‘Could this Siegfried Mutzenbacher have killed all three?’ Franz Ferdinand suddenly asked.
Gross and Werthen both shrugged. Then Gross said, ‘There is another possible avenue of inquiry, your Highness. The first victim, Fräulein Mitzi, seems now not to have been such a put-upon and exploited girl as was first thought. Indications are that she was quite experienced at manipulation herself.’
Franz Ferdinand sighed, then stood to signal the end of the meeting.
‘Well, I trust you two to follow your instincts in this matter. I wish to see justice done. Please proceed.’
He made to ring a bell on his desk, to summon a servant to lead them out.
‘If I may, your Highness, one more thing.’
Franz Ferdinand stilled his hand. ‘Yes.’
‘It is about that other matter. Baroness von Suttner.’
‘What is it?’
‘We need your help.’
They reached Werthen’s office by mid-afternoon, only to find Inspector Drechsler waiting impatiently.
‘We were about to contact you,’ Werthen said. ‘You saved me a phone call.’
Drechsler did not appear to be in a happy state. The cadaverous detective looked glum as death, his long hawk nose sniffing at this statement.
‘I thought we had an arrangement,’ he replied, disappointment sounding in his voice. ‘An understanding. Now you make me look like a fool in front of the Giftzwerg.’ By ‘poison dwarf’ he meant the diminutive Inspector Meindl.
‘I assure you, Drechsler-’ Gross began, but was cut off by the detective.
‘You withheld information on a case we are investigating. That’s a crime, you know.’
Werthen’s mind began racing. Which information? He had promised to turn over his files on Fräulein Mitzi and had not done so yet. It suddenly angered him that Drechsler should be accusing him over that, when the police had dragged their feet with her murder for weeks.
‘Lord knows how, but she has some powerful connections,’ Drechsler said. ‘Powerful enough to set that bag of gas Meindl on fire. He threatened to have me on the beat in Meidling if I was somehow involved.’
‘Just what are you talking about?’ Gross finally demanded.
They were still standing in the front office, with Fräulein Metzinger trying unsuccessfully to focus on the sheet in her typing machine.
‘Let’s go into your office,’ said Drechsler. It was a command rather than a suggestion.
Once inside Werthen’s office, with the door closed behind them, there was no lessening of the tension.
‘How long have you known about the von Ebersdorf poisoning?’ Drechsler asked.
So that was it, Werthen realized. The ‘she’ with powerful connections that Drechsler had just mentioned was becoming clearer.
‘When did you learn of it?’ Gross countered.
‘Earlier this afternoon, if you must know.’
‘We assumed copies of the autopsy would circulate to the appropriate authorities,’ Gross said, though both he and Werthen knew this was stretching the truth to breaking point. The Archduke had arranged the exhumation and autopsy privately through the von Ebersdorf family. He had not mentioned sharing the information with the constabulary, and they had not asked whether he intended to do so.
‘We can hardly be blamed for bureaucratic bumbling.’
‘Who ordered it?’ Drechsler demanded.
‘The identity of our client must, perforce, remain private.’
‘Damn it, man, you’re playing with my career here! Meindl thinks that I’m withholding information from him. That I am in some sort of conspiracy to make him look like an incompetent fool.’
‘He hardly needs help in that venture,’ Gross said. This comment broke the tension somewhat.
‘Look, Inspector,’ Werthen quickly jumped in. ‘I assume that Frau Mutzenbacher was the one who brought a complaint to Meindl?’
‘You assume correctly.’
‘She must have some of her clientele under her thumb,’ Werthen went on. ‘Including someone powerful enough to get Meindl to try to stop the investigation.’
‘If memory serves me right, “persecution” was the word used,’ the policeman noted.
‘I assure you we only learned yesterday that Siegfried Mutzenbacher was working in the kitchen where the von Ebersdorf banquet was served. We know that von Ebersdorf was a customer at the Bower; and a steady client of Fräulein Mitzi, who was murdered. In my earlier investigations into her death I found that there was a connection between Siegfried and the girl, but whether it was platonic, as he claimed, or otherwise, is uncertain.’
‘So you assume that his mere presence in the kitchen of the hotel means he poisoned von Ebersdorf?’
‘Something like that,’ Werthen allowed, though when stated so simplistically it did sound somewhat far-fetched.
‘Sound reasoning,’ Drechsler said without a trace of irony.
‘You think so?’ Werthen asked.
‘I must apologize to you, Inspector Drechsler,’ Gross said suddenly, sounding honestly contrite. ‘It was my suggestion that we interview Herr Mutzenbacher directly. I’m sure you understand the eagerness and excitement there is when you think you are about to close a case. I promise you, had we gained a confession, we would have contacted you directly.’
‘And now that you’ve muddied the waters with this Siegfried fellow, I get to clean up your mess. Is that it?’
Werthen and Gross exchanged looks, the latter shrugging as if to say it was time to play their trump.
‘In the greatest confidence, Inspector, I will tell you this. Our current employer. .’ Another quick glance at Werthen. ‘Is a man of great power in the empire. A word in his ear from us would put you in very good stead, that I can promise.’
Drechsler considered this for a moment. ‘At court?’
Gross raised his hands as if to show that they were tied in matters of client secrecy. ‘You could have a protector in him. That is all I can say.’
Werthen thought that was again straining the truth, but it seemed to mollify the detective.
‘Meindl wants you off this case,’ Drechsler said. ‘It is now officially Police Praesidium business. That and the murders of the two women from the Bower.’
Gross was about to respond, but Werthen cut him off.
‘We will confer with our client,’ he said.
‘Meanwhile I want the files from your earlier investigation of Fräulein Mitzi’s death. Everything.’
Werthen nodded. Conciliation was what was needed now, not confrontation or even offers of compromise.
‘She may not have been the poor victimized girl we took her for,’ Werthen added, offering this information as a sign of goodwill.
‘Really?’
‘You’ll see it in the files. But her tale of being forced into prostitution has some holes in it.’
TWENTY
He had followed them through the course of the day, but he was not the only one doing so. There was also a cornstalk of a man with a scar on his face that would frighten even a crucifix-worshipping nun.
He was a protector or a watcher. At first Schmidt wasn’t sure which.
Not very effective at either, though, since he never noticed me, Schmidt figured.
The lawyer and his bulky friend had been busy indeed. Cornering that pimp Siegfried from the Bower. Schmidt did not like the look of that interview: Siegfried had walked away from the café like a man with a noose round his neck.
And yet what the hell did Siegfried know? What could he tell the lawyer and his rotund pal? Another loose end that needed tying up.
Then to the Belvedere, and he could only guess at their mission there, as well. He followed them in through the entrance at No. 6 Rennweg, through a passage in the lower palace and to the grounds behind. Schmidt was in luck, for the gardens were open to the public during the warm months. He followed at a distance, through the ornamental flower-beds, past fountains and statues and terraces, up the slope to the Upper Belvedere.