Mortal Mischief

old Count died of tuberculosis – he wasn't murdered.'

'But how do you know that?'

'My father has business interests in Hungary – some farms and a factory – and some property in the capital. He is a good friend of Count Cserteg, whose family come from the same area.'

Cosima paused.

'And . . .?' said Frau Holderlin, indicating that she was anxious for her guest to continue.

'The rumours,' said Cosima, 'contain a kernel of truth. It is almost certainly the case that Count Zaborszky lived a dissolute life. Apparently, he spent little time on the estate and showed no interest in its management. He was always in Pest, enjoying the company of singers and other ne'er-do-wells. He was very fond of the theatre, so they say, though in truth it is more probable that he was only fond of actresses . . .'

Frau Holderlin remembered how the Count would raise Fraulein Lowenstein's hand to his lips and let his mouth linger on her thin, pale fingers.

'Or perhaps I am doing him an injustice,' Cosima continued. 'He was sufficiently fond of the theatre to waste a good deal of his money subsidising a number of third-rate establishments which failed miserably. So I suppose it wasn't just the actresses – whose acquaintance he could have made, presumably, without making such a large investment.'

'Men can be such fools,' said Frau Holderlin.

'Indeed,' said Cosima. 'Whatever his intention, as a result of his activities he incurred some very serious debts, which he then tried to reduce by gambling – with predictable results. When the old Count Zaborszky fell ill his son appeared to take a more active role in the management of the estate. But in reality he was simply exploiting his father's weakness. By the time the old Count died there was virtually nothing left – a meagre inheritance that was subsequently deposited in a Viennese bank account. His mother and sisters were left to fend for themselves. If it hadn't been for the assistance of some of the local gentry, Count Cserteg among them, the women would have been destitute. Needless to say, the family seat and land had to be sold, the proceeds of which were absorbed almost entirely by the young Count's outstanding debts.'

'Scandalous,' said Frau Holderlin. 'I knew it. I rarely take a dislike to someone without good cause. I do not have the gift, but I have always trusted my intuition.'

Detecting a cake crumb nestling in a fold of her scarlet dress, Frau Holderlin removed the offending particle and discreetly returned it to her plate.

41

OTTO BRAUN HAD not expected to find himself lying on a divan in a featureless hospital room. Nor had he bargained for the doctor, whose watchful presence he could sense behind him.

'We were staying at The Grand, in Baden. There were a lot of wealthy people there, as you'd expect – it's a splendid hotel. One of the guests was a medium, a woman called Frau Henneberg. She was attracting a lot of attention, particularly from those patrons who were visiting the spa because of ill health. She agreed to hold a series of evening seances, and I attended one – just out of interest. It was a show, of course, nothing more, and I could see how the illusions were achieved: the rapping, the apparitions, the appearance of objects. One of the gentlemen present was undoubtedly an accomplice – I had no trouble identifying him. At the end of the seance, Frau Henneberg invited all those present to make a voluntary donation. I swear she must have made ninety florins. It was all so easy.' Braun stopped and slid both hands through his hair. 'How long do I have to stay like this?'

'Until the interview is finished.'

Resigning himself to the peculiarity of his circumstances, the young man sighed, releasing the tension in his shoulders.

'That's better' said Liebermann. 'I want you to feel comfortable – close your eyes if it helps.'

Braun did as he was instructed and crossed his arms over his chest. Liebermann was reminded of a corpse, and wondered whether the gesture represented some subtle communication from Braun's unconscious. Was he already unintentionally confessing to having committed murder?

'When you arrived at Fraulein Lowenstein's apartment,' asked Liebermann, 'why did you choose to run away?'

'There were police officers outside – they'd stopped Holderlin and his wife. I thought they'd finally caught up with us. There was that business at The Danube . . . and some other business.'

'What other business?'

Braun frowned: 'It was my understanding, Herr Doctor, that I was brought here to discuss Fraulein Lowenstein's murder.'

'Indeed, Herr Braun, and it was my understanding that you wished to help the police with their inquiries.'

'All right,' said Braun, curling his upper lip. 'We met an old woman in Baden – a widow. She had some valuable jewellery, a diamond bracelet, a sapphire pendant . . .' He waved his hand in the air, suggesting that further itemisation was unnecessary. 'When the opportunity presented itself, Lotte took the lot.'

'Were you party to this theft? Did you assist Fraulein Lowenstein?'

Braun opened his eyes, his mouth twisting to form a sardonic smile.

'No,' he said. His eyelids came down slowly, like those of a sated cat. 'Lotte was always taking things.'

Liebermann noticed that Braun's hands were trembling a little. Yet the young man did not seem particularly anxious.

'You ran. But where to?'

'A public house.'

'Which one?'

'I don't know – a small one. It's out in Meidling . . . The landlord's a big Ruthenian fellow. I think his name's Gergo. I met a woman there. I was able to stay with her for a while.'

'What's her name?'

'Lili.'

'Was she a prostitute?'

'As good as . . .'

'So you never left Vienna. You've been here all the time?'

'Yes. The day before yesterday, I wandered into a coffee house and picked up an old copy of the Wiener Zeitung. It was in the evening, about eight o'clock. I found the article – you know, the one about Lotte's murder – and immediately realised that I'd made a big mistake. I went straight to the police station.'

Braun swallowed. His skin looked clammy.

'How would you describe your relationship with Fraulein Lowenstein?'

'I'm not sure what you mean.'

'Were you happy together?'

'Were we happy?' Braun repeated the question. 'Yes, I suppose we were, particularly at the beginning. We seemed to have, how can I put this, a similar approach to life, a similar way of seeing things – and she was very beautiful, of course. Very beautiful. But it didn't last. Things weren't so good once we were back in Vienna. We argued and argued – and Lotte, who had been such a carefree woman, so unconventional, became preoccupied. Things that had never bothered her before acquired greater significance – she started worrying about the future . . . our security. And she became quite irritable. Sometimes, weeks would pass without either of us saying a single civil word to the other.'

'What did you argue about?'

'Money, usually. Somehow, there was never enough. She said that I drank too much. You disgust me – that's what she used to shout.

You disgust me . . .

You know, it's ironic that I'm here now, suspected of killing her. It could so easily have been the other way around. She tried to stab me once – and she almost succeeded. I'd been drinking and was in no mood for her nonsense. I can remember thinking, if she says You disgust me once more I'll . . . I'll . . .'