The Silence

Seventeen

Werthen was met by Meier the next morning at the glass doors to the entrance hall of the Palais Wittgenstein.

‘I cannot say as you will be welcome,’ the servant said as he led the way up the sweep of marble steps.

‘How do you mean?’

But Meier had said all he intended to. Reaching the second floor, he rapped gently on the door to his master’s study. He entered, bidding Werthen wait on the landing, and returned a moment later.

‘Herr Wittgenstein is otherwise disposed.’

‘Tell him I’ve had a communication from his son, Hans.’

Meier hesitated, obviously not wanting to displease his employer.

‘Vital information,’ Werthen added. ‘I am sure Herr Wittgenstein would want to hear of it.’

With a long-suffering sigh the liveried servant rapped again on the door to the office. This time when he came out, he nodded at Werthen to enter, holding the door for him.

Werthen had barely got in the door when Herr Wittgenstein, seated behind his desk, said crossly, ‘What do you mean by exposing my son to this street scum?’

The word struck Werthen like a fist. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The urchin Luki gave his coat to. He says he met him at your office. And why didn’t you tell me the scoundrel had snuck off from his tutor?’

Werthen was still reeling from the foul description of the hapless Heidrich Beer.

‘Speak up, man. What is it you’ve got from Hans?’

Werthen finally found his voice. ‘You’ll be pilloried.’

This comment stilled Herr Wittgenstein for the moment.

Then, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The Vienna Woods scheme.’

Another short silence from Herr Wittgenstein. His face turned scarlet.

‘How did you hear of it?’

Werthen handed him a copy of his own letter; the crumpled original was at his office.

Wittgenstein quickly perused it, then looked up at Werthen, who had not been offered a chair.

‘So?’

‘You don’t refute this?’

‘Why should I? My only question is how you came into possession of this information. If one of my house staff has been digging about in my dustbin-’

‘It was not one of your domestics, I assure you. But more importantly, can you not see the disservice a sale of a huge swath of the Vienna Woods would do to the citizens of this city?’

‘It is a business dealing, pure and simple.’

The man’s complete nonchalance flummoxed Werthen. He had expected at least a trace of embarrassment, but Herr Wittgenstein evinced none.

‘Then don’t you see that you are just being used by Lueger and his cronies? They’ll get the money and blame the sale on you, on the “money-grubbing Jews.”’

Wittgenstein sat in stunned silence for a moment. Suddenly he crashed his fist down on the desktop.

‘The Wittgensteins are not Jews! We are as Christian as anyone in the empire. Now I believe our interview is finished, Advokat. Do what you wish about this, but business is business. The sale will go forward. Good day to you.’

‘The man is blinded by ambition,’ Gross pronounced later that morning when they met at Werthen’s office. His wife, Adele, was accompanying him, and nodded in assent.

‘There was no reasoning with him,’ Werthen said. ‘Wittgenstein and his group are not going to pull out of the sale.’

Gross, sitting across the desk from him, rubbed his hands together. His eyes sparkled as he said, ‘We shall have to find another way then.’

‘What is it, Gross? You seem oddly pleased with yourself.’

The criminologist shook his head firmly. ‘Not with myself, but with my good lady wife.’ He nodded at Adele, who seemed almost to blush. They sat shoulder to shoulder as giddy as newly weds.

‘Please tell,’ Werthen said encouragingly to Frau Gross.

‘Well, as I indicated on Saturday I have been talking with the female supporters of Lueger. As a woman, I hesitate to use the pejorative name-’

‘Nothing so damning about calling them Lueger’s Amazons,’ interrupted her husband, ‘nor in Lueger’s Gretls.’

‘Quite,’ Frau Gross said. ‘But their official title is the Christian Viennese Women’s League, and they have proved a decisive factor in getting the men out to vote for Handsome Karl. I spoke with one of the deputies of the league, Frau Dagmar Platner.’

