“Then you are very well informed, Inspector.”
“Well, Professor, I have good news for you. The offending article will not be appearing in the satirical magazine after all. And in the interests of social harmony, and the reputation of the world’s finest hospital, the censor has agreed that any similar articles that come to his attention will be suppressed in the usual manner. It is only after the hospital committee has convened, and Dr. Liebermann’s fate has been decided, that the prohibition will be lifted.”
“I see,” said Professor Gandler, his face showing no obvious sign of relief.
“Given that the position is now quite changed, I was wondering…” Rheinhardt smiled. “Would you be prepared to reconsider Dr. Liebermann’s situation?”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“The hospital will not receive adverse publicity. You personally will not be accused of complacency. Therefore, surely Dr. Liebermann can be reinstated.”
“As I explained to Dr. Liebermann, I cannot have him working on wards where he would be free to repeat his… misdemeanor. Dr. Liebermann is unapologetic and unrepentant.”
“Come now, Professor. The good doctor is not a fool. If the same situation were to arise again, he would be more circumspect. Besides, he’s a psychiatrist. The chances of him being called again to attend a dying man are rather slim, are they not?”
“Even so, Inspector, I have responsibilities. I must respect public sensitivities. I cannot appear-in any way-to be condoning behavior likely to cause upset.”
“All right. Then keep him off the wards. He could still see individual patients. Why not?”
“He suggested something very similar himself.”
“What could be better, eh? A traditional Austrian compromise.”
The chancellor rearranged some papers on his desk. The action was unconscious, like a nervous tic.
“Why are you trying to help this young man, Inspector?”
“Because he’s useful to the security office,” said Rheinhardt, feigning bluff pragmatism. “He’s very good at what he does.”
“That may be true, Inspector. But he’s also very stubborn and arrogant. I advised him not to make a moral stand against the hospital committee right from the beginning. He refused to listen. If he loses his job, well, that’ll be his own fault.”
“Yes,” said Rheinhardt. He decided to be honest. “He can be a frustrating fellow, if not downright irritating at times; however, he is also a man of singular courage and conviction. And these, in my humble estimation, are not trivial qualities.” The chancellor made an arch with his fingers and looked closely at Rheinhardt. “Courage and conviction,” Rheinhardt repeated. “Qualities I hope that we all possess, at least in some measure.”
It was a carefully worded sentence that found its mark. When Rheinhardt saw doubt creeping into the chancellor’s expression, he applauded himself for being something of a psychiatrist too.
54
“I know you don’t want to dismiss Slavik,” said Mendel, “but the man is incompetent. If you were more willing to check his figures yourself, then perhaps things would be different.”
“I could try,” Alexander replied.
“That’s it, you see. I don’t believe you would, Alexander. Come now, I’m your brother. I know you better than anybody.”
Alexander bit into his fruit bun and shrugged.
Liebermann sighed.
His father had woken up in a combative mood.
“Blomberg will be meeting with Bohm again next week, and if I’m not mistaken, he’ll demand to see our books. If he doesn’t have confidence in us, he won’t invest-and that will be the end of it. No department store.”
“All right, all right,” said Alexander, raising his hands as though he were being held up at gunpoint. “I understand.”
“Good,” said Mendel. “Max has met Blomberg, haven’t you, Max?”
“Indeed,” said Liebermann.
“And you liked him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, he was very agreeable.” Liebermann managed a vacuous smile.
The reception clerk arrived with a silver tray and addressed the general area of the table, “Herr Dr. Liebermann?”
“Yes?”
“A telegram, sir.”
Liebermann took the envelope off the silver tray and read the communication inside. SUCCESSFUL CONFERENCES WITH EDITOR OF KIKERIKI, CENSOR, AND GANDLER. OFFENDING ARTICLE WITHDRAWN. PERMISSION TO RESUME SOME CLINICAL DUTIES GRANTED, BUT NOT ON WARDS. SHALL EXPECT YOUR RETURN SHORTLY. RHEINHARDT
55
Liebermann crossed the busy road and entered the little park in front of the Votivkirche. Seen from the front, the church was an assembly of steeples, pointed windows, and arches that drew the eye upward, to a blue sky quartered by two crocket-covered spires. The exuberance of the architecture suited Liebermann’s mood. He was glad to be back in Vienna and eager to see Rheinhardt. There was much to discuss.
As he walked, he thought he could see his friend sitting on a bench in the distance. He quickened his pace but came to an abrupt halt when an organ-grinder’s monkey leaped out onto the path in front of him. It chirruped and raised an empty tin cup. The organ-grinder, who was dressed in a bowler hat and shabby tailcoat, was standing behind a barrel organ of medium size, its lacquered box supported by a long retractable metal spike. A strap around the man’s neck helped him to balance the instrument with one hand, leaving the other free to turn the crank handle. The doors at the front of the device had been left open, displaying the pipes and a rotating drum. As a result of his efforts, the sound of the Maximilianplatz traffic was drowned out by one of Schubert’s German Dances.
Liebermann bent forward and dropped a few coins into the monkey’s cup. Immediately, the creature scampered up the organ-grinder’s legs and then to his shoulders, where it lifted the man’s hat to express gratitude. Liebermann smiled and continued toward the church.
He found Rheinhardt enjoying the rays of an unusually bright sun, his head thrown back to catch the warmth and light.
“Oskar!”
The inspector stirred. “Max!”
Rheinhardt stood, and the young doctor gripped his friend’s arm.
“Oskar, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Oh, it was nothing really,” said Rheinhardt. He gestured that they should sit, and produced a brown paper bag from his pocket. “Pumpkin seed?”
Liebermann shook his head.
“I am deeply indebted,” Liebermann continued. “Accompanying my father on his business trip to Prague was unspeakably boring. You have no idea.”
“Ah, but I do,” said Rheinhardt. “A detective inspector in this bureaucratic empire is no stranger to tedium. You forget how many forms I am obliged to complete! Now.” Rheinhardt sat up straight. “Why did you want to see me? Am I justified in assuming that it was not merely to thank me in person?”
“That is correct.”
“You have discovered something?”
“I have.”
“Pertaining to the investigation?”
“Yes.”
“In Prague?”
“Indeed.”
“Then perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me?”
“Forgive me, Oskar. On this occasion I am not being coy. Merely considering how best to explain myself.”
Rheinhardt poured some pumpkin seeds into the palm of his hand.
“Thankfully,” sighed the inspector, “I don’t have to be back at Schottenring for another hour, by which time I sincerely hope you will have decided upon a satisfactory turn of phrase.”
Liebermann took a deep breath.
“When I interviewed Barash,” he began hesitantly, “he said some things to me that I did not include in my report.”