Vienna Secrets

44

Liebermann was already sitting in the little coffeehouse by the Anatomical Institute when Rheinhardt came through the door. The inspector hung his coat on the stand and made his way over to Liebermann’s table. A waiter who had been lurking in the shadows emerged to take Rheinhardt’s order.

“A turkische, please,” said Rheinhardt. “With plenty of sugar.”

Liebermann, finely attuned to the nuances of his friend’s behavior, registered that Rheinhardt had neglected to order a pastry. This he took to be a very bad sign indeed. Only something of the utmost importance would make Rheinhardt forget his partiality for the chef’s exotically spiced topfenstrudel.

“Well,” said Liebermann, “I must suppose that you have called this impromptu meeting because a very considerable problem has arisen with respect to the investigation.”

Rheinhardt shook his head. “No, Max, on this occasion you are quite mistaken.” The inspector pulled a chair from under the table and sat down heavily. “This morning,” he continued, “I was approached by Hohenwart…”

“Hohenwart?”

“Alfred Hohenwart: one of my colleagues at Schottenring. He is aware of our association.” Rheinhardt’s finger oscillated in the air, linking himself and Liebermann. “Hohenwart investigates individuals and groups who seek to cause social division by religious agitation. Yesterday he received a dossier from a member of parliament that included letters from the old Baron von Kortig, a statement from a medical aspirant named Edlinger, and a draft copy of a scurrilous article soon to be published in the satirical magazine Kikeriki. Needless to say, the article is purported to be an account of events surrounding the death of the young Baron von Kortig, and describes-in very colorful terms-your dispute with the priest. The honorable gentleman suggested that it might be prudent for Hohenwart to make you, Herr Doctor, the subject of a comprehensive inquiry.”

Liebermann opened his mouth and waited for a suitable expletive to give expression to his feelings, but all that he could manage was a horrified gasp.

“I know,” Rheinhardt continued. “It is truly appalling. I explained to Hohenwart what really happened, and he agreed that there was insufficient cause to mount an inquiry; however, this is, of course, a very disturbing development. You will understand now why I wanted to see you as a matter of some urgency.”

“The chancellor warned me that things might escalate, that my situation could become worse, but I never envisaged this!”

Liebermann told Rheinhardt about his recent encounter with Professor Gandler and explained how there was a good chance that he might lose his position altogether.

The waiter arrived with Rheinhardt’s turkische. The inspector tasted it, grimaced, and spooned some extra sugar into the cup.

“Things stand to get very ugly indeed,” said Rheinhardt. “Particularly if the newspapers get involved. You’ll be hounded by journalists. Given that you’ve been relieved of clinical responsibilities, I’d recommend that you keep a low profile. Why don’t you get away for a few weeks?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t have to be very far, just somewhere they can’t find you. In the meantime, I can have a word with the editor of Kikeriki. Perhaps I can apply a little pressure and get him to withdraw the article. I’ll also request a meeting with the censor, who might be persuaded to intercept similar articles. After all, I very much doubt whether the emperor would approve.” Rheinhardt sipped his coffee and added, “I wonder who’s behind all this.”

“It can’t be just one person. You will recall that Councillor Faust wanted to eliminate Jews from professional life. There must still be others in the town hall who share his views, and creating a climate of hostility toward Jewish doctors would certainly help prepare the way.” Liebermann took a box of small cigars from his pocket and offered one to Rheinhardt. “How ironic… that I-a man without any religious convictions whatsoever-should find myself described as a religious agitator!”

Rheinhardt took a cigar.

“This chap Edlinger-I gather he described your behavior as threatening.” Rheinhardt struck a match, lit his friend’s cigar and then his own. “Why should he have done that? Is it possible that he had reason to hold a grudge against you?”

“I hardly know him,” Liebermann replied. “He did object to the position I took when I was arguing with the priest, so it could be that Edlinger is a devout Catholic, but I don’t think so. Edlinger isn’t really the type. He’s a rakish fellow with a dueling scar. No, I suspect that his animosity stems from a simple but universal human failing. Psychoanalysis informs us that we often harbor resentment toward those to whom we owe a debt, and Edlinger is-without doubt-very much in my debt. He shouldn’t have given the young Baron von Kortig morphine, nor should he have administered such a large dose. In fact, it was probably the morphine that accelerated the young baron’s demise. I could have mentioned this to Professor Friedlander, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

Liebermann produced a twisted smile. “Doing so might have damaged Edlinger’s prospects. I thought it unnecessary.”

