Deadly Communion

40

After attending Professor Mathias’s autopsy Rheinhardt had returned to Loiberger’s. He had visited the coffee house earlier in the day, but it had been closed and a sign in the window had informed him that the establishment would not be open again until six; however, it was nearly half past that hour when a man appeared, striding down the middle of the street, jingling a set of keys in his hand. He was a portly fellow, with a round face and snub nose, which, taken together with his black curly hair and steel-rimmed glasses, made him look very much — so Rheinhardt thought — like Schubert.

‘Herr Loiberger?’

‘Yes,’ said the man. ‘I’m Loiberger.’ Then he laughed, for no apparent reason.

‘Inspector Reinhardt — security office. May I come in?’

‘Of course. My regulars won’t be here for hours yet.’ Again, the laugh. It didn’t seem to be a nervous laugh but merely a welling-up of good humour.

Loiberger unlocked the door and pushed it open.

‘Please sit down, inspector. I’ll get you something to drink.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘No, I insist. You look as though you’ve been waiting. You must be cold.’

For once, Rheinhardt didn’t object. The day — which had started so early — was beginning to catch up with him. Loiberger disappeared through a doorway behind a counter piled high with pyramids of Turkish delight and punschkrapfen. Rheinhardt sat at a window table and looked around the dark interior. It was a shabby little coffee house. Yet it had a certain bohemian charm. The walls were hung with Venetian carnival masks and photographs of famous actors. A bust of Goethe stood on a pedestal outside the toilets.

Loiberger returned with a tray on which he balanced a bottle of schnapps and two shot glasses. He took the seat opposite Rheinhardt and poured the drinks.

‘Thank you,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘You are most kind.’

‘Prost!’ said Loiberger, raising the glass before throwing his head back and emptying the contents down his throat.

‘Prost!’ returned Rheinhardt.

It was good schnapps.

‘So, inspector,’ said Loiberger, refilling the glasses. ‘How can I help?’

‘Do you know who Cacilie Roster is?’

‘Yes, of course. She’s one of my regulars.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

‘Last night. She stayed late — as usual. And left just after midnight.’

‘Was she with anyone?’

Loiberger laughed: ‘Was she with someone? She’s always with someone. She caused a stir last week by arriving with two giants. I’m not joking, inspector, two giants.’

‘I believe you,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘But last night, Herr Loiberger. If you could try to remember who she was with last night?’

‘A gentleman …’

‘What did he look like?’

‘A handsome fellow: high cheekbones and very bright eyes.’

‘Blue?’

‘I think so. Yes. I assumed he was a performer.’

‘Do you remember the colour of his hair?’

‘Black.’

‘Did you serve him?’

‘Yes.’

Rheinhardt paused.

‘Herr Loiberger, I am sure that my next question will strike you as rather peculiar. But I would be most grateful if you would give it your most serious consideration. What did this man smell like?’

Herr Loiberger gave the question a moment’s thought, and then burst out laughing. ‘Really, inspector …’