter in front of her. ‘Anyway, little lady, I think you think too much.’ He smiled. ‘Now shut up and eat.’

‘That’s what Daddy says, too.’ Clara shrugged and cracked the top of her egg.