“The scoundrel,” said Rheinhardt. “You should definitely report him now.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise, Oskar. He could deny that he administered morphine-or such a large dose, at any rate-and that would cast me in a very unfavorable light.”

“Wasn’t there a nurse present?”

“Yes, Nurse Heuber. But she was wearing a crucifix, and it was she who went to fetch Father Benedikt. I don’t think I can count on her for support.” Liebermann drew on his cigar and blew out a jet of blue smoke. “Do you really think that I should leave Vienna?”

“Yes. Let me know where you’re staying, and I can send you a telegram when it’s safe to come back.”

“Then perhaps I will go to…” Liebermann hesitated before saying, “Prague.” The city was now inextricably linked with the zaddik’s injunction. Once again, he felt as if he were being drawn there by fate. “My father asked me to accompany him to Prague on a business trip. He leaves tomorrow morning.”

As he said these words, Liebermann felt as if he were making a concession not only to his father but, irrationally, to the zaddik as well. Still, it was the obvious solution to his predicament. He told himself that he should take advantage of the opportunity.

“Don’t tell anyone at the hospital where you’re going. Just leave a telephone number-your mother’s, perhaps, and then she can contact you if the hospital committee is about to convene. I’ll see what I can do…”

Liebermann rested a hand on his friend’s arm and tightened his grip.

“Thank you, Oskar.”

The inspector, embarrassed by Liebermann’s gratitude, made some dismissive noises and said, “Cake. We haven’t had cake.”

Rheinhardt called the waiter over and ordered two topfenstrudels.

“How is the investigation proceeding?” Liebermann asked.

“Do you really want to talk about that now?”

“Of course I do.”

Rheinhardt shrugged. “Well, if you insist. Haussmann has been watching Barash’s residence but has had nothing remarkable to report, although Barash has been receiving a large number of visitors-other Hasidim, from different sects.”

“How did Haussmann know that they were from different sects?”

“They wear different hats, apparently. Haussmann also formed the impression that most of these visitors were community leaders-zaddiks, like Barash.”

“What do you make of that?”

“It could, I suppose, be something to do with our discovery at the Alois Gasse Temple.”

“Very likely, I imagine. Presumably you have someone posted there?”

“Yes, a constable from Grosse Sperlgasse, but the kabbalist has not returned to resume his activities.” Rheinhardt raised his cigar and inspected the twisting column of smoke that rose from its burning tip. “Whoever created the kabbalist’s lair wanted it to be discovered. They made loud enough noises to ensure that the room would be opened. Clearly they wanted us to make a connection between the lair and the murders, the barrels of mud serving to remind us of the deposits found close to the bodies of Brother Stanislav and Councillor Faust.”

“Have you compared the samples?”

“Yes. The laboratory results showed they were identical.” Rheinhardt puffed at his cigar and added, “Incidentally we went up onto the roof of the Alois Gasse Temple. It is certainly possible that many of the items we found could have been lowered through the skylight. The houses on that side of the street are dilapidated, and several of the rooms are unoccupied. A dedicated team working from a top-floor hideout could have accomplished the operation quite easily.”

The waiter arrived with the two strudels.

Rheinhardt broke the flaky pastry with his fork, and the sweet curd filling spilled out, exuding a distinctive aroma of cinnamon, vanilla, and something less easily identified, an unknown ingredient that evoked images of a caravanserai and sand dunes.

“Exquisite,” said Rheinhardt, his spirits rising with his appetite. “I wish I knew the chef’s secret.”

Liebermann stirred the froth around in his coffee and said, “I’ve been doing a bit of research into the kabbalah myself.”

“Really?” said Rheinhardt somewhat vaguely, his attention having been captured almost entirely by his pastry.

“Yes. That floor design, the one consisting of interconnected circles. It’s called the Tree of Life, and it represents creation and the subsequent dispersal of vital energies through the universe. Kabbalistic scholars believe that a thorough understanding of its principles can give a man godlike powers.”

“Is that so?” said Rheinhardt.

Liebermann picked up his fork. He knew that he could not compete with Rheinhardt’s topfenstrudel. He would have to wait for the inspector to finish.