‘Now,’ Berthe said to Adler, ‘you were saying about Praetor’s investigations. .’
Werthen let out a barely audible sigh that caught Berthe’s attention.
‘Yes,’ Adler said, warming the snifter of brandy in his hand. ‘About his research notebooks. Clearly he kept such notebooks, for his fellow colleagues witnessed him scribbling notes in them.’
‘Perhaps at his flat?’ Emma Adler suggested.
‘Yes, they must be at his flat,’ Berthe said, a note of excitement in her voice. ‘But why are you so concerned about these notebooks, Victor? Do you want to continue with his articles?’
Werthen had a very strong premonition of where all this was leading. If he were not so distressed about his own presence outside Praetor’s flat the night of the man’s death, he would take the conversation to that end point at once. Instead, he sat back observing as it unfolded before him.
‘Praetor’s father came to me late yesterday,’ Adler said. ‘He thinks his son was murdered.’
Once this was said, Werthen felt a sudden release; no longer was there any internal conflict. He realized that fear of being implicated in Praetor’s death was far outweighed by the possibility that his visit had tipped the scales and made the journalist commit suicide. Thus, he knew what he had to do. Prove the death was a homicide.
‘Why does the father think that?’ he asked.
Adler turned his attention to Werthen, seemingly relieved that the lawyer was finally taking interest.
‘Herr Doktor Praetor knew his son. I am not absolutely certain he was aware of his son’s sexual inclinations, but they were best of friends. The two of them were planning a trip to Ravenna just next week. His son gave him no indications that he was troubled, let alone feeling suicidal. I trust the good doctor’s judgment in this matter. It is more than the self-delusion of a grieving parent. And then there is the matter of the missing notebooks.’
‘I understand what you are implying, Herr Adler,’ Werthen said. ‘You feel that these notebooks might supply some motive for Praetor’s murder. But we can hardly say they are missing. Has the father examined his son’s flat?’
Adler shook his head. ‘The police have secured it until a coroner’s verdict of suicide is given.’
‘Then, as suggested, these notebooks could very well be in the flat. I remember seeing a writing desk when I visited Praetor.’
‘You mentioned sexual inclinations, Victor,’ Berthe said. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
‘Well. .’ He brushed his walrus moustache and glanced at Werthen for assistance.
‘Come now, Victor,’ his wife said. ‘We are all adults here.’
‘He is. . he was homosexual,’ Werthen said.
‘You never mentioned that,’ Berthe said to Werthen. ‘Not that it matters, I suppose.’
Werthen nodded. ‘Yes, it matters. You see, I thought he and Hans Wittgenstein-’
‘Were lovers?’ Berthe finished for him.
Another nod. This was the time to make a clean breast of things. Now. And not let this secret fester a second longer.
‘And I cruelly used his secret to force information from him. Not something I am proud of. As it turns out, Hans Wittgenstein was not his lover, merely his old school chum. But I felt miserable stooping to such tactics. That is why I did not mention that I stopped by Praetor’s flat Thursday evening.’
All eyes were on him now.
‘You see,’ he said to Berthe. ‘I was just so embarrassed at my earlier actions that I did not want to mention the name. I decided to stop and apologize again for my brutish behavior. But he would not answer his door. Praetor was in there. I saw a shadow behind a curtain from the street. And then I read the notice of his death the next day in the newspaper. I wondered if my presence had driven him to it.’
‘Dear Karl,’ Berthe said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘You can be boorish at times, but not to the point of making one suicidal.’
This levity from Berthe released the tension in the room, for the Adlers had clearly begun to feel uncomfortable at Werthen’s extended confession. Their laughter at Berthe’s remark was louder than her bon mot justified.
‘Well then,’ Adler said in a jocular tone, ‘it would seem you have good reason for looking into this case. After all, you may have been the last person to attempt to visit Praetor. You could be a suspect if there actually were foul play.’
There was more laughter, but Werthen knew only too well that Adler’s off-hand comment might prove very accurate indeed.
A telephone call from Doktor Praetor the next day sealed the bargain. The doctor was adamant that Werthen aid in finding the killer of his son. Thus it was that Werthen took on the commission, to be paid for jointly by Adler and Doktor Praetor, to investigate the death of Henricus Praetor.
Werthen lost no time the following Monday getting in touch with Detective Inspector Bernhard Drechsler of the Vienna police. He spoke to Drechsler by telephone from the Habsburgergasse. Drechsler, at his office in the Police Praesidium on Schottenring, was obviously just getting over a cold, for his voice was scratchy and still nasal in tone.
‘I appreciate you letting me know of this,’ the inspector said after Werthen fully explained the contacts he had had with Praetor. ‘And you were home by what, seven, seven fifteen, seven thirty last Thursday evening?’
‘Rather closer to seven fifteen, I suppose. I remember my housekeeper, Frau Blatschky, greeted me at the door, happy she did not have to hold dinner.’ He was about to ask the reason for such questions when Drechsler ploughed on.
‘Good. I think you can rest assured that you were not responsible for the young man’s death. People like Praetor lead a complex emotional life. It is far more probable that the fellow was despondent over a love affair. These people become fixated on such things.’
These people. Werthen did not respond to this, however. Instead, he asked, ‘You are sure it was suicide?’
A momentary pause. ‘No. Though we thought it best to tell the father so. No use causing the man further pain.’
‘I’m not following you,’ Werthen said.
‘There was no gun at the scene, only a shell casing and a bullet lodged in the wall in back of the body. No suicide note. Thus, the alternate version is that his death was the result of a tryst gone wrong. Perhaps even male rage at an unwanted advance. No telling what such people get up to, is there?’
‘Now see here, Drechsler,’ Werthen began, but then thought better of it. After all, he had been guilty of a similar offense regarding Praetor.
‘You sound rather agitated, Counselor. No need to be. I am merely explaining why we are giving this death a somewhat lower priority than others.’
Werthen made no reply at first. Then, ‘Is there any indication when death occurred?’
‘At seven thirty-one that evening.’
So that explained Drechsler’s questions about the time he arrived home: it eliminated him from further suspicion.
‘Someone heard the shot?’
‘Very good, Advokat. Now I know why our mutual friend, Herr Gross, has such faith in your powers of deduction. A neighbor on the same floor, Frau Czerny. A very acute witness to events in her house. She heard a loud noise and looked immediately to the pendulum clock on the wall. She says she knew the sound was that of a gun going off. Lived through the events of 1848, did Frau Czerny, and seems to have had an intimate relationship with such sounds ever since. She saw you outside Praetor’s flat, as well.’
The woman who came out when he was knocking at Praetor’s door, Werthen figured.
‘Quite good ears for an elderly woman,’ Drechsler went on. ‘Said she heard some crazy person addressing Herr Praetor’s closed door. She recalled quite well that name: “It is I, AdvokatWerthen.” The very words she heard. So you see, it is a good thing we had this little discussion. I was going to contact you today at any rate.’
Werthen felt doubly pleased with himself for calling Drechsler so promptly.