Vienna Secrets

29

The two men had finished their music-making and taken their customary places in Liebermann’s smoking room. Somewhat unusually, though, it was Rheinhardt who spoke first. “You seem a little preoccupied, Max.”

“Yes,” Liebermann replied. “I do have a lot on my mind. Something happened at the hospital a few weeks ago that has had unforeseen consequences, and I now find myself in an invidious position.”

He told his friend about the death of the young Baron von Kortig, his-Liebermann’s-alleged forceful obstruction of Father Benedikt, and of his unhappy interviews with the chancellor. Throughout, Rheinhardt’s solicitous expression was constant. Occasionally he muttered “outrageous,” “appalling,” or “intolerable.” When Liebermann had finished, the detective inspector blew out a great cloud of cigar smoke and asked, “What do you think will happen?”

“I have no idea. But I simply refuse to make an apology. This would be tantamount to an admission of improper behavior.”

“Indeed. As far as I can see, you acted irreproachably-thinking first and foremost of your patient. The old baron should have been grateful that his son’s dying moments were spent in the care of such a scrupulous physician.” Rheinhardt sipped his brandy and added, “Who do you think contacted the journalist?”

“I don’t know. It could have been anyone: Father Benedikt, the old Baron von Kortig, one of the committee members… even the nurse or the aspirant.”

“Someone is clearly trying to turn an inconsequential incident into a scandal-and, sadly, their motivation is all too transparent.”

“Yes. I tried to resist the obvious conclusion, but the article in Das Vaterland soon brought an end to my doubts. The author repeatedly stressed that fewer and fewer doctors in Vienna understand the importance of the Christian sacraments.”

They spoke for a little while longer about Liebermann’s situation, until the young doctor seemed suddenly to grow impatient and tire of the subject. He made a gesture with his hand as if to brush the matter away. After a short pause, Liebermann said in a more animated voice, “I stopped for coffee at the Cafe Museum this afternoon and saw the late editions.”

Rheinhardt nodded his head solemnly.

“Burke Faust,” Liebermann added.

“Councillor Burke Faust,” said Rheinhardt, emphasizing the man’s title. “His remains were discovered next to the plague column by the church of Maria Geburt in Hietzing. Death was caused by decapitation, and the method employed was exactly the same as before. His head had been torn from his body. He was dressed in the kind of clothes a gentleman usually wears in his study: a smoking jacket, loose trousers, and a pair of slippers. It was obvious that he hadn’t been walking the streets dressed like that. He must have been knocked unconscious before being transported to the plague column. Professor Mathias found evidence of a blow delivered to the back of the head, and later we learned that his Hietzing villa had been broken into.”

“Did you find any signs of a struggle?”

“No.”

“The obituaries in the late editions suggested that he was a rising star at the town hall.”

“He certainly was. In fact, he was the prime candidate for a plum job in the mayor’s office. Some believed he might, in due course, have been selected as a future mayoral candidate. As you would expect, Faust’s political instincts were not dissimilar to Lueger’s, although Faust was thought by many to be more extreme.”

“As exemplified by his recent article in which he referred to Jews as a plague.”

“Good heavens,” said Rheinhardt. “Have you read it?”

“No,” said Liebermann.

“Then how-”

“I assumed, under the circumstances, that such an article must exist.”

Rheinhardt frowned and continued, “When we were interviewing Faust’s colleagues at the town hall, one of them mentioned that the councillor had written a piece for Die Reichpost, and that it had impressed the mayor. It’s full of the usual rhetoric but is distinguished by Faust’s espousal of a carefully constructed three-phase plan for eliminating Jews entirely from public life-and the professions.”

“And who did he think the good people of Vienna would consult when they became ill?”

“Faust was exercised largely by the problem of how elimination of the Jews from the professions might be accomplished, rather than by its actual consequences.”

Liebermann poured more brandy and stared into the fire.

“Was he married?”

“No. He lived alone.”

“What about his staff?”

“They live in an apartment building near the train station. He would have had no one to call upon for assistance when he was attacked.”

Liebermann turned his brandy and contemplated the flames through the repeated motif of the cut glass.

“Apart from the obvious commonality of the plague columns, were there any other similarities between our two murder scenes?”

“Yes,” said Rheinhardt, extending the syllable and sounding somewhat hesitant. “Once again there was a great deal of mud in the vicinity of the body, and once again it seemed to have been purposely put there rather than dislodged from a vehicle. There were no tracks, other than those on the main road.”

“Did you have the mud analyzed?”

“I did, and it proved to be entirely unremarkable. You might collect it anywhere on the banks of the Danube or up in the woods.” Rheinhardt twisted one of the horns of his mustache, and added, “Oh, I almost forgot to say, there was another similarity. Maria Geburt, like Maria Treue Kirche, has a school close by.”

Liebermann continued to turn his glass, seemingly entranced by the patterns of light.

“Who discovered the body?”

“A hapless fellow called Octavian Quint. He’d lost all of his money playing cards and had been ejected from the table. On his way home he went to relieve himself behind the church and fell asleep in a doorway. He claims to have been awakened by a noise that he described as a whirring, clicking sound… like a giant insect.”

