Death And The Maiden

60

Rheinhardt craned his head around the bedroom door. Else was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair. Each downward movement of her arm was accompanied by a crackle of static electricity. She sensed him there, watching, and turned.

‘I’ve got to go back to Schottenring,’ said Rheinhardt.

‘But it’s eleven o’clock.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘I didn’t hear the telephone.’

‘Nobody called, my dear.’ Else threw him a quizzical look. ‘I neglected to prepare a document for the commissioner. It completely slipped my mind. I’d better go.’

‘Can’t it wait until morning?’

‘Sadly not.’

Else shook her head: ‘How could you forget such a thing?’

‘Senility,’ said Rheinhardt. He was about to leave, but his wife’s disappointment made him linger. Crossing the floor and approaching her from behind, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Their gazes met in the mirror.

‘What time do you think you’ll be back?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Before two, I expect.’ Else’s lips contracted. Rheinhardt responded with an affectionate squeeze. ‘I want you to know something.’ He smiled and kissed the crown of her head. ‘I love you. I know you’ve probably suspected that for some time now, but all the same …’

He watched Else’s eyes narrow in the glass.

‘Is something the matter?’ she asked.

Rheinhardt sighed. ‘It comes to something, my dear, when a man can’t tell his wife that he loves her without causing consternation!’

She was not to be fobbed off so easily.

‘Oskar?’

He kissed her again and stroked her face.

‘Sweet dreams.’ He released her from his grip and strode to the door where he allowed himself one last backwards look. The image of Else, sitting at her dressing table, produced a swell of emotion that almost cracked his voice, ‘Sweet dreams,’ he repeated, and set off down the hallway. He did not dare to look in on Mitzi and Therese. He knew that their angelic slumbering faces would present him with too great a challenge, and that his fragile resolve would falter.

Rheinhardt put on his coat, stepped out of his apartment, hurried down the stairs and let himself out onto the streets of Josefstadt.

It was a clear, bright evening. A cloudless sky glittered with stars and a gibbous moon floated high above the rooftops. Rheinhardt breathed in the chill air and looked up and down the empty road. He could not see the man who had been following him but he knew that he was hiding somewhere in the vicinity. It was a mystery how policemen acquired this sixth sense; however, its existence was indisputable. The stranger had been following Rheinhardt for almost a week, a situation that ordinarily would not have caused Rheinhardt excessive anxiety. But an auxiliary intuition had been persistently warning him to exercise caution, and at the back of his mind Orsola Salak’s prophesy refused to be dismissed.

Rheinhardt set off, weaving through cobbled streets until he found himself near the old theatre. He turned into Piaristenstrasse and glanced up at the baroque complexities of the Maria Treu Kirche. Its two spires thrust upwards with impressive vigour. Between them was a gable on which winged figures perched and gesticulated with a commensurate surplus of energy. The exuberance of the architecture contrasted starkly with Rheinhardt’s sober mood. He began to walk faster.

When Rheinhardt neared his destination he thanked God for a piece of good luck. A carriage came rattling down the narrow passageway, making enough noise to cover the sound of his footsteps. He came out on a road that terminated in a high wall to the left. It was only possible to go one way. Rheinhardt walked a few metres along the pavement and then slid between two bearded caryatids which stood on either side of a deep porch. Positioning himself behind one of the stone giants, he held his breath and waited. The brisk tread of the stranger could be heard over the fading rattle of the carriage, becoming louder as he turned the sharp corner. It was obvious that the man had been following Rheinhardt very closely — a professional, without doubt.

As soon as the stranger stepped into view Rheinhardt leaped forward and hooked his elbow round the man’s neck. He pulled the man backwards into the porch and held him fast. As his prisoner struggled, Rheinhardt felt something heavy collide with his hip.

‘Keep still and I’ll let you breathe.’ The man didn’t stop moving so Rheinhardt applied more pressure. ‘Keep still, I say.’

Although his captive had a slim physique, he was remarkably strong and limber. Rheinhardt felt his hold loosening and to his horror the man slipped down and out from beneath his armlock. A moment later, Rheinhardt was deflecting punches that came at him with great force and speed. He wasn’t fast enough to maintain an adequate guard and he got caught on the chin. Another punch drove into his stomach, winding him badly. With bovine determination Rheinhardt snapped his head forward again and butted his assailant in the face, before pushing him with considerable force against one of the caryatids. The man’s hat fell off and rolled across the pavement and into the gutter. Rheinhardt grabbed the man’s lapels but, once again, he could not keep hold of him. The villain escaped, stumbling out of the porch before righting himself and turning to confront Rheinhardt. It was a hard face — expressionless — sharp features, cropped hair, and cold reptilian eyes. The man thrust his hand into his coat pocket and his expression flickered with doubt and uncertainty.

‘I believe you are looking for this,’ said Rheinhardt, producing the man’s gun. He pointed it directly at the man’s heart. They were both breathing heavily. Somewhere, out on the streets, some people were carousing. A woman was laughing as two men sang Trinke, Liebchen, trinke schnell from Die Fledermaus. ‘Tell your master that the case is closed. His secret is safe with me. I am fully aware that it is no longer in my interests to continue the investigation.’ The man’s eyes darted from the gun barrel to Rheinhardt’s eyes and back again. ‘Do you understand?’

The man nodded and edged backwards to the kerb where he bent his knees and scooped up his hat. After replacing it on his head, he showed Rheinhardt that his hands were empty, turned on his heels, and walked off into the night. Rheinhardt leaned back against the building and massaged his jaw. It hurt a great deal, but there was no blood. Suddenly he was overcome by a profound tiredness. He felt drained of energy and would have liked nothing more than to just lie down on the ground and rest. Rheinhardt peered into the darkness. The man really had gone.

‘Dear God,’ Rheinhardt sighed. ‘I’m getting too old for this.’

The voices of the carousers could still be heard, but they were already fading.