‘You’re looking well, Gross,’ Detective Inspector Drechsler said. They were sitting in his office in the Vienna Police Praesidium.
The pictures of Drechsler’s family, Gross noted, had changed since he was last here. Growing up all too fast.
‘Feeling fit,’ Gross responded. ‘And I assume the same of you and your good wife?’
Drechsler brightened at this comment. ‘Yes, she is doing mar-velously. Had you heard?’
Gross simply nodded at the photograph of her on the desk as a reply. Frau Drechsler was looking portly and radiant.
‘Ah, yes. Always the detective at work.’
The previous year Drechsler’s wife had badly needed an operation, which she refused to have. Gross and Werthen, while engaged in their last investigation, had been able to put her in the hands of one of Vienna’s top surgeons. With positive results.
They chatted for a time about Gross’s visit to Vienna and his coming interview for a new post in Prague. But finally Drechsler had had enough of small talk.
‘It’s clear from your good humour that you’re on a case, Gross. Are you working with Advokat Werthen again?’
Gross beamed at him. ‘You see, never too late for a dog to learn new deductive tricks, Inspector. I am not my usual bearish self; ergo I must be investigating something. Yes, the matter of the death of a prostitute in the Prater. And my good friend Werthen seems to be gaining a reputation as a private inquiries agent. I am also assisting him on a case of bodily assault.’
‘Sounds like police business to me,’ Drechsler said.
‘Well, in the case of the prostitute, our client appears to believe the police have better things to do than search for the murderer of a lowly prostitute. And in the matter of the assault, our client. . Well, shall we say our client is hesitant to come forward for personal reasons.’
Drechsler wrinkled his nose at this. ‘Don’t sound very promising, either of them. Though I believe I know of the one case. A girl from the Bower, Frau Mutzenbacher’s establishment?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘A very popular place the Bower is. Exclusive clientele.’
‘And that exclusive clientele wish to keep their identities secret, one assumes.’
‘Besides, the girl wasn’t killed on the premises. It was in the Prater. There may very well be no connection to the Bower at all.’
‘Surely you don’t believe that, Inspector?’ Gross said.
Drechsler shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. But our friend Meindl indicated the investigation should be given low priority.’
Though elfish in size, Drechsler’s superior, Inspector Meindl, was a force to be reckoned with. He had once worked with Gross in Graz, before he moved to the Police Praesidium in Vienna. Punctilious in his efforts to secure his rise in the police force, Meindl had made a specialty of protecting people in high places.
‘The case is still open,’ Drechsler added.
‘I am sure it is, and that is why, in part, I have come to see you.’ He drew the sketch out of his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the desk.
‘We have come into possession of this likeness. A witness tells us this man was a frequent client of the unfortunate young woman.’
Drechsler picked it up, squinted at it closely, and then placed it back on the desktop.
‘That’s not going to do you much good.’
‘Why would that be, Inspector? It seems a rather good likeness.’
‘Oh, it’s a good likeness alright. Problem is the man’s dead. Food poisoning incident. It made quite a stir a few weeks ago. Ate some bad shellfish, it seems. We investigated, had to. An important man. Count Joachim von Ebersdorf, from the Foreign Office. But there was nothing to it. Just as suspected, some bad oysters.’
Gross nodded. That was why the sketch looked familiar. He had once met the Count. At the opening of Gross’s new institute at Czernowitz, von Ebersdorf had been an emissary of the government.
‘When exactly did this occur?’ Gross asked.
Drechsler exhaled, focusing on the ceiling as if the answer might lie there. ‘Must have been the first week of May. Perhaps the fourth or fifth. I would have to check.’ He paused, fixing Gross in his gaze. ‘You’re not going to try to tie these two deaths together, are you? Just because the prostitute was found on May Day and von Ebersdorf died a few days later?’
‘He was, after all, her continual client.’
‘Says who? This “witness” who made the sketch? And who would he be, another of the girl’s clients?’
Drechsler seemed to be gaining interest in the case now, but then a sudden change came over his face.
‘As I say, we are still looking into the matter. If you have evidence, you should share it with us.’
And with Inspector Meindl, Gross thought.
As Gross was about to leave, a few minutes later, Drechsler tapped a finger on his desk. ‘And this other case, Gross. Since when have you been working on a mere assault? Somebody important, I assume?’
‘Yes, he is,’ Gross said. ‘If you must know, it’s Schnitzler. The playwright. A fellow beat him senseless. Schnitzler thinks it is on account of his new play.’
‘Well, I heard it was bad, but that’s taking criticism to the extreme!’
Gross smiled at this weak attempt at humor.
EIGHT
They conferred again over dinner. Gross was dining with Berthe and Werthen again, though he was staying at the nearby Hotel zur Josefstadt in the Langegasse, where Werthen’s parents stayed when visiting. But now, with the construction of an estate in the Vienna Woods, they would soon be part-time residents of Vienna. Werthen had tried not to think of that little complication. It only served to bring on feelings of guilt and extreme frustration. Guilt that he should feel so churlishly toward his parents; frustration that they could not let him have his own bit of turf. Werthen would much rather focus on the investigations under way.
‘So, Frau Berthe,’ said Gross, laying his fork down after finishing his second serving of Frau Blatschky’s Backhendl, golden and crispy fried chicken, which she always paired with parsley potatoes. ‘What of your countess?’
‘I’m afraid it’s the sort of thing you do not much care for, Karl,’ she said to her husband, ignoring Gross and his ironic tone.
‘I sense a straying husband,’ Gross said playfully.
‘That seems to be the case. It was most difficult for her to talk of it. She is a proud woman.’
‘I hope you politely told her we do not do domestic cases,’ Werthen said.
Berthe remained silent.
‘Berthe?’ he said. ‘You did tell her we couldn’t take her commission?’
‘Well. .’
‘Ah, you may soon want to add another line to your professional card, Werthen — divorce lawyer.’
‘Please, Gross. You are being rather too full of yourself tonight.’
‘With good reason,’ Gross said. ‘I have discovered the identity of the mystery man in the sketch.’
Berthe and Werthen both said at once, ‘You have?’
‘Not a matter of great detection,’ he said. ‘Inspector Drechsler recognized him immediately. In fact I actually met the man myself once — which is why I thought he looked familiar.’
‘Well, don’t keep us in suspense,’ Berthe said.
‘Count Joachim von Ebersdorf. Seems he died just a few days after our Fräulein Mitzi. Bad oysters.’
‘Yes,’ Werthen said. ‘I remember reading about it in the papers. ‘So he was the customer. Wasn’t he something in the government?’
‘Foreign Office,’ Gross said. ‘But the details of his employment there seem to be rather sketchy.’
‘That kind of sketchy, you mean?’ Werthen said.
‘It appears so.’
‘Wait. You two are talking in riddles,’ Berthe said. ‘What do you mean by sketchy?’
‘As in indefinite, unclear, unspecified.’
‘I know what the word means, Gross.’
‘Espionage,’ Werthen said. ‘If one’s title at the Foreign Office is not entirely clear, then it’s safe to assume one is involved in espionage. After all, the Foreign Office is our major information-gathering agency.’