Deadly Communion

7

Haussmann marched past caryatids holding up lintels and stucco facades crowded with putti. The rooftops seemed to be teeming with activity: statues of fabulous creatures, goddesses and legendary heroes disporting themselves against a darkening sky. He had spent all day searching the city for shops that sold the silver-acorn hatpin. Not one of the milliners or jewellers in the first district had recognised the design. Standing on a corner, Haussmann consulted his crumpled list of addresses.

How could he be expected to find all the distributors of hatpins in Vienna? Milliners, jewellers, stallholders, street vendors, junk shops — there were simply too many possibilities. Further, there was no evidence to suggest that the murderer had purchased the acorn hatpin recently. It might have been in his possession for years, a family heirloom belonging to his great-grandmother!

Haussmann crossed the Hoher Markt — an open square dominated by a massive fountain which commemorated the marriage of Mary and Joseph. The holy couple were protected by angels and a bronze baldachin resting on four lofty Corinthian columns. The entire edifice was finished with a radiant gilded sun, the upper spokes of which glinted with rays emanating from the sinking original.

In due course, Haussmann arrived at his destination: Tassilo Jaufenthaler — jeweller.

It was a modest establishment. A small shop space, some dusty display cabinets filled with unimpressive paste jewellery, moth-eaten drapes, and a counter behind which sat a diminutive balding man with unremarkable features and steel-rimmed spectacles. He stood as Haussmann entered.

‘Good afternoon, sir.’

‘Herr Jaufenthaler?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good afternoon.’ Weary of trading pleasantries, Haussmann asked bluntly: ‘Do you sell hatpins like this one?’

He placed the silver-acorn hatpin on the counter.

Herr Jaufenthaler picked it up and replied: ‘Unfortunately, I haven’t got any more of these, sir. Sold out. But I have something very similar about the same price. If you’d care to look in the cabinet by the door?’

Haussmann — disbelieving — repeated his question.

‘You’re quite sure?’ Haussmann pointed across the counter. ‘The hatpins you sold were just like that?’

‘Identical.’ The jeweller looked at Haussmann suspiciously.

Haussmann showed his identification.

‘Security office?’ said Herr Jaufenthaler. ‘I don’t understand. I can assure you, the hatpins that I sold weren’t stolen. I got them from Krawczyk, my Polish supplier. He’s a devout Catholic — he wouldn’t have accepted stolen goods.’

Haussmann raised his hand.

‘I’m not accusing you of anything, Herr Jaufenthaler. I’d just like to ask you a few questions. Now, can you remember which customers purchased your acorn hatpins?’

Herr Jaufenthaler thought for a few moments before replying.

‘I took five off Krawczyk. I didn’t take that many because they’re rather unusual. The pin is quite thick — see? They’re really for very large hats, and I wasn’t sure that there would be much demand But they did sell — and faster than I’d expected. A few young ladies — oh yes, and Frau Felbiger — she’s a regular — and a gentleman.’

‘A gentleman?’

‘Yes. A gentleman.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Tall. Dark hair. Well-mannered.’

‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘When did he buy the hatpin?’

‘About three weeks ago. I can check my books if you want?’

‘Have you seen him since?’

‘No.’

‘Did Krawczyk supply these pins to any other shops?’

‘Well, you’d have to ask him.’

‘Herr Jaufenthaler,’ said Haussmann. ‘I am afraid I must ask you to come with me to the Schottenring station in order to make a statement.’

‘Statement!’ Herr Jaufenthaler cried. ‘You’re acting as if someone’s been murdered!’

‘They have,’ said Haussmann.

‘What?’ Jaufenthaler laughed. ‘With a hatpin?’

‘Yes,’ replied Haussmann. ‘The one you are holding.’

The smile vanished from Herr Jaufenthaler’s face as he dropped the hatpin onto the counter, his face crumpling in disgust.