‘That name sounds familiar,’ Werthen said, and then it came to him. ‘That’s it. The lady was in charge of an outing of the League. On their way to the Semmering, I believe. This was two, perhaps three years ago.’

Gross slapped his knee most uncharacteristically. ‘You’re right, Werthen. I remember now, as well.’

‘I assure you,’ Frau Gross said, ‘none of this has anything to do with-’

‘And a train of Socialists on a similar outing pulls up on the platform next to theirs,’ Doktor Gross continued. He began chuckling to himself. ‘When the Socialists saw the bunting on the League’s train, they began shouting and taunting the ladies about what a miserable person Lueger is. And then these very respectable women, these very Christian ladies, simply raised their skirts and showed their pantalooned backsides to the Socialists.’

‘Really, Hanns,’ Frau Gross said.

Werthen had to still Gross, worried lest his laughter carry to the outside office. Fraulein Metzinger had insisted on coming in today, and Werthen did not want to show disrespect to her mourning.

Gross wiped a tear of joy from his right eye, sniffed once, and then resumed his usual professional demeanor.

‘Please continue, Schatzi,’ he said.

Werthen nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of this endearment coming from Gross’s lips.

‘At any rate, Frau Platner was most helpful. Of course I did not bring up the matter of a sale of part of the Vienna Woods nor the investigation of Steinwitz or Praetor. I simply told her I was a journalist working on an article about Lueger for a German newspaper. She was only too eager to supply me with names of women who have worked closely with the mayor. One of these was a certain Frau Grey. It seems this woman gave lessons to Lueger in rhetoric and later became a trusted advisor.’

The way she raised her eyebrows let Werthen know the woman was far more than an advisor.

‘Did Frau Platner know of this relationship?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not. For her, Mayor Lueger is as cloistered as a priest. A rather silly woman. Frau Grey, on the other hand, is a sophisticated woman of the world. An actress and a theater director at one time. And, I believe, a Jew. Not that it matters, but with Mayor Lueger’s political stance, it does seem ironic.’

‘Remember, dear,’ Gross said, ‘Lueger’s favorite dictum: “I’ll decide who is a Jew.”’

His wife continued, ‘Most helpful, Frau Grey. I believe she really loved the man. She claimed that he even asked her to marry him, but that she refused, telling him he was too much married to politics to have a wife. They went their separate ways about four years ago.’

She stopped and smiled at both men.

‘And?’ Werthen asked.

Another slight smile. ‘She had no current first-hand information about Herr Lueger, but did provide another name of someone we should see. Marianne Beskiba. Fraulein Beskiba was a chapter secretary for the Women’s League and a rabid organizer for Lueger. She also, it appears, is a painter.’

‘Herr Lueger seems to appreciate the bohemian type,’ Gross said.

‘Have you spoken with her?’

‘No, not yet,’ Frau Gross said. ‘That is why Hanns, Doktor Gross, is so pleased with himself today. It seems the lady requests that we visit her.’

She fetched a letter out of the silken purse she carried, and handed it across the desk to Werthen, who quickly perused it.

‘So she heard you were asking questions about Lueger and about her?’ he said looking up from the letter.

‘Yes, apparently,’ Frau Gross said. ‘I left an address for the Hotel Imperial with Frau Platner. It seems that Fraulein Beskiba believes my story of a newspaper article about Lueger.’

‘And what are these “important revelations” that she wishes to share?’ Werthen asked.

‘Ahh,’ said Gross. ‘That is what we are going to discover. You will join us, won’t you, Werthen?’

He wanted nothing more, yet, a lawyer, he continually saw beyond immediate desires.

‘Would our presence not be a hindrance?’ he said. ‘After all, Fraulein Beskiba might unburden herself more fully in the presence of another woman.’

‘Nonsense,’ spluttered Gross.

