Vienna Secrets

78

SOMEWHERE IN THE SCHOTTENRING station a clock struck five.

Rheinhardt was seated behind his desk, writing the concluding sentences of Liebermann’s statement. When he had finished, he sat back in his chair, yawned, and offered Liebermann a cigar. Then he poured two glasses of slivovitz.

“The thing that I don’t understand,” said Rheinhardt, “is this: How is it that you managed to escape those bindings? You said…” Rheinhardt consulted the statement. “‘I discovered that the bindings were loosely tied and managed to free my hands.’ But that strikes me as rather peculiar, that a man of Professor Priel’s intelligence, a thorough man, should make such a fundamental error.”

Liebermann sighed. “Well, I don’t suppose it was quite as simple as that, but I think that my statement is perfectly adequate for administrative purposes.”

“That may be so,” said Rheinhardt. “However, you have now succeeded in arousing my curiosity, and if there is an explanation, I would be most interested to hear it.”

Liebermann exhaled a cloud of smoke and sampled the slivovitz. “Do you still get this brandy from the Croatian scissors grinder?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“We have an arrangement. He gives me information and I buy his slivovitz. It’s actually from his brother’s market stall.”

“I see.”

Rheinhardt assumed an expression of patient suffering. The pouches of discoloration under his eyes were more marked than usual. He looked a little like a bloodhound.

“The explanation, Max?”

Liebermann took another slug of the slivovitz. “I must begin with Professor Freud.”

“Freud? What has he got to do with it?”

“Overdetermination.”

“What?”

“I’m sure I must have mentioned the concept before.”

“I’m sure you have. Even so, would you care to refresh my memory?”

Liebermann tapped the ash from his cigar.

“A symptom is said to be overdetermined if it has more than one cause. The ease with which I was able to escape Professor Priel’s bindings can be explained by the happy coincidence of three contributory factors-two of them physical, and a third that was psychodynamic. First, the muslin that Professor Priel had placed between the rope and my wrists-to stop my skin from chafing-allowed me to move my hands. It was a limited degree of movement, but considerably more than would have been possible otherwise. The second contributory factor, or cause, comes in the shape of Professor Willibald Klammer, a hand surgeon who currently resides in Munich.”

“Max, you are being purposely obtuse-almost provocative.”

Liebermann shrugged and continued. “Professor Klammer is the author of The Klammer Method, a system of piano exercises devised to enhance strength and flexibility: finger stretches, wrist rotations, and the like.” Liebermann demonstrated. “I am a recent convert, and my Chopin Studies are much improved as a consequence. You should hear my Number Twelve now. The position changes in the left hand are seamless.” He reached forward and played a few bars on the inspector’s desk. “It would seem that the physical advantages conferred by The Klammer Method are not merely beneficial to students of the keyboard. They are, I have discovered, of equal benefit to would-be escapologists.”

“And the third contributory factor?”

“Professor Priel’s conscience, or at least that part of his conscience that operates below the threshold of awareness. Although he had identified me as a potential threat to his ambitious plans, he did not count me among the true enemies of Jewry. In truth, he did not want to kill me. Indeed, in order to perform the unconscionable act of my murder, he had to repress strong feelings of guilt. Professor Freud has proved that repressed material is rarely dormant. It always continues to exert a subtle influence on behavior, finding expression in slips of the tongue and trifling errors. I believe that Professor Priel did not tie the knots as hard as he might have on account of his unconscious guilt.”

Rheinhardt smiled. “Well, Max. That is the most orotund explanation I have ever heard in my life.” Rheinhardt opened his drawer and produced a paper bag full of wiener vanillekipferl biscuits. “Would you like one of these?”

“No, thank you.”

“They’re from Demel!”

The inspector looked at Liebermann as if his refusal to accept a biscuit from the imperial and royal confectioners were a sign of madness. He picked out one of the yellow crescents and was about to bite into it when he suddenly stopped.

“What’s troubling you?” asked Liebermann.

“The kabbalist’s lair,” Rheinhardt replied. “How did Professor Priel manage to get all those things up into the attic room of the Alois Gasse Temple without being seen? We haven’t really found an answer-which will be a significant omission in my final report.”

“He bribed Rabbi Seligman’s caretaker.”

“How do you know that?”

“I asked Professor Priel and he told me.”

Rheinhardt looked impressed. “And do you think this man, the caretaker, was in any way party to the murders?”

“No. His only involvement was with respect to creating the illusion of the kabbalist’s workplace. Well, at least that is what I concluded from the way in which Priel spoke of their relationship.”

Rheinhardt bit into his biscuit, and a shower of crumbs rained down on Liebermann’s statement.

There was a knock on the door, and Rheinhardt called out, “Enter.” Haussmann appeared with Professor Priel’s barrel organ hanging from his shoulders.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir. But what should I do with this?”

Liebermann stood up, crossed to Haussmann, and inspected the painted exterior of the instrument.

“Ingenious.” Liebermann opened the doors to reveal the leather-covered discs he had observed earlier and, winding the crank handle, watched them turn for the second time. In motion, the mechanism produced a sound reminiscent of a giant cicada.

“These upholstered plates are adjustable and close against the sides of the victim’s face. A complex system of cogs and pulleys creates mechanical advantage, the factor by which a machine amplifies the force put into it. By means of a simple principle of engineering, Professor Priel became endowed with the strength of a golem.” The young doctor pushed back a slat of wood on the upper surface of the box, creating a semicircular indentation. “This aperture is for the neck. After Professor Priel had concussed his victims, he rested the barrel organ on the ground, doors open, so that the head he intended to remove was covered. During decapitation, jets of blood issued from the major vessels, jets that would possibly have reached the professor had they not been contained within the barrel organ’s casing. Once his monstrous work was done, Priel was at liberty to return to his carriage in the person of a poor itinerant organ-grinder, a type with whom we are all so familiar in Vienna. His presence would have aroused little suspicion, even in the early hours of the morning.”

Liebermann reached into the barrel organ and wiped his finger across one of the wheels. He then raised his hand to display a red-black residue.

“Do you think he made this device himself?” asked Rheinhardt.

“Very probably. The means by which mechanical advantage can be achieved must be detailed in even the most rudimentary textbooks of engineering.”

“Put it over there,” said Rheinhardt to his assistant, indicating the far corner of the room. “And then I’m afraid I must ask you to go to Leopoldstadt.”

“Why, sir?” asked Haussmann.

“To arrest Rabbi Seligman’s caretaker.” Rheinhardt turned to address Liebermann. “I will have to speak to Commissioner Brugel about the management of Professor Priel’s trial. His intention to radicalize the Jews of Vienna must never be reported. I am thankful that Priel chose Sachs as his last victim. At least this will make it easier for us to ascribe his behavior to lunacy, and disguise his political objectives.” Rheinhardt swallowed and added, “Although, of course, that may not be so far from the truth. His plan was absurd, wasn’t it? Are stories and symbols so very potent? Could they really be used to unite and mobilize a whole people?”

“The Pan-Germans make much of their folklore…”

“Yes, but really, Max.” Rheinhardt pushed the remains of his biscuit between his lips. While chewing he added, “Priel must be unbalanced-surely?”

Liebermann walked to the window. The sky was beginning to lighten. He caught his reflection in the glass and touched the scabs on his cheek.

“Look at me!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got to go before the hospital committee in a few days. I look as though I’ve been brawling in a beer cellar!”