‘What about it?’
‘How was it different?’
‘She had bought a new … no.’ Kristina looked flustered. ‘No. She looked more groomed — that’s all …’
Rheinhardt leaned forward in his chair.
‘Frau Vogl, you said that you saw a man waiting outside Fraulein Wirth’s apartment.’
Kristina looked confused — but then, quite suddenly, her face brightened with recognition.
‘Yes, that’s right: a man with a bowler hat.’
‘Please, Frau Vogl. Think very carefully. Can you remember anything else about him?’
‘No. He was just … a man.’
‘Is it possible that this gentleman could have been Fraulein Wirth’s admirer?’
‘Inspector, on reflection, I do not think that Selma had an admirer.’
‘But, let us assume — for argument’s sake — that your early suspicions were correct. Is it at all
‘I couldn’t possibly say.’ A note of irritation had crept into her voice. ‘With respect, inspector, I don’t understand why you’re asking me these questions. What difference does it make if this man
Rheinhardt leaned forward.
‘I regret to say that the answer to these questions may be of considerable importance, Frau Vogl, because we now have good reason to believe that Markus Sprenger did not kill Selma Wirth.’
Frau Vogl’s expression hardened.
‘What?’
‘I am sorry. I appreciate that you will find this news most distressing.’
Kristina breathed deeply and her bosom rose and fell.
‘I don’t understand. What are you saying, inspector?’ The pitch of her voice rose hysterically. ‘Sprenger … it was in
‘I am afraid that some new evidence has come to light.’
‘New evidence?’
‘Yes,’ said Rheinhardt. He did not reveal more, even though Kristina’s expression communicated an urgent appeal for more information. Some moments passed before she straightened her back and recovered her composure. ‘Do you think then,’ she said in a lower, more controlled register, ‘that I am still in danger?’
‘Possibly,’ said Rheinhardt.
Kristina raised a trembling hand to her temple.
‘Oh, this is dreadful. Quite dreadful. Are you sure, inspector? Are you sure it was not Sprenger?’
Rheinhardt nodded solemnly.
‘Frau Vogl, we are very much in need of your help. Think very carefully. Did Fraulein Wirth give you any reason to worry about her safety? Did she say anything that might be pertinent?’
Kristina looked from Rheinhardt to Liebermann — and back again.
‘Yes.’ The word was tentative, experimental. ‘Yes, she may have …’
Rheinhardt took out his notebook and pencil.
‘Please …’
‘Selma despised the landlord’s agent.’
‘Shevchenko?’
‘Was that his name? I only knew him as the
‘Why did she despise him?’
‘She said he was ill-mannered — uncouth — an animal — and…’ Kristina touched her colourful brooch as if the stones were magical and might endow her with the strength to continue. ‘I think he once presented her with an obscene proposition.’
‘I am afraid you must be specific, Frau Vogl.’
‘He offered to cancel her debt, if she …’
‘Submitted to him,’ Rheinhardt offered helpfully.
‘Yes. If she submitted to him.’
‘I see.’
Rheinhardt made a few notes.
‘Frau Vogl,’ said Liebermann