‘I actually would appreciate the assistance, Advokat,’ Frau Gross said. ‘Duplicity is not my strong suit. I am not sure, after all, that I am made for an investigative life.’

‘You’ve done wonders, dear.’ Gross patted his wife’s hand with real affection. Then to Werthen, ‘So, what about it. Game for a visit to the lady’s atelier?’

On the way out they stopped for a moment at Fraulein Metzinger’s desk and Doktor and Frau Gross gave their condolences. Werthen stayed behind for a moment as the others headed for the stairs. He and Fraulein Metzinger had not yet had a chance to talk.

‘Might I once again say how awfully sorry I am about Heidl.’

She looked up from her typewriting machine, her eyes red-rimmed. A peculiar sour odor rose from her; he had never known Fraulein Metzinger to be lax in matters of hygiene before.

‘Thank you, Advokat. And about yesterday. I am sorry for going at you like that. It was the shock.’

‘Please do not think of it,’ he said. ‘It is a great loss. Have you made arrangements, or shall I-’

‘No, no. Herr Beer is seeing to all that.’

He tried to hide his disapproval, but failed.

‘He really does mean the best, Advokat Werthen. You shouldn’t be too hard on the man. His life has not been easy.’

‘As you say, Fraulein Metzinger.’

‘Nor am I being a typical needy female. I am not blind to Herr Beer’s faults. I am sure he intends to get something for himself out of this. But I need him at the moment. Someone else who loved the boy.’

He noted that she could not yet bring herself to use Heidl’s name.

‘Of course,’ he said and gently patted her shoulder. ‘If there is anything I can do. .’

‘Thank you, Advokat. Now you had better hurry up or Doktor Gross will leave you behind.’

As it turned out, Fraulein Beskiba was a near neighbor of Werthen’s in the Seventh District, the Neubau. Her studio and living quarters were on Siebensterngasse, on the top floor of a rather nondescript apartment block. There was no lift in the house and thus the three of them plodded up the four flights of stairs. There was a dampness to the place that made the wooden handrail sticky to the touch.

Finally they reached her flat, and Gross did the honors of rapping on the door. It was duly opened by a rather wispy woman in a Murano wool shawl.

‘Good day, Fraulein Beskiba-’ Frau Gross began.

‘I see you’ve brought friends,’ the woman said in a commanding voice that in no way fitted her diminutive frame. ‘That’s fine by me. Come in, come in. Don’t let the damp in.’

The light was bad in the foyer and it was not until they entered the studio itself with its wall of north-facing atelier windows that Werthen could see how attractive she was. She had sparkling green eyes and fine, high cheekbones. Her nose was longish, but on her it was quite perfect.

‘I appreciate your asking to see me,’ Frau Gross said.

‘Please, sit.’ Fraulein Beskiba indicated an elegant sitting arrangement by one of the windows. Now that Werthen had a chance to survey the surroundings, he noted that everywhere were signs of good taste and of wealth. The parquet floors were covered in the best of carpets, rosewood and mahogany furniture graced the room. He doubted if such fittings could be afforded on the money provided by a portrait painter’s commissions. On an easel deeper in the studio he noticed a work in progress: undoubtedly Mayor Lueger, dressed in a gray suit with a Styrian hunting hat atop his salt and pepper hair. His beard was combed to perfection and he looked quite at home in the heavy Alt Deutsch chair, the original of which sat near the easel.

Noticing the focus of his attention, Fraulein Beskiba said, ‘He makes a wonderful model. Always so aware of his public presence. A handsome man, indeed. But you know, up close you can see the wrinkles and the weather-beaten nature of his face. It has taken a toll on him.’

He assumed she was referring to the hectic life of a politician.

Once seated, the painter lost no time.

‘I have summoned you for one reason and one reason only. I heard of your interviews with members of the Women’s League, of course. But, Frau Gross, you really should use another name when pretending to be a journalist. And, I might add, what kind of journalist can afford the Hotel Imperial?’

