Vienna Blood

18

KRULL HAD BEEN ESCORTED from his cell by two constables who now stood guard outside the specially prepared room. On arrival, Liebermann had instructed Krull to lie down on the divan. The little man immediately protested.

“Herr Krull,” said Rheinhardt, “judges are not kindly disposed toward defendants who have failed to cooperate with the police. This is something you might care to consider before making a stand.”

Krull swore under his breath and gracelessly mounted the divan. His apelike features were not matched by any simian agility.

Liebermann drew up a chair and placed it at the head of the divan-out of Krull's sight. Krull jerked his head back.

“Please, Herr Krull,” said Liebermann. “Do not attempt to look at me. I want you to look straight ahead, or close your eyes-whatever you find more comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Krull repeated. “You must be a comedian, Herr Doctor.”

Liebermann crossed his legs, placed his elbow on the chair arm, and allowed his head to rest against his right hand. He began by taking a history-just as he might with a patient being admitted to the hospital.

Krull had been born and raised in the country, but had come to Vienna to seek his fortune. Like many before him, he had soon discovered that the great city distributed its bounty capriciously. Not everyone found employment and amassed wealth. Krull spent his first winter in a charitable shelter, and the next three years in a men's hostel in Brigittenau. His companions were mostly laborers and handymen. Like him, the majority of them came from lower Austria, but Krull was also compelled to share a dormitory with several “lying Croats,” “greedy Hungarians,” and the odd “filthy Russian.” He moved first to Landstrasse and then to Ottakring, before eventually securing the comparative luxury of his dismal apartment on the edges of Spittelberg. During his many years of abject poverty, he had come under the influence of a Catholic priest called Father Anselm, who had become his spiritual mentor.

“You should find him!” Krull cried. “He'd speak up for me. He'd tell you what a big mistake you've made!”

Liebermann's index finger stirred. He tapped his temple three times and asked, “Why did you visit Madam Borek's brothel, Herr Krull?”

The little man grumbled something inaudible and finally replied, “I never visited Madam Borek's brothel.”

“You were seen outside on several occasions. What were you doing?”

Krull rolled his head back. “Why must I lie here like this-are you going to do something to me?”

“No,” said Liebermann patiently. “Now, could you please answer my question? What were you doing?”

“I wanted to see the girl,” snapped Krull.

“Which one?”

“The young one, Ludka.”

“Why did you want to see her?”

Krull squeezed his thick lower lip. Dark crescents showed where dirt had collected beneath his nails.

“I wanted to talk to her.” Liebermann allowed the subsequent pause to lengthen. “I wanted to save her.”

The young doctor raised his eyebrows and glanced at Rheinhardt.

“Save her?” Liebermann repeated.

“Yes, from a life of sin.”

“I see,” said Liebermann. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Did you ever speak to Ludka?”

“Only once.”

“When was that?”

“The first time I saw her: the first time we met. About a month ago-it was by the fountain.”

“And what did you say to her?”

“I had a cold and was sneezing. She gave me her handkerchief. I asked her where she lived and she pointed down the street. I knew the house… That's to say, I knew what sort of house it was. I promised to return the handkerchief. Thing is, her German wasn't very good-I'm not sure she understood what I was saying.”

“And did you keep your promise? Did you return her handkerchief?”

“No, I didn't get the chance to.”

“Where is the handkerchief now?”

Krull appeared to tap his heart-a gesture which Liebermann took to mean that the handkerchief was in one of Krull's pockets.

“May I see it?”

The little man slid his right hand under the left lapel of his jacket and pulled out a small square of white cotton. It was embroidered around the edges with a tiny motif of linked roses.

“Thank you,” said Liebermann.

Krull held the handkerchief up to his nose, sampled its fragrance, and stuffed it back into his jacket pocket.

“I went to the house,” Krull continued. “I don't deny it. I used to stand outside for hours, waiting for her to come out-which was how I got talking to that old gossip Chalupnik.”

“Why didn't you knock on the door?”

“I don't know… embarrassment… shame. I ended up in the inn more often than not, warming myself up with one too many slivovitzes.”

“Are you saying that you never saw her again after that first meeting?”

“No. I did see her again, but only once more. Chalupnik was there. She came out with a cavalryman. Blond tall chap-I suppose you'd call him handsome. They were laughing… I think he was drunk. I felt… I don't know… churned up inside. I turned my back on them and spoke to the old man. She didn't see me.”

“Herr Krull, were you in love with Ludka?”

“Don't be ridiculous! I felt sorry for her. I wanted to help her get out of that place. Those soldiers… I've heard what they get up to. If the emperor knew the truth, eh?”

Liebermann produced a small white object, which he proceeded to hold above Krull's head.

“Do you recognize this, Herr Krull?”

“No.”

“The third metacarpal, I believe-probably belonging to a woman aged around nineteen or twenty years.”

“Meta what? What are you talking about?”

“It's a woman's finger, Herr Krull. And do you know where it was found? In the recess just outside your apartment-among the votive candles.”

“People are always throwing things in there. It probably belongs to the medical student downstairs…”

Liebermann removed the bone from Krull's line of vision.

“Herr Krull, why were the clothes in your wardrobe covered in blood?”

“You know why-I've told the inspector.”

“Yes, but I want you to tell me.”

“My clothes were covered in blood because I work in an abattoir. It's pig's blood.”

“Do you normally leave bloody clothes in your wardrobe?”

“Yes. There's nowhere else to put them. If I don't get to the bathhouse, then my clothes don't get washed.”