‘May I introduce Doktor Hanns Gross?’ Werthen said.
‘Dear lady,’ Gross murmured as Frau Steinwitz nodded at him.
‘I was not aware Reinhold had further business with you, Advokat.’ She motioned toward a pair of damask-covered fauteuils, while she perched on a settee.
‘No,’ Werthen said, sinking into the armchair. ‘He didn’t. And may I extend my condolences for your loss. I was very sad to hear of his passing.’
She managed a small sniffle, but then shrugged it off as if such emotion were a failing on her part.
‘We all miss him very much,’ she said flatly. ‘It was good of you to come in person to convey your commiseration.’
He felt Gross’s reproving eyes on him.
‘Not at all, Frau Steinwitz. Actually, I am also engaged in another inquiry. The death of a certain Henricus Praetor.’
Werthen noticed a sudden red at her cheeks with the mention of this name; already sitting with a straight back, she seemed to stiffen even more on the settee.
‘You recognize the name?’
‘Of course I do. He is the journalist Reinhold was working with.’
This comment took Werthen aback. ‘Working with?’
‘Yes, Advokat Werthen.’
‘But Praetor was the one who implicated your husband in a financial scandal.’
She nodded. ‘I think I can trust you. Reinhold always spoke well of you, even after he found other representation. It was nothing personal, you see, but when he became a city councilor, they demanded he avail himself of an older attorney.’
‘No need to explain, Frau Steinwitz. I fully understand. I believe he found further representation with a member of the Christian Social party.’
In other words, a non-Jew.
She nodded glumly.
‘That party,’ she hissed.
‘You were mentioning trusting my esteemed colleague,’ Gross said. ‘Perhaps it were better if I afforded you some privacy.’
‘Herr Gross is my valued associate,’ Werthen quickly explained to the widow, ‘as well as an internationally recognized criminalist.’
Only then did he notice that she was not listening. Rather her shoulders jerked forward several times spasmodically, and a flood of tears flowed down her cheeks.
Werthen went to her, putting a caring hand on her shoulder, but remaining silent. He knew words would not soothe at this point.
She took deep breaths, and her sobs diminished finally. ‘You must pardon the outbreak. You see, I have been so frightened. I did not know to whom I should turn. My father has a poor heart, and I do not want to worry him.’
‘Frightened,’ Werthen said, realizing he had misunderstood her tears. ‘Whatever of, madam?’
‘As I said, my husband was working with young Praetor. After publication of the initial story implicating Reinhold, my husband contacted Praetor in an effort to clear his good name. He was giving the journalist all manner of information. Reinhold would not talk to me of it, but I am sure it was very serious indeed. Poor Reinhold could not sleep for weeks before he. . before his. .’
‘What manner of information, Frau Steinwitz?’ Gross inquired.
‘I did see one of the files my husband later gave to the journalist. It detailed missing funds from a public building project.’
‘One of the files?’ Gross said.
‘They met several times at this flat. Perhaps they had other meetings as well. Each time, Reinhold had a thick file to hand over to the young man.’
Werthen withdrew his hand from her shoulder. ‘And that is what is frightening you, these disclosures.’
‘Don’t you see? First my husband and then Praetor. Someone killed them both to silence them. Maybe the same person will come for me and my children. I do not know where to turn.’
‘Never fear, madam,’ Gross said with utter conviction. ‘If such is the case, we shall find the culprits and bring them to justice.’
She nodded and sighed at Gross, then turned her attention to Werthen.
‘And in the meantime?’
‘Perhaps you should go to the police,’ he offered.
She shook her head violently at this suggestion. ‘The police are for criminals. And the scandal it would cause.’
Werthen was not surprised at the illogic of such a reaction. Here was a woman essentially saying she feared for her life, yet would not go to the police because tongues would wag about the Gutrum name. It was the Viennese thing to do.
‘I repeat, madam,’ Gross said, ‘we shall find justice. And meanwhile, Advokat Werthen will keep a protective eye on you.’
‘Oh please,’ she said with real emotion. ‘That would be too good of you.’
Werthen shot Gross a disapproving look, angered that the criminologist offered up his services so lightly.
‘I would be happy to retain you, Advokat,’ she said.
‘My pleasure, entirely,’ Werthen said.
‘Good of you to offer my services,’ Werthen said once they were outside.
Gross shook his head. ‘It won’t do. Pretty young woman like that needs a knight around.’
‘She’s got the whole of the royal army to choose from,’ Werthen protested.
‘Remember her father’s poor heart. Besides, I have a feeling that we may want to remain close to Frau Steinwitz.’
Gross took his leave of Werthen then, in a hurry lest Adele should become suspicious of his whereabouts and business.
‘Clarity ensues,’ Gross offered as a parting comment.
It was clear enough, Werthen thought as he made his way home through the late afternoon darkness. They had considered that a possible motive for killing Praetor might be to keep him from making even further allegations, from reaching ever higher in City Hall to uncover corruption. Now this theory had been extended to Councilman Steinwitz, as well.
Even though the councilman’s death had been determined a suicide, Werthen knew such a thing could easily be staged. Gross planned to examine police photographs of the crime scene in the morning. The revelations from Frau Steinwitz opened up an entirely new direction for their investigation.
Werthen crossed the Landesgerichtstrasse and began cutting through back lanes to reach his apartment via the shortest route. As the streets were all narrow and short, this was also the least chilly route, for the wind had come up now and whistled down the wider boulevards, reaching to the bone with its cold.
Walking up the Schmidgasse, he heard footsteps in back of him quickly approaching. He noticed that the street was empty but for him and whoever was in back of him. Turning, he caught a blow to his left cheekbone that sent him sprawling on to the cobbled street. A pair of legs straddled him, and then a boot to the kidneys made him curl like a fetus as other blows rained down upon him.
Suddenly he lashed out with his walking stick, catching his attacker in the knee with the brass globe. The man cried out in pain, and Werthen rolled away, getting to his feet.
His attacker, a hulking man in worker’s clothes, now pulled out a knife from his waistband, and Werthen, his youthful fencing training returning to him automatically, assumed a fighting pose, his walking stick held high like a foil. The man lunged at him, and Werthen parried the thrust with a blow to the man’s middle followed by another to his back as Werthen spun out of knife range.
They squared off once again, the man panting and eyeing him savagely.
‘What is it you want?’ Werthen said to him. ‘What are you after?’ But he knew the man was no common thief.
The man said nothing, but once again lunged for him. This time Werthen brought the brass globe down satisfyingly on the man’s head. It was fortunate for the villain that he was wearing a bowler hat, otherwise he would have been concussed. As it was, he stumbled to one knee for a moment, his hat going askew and showing a thick growth of coal-black hair. Then he righted the hat, let out a scream of rage and rushed at Werthen once again, catching the lawyer off guard, and slashing his overcoat with the knife. The knife tore through fabric with a swishing sound, and Werthen swirled away from his attacker, bringing the stick down upon the man’s back, this time hitting his kidneys.