Mortal Mischief

'Well,' Rheinhardt replied, 'on the night of Charlotte Lowenstein's murder he was playing backgammon in his club. He stayed there until morning.'

'And you have witnesses?'

'Yes.'

'Reliable witnesses?'

'I think so,' said Rheinhardt, heaping sugar into his turkische coffee.

'Could he have bribed them?'

'Some of them, I suppose, but not all. There were simply too many people there.'

'As far as you know . . .'

The man at the piano sat down in readiness to play. But before he could begin, another man leaped up from a nearby card table and engaged him in conversation. A few people started to cheer and clap.

The pianist stood and took a volume of music out of the piano stool. One of the card-players brought a chair over to the piano, and the two men – evidently both musicians – sat down and cracked their knuckles.

'I think that's Epstein, the concert pianist,' said Liebermann.

A moment later the air was alive with sound – a musical detonation like the starburst of a firework. The hubbub subsided as the pianists ripped through a very fast four-hand arrangement of a gypsy dance tune.

'That's rather wonderful,' said Rheinhardt, leaning towards his friend and raising his voice. 'What is it?'

A ravishing melody in the lower register was immediately answered by a shower of descending notes – a crystalline flurry.

'Brahms,' replied Liebermann. 'One of his Hungarian dances.'

Before long Liebermann was leaning forward, on the edge of his seat, totally absorbed by Epstein's virtuosity. When the first piece ended and the applause began, he turned to face Rheinhardt. He could barely believe what he saw – and jumped as though in the presence of an apparition. There, standing next to his friend, was Madame de Rougemont.

'Max,' said Rheinhardt, grinning broadly. 'May I introduce Isolde Sedlmair? A very talented actress, I'm sure you'll agree.'

'I can see you are a great admirer of Brahms, Doctor Liebermann,' said the woman in black, her German perfect and unaccented.

56

HEINRICH HOLDERLIN, wrapped in a large Turkish dressing gown, had been sitting in his study, smoking, for the entire evening. It was a medium-sized room, soberly decorated and illuminated by two electric lamps. On his desk a pile of papers, letters and forms awaited his attention.

Holderlin stubbed out his fourth cigar and stared vacantly at the green-striped wallpaper. Resting his elbows on the ink blotter, he supported his chin on clenched fists.

What a fool!

The self-accusation reverberated in his head like a Russian bell. Its relentless tolling had given him a pulsing headache.

Holderlin picked up a bundle of correspondence. He should have replied earlier in the day, while at work, but he had been unable to concentrate.

Dear Herr Holderlin – further to my recent enquiry . . .

The first few lines made sense, but then each sentence became increasingly incomprehensible, eventually fragmenting into a string of meaningless words and phrases.

She was genuine, Madame de Rougemont. Her spirit guide was undoubtedly conversing with Charlotte Lowenstein. Those messages – particularly the one given to the seamstress . . .

Holderlin tried to focus his attention on the letter.

. . . Business account . . . intend to arrive in Pest next week . . . securing interests . . . Herr Balazs . . . at your earliest convenience.

Holderlin groaned, pushed the letter away, and rubbed his chin. It was rough with stubble. He usually shaved before the evening meal, but as he'd had no intention of joining his wife for dinner his toilette had been neglected.

What else could I have done? She had to be stopped . . . there was no other way – the risk was too great . . .

A faint knock roused him from his malaise. A timid, muted double heartbeat.

Holderlin did not respond.

'Heinrich?'

It was his wife.

'Heinrich?'

The door opened, and she entered.

'Why didn't you answer? What are you doing, Heinrich?'

'My correspondence.'

He could see that his wife was not fooled.

'Heinrich, I want to talk to you about what happened last night.'

'I have nothing more to say, Juno.'

'But . . .' She closed the door and walked up to the desk. 'I still don't understand why.'

'Juno,' Holderlin cut in. 'I acted on principle.'

'I'm sure you did, dear. But what principle?'

'That is quite enough. Please leave . . . there is much to do here.' He gestured towards his pile of papers.

Juno did not move. Although small-boned, her intransigence endowed her with a certain resolute quality. Her husband noticed that she was no longer squinting.

'Surely, Heinrich, you must appreciate how your behaviour appeared to everybody else?'

'Juno, I do not care what the others thought. I acted in good faith – according to principle. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me attend to these pressing—'

'Heinrich!' Juno's voice was shockingly shrill and loud, lifting Holderlin's headache to a much higher register of throbbing pain. It was the first time that he had heard his wife raise her voice in nearly thirty years.

'You may not care what the others thought – but I do. I care very much indeed. And I am particularly mindful of what that police inspector thought. Dear God, I have been expecting him to arrive at the door with a squad of constables all day!'

'Dearest, please.' Holderlin raised a finger to his lips. 'The neighbours, the servants . . .'

Juno Holderlin became even more incensed.

'Why did you do it, Heinrich? Do you think I am an idiot?'

Holderlin looked down at his papers.

'I . . .' He lifted the pen out of the inkwell. 'I must attend to my correspondence.'

He did not look up again. But when he did his wife had gone – and the sound of the slammed door was still inflaming his raw nerves.

57

LIEBERMANN'S FINGERS HESITATED over the keys. Instead of playing the opening bars of Brahms's Nachtigall, he closed the lid of the Bosendorfer and looked up at his friend.

'You know, I still can't believe that you didn't tell me.'

'How could I, Max? It would have biased your perception of the evening. I wanted an objective opinion.'

Liebermann picked some lint from his sleeve.

'How did you know I would accompany you?'

'I didn't. But I knew that, as a student of human nature, you would be curious to observe the suspects on such an occasion.'