Vienna Blood

11

BEFORE LEAVING HIS OFFICE the previous evening, Rheinhardt had received a visit from Commissioner Brugel's adjutant. The self-important underling had handed him an envelope and proclaimed, “The commissioner will see you tomorrow morning.” It was not necessary to reinforce Brugel's summons with a command (Rheinhardt knew better than to neglect a communication from the commissioner), but the adjutant was typical of that class of men who, when given a modicum of authority, never fail to abuse it. Although the note was rendered in an ornate Gothic script, it had the modern virtue of brevity, having been composed in the unmannered style of a telegram: Spittelberg. Progress report. My office. Seven o'clock tomorrow morning. Brugel.

Rheinhardt sat patiently while the commissioner examined photographs of the Spittelberg massacre. Brugel didn't look horrified, or stunned-merely irritated. Occasionally he grunted in a curmudgeonly fashion. A considerable period of time elapsed before he finally raised his blockish head and asked, “What did the soldiers say?”

“I beg your pardon?” Rheinhardt responded.

“The soldiers!” barked Brugel. “Lipos?ak, Alderhorst, Hefner…”

“You are referring to the promissory notes?”

“Of course.”

“I haven't discovered their whereabouts yet.”

“Why? Is there a problem? Is their posting classified?”

“No, sir…” Rheinhardt's collar suddenly felt tight. “I have not, as yet, had an opportunity to visit the barracks. I intend to-”

“Rheinhardt,” Brugel interrupted, “today is Friday. This atrocity took place on Tuesday. What on earth have you been doing?”

“With respect, sir, if I might explain…” Rheinhardt took a deep breath. “Professor Mathias was indisposed on Tuesday. He suffers from a respiratory illness and the cold weather affects his lungs. The good professor-although an inspired pathologist-works slowly, and it was not until late Wednesday evening that the fourth autopsy was completed. On Thursday I worked on my preliminary report, and later in the day I consulted Herr Doctor Liebermann. I have arranged to visit the barracks this morning.”

Brugel did not look impressed. “You didn't have to wait for the autopsy results. You could have contacted the military police straight away.”

“Indeed, but-”

Brugel slapped his hand on the desk.

“Spare me your excuses, Rheinhardt!” The commissioner grumbled something under his breath and began to fulminate again. “Two days, Rheinhardt. You have wasted two days. The brothel is a short walk from the barracks, three of the women were clearly killed with swords, and in Madam Borek's bureau you found the names of eight soldiers who owed her money. Isn't it obvious what you should have done?”

Rheinhardt, not wishing to lock horns with the commissioner, conceded the point. “Yes, sir. It is obvious. It was a mistake to wait for the autopsy results.”

In fact, Rheinhardt thought nothing of the sort. He always preferred to initiate an investigation after consulting Professor Mathias. Moreover, he was well aware that had he not completed a preliminary report by Thursday afternoon, the commissioner would have been equally disgruntled. Even so, he was sufficiently acquainted with Brugel's explosive temper to forgo the modest and perilous pleasure of drawing such arguments to the commissioner's attention.

Brugel opened a buff file and removed the floor plan of Madam Borek's brothel. He unfolded the stiff paper and smoothed it out on his desktop, tutting over some minor aspect of its detail. Then, examining Rheinhardt's preliminary report, he proceeded to question the detective minutely. Brugel's inquisition was not intellectually demanding, but his relentless, bludgeoning style of inquiry made Rheinhardt's head throb.

There was a moment of reprieve when the adjutant arrived with the commissioner's tea. Rheinhardt ruefully observed that the beverage was accompanied by a small pile of Manner Schnitten-wafers filled with hazelnut cream-a new type of biscuit for which the inspector had developed a particular fondness. The commissioner managed to consume all of them without showing any signs of enjoyment, a fact, thought Rheinhardt, that revealed even more about Brugel's deficiencies as a human being than did his habitual rudeness.

The commissioner sipped his tea and dabbed his muttonchop whiskers with a napkin.

“Nothing in your report about Liebermann,” he grumbled.

Rheinhardt explained that this was because he had only consulted the young psychiatrist after submitting the preliminary report. He set about summarizing-as best as he could-his friend's psychological portrait of the perpetrator. But before he had finished, Brugel was impatiently waving his hand in the air. “Yes, yes, I see what he's getting at. But it's all speculation-isn't it?”

Because Rheinhardt was tired, he soon found himself halfway through a sentence the aim of which was to remind Brugel that Liebermann's psychological insights had been of considerable use to the security office on more than one occasion in the past. However, recognizing his error by the minatory ascent of Brugel's left eyebrow, he allowed his explanation to dissolve into an incoherent burble.

“Remember, Rheinhardt,” said Brugel sagely, “there is no substitute for good, solid police work. Look for clues. Interview suspects. And never neglect your paperwork.”

The inspector thanked the commissioner for his sensible advice.

“Now,” said Brugel in a more friendly tone. “Let's get this investigation under way!” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as though enthused by a prospect of punishing manual labor.

“Yes, sir,” said Rheinhardt, rising up from his chair.

He executed a curt bow and marched toward the door.

“Rheinhardt?”

“Sir?”

“One of His Majesty's aides called yesterday. He wanted to know if there was any news concerning that curious incident at the zoo. That business with the snake?”

“Hildegard.”

“Yes. I was led to understand that the animal was a personal favorite of the emperor's.”

Rheinhardt swallowed. “I'm sorry, sir. But what with the Spittelberg incident… I have not had the time to…” He shook his head and made an appeasing gesture with his hands.

The commissioner sighed. He seemed disinclined to chastise Rheinhardt a second time. Rheinhardt imagined that this was probably due to fatigue rather than sympathy.

“So be it,” said the commissioner. “I will inform the palace that the investigation is progressing, but that no new facts have come to our attention.”

“Indeed, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Rheinhardt closed his hand around the door handle and silently gave thanks for his deliverance.