The young doctor stopped looking into his brandy glass, and his head slowly rotated to reveal, degree by degree, an expression of such profound skepticism that it might just as easily have been provoked by an insult.

“A giant insect?”

“That’s what he said,” Rheinhardt replied gruffly. “And whatever it was, I’m sure it frightened him.”

“Had the man been drinking?”

“Almost certainly.”

Liebermann gestured as if to say, Well, there you are, then.

“How many plague columns are there in Vienna?” asked Liebermann.

“The Graben, Saint Ulrich’s, the Rochuskapelle Pensingerstrasse-a considerable number.”

“Too many to be kept under observation?”

“The Karlskirche, Dornbach.” Rheinhardt was raising his fingers. “Yes, far too many.”

“What about if you restricted observation to those plague columns close to schools?”

“That is a possibility.”

The young doctor took another cigar, lit it, and sank back into his chair. In only a few seconds he had produced a dense, fragrant haze. He was evidently deep in thought. Rheinhardt made a fanciful connection between the smoke and his friend’s intense mental activity, imagining the billowing clouds to be the product of an overheated brain. A log on the fire hissed, crackled, and threw up a fountain of sparks. The pyrotechnics roused Liebermann, who pulled himself up to speak.

“These two murders,” he began, “are characterized by peculiarities that indicate the workings of an idiosyncratic but purposeful mind. There is a scheme here, obviously: two rabid anti-Semites who have recently likened Jews to a scourge are found dead, justly punished for their invective.” The young doctor grinned, to show that the sentiment was not his own. “Found dead at the foot of the Treue Kirche and Maria Geburt plague columns. They have been decapitated, a method of execution that is associated with the demise of kings. Thus, we are to understand that men of influence, the heads of religious and civic life, are being warned against the promulgation of hateful ideologies. The proximity of the schools reinforces this message. Prejudice can easily be transmitted from generation to generation-thus those who occupy positions of power are doubly cautioned against the abuse of authority. So far the symbolism presents us with few interpretative difficulties; however, there are other features that remain utterly incomprehensible. Why were the victims decapitated in such an impractical way? And what does the mud represent? Filth, excrement, moral turpitude? To these questions I have no ready answer.”

Liebermann stubbed out his cigar and immediately lit another. Rheinhardt patiently waited for his friend to continue.

“Earlier, I said that the peculiarities of these murders indicate the workings of an idiosyncratic mind: obsessionality, symbolism, the construction of dramatic tableaux. These are all ‘signatures’ that we have learned to associate with a particular kind of criminal, the lone fanatic whose delusional system, unchallenged, thrives in isolation, its internal structure becoming increasingly intricate and mythic, and promoting in the process a form of messianic narcissism. Nevertheless, these murders could not have been perpetrated by one man alone.”

“Professor Mathias was of the opinion that it would require the efforts of at least two exceptionally strong men to remove a human head by ripping it from the body in this way.”

“Indeed. Now, it is commonplace for individuals to become delusional, and delusional beliefs might easily guide a campaign of retributive violence. But what we seem to have here is a delusional individual who has persuaded others of the legitimacy of his vision.”

“Ahh…,” said Rheinhardt, suddenly sitting up straight and waving his index finger in the air. “I believe you have said something there that might prove to be very significant.”

“Oh?”

“Clearly, the perpetrators of these two murders are Jews.” Rheinhardt paused to allow Liebermann to disagree. The young doctor said nothing. “And you will remember that on a previous occasion you suggested that the hereditary leaders of the Hasidim often wield great power over their people, and that their sects are relatively self-contained.”

Liebermann thought for a moment. Suddenly he smiled and said, “So I did!”

“Well, then, it seems to me that you have already proposed an ideal environment in which the phenomenon you seek to explain might occur. If my memory serves me correctly, you said that a rebbe might claim to receive instructions from God, and that his devotees-in the absence of any other counsel-would very likely obey his orders without question.”

“Yes,” said Liebermann, impressed by his own perspicacity. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“There is a rebbe among the Hasidim of Leopoldstadt called Barash, who is said to have predicted the death of Brother Stanislav.”

“Did he prophesy that the monk was going to be decapitated?”

“We’re not sure. One of his sect became involved in a religious argument and was overheard making the claim.”

“Where did this happen?”

“In a coffeehouse. Zuckers. I wonder, would you be willing to interview Barash, Max?”

“Of course. But if we are correct, and it transpires that these murders are the work of a Jewish cabal, can you imagine how the Christian Socials and the clerics will react! Think of the political capital they made out of that miserable wretch Hilsner!” Liebermann flicked his glass, and the crystal emitted a soft chime. “Which makes me wonder… what if? What if these murders are not what they appear to be? What if they are a means of turning public opinion against an all too obviously guilty party?”

Rheinhardt poured himself another large brandy.

In his mind, he saw an angry horde crossing the Danube canal and marching into Leopoldstadt. He saw men in caftans being dragged from their houses, and he saw blood on the cobbled streets. He tried to think of something else, but the images were vivid and persistent.