and flashed it in the driver’s face. ‘There! You see? Doctor Max Liebermann. Now, if you do not proceed this instant you must expect to find yourself before a magistrate tomorrow, explaining why you chose to obstruct the course of justice!’
Liebermann’s florid (and disingenuous) threat had the desired effect. The anxious-looking man rang the bell and the tram rolled forward.
‘Thank you,’ said Liebermann. There were now at least three carriages between Sprenger’s tram and his own. ‘Can’t you go any faster?’
‘I can, but—’
‘Then do it!’
The tram shuddered and began to accelerate. Liebermann glanced at the seated passengers, who were watching him with wide eyes and amazed expressions. He bowed — not wishing to seem discourteous as well as insane — and returned his attention to the road. Once again the driver rang the bell. The carriages dispersed and they gathered momentum.
‘Excellent!’
Liebermann felt someone tapping his shoulder.
He turned to discover the conductor, his right arm stretched out and his palm open.
‘Your fare, sir?’
Liebermann looked into the man’s dead eyes and saw the end of Austria-Hungary. An empire that produced so many bureaucrats and petty officials would never survive the new century. Here was a man who had been instructed to take fares and that was what he intended to do, whatever the circumstance. Liebermann sensed all the others behind him, a great army of automata with grand titles and flamboyant uniforms, operating in every stratum of society — and was too exhausted to argue. He gave the conductor a coin and accepted his ticket.
Sprenger’s tram turned off Franz-Josefs-Kai and began its transit across the Danube canal. Liebermann grabbed a support to stop himself from falling as they careered around the same section of track. Through the window Liebermann noticed a steamboat, eructating smoke from a long funnel and tugging two barges. It was heading east, churning the grey-green water and leaving a frothy trail. The slow, almost imperceptible, passage of the flotilla was oddly calming.
On the other side of the bridge Sprenger’s tram came to a halt. As the people waiting at the stop converged around the open platforms, Liebermann caught sight of Sprenger’s shirtsleeves in the throng. The undertaker made no attempt to run and was threading his way in an unhurried manner through the crowd.
Liebermann jumped off before his tram stopped and walked briskly around the press of bodies. He emerged on the other side to see Sprenger no more than ten metres away. Unfortunately, it was also at that precise moment that Sprenger chose to check if he was being followed. On recognising Liebermann, the undertaker immediately took off again.
The brief respite on the tram had done Liebermann a great deal of good. He had recovered his breath and the pain in his stomach was no longer quite so distracting. Indeed, he seemed to be catching up with Sprenger.
The undertaker disappeared around a corner and Liebermann followed, skidding on the pavement which was slippery with squashed fruit. A number of barrows were parked at the kerb and costermongers were shouting the prices of apples and apricots. Just ahead, some Hassidic Jews were descending the steps of a synagogue.
Liebermann shouted: ‘Stop that man!’
The Hassidim froze but did nothing.
‘Stop him!’ Liebermann tried again. None of them were prepared to stand in the undertaker’s way.
Sprenger dashed past the synagogue and entered one of the buildings on the same side of the road. Liebermann was so close by now that he could almost touch him. Inside was an empty, lightless vestibule, with a broad staircase curving upwards. Liebermann chased Sprenger up the stairs, across a landing, and down a hallway. At the end of the hallway Sprenger tried one of the doors, violently shaking the handle. It was locked. Behind him was a window. There was no escape. He stood, his hands by his side, looking at Liebermann.
The sound of their breathing was loud and ragged. Liebermann drew the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe off the perspiration. He considered shouting for help but knew that he couldn’t count on anybody’s assistance. The tenants would probably be as reluctant to get involved as the Hassidim had been. Liebermann was aware of voices but they did not seem to be coming from anywhere inside the building, which was eerily quiet.
‘You must come with me to the Grosse Sperlgasse police station,’ said Liebermann.
Sprenger shook his head.
‘I don’t think so, Herr doctor.’ His blue eyes caught the soft light and flashed brightly. ‘You’re not armed — are you?’ Liebermann did not answer. ‘No. It was the inspector who had the gun.’
‘You can’t get away, Herr Sprenger.’
‘Perhaps not …’
A faint smile.
‘If you accompany me to Grosse Sperlgasse …’
‘Spare me!’ The smile vanished. ‘Spare me the horse-trading and the empty bargaining! I will hang, Herr doctor. Whether I am docile and come with you like a lamb — or whether I skin you alive with my penknife.’
Liebermann was not confident that he could better Sprenger if he was forced to defend himself. His courage deserted him: his racing heart felt swollen in his chest, his mouth, dry.
‘I was right — wasn’t I?’ His voice sounded thin. ‘Death is significant to you.’
‘Death is significant to everyone, Herr doctor. You should appreciate that more than most, by virtue of your profession. Death cures all diseases!’
‘No. I mean personally significant.’ Sprenger’s gaze was steady. ‘Death
The undertaker tilted his head and, ignoring Liebermann’s question, asked one of his own.
‘What did you see in my mouth?’
‘A possible defence.’
‘What?’
‘A
‘Speak plainly, Herr doctor.’
‘The bluish line that runs along your gums. It is a sign.’
‘Of what?’
‘Lead poisoning. You dye your hair with lead oxide — it has damaged your brain. You are not responsible for your actions. A judge would have to take such evidence into consideration before passing sentence.’
Sprenger laughed.
‘I can assure you that I am completely responsible for my actions. I know exactly what I have done.’
‘You may think that, Herr Sprenger.’
‘I believe I have made my position quite clear with respect to bargains.’
‘Then you
‘Perhaps …’ Sprenger took a step forward. Liebermann’s muscles tensed. ‘I would rather face an executioner than spend the rest of my life in a prison cell or — even worse — an asylum for the criminally insane.’
Sprenger took another step.
‘Stay where you are.’
‘Are you frightened of me, Herr doctor?’
Liebermann considered his response carefully.
‘Yes. I am frightened of you.’
Sprenger sighed.
‘“Night is the other half of life, and the better half.”’ It was a quotation from
‘Are you fond of Goethe?’ Liebermann asked. The question sounded weak — a transparent attempt to engage Sprenger and stall his advance.
The undertaker did not reply. His eyes were fixed on Liebermann. His expression was intense and focused.
Voices — laughter — the sound of cutlery.
