A German Requiem

'What kind of car do you drive?'

'A Mercedes.'

'What colour?'

'Black.'

'Someone saw a black Mercedes speeding further up the street from the scene of the accident.'

'I dare say. I've yet to see the car which drives slowly in Vienna. And in case you hadn't noticed, just about every other non-military vehicle in this city is a black Mercedes.'

'All the same,' I persisted, 'maybe we should take a look at the front fenders, and check for dents.'

He spread his hands innocently, as if he had been about to give the sermon on the mount. 'Be my guest. Only you'll find dents all over the car. There seems to be a law against careful driving here.' He sucked some more of his pipe smoke.

'Look, Bernie, if you don't mind me saying so I think we're in danger of throwing the handle after the axe-head here. It's a real shame that Traudl's dead, but there's no sense in you and me falling out over it. Who knows? Maybe it was an accident. You know it's true what I said about Viennese drivers.

They're worse than the Soviets, and they take some beating. Jesus, it's like a chariot-race on these roads. Now I agree that it's a hell of a coincidence, but it's not an impossible one, by any stretch of the imagination. You must admit that, surely.'

I nodded slowly. 'All right. I admit it's not impossible.'

'On the other hand maybe the Org briefed more than one agent to kill her so that if you missed, somebody else was bound to get her. It's not unusual for assassinations to be handled that way. Certainly not in my own experience, anyway.' He paused, and then pointed his pipe at me. 'You know what I think? I think that the next time you see K/nig, you should simply keep quiet about it.

If he mentions it then you can assume that it probably was an accident and feel confident of taking the credit for it.' He searched in his jacket pocket and drew out a buff-coloured envelope which he threw into my lap. 'It makes this a little less necessary, but that can't be helped.'

'What's this?'

'From an MVD station near Sopron, close to the Hungarian border. It's the details of MVD personnel and methods throughout Hungary and Lower Austria.'

'And how am I supposed to account for this little lot?'

'I rather thought that you could handle the man who gave it to us. Frankly it's just the sort of material that they're keen on. The man's name is Yuri. That's all you need to know. There are map references and the location of the dead-letter box he's been using. There's a railway bridge near a little town called Mattersburg. On the bridge is a footpath and about two-thirds of the way along the handrail is broken. The top part is hollow cast metal. All you have to do is collect your information from there once a month, and leave some money and instructions.'

'How do I account for my relationship with him?'

'Until quite recently Yuri was stationed in Vienna. You used to buy identity papers for him. But now he's getting more ambitious, and you haven't the money to buy what he's got to offer. So you can offer him to the Org. CIC has already assessed his worth. We've had all we're going to get out of him, at least in the short term. There's no harm done if he gives all the same stuff to the Org.'

Belinsky re-lit his pipe and puffed vigorously while he awaited my reaction.

'Really,' he said, 'there's nothing to it. An operation of this sort is hardly deserving of the word intelligence. Believe me, very few of them are. But all in all a source like this and an apparently successful bit of murder leaves you pretty well accredited, old man.'

'You'll forgive my lack of enthusiasm,' I said drily, 'only I'm beginning to lose sight of what I'm doing here.'

Belinsky nodded vaguely. 'I thought you wanted to clear your old pitman.'

'Maybe you haven't been listening. Becker was never my friend. But I really think he is innocent of Linden's murder. And so did Traudl. So long as she was alive this case really felt as if it was worthwhile, there seemed to be some point in trying to prove Becker innocent. Now I'm not so sure.'

'Come on, Gunther,' Belinsky said. 'Becker's life without his girl is still better than no life at all. Do you honestly think that Traudl would have wanted you to give up?'

'Maybe, if she knew the kind of crap he was into. The kind of people he was dealing with.'

'You know that's not true. Becker was no altar-boy, that's for sure. But from what you've told me about her I'd bet she knew that. There's not much innocence left anymore. Not in Vienna.'

I sighed and rubbed my neck wearily. 'Maybe you're right,' I conceded. 'Maybe it's just me. I'm used to having things being a little more well-defined than this. A client came along, paid my fee and I'd point my suit in whatever direction seemed appropriate. Sometimes I even got to solve a case. That's a pretty good feeling, you know. But right now it's like there are too many people near me, telling me how to work. As if I've lost my independence. I've stopped feeling like a private investigator.'

Belinsky rocked his head on his shoulders like a man who has sold out of something. Explanations probably. He made a stab at one all the same. 'Come on, surely you must have worked undercover before now.'

'Sure,' I said. 'Only it was with a sharper sense of purpose. At least I got to see a criminal's picture. I knew what was right. But this isn't clear-cut anymore, and it's beginning to peel my reed.'

'Nothing stays the same, kraut. The war changed everything for everyone, private investigators included. But if you want to see criminals' photographs I can show you a hundred. Thousands probably. War-criminals, all of them.'

'Photographs of krauts? Listen, Belinsky, you're an American and you're a Jew.

It's a lot easier for you to see the right here. Me? I'm a German. For one brief, dirty moment I was even in the SS. If I met one of your war-criminals he'd probably shake me by the hand and call me an old comrade.'

He had no answer for that.

I found another cigarette and smoked it in silence. When it was finished I shook my head ruefully. 'Maybe it's just Vienna. Maybe it's being away from home for so long. My wife wrote to me. We weren't getting along too well when I left Berlin. Frankly I couldn't wait to leave, and so I took this case against my better judgement. Anyway she says that she hopes we can start again. And do you know, I can't wait to get back to her and give it a try. Maybe ' I shook my head. 'Maybe I need a drink.'

Belinsky grinned enthusiastically. 'Now you're talking, kraut,' he said. 'One thing I've learned in this job: if in doubt, pickle it in alcohol.'

Chapter 27

It was late when we drove back from the Melodies Bar, a nightclub in the 1st Bezirk. Belinsky drew up outside my pension and as I got out of the car a woman stepped quickly out of the shadow of a nearby doorway. It was Veronika Zartl. I smiled thinly at her, having drunk rather too much to care for any company.

'Thank God you've come,' she said. 'I've waited hours.' Then she flinched as through the open car door we both heard Belinsky utter an obscene remark.

'What's the matter?' I asked her.

'I need your help. There's a man in my room.'

'So what's new?' said Belinsky.

Veronika bit her lip. 'He's dead, Bernie. You've got to help me.'

'I'm not sure what I can do,' I said uncertainly, wishing that we'd stayed longer in the Melodies. I said to myself: 'A girl ought not to trust anyone these days.' To her I said: 'You know, it's really a job for the police.'

'I can't tell the police,' she groaned impatiently. 'That would mean the vice squad, the Austrian criminal police, public health officials and an inquest. I'd probably lose my room, everything. Don't you see?'

'All right, all right. What happened?'

'I think he had a heart attack.' Her head dropped. 'I'm sorry to bother you, only there is no one else I can turn to.'