‘I understand,’ Werthen said. ‘You know, of course, of Mitzi’s death?’
Schnitzler nodded rather vigorously; the motion seemed to cause him pain. He put a hand to his bandaged head.
‘I sent flowers to the funeral. Anonymously. Such a sweet young girl, she was. A pity. But then, it does come with the profession, doesn’t it?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, servicing all sorts of men. One can never be sure of the type of client, can one? It appears she broke the golden rule and met one of her clients after hours.’
‘That is one possibility.’
‘Might I inquire as to your interest in the matter?’ Schnitzler said.
‘Frau Mutzenbacher has employed me to find the murderer. She was very attached to Mitzi.’
‘I see. And you suspect me?’ He said it with arch humor.
‘Hardly. But I was hoping you could tell me something about the young girl. I visited Herr Altenberg earlier today and he indicated that you had introduced him to Mitzi. I thought perhaps you might have known her and could somehow help in the investigations.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Advokat. But ours was strictly a working relationship. I discovered her at the Bower before she was too much tainted. I grew bored with her services after a couple of months and passed her on to Altenberg. He has, as I imagine you discovered, a penchant for the young ones. Though Mitzi was not the schoolgirl she pretended to be.’
‘Did she mention other clients? Anyone she was frightened of?’
‘We didn’t speak a great deal, Advokat, as I am sure you understand.’
Werthen did not appreciate the man’s tone, but then it was not the most comfortable thing to be interviewed about one’s sex life. He himself might be equally defensive if questioned like this.
‘Sorry to be of so little assistance, Advokat. She was a good girl. I too would love to see the murderer brought to justice. At the moment, however, I have my own concerns.’
‘You thought initially that Klimt had sent me. Why should he have? And why are you employing bodyguards?’ Werthen asked. ‘Surely the police should be able to provide protection if necessary?’
Schnitzler sighed. ‘I see now why Klimt speaks so highly of you, for you have hit exactly on it. The police are not involved.’
‘Why is that so?’
‘You have heard of my recent play?’
‘Lieutenant Gustl?’
Schnitzler nodded, more slowly this time.
‘What does that have to do with the attack on you?’
‘Everything, I believe. It has angered a great many people, some of them very powerful. That play cost me my Senior Physician status in the army reserve. I believe it also brought on this beating. The man who attacked me did so just outside the door of my flat in the middle of the day. He made no attempt to steal anything, made no demands. He merely struck me to the floor with a powerful blow to the head and then kicked me until I was almost unconscious. Thank God he was scared off by the arrival of Fräulein Gussman, who raised an alarm, screaming her head off. In addition to a slight concussion, I suffered two broken ribs and severe contusions. The man who did this to me is a professional. They were sending a message.’
‘They?’
Schnitzler shrugged. ‘I am not a paranoid sort of individual, but I do know how the military works. It defends its honor.’
‘You think it was a lone wolf or someone recruited for the job?’
‘That is what I would dearly love to discover, Advokat. But, why not take on the job yourself? Find the man before he returns to finish the job.’
Schnitzler put out his hand, touching Werthen’s arm.
‘Please, I implore you.’
‘I would gladly, Herr Schnitzler, but as I told you I already have a commission.’
‘Understood. But I am sure a man with your abilities could find a bit of time to spare for my case as well. I and Fräulein Gussman can both provide you with a description of the man. The Portier also saw him flee. A rather nondescript man of medium height. Compact and efficient in his movements.’
‘You really should go to the police.’
‘I can’t, Advokat. If my instincts are correct, they will be of little help.’
Schnitzler fixed him with eyes at once piercing and soulful. ‘Please.’
Werthen paused a moment. ‘Alright, then. But I cannot promise full-time commitment. I suggest you continue to retain the services of Herr Prokop and Meier. Now tell me about this assailant.’
SIX
They sat amidst the ruins of Frau Blatschky’s dinner. They had done justice to her Beinfleish, roasted beef shank with potatoes done to a golden brown. This was accompanied by a chilled white wine from Gumpoldskirchen and followed by Germknödel for dessert, a light yeast dumpling filled with plum jam and covered in vanilla sauce with a sprinkling of poppy seed. They were still lingering at table with their coffee. Frieda was sleeping peacefully in the nursery; Berthe had just returned from checking on her.
Their unexpected guest, Doktor Hanns Gross, suddenly blurted out, ‘If I were not already married to Adele, I would ask Frau Blatschky to marry me.’
This was said just as the lady in question — Werthen’s cook and housekeeper, Frau Blatschky — entered the room to begin clearing the dishes. Her face turned a brilliant red, contrasting with the starched white apron she wore.
‘Doktor Gross,’ she said. ‘You are a wicked man.’ But it was clear she loved the attention. In fact, since Berthe had taken to experimenting with more international fare, Frau Blatschky had sallied even deeper than before into traditional Viennese cuisine.
‘Wicked I may be,’ the criminologist said, ‘but I feel perfectly angelic when eating your meals, Frau Blatschky.’
At which the housekeeper raised her eyebrows and continued with her clearing.
When she was out of the room, Werthen turned to his former colleague.
‘Well, Gross, I must say you do make a habit of turning up at the most propitious moments.’
Gross, the famous criminologist, had been Werthen’s mentor at one time and had been responsible for bringing him back into the realm of criminal law and establishing himself in private inquiries, in addition to the more prosaic field of wills and trusts. They had collaborated on three previous cases; it was as if Gross had antennae that alerted him to the fact that Werthen had a new case.
The head of the first department of criminology in Austro-Hungary, for the past two years Gross had been posted to the Franz Josef University in Czernowitz, the capital of Bukovina. Gross was, of course, elated to develop his department of criminology, but neither he nor his wife was fond of Czernowitz. Gross had more than once termed the city a dusty, dirty claptrap of dodgy buildings, many of them gussied up to look like the Austrian homeland, but largely a Potemkin village. He had also dubbed that metropolis of a hundred thousand souls an overgrown shtetl.
Gross was no anti-Semite, but he did not shy away from using any language he cared to, despite the fact that both Werthen and Berthe were of Jewish background. They were too accustomed to such comments to even attempt a response. And at any rate, Gross meant no harm by such comments; for him, they were merely statements of fact.
Now, with the spring term finished and his wife off to visit friends in their former home town of Graz, Gross had come to Vienna en route to the University of Prague, where he was to interview for a new lectureship. He was full of excitement at the prospect of living once again in a ‘civilized’ environment.
‘It does appear you have your hands full, dear friend,’ Gross said as he filled his coffee cup again.
‘How was I to turn Schnitzler down? He seemed quite desperate.’
‘Well,’ Gross said. ‘I do have some few days before I am due in Prague. If I could be of assistance. .’
Usually Gross’s intrusion in his cases irritated Werthen. The renowned criminalist had a way of taking charge of things. But in this instance his assistance would be greatly appreciated and Werthen was quick to tell him so.