Death And The Maiden

33

This time there were no delays. Liebermann and Rheinhardt were escorted straight to the antechamber adjoining the mayor’s private apartment in the town hall. At eleven-thirty precisely, one of the double doors opened and they were ushered in by Pumera. Again, Lueger was sitting behind his desk, but this time he had abandoned the pretence of industry. He was smoking a cigarette and he watched their approach with predatory interest.

‘Good morning, Inspector.’

‘Good morning, sir.’

The mayor silently acknowledged Liebermann but did not trouble to greet him personally. He then dismissed Pumera with a hand gesture.

‘Thank you for your note, Inspector. Please, do sit down.’

Liebermann and Rheinhardt bowed before taking their places.

‘It is very good of you to see us at such short notice,’ said Rheinhardt. The mayor accepted the compliment but felt it necessary to add, ‘Regrettably, I can only spare a few minutes.’

‘We appreciate,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘that for one who occupies so high an office there can never be sufficient hours in the day.’

The mayor flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette and said, ‘Some new evidence has come to light?’

‘Another search was made of Fraulein Rosenkrantz’s villa in Hietzing and some burned letters were recovered from a stove.’ The inspector reached into his pocket and produced a blackened scrap of paper sandwiched between two rectangles of glass that had been taped together. He handed the object over to the mayor.

‘What’s this?’

‘Part of a letter.’

Lueger peered at the scorched remnant and grunted.

‘How do you know it’s a letter?’

‘Look closely. Some writing has been preserved. Do you see it?’ The mayor opened his drawer and took out a magnifying glass. He studied the carbonised paper though the hoop of silver. ‘Would you confirm for us that the writing is yours? It appears to say: From your dearest Karl.’

The mayor set the magnifying glass aside.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘That is my handwriting.’ Lueger’s deviating eye made his expression difficult to interpret. ‘Were any other letters recovered?’

‘Yes.’

‘Intimate letters?’

‘That is what they appear to be.’

Lueger drew on his cigarette and allowed the smoke to escape through his nostrils. ‘Then you must return them to me.’

‘I’m sorry. I am afraid they must be retained by the security office.’

‘Why?’

‘Ida Rosenkrantz’s case is still open — ongoing.’

‘Really, Inspector,’ The mayor shook his head. ‘You were already aware that Fraulein Rosenkrantz and I were … friends. Is it so very remarkable that we corresponded? If you are in possession of what are, in effect, my private papers, then I demand that they be returned.’

‘Strictly speaking, the letters I have in my possession belong to Fraulein Rosenkrantz.’

‘She is dead, Inspector.’

The mayor said these words with an air of finality, as if this stark declaration obviated further discussion. He was breathing heavily. Liebermann leaned forward to capture the mayor’s attention.

‘The letters seem to have been burned close to the time of Fraulein Rosenkrantz’s death …’

The sentence hung in the air, suspended, oddly incomplete.

‘She was obviously unwell, Herr Doctor,’ said Lueger. ‘Isn’t that just the sort of thing that suicides do?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Liebermann. ‘The typical suicide composes a brief explanatory note and begs for forgiveness.’

The mayor shrugged.

‘It seems to me that this discovery supports everything I have already told you. Ida was a sick woman. She got herself into a state — burning old love letters — and then killed herself.’

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

Rheinhardt took out his notebook and turned a few pages.

‘Mayor Lueger, are you absolutely sure that the last time you saw Fraulein Rosenkrantz was in the summer?’

For the first time, the strain of interrogation began to show on Lueger’s face. The illusion of handsome nobility that he was so adept at creating suddenly dissolved. He appeared haggard and drawn. A slight tremor shook the yellow smoke-stained fingers. Liebermann almost felt sorry for him.

‘Inspector,’ said the mayor. ‘What, precisely, are you trying to make of all this?’

Rheinhardt feigned surprise. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘What manner of story are you attempting to piece together here? That I compromised her? That she then died of a broken heart? That I am responsible for her death? Before you and your associate proceed any further I would strongly suggest that you review your thinking. May I remind you that the election is approaching.’ He struck the table with a clenched fist. ‘I cannot — will not — tolerate a scandal.’

‘With respect,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘It was not our intention to imply-’

The mayor stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Rheinhardt.

‘Don’t treat me like a fool, Inspector!’ His voice was loud and his eyes glittered with fury. ‘Better men than you have done so before and suffered the consequences.’ A thin thread of spittle escaped from his mouth and clung to his beard. The door behind the mayor’s desk opened and Pumera appeared. ‘The inspector and his companion are leaving,’ said the mayor.

Rheinhardt rose from his chair and with surprising elegance removed the letter from the mayor’s desk and dropped it into his pocket. The bodyguard stepped forward but the mayor extended his arm, halting his progress.

‘Show them out, Pumera.’