Gross now squinted at his wife in approbation.

‘Do not be hard on her, Doktor Gross.’ Then turning to Werthen, ‘Nor should you blame her, Advokat. You see, I know all about your investigations from Karl. From Mayor Lueger. I mean to help you.’

The three of them were speechless for a moment at this pronouncement.

‘Yes, you heard me right,’ she said.

‘I assure you, Fraulein Beskiba-’ Gross began.

‘Please do not insult my intelligence, Doktor Gross. It’s all about this sale of the Vienna Woods, isn’t it?’

Again her blunt statement made them mute for an instant.

‘Yes,’ said Werthen, the first one to recover. ‘Yes it is.’

‘I suppose you don’t like it much. You think the Woods should be left for the people.’

‘Something like that.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s all the same to me. Nature.’ She actually shivered as she said the word.

Looking outside the massive windows, Werthen could see that the snow had begun again.

‘But I am on your side in this. I want the sale stopped, too. And I might have the ammunition to help you.’

‘Why would you do that, Fraulein Beskiba?’ asked Doktor Gross. ‘It would seem an act of disloyalty.’

‘Do not misunderstand my motives,’ she responded. ‘I am not seeking some twisted revenge on the mayor. In point of fact, I am quite in love with him.’ She looked at each in turn after she announced this. ‘And it is because I love him that I want this sale to be stopped. Do you know why he wants to sell off the Woods?’

‘No,’ Werthen answered. ‘That is the part of all this that makes no sense.’

‘He needs money. Karl is a most ambitious man. He needs money to mount a political campaign that will make him prime minister. Once in that position, he intends to get the small people in back of him and establish a republic, to get rid of the Habsburgs once and for all.’

‘Preposterous,’ Gross said.

But Werthen thought otherwise. The elected government of the empire was disastrously rent by divisions in Parliament. No laws had been passed by that body since 1897 when the emperor took over what little democratic power he had relinquished, ruling by decree according to paragraph fourteen of the constitution. Discontent was everywhere. Were Lueger to mount an empire-wide campaign, his fabulous popularity could bring him victory, Werthen was sure of it. Lueger knew how to talk to the little people, to sway them with rhetoric and emotion. And once he became prime minister Lueger could always turn to the people if the emperor attempted to curb his power. He and he alone could bring disparate groups out on to the streets, perhaps even foment a revolution. And once Lueger had the money in hand from the sale of the Woods, he could use it freely, Werthen knew, for the financial machinations of the Christian Socialists in City Hall were legendary. The money would be hidden in a myriad of ways and Lueger would manage to make the Jews at the center of the sale the villains; like a magician, he would keep the public’s eye off the money and on the supposed perfidy of those who had bought the Woods.

‘He hates them so,’ Fraulein Beskiba continued. ‘Blames the Habsburgs for all the faults in society. It was the emperor himself, after all, who refused to accept the voice of the people, declining several times to allow Karl to become mayor. He will do anything to destroy the Habsburgs.’

‘And to mount a campaign across the length and breadth of the empire he needs large cash reserves,’ Werthen said.

She nodded.

‘And you do not want him to do this,’ he added.

‘No.’ She said it firmly, unequivocally. ‘It would kill him. You may not know it, but Karl suffers from diabetes. The stress of being mayor is bad enough, were he to become prime minister. .’ She did not voice her concluding thought.

‘Besides,’ said Gross, ‘if he became prime minister, there would hardly be time for you, would there?’

‘Hanns,’ his wife said, shaking her head at him.

‘Yes. That, too, I suppose. One never has pure motives, does one? But now you know. Now you have ammunition. I only ask that you never let him know where you learned these secrets.’

‘Agreed,’ Werthen said.

She rose. ‘I must get back to my portrait now. I imagine you have preparations to make, as well.’

Werthen was impressed by her absolute self-control and self-assurance. He wondered if she would ever manage to get Lueger to herself as she wished.

