Mortal Mischief

She lowered her right arm, and a ripple of movement animated each finger in turn. The faintest of smiles crept across her hitherto tearful face.

59

COMMISSIONER BRUGEL sat behind his desk, looking through the notes and papers that had spilled out of four stationery boxes

'It seems to me that you haven't got very far, Rheinhardt.'

His voice was grave.

Rheinhardt began what promised to be a weaselly sentence: 'Well . . .'

'And you've neglected some of the paperwork,' the Commissioner butted in.

'Have I?'

'You know you have, Rheinhardt.'

'So many forms . . .'

'All essential, I think you'll find.'

'Of course, sir.'

Inwardly, Rheinhardt groaned at the prospect of wading through more red tape. He was a policeman, not an auditor.

'This won't do, Rheinhardt,' said Brugel sternly. 'This won't do at all.'

Rheinhardt was about to say something in his defence but Brugel's hand came down heavily on the desktop. It was not a loud report, but it constituted sufficient warning to silence the beleaguered Inspector.

'From the outset of this investigation, I made it plain to you that I considered the resolution of this case to be a matter of utmost importance.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I trusted you.'

'Yes, sir.'

'But the longer this investigation goes on, the more I fear that my trust was misplaced.'

Brugel thrust his head out from his collar and allowed a cruel silence to play on Rheinhardt's nerves. Then he spoke once more: 'There's a lot at stake here, Rheinhardt – more than you realise.' The Commissioner grunted and shook his head. He looked like an ox worried by flies. 'Very unsatisfactory,' he muttered under his breath. 'Very unsatisfactory indeed.'

Rheinhardt was puzzled. He wanted to ask the Commissioner what he meant exactly? However, Rheinhardt recognised that it would be in his interests to hold his tongue. Brugel had always been an impatient man but on this occasion he seemed particularly irascible.

'Fraulein Lowenstein.' The Commissioner barked the name like a challenge. 'The door, the bullet – any progress?'

'I'm afraid not, sir,' said Rheinhardt meekly.

'But you still think we're dealing with an illusionist – I hope. Hence your initial interest in Roche and Braun.'

'That's correct, sir. Although they're not the only ones with a theatrical background. The count – Zaborszky – he's been involved with theatre people too, although only as an investor. We received an anonymous note detailing his dubious history.'

Rheinhardt leaned forward and scanned the desktop anxiously.

'It should be there, sir.'

Brugel rifled through a pile of disordered papers but was unable to find the note.

'What did it say?'

'It contained some fairly wild accusations, about Zaborszky emptying the family coffers – leaving his mother and sisters destitute in Hungary. I used the information to unsettle him in the sham seance.'

'Do you have any idea who sent it?'

'No – but Zaborszky has many enemies.'

'I understand the Count had an alibi for the night when Charlotte Lowenstein was murdered?'

'That's correct, sir.'

'But he was seen leaving Uberhorst's shop the night before the locksmith's body was discovered?'

'Yes, sir. Zaborszky said he had been to see Herr Uberhorst to discuss purchasing a lock for his front door – which is not, on reflection, implausible. The Count was recently assaulted.'

'Who by?'

'One of his gambling associates. The Count has significant debts.'

'How did he react when you told him that Uberhorst had been killed?'

'I wasn't present when the Count was found on the Prater. But I'm told that he insisted that he be permitted to finish his lunch.'

'I see,' said the Commissioner.

'Sir, Herr Holderlin – the banker – he too had visited Herr Uberhorst on the same day.'

'The fellow who disrupted your sham seance?'

'That's right. He had been to collect a book and might also have observed Herr Uberhorst's experiments.'

'What experiments?'

'We believe that he might have been trying to discover how the illusion of the locked door was achieved. If Fraulein Lowenstein's murderer knew about his efforts . . .'

Brugel drummed his fingers, a five-beat roll that he repeated between lengthy pauses. It sounded to Rheinhardt like a funeral march. Finally, abandoning percussion in favour of speech, Brugel said:

'How do you know the two murders are connected?'

'I don't.'

'The methods employed were so very different that one can scarcely believe they share a common perpetrator.'

'Yes, sir. It is possible that we are looking for two murderers rather than one. But . . .'

'Yes, spit it out, man.'

'I think it improbable.'

Brugel flicked through some more papers and began reading. After a few moments he said: 'Having spent quite some time with that medical fellow establishing that Charlotte Lowenstein was pregnant . . .'

'Doctor Liebermann.'

'Yes, Liebermann: how has this information furthered your understanding of the case?'

Rheinhardt realised that it was probably better to accept defeat.

'It hasn't been very helpful, sir.'

'No,' said the Commissioner, scratching his chin between the silver-grey strands of his whiskers. 'It hasn't been very helpful – especially now that this same information has found its way into the newspapers.'

'That must have been Braun, sir. I expect he sold the story to a journalist at the Zeitung for the price of a bottle of vodka.'

'Which is splendid for Braun, but very inconvenient for us. Very, very, very inconvenient.'

Rheinhardt thought it politic to remain silent.

'Rheinhardt,' the Commissioner continued, 'there's something you should know.' The sentence sounded ominous. 'A Commissioner's duties are many and varied and I am often obliged to attend social functions, with other dignitaries – from parliament, the town hall, the Hoffburg – and one hears things. Gossip, for the most part – but not always. Now, as luck would have it, I chanced upon a rumour, a rumour that I cannot afford to ignore. It was suggested to me that a very high-ranking member of the royal family took an interest in the Lowenstein case when it was first reported in the newspapers. This elevated person was assured by a senior civil servant that the mystery would be solved by the security office soon enough. Fortunately, the said royal forgot about the case – presumably distracted by other more pressing matters of state and court. The recent article announcing that Fraulein Lowenstein was pregnant at the time of her murder is very embarrassing because it has once again brought the case to the aforesaid gentleman's attention.'