‘They have their own theories, of course.’ Gross quickly sized up the man: tailor-cut three piece suit in fawn brown, clean shaven, hair thinning on top and two silvery wings of hair on the side brushed neatly back. No-nonsense, logical, pragmatic.
‘By which you tactfully suggest they subscribe to homosexual jealousy gone berserk. No need to worry about sparing my feelings, Doktor Gross. I have lost my son. I have no need for platitudes, only vengeance. Measured vengeance, to be sure. Legal vengeance. But I want to see the person who killed my lovely Ricus brought to justice. That is my only concern now.’
There was a slight trembling in Praetor’s voice as he said this, but his gray-blue eyes remained steely cold as they fixed on Gross.
‘We will do everything we can to find the perpetrator,’ Gross assured him. ‘But to that end I need to ask you for more information.’
‘Anything.’
‘From what Advokat Werthen tells me, you and your son were close.’
‘Yes. Very. He was, aside from my profession, my whole life. You see, my wife, God rest her soul, died not long after Ricus was born. I raised him, I watched him form as a young man. It is very hard to lose a child.’
Gross, momentarily thinking of his own son, Otto, and their eternally strained relationship, quickly moved on.
‘Devastating, I am sure. Did he confide in you?’
‘I believe he did. Though I have no way of knowing what he did not tell me.’
‘He seemed to be happy, content?’
‘Yes. Very. His work was progressing. Writing was extremely important for him. He took it seriously. He viewed himself as society’s watchdog.’
‘And his own social life?’ Gross said.
‘By which you mean possible lovers.’
Gross arched his eyebrows in assent.
‘I only know that he had recently met someone whom he felt to be important in his life. Ricus did not share the intimate details of his life, nor did I inquire further. It was enough to know that my boy was happy. And, I believe, in love.’
He said this last without the least hint of irony, Gross noted. Doktor Praetor was, he decided, as much a critical scientist about his son as he might be in the diagnosis of a patient. He was, in short, exactly the sort of witness Gross respected.
‘No talk of where the two might have met? Any indication at all about the man’s identity?’
Doktor Praetor squinted at him. ‘The man’s identity? I do not recall saying that Ricus was in love with a man.’
‘I simply assumed-’
‘There was every possibility that Ricus may have met a young woman who finally put him on the right path. Who would make him settle down, start a family. Give me grandchildren.’
Gross internally sighed. It seemed the good doctor was no better than the usual unreliable witnesses: he confused his own needs with those of others. The farther into the recent past his dead son receded, the more Doktor Praetor would reshape him in the form he desired.
‘And the notebooks,’ Gross said, changing the subject. ‘Have you found any trace of those?’
‘None. Ricus lived on his own. He had very few possessions left at my flat. Mementoes of his youth only. Nothing recent.’
‘Did he discuss his work with you? I ask because we have discovered that your son and Councilman Steinwitz appear to have been working together to uncover corruption at the Rathaus.’
‘You mean the councilman who killed himself?’
Gross nodded at this; no reason to go into his suspicions about that death.
‘This is the first I have heard of it.’
After another five minutes of questioning, Gross determined that Doktor Praetor was not as much an intimate of his son as he would like to have been. That too was being reshaped with time, however. But it was not Gross’s job to point this out to his client.
Suddenly the man’s clamoring need for justice outweighed his self-delusion.
‘I want justice for my son,’ he blurted out. ‘One way or the other. Do you understand? Justice.’
Werthen had not expected to see her so soon.
‘A pleasure,’ he said, guiding Frau Steinwitz into his office.
She wore an anxious expression, but that was hardly uncommon for clients seeing their lawyer. Or for someone in fear of her life.
Once seated, she began fidgeting with her fox stole. ‘I do not mean to make a pest of myself.’
‘Not at all,’ Werthen reassured her.
‘I simply wanted to ascertain if what you said yesterday was more than merely conciliatory.’
‘I am at your service, Frau Steinwitz.’ Internally, Werthen cursed Gross for his high-handed generosity with other people’s time.
‘So you do not fear to take on such a responsibility?’
Suddenly she peered closer at his bruised face.
‘Whatever did you do to your cheek, Advokat?’
He shrugged the question away. ‘A collision with a door, I am afraid. Nothing heroic. But to answer your previous question, no, I have no fear in taking on a commission to protect you. I have men whom I can employ to keep a watch on you and your children.’
This suggestion seemed to alarm her more than the prospect of sudden death.
‘That would hardly be au fait. After all, I do have a social life to conduct.’
‘These men can be quite discreet,’ he said, though truth be told, the fellows he was thinking of might stand out a bit at afternoon tea at the Sacher.
‘I must consider it,’ she said. ‘I imagined that you personally. .’
‘Frau Steinwitz, I have a law office to run and an investigation under way.’
She straightened in her chair. ‘I see. Investigating the murder of Herr Praetor takes precedence over protecting a defenseless widow.’
He tried to be reasonable. ‘You must understand that in any circumstance I would have to hire assistants to maintain a watch around the clock.’
But she apparently was little concerned with reason. ‘I only understand that you were my husband’s trusted attorney and that you owe his widow similar allegiance.’
There were so many responses he could make to that absurd contention; instead, Werthen remained silent, steadily looking at her.
Finally she glanced away with a sigh. ‘Forgive me, Advokat. I am under a great deal of strain. Let me consider your offer.’
She stood and he did so, as well. ‘Of course. Take your time. But really I cannot believe that you or your children are in any real danger.’
She merely shook her head at this comment and adjusted the fox stole.
As he was escorting her out the outer office, the pink face of young Ludwig Wittgenstein peeked around the door.
‘Oh, hello,’ he said to them both as he might to old friends. ‘I was just coming to see you, Advokat.’ Wearing his distinctive loden coat with a fur collar, he cast a smile at Frau Steinwitz.
‘Master Wittgenstein,’ Werthen said with a smile. ‘How good to see you. Just a moment while I show this good lady out.’
Frau Steinwitz looked from the Wittgenstein boy to Werthen, squared her shoulders and nodded an adieu.
‘I shall consider your proposal,’ she said once more before leaving.
Turning, Werthen noticed that Master Wittgenstein had already introduced himself to Fraulein Metzinger and in fact was aiding her in replacing the ribbon in her Underwood typewriting machine. Into this charming domestic scene entered Heidrich Beer, freshly back from delivering copies of a will to the Countess Isniack on the Stuben Ring. Like young Wittgenstein, the boy’s cheeks were flushed red with the cold.
‘Good day to you, Huck,’ Werthen said, giving in to the use of the boy’s nickname.
‘Advokat Werthen,’ Huck said importantly, struggling to make his voice deeper than it was.
‘Huck,’ said Fraulein Metzinger. ‘Come and meet Master Wittgenstein.’
‘They call me Luki,’ he said turning his attention from the typing ribbon to the older boy.