Leading them out, she turned abruptly. ‘And one thing more. You really cannot believe Karl is somehow responsible for the death of Councilman Steinwitz, can you? Or of this journalist fellow?’

‘I see that very little gets past the mayor,’ Werthen said, but he did not answer her question.

They had a busy afternoon.

Adele left the men to their work, deciding instead to attend to her attire for the upcoming Lawyers’ Ball this Saturday. It was to be the crowning jewel in her ball season and not even a murder investigation or the imminent sale of an enormous section of the Vienna Woods was going to interrupt it.

For the second time in one day Werthen marveled at female strengths. Frau Gross’s ability to compartmentalize her activities so thoroughly was quite amazing. It was obvious to Werthen that her husband did not share her childlike eagerness for the gala evening. For Gross, a ball was clearly the last thing on his mind now that they were getting so close to the heart of the matter with their investigations.

As Adele left them after the interview with Fraulein Beskiba she said blithely, ‘I am sure you men will have things completed by the weekend.’

Werthen could not understand her optimism; though they had gotten to the crux of the Vienna Woods sale, he was not sure that it brought them much closer to finding the killer of Steinwitz and Praetor. Clearly the fact that the two men were planning to disrupt the sale with their reporting provided motive to someone involved in the business proposition, but to whom? Could it be the huckster-like Remington with his dreams of a ‘Tales from the Vienna Woods’ park? Perhaps the commission for the killings came from Wittgenstein and his shadowy band of investors, who stood to lose millions if their proposed estate development fell through? Or had orders for the killings come from Lueger himself, so intent on his dreams of power that he would let no one stand in his way, even an old schoolmate? After all, it was now apparent, according to the testimony of his lover, that Lueger had eyes and ears everywhere. Surely he would know of Steinwitz’s defection, of his meetings with young Praetor.

Increasingly Werthen was coming to believe that their main suspect was indeed the mayor himself. Yet how to prove it?

This afternoon, however, they concentrated on stopping the sale of the Vienna Woods; finding the murderer of Steinwitz and Praetor would have to wait for another day.

To that end they paid a call on Victor Adler at the offices of the Arbeiter Zeitung.

It was dinnertime when Werthen returned to his flat; Gross and his wife would be dining with friends of Adele tonight. Werthen knew his parents were also staying in this evening, as his mother had caught a touch of the grippe and did not want to spread the illness to baby Frieda. He was looking forward to a quiet evening alone with his wife and child. He needed it, a sort of psychic recharging.

As he fitted the key into his apartment door and began turning it he realized, however, that this intimate evening was not to be. Instead he heard voices from inside, and as he opened the door, they grew clearer. In the foyer he saw a leather valise by the coat rack. His disappointment at not being alone with Berthe and Frieda was supplanted by a more positive emotion.

He burst into the sitting room, from which issued the voices, and was well pleased to see his father-in-law seated on the leather couch. Frieda sat astride his thigh bouncing gently to the nursery song, so reiten die Damen. . ‘this is the way the ladies ride.’

‘Herr Meisner! How wonderful to see you.’

The older man looked up from the child, evident glee in his eyes.

‘And you, son.’

They said nothing of this miraculous reconciliation during dinner. Instead, Werthen regaled them with the course his investigation had taken, and Herr Meisner seemed to take it all in as a youth would the adventures of Old Shatterhand from a Karl May novel of the West.

It was not until later, with Herr Meisner off to the guest room, Frieda happily asleep in her crib, and Werthen curled around his wife, that he discovered Berthe understood her father’s return no better than did he.

‘You mean he gave no explanation?’ Werthen asked.

He felt her shrug.

‘And you didn’t ask?’

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. ‘I did not witness you jumping into the fray, either, Karl.’

‘But does he still insist on the naming ceremony?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t know. I just know it is good to have him here again. To see him with our baby.’ And they left it at that.