‘Selma gave you that?’ said Rheinhardt.
‘Yes.’
Rheinhardt extricated himself from the sofa and rose to take the volume from the girl’s hand. He examined the spine and discovered it was a collection of children’s stories.
‘There’s another one in the kitchen,’ said Jana.
Rheinhardt fanned through the pages. Some illustrations flashed out from the blur of text. Suddenly the fluttering came to a halt at a point where a little ticket had been inserted. Rheinhardt pulled it out, studied the print, and then said to Frau Lachkovics: ‘Is this yours?’
‘No.’
‘What is it?’ asked Liebermann.
‘A ticket for one of the luggage lockers at the Sudbahnhof.’
The ensuing silence was broken by Jana.
‘Well — can I keep the books?’
‘You can keep the books,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘if I can keep this ticket.’
58
Heinz Vogl entered his wife’s bedroom. It was not very late and he was surprised to find that she had retired so early. Indeed, he felt a little indignant and persuaded himself that, if she was asleep, waking her could be justified.
‘My dear?’ he called. The eiderdown undulated as she turned to face him.
‘I’m still awake,’ she said, somewhat redundantly. Vogl advanced along the wedge of light that infiltrated Kristina’s room from his own. He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, blinking up at him.
‘Ten o’clock — or thereabouts.’
‘How was your meeting?’
‘It went well enough. Professor Raich was in favour of appointing Mitterwallner — but Professor Lischka and that fool Kinigader objected. Fortunately, I was able to persuade Salvenmoser to vote with us and in the end the outcome was satisfactory. But it was a tiring, frustrating process, and I fear that the discussion — which became quite heated — will leave an atmosphere of ill feeling in some quarters. The air will have to be cleared in due course.’
Vogl reached out and touched Kristina’s cheek.
‘What is it, my dear?’
‘Do you remember the police inspector — Rheinhardt — and his colleague Liebermann?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘They came to the salon today.’
‘Really? What did they want?’
‘They said that they have acquired some more evidence and that the man whom they caught — Sprenger — the man who was supposed to have killed Selma, well, now it seems he didn’t kill her after all.’
‘Oh, my dear, that is terrible news. You are still in danger.’ Vogl lifted his wife’s limp hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, each one in turn. ‘I hope you didn’t come home on your own.’ Kristina did not reply. ‘You did? Oh, my dear — you must be more careful. You cannot afford to take such risks. Not now.’
‘I cannot go on living like this,’ Kristina whispered. The tone of her voice was curious, almost strangulated. Her eyes became glassy as the tears welled up.
Vogl gathered her into his arms, and rocked her backwards and forwards.
‘My poor darling … do not cry. Inspector Rheinhardt managed to catch Sprenger — and I’m sure he’ll catch whoever was responsible for poor Selma’s murder, eventually. It’s only a matter of time.’
These words — intended to be comforting — seemed to have the very opposite effect. Vogl felt his wife’s body becoming tense in his arms as the tears washed down her face.
59
The cab came to a halt outside the Sudbahnhof, joining a line of parked carriages. The two men stepped down onto the expansive forecourt. While Rheinhardt paid the driver, Liebermann admired the architecture. It was a perfect example of Viennese ostentation. He might have been looking up at the facade of any of the great European opera houses rather than at a train station. Its grandiosity made him smile and although he was a committed modernist the sheer bravado of the structure’s vaulting ambition made him quietly proud to call Vienna his home. The building boasted five entrance portals above which sat a tier of arched windows and a further row of oblong windows. A terracotta tympanum enlivened the massive pediment, each corner of which supported a majestic classical figure. Sphinxes could be seen on the roofs of the two wings which flanked the facade, and each of these wings possessed pediments of their own.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ said Rheinhardt, joining his friend. ‘But now isn’t the time …’
He slapped a hand on Liebermann’s back and the impact of the good-natured whack propelled the young doctor forward.
The interior of the Sudbahnhof was as magnificent as the exterior. Rheinhardt and Liebermann entered a vast hallway dominated by a grand staircase that rose and divided below a balustraded gallery. The floor was illuminated by rows of spherical gas lamps mounted on tall posts of intricately worked iron and yet more flickering globes floated beneath the ceiling, the detail of which was almost invisible on account of its lofty elevation.
Although it was almost eleven o’ clock the station was still very busy. The late train from Trieste had just arrived and a crowd of people were hurrying across the concourse. A dark-skinned gentleman wearing a djellaba, fez and soft yellow slippers passed, accompanied by a porter dragging a gilded chest on a trolley. Following close behind him were a group of extraordinarily noisy Italian women, and some Austrian businessmen who clearly thought that ‘ladies’ should conduct themselves with greater decorum in a public place. A whistle sounded and somewhere a jet of steam was expelled. The air smelt of coal dust and oil.
Rheinhardt and Liebermann struggled through the stream of human traffic and made their way to the luggage lockers. They presented Fraulein Wirth’s ticket to the clerk and, after making an entry in his ledger, he gave them a key in return.
Each of the lockers was numbered, and they found number one hundred and six at the end of the first row. Rheinhardt crouched down. Before he turned the key he glanced up at his friend.
‘I am reluctant to open it up for fear of being disappointed.’ The bolt sounded and Rheinhardt eased the door open. ‘Yes, there’s something inside.’ The inspector reached in and took out a cylinder of rolled-up paper and some postcards. He rose and turned the first photographic image towards Liebermann.
It showed two young girls — naked. Their bodies were barely pubescent and they stood, rather awkwardly, in front of a floral backdrop. They affected interest in a horned figurine that had been placed on a stand. The second photographic image showed the same two girls sprawled on a rug, and the third showed them kissing.
Liebermann took the postcards and studied them closely. He picked out the first again and tilted it to capture more light.
‘This girl — the one with the birthmark on her stomach …’
Rheinhardt glanced at the naked model and then back at Liebermann.
‘She looks …’ He hesistated before adding: ‘Familiar.’
‘Yes, that’s what I was thinking.’
‘It can’t be — surely not.’
‘I think it is … and I strongly suspect that her companion is Selma Wirth.’
Liebermann turned the card over to see if he could find out where it had been printed. But there was no information of that kind. Rheinhardt began unrolling the cylinder of paper. He discovered that he was holding a very accomplished but extremely distasteful pencil sketch: two girls — clearly the same girls — lying side by side, their legs spread apart. One of them was wearing black stockings while the other was entirely nude.
Rheinhardt recognised the style: the emaciated bodies, the mass of baroque detail where their young thighs met. The signature confirmed his initial suspicion.
‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked Liebermann, pointing to the cursive scrawl in the lower right-hand corner.
60
Rainmayr stood in the centre of his studio, admiring his own sketch.
‘Well, well,’ he said to Rheinhardt. ‘Wherever did you get this from?’ It’s not bad really. There are a few things I’d do differently today. The perspective is a little uninteresting and the faces are somewhat dull — but it’s perfectly acceptable. Of course, I could get the same effect with less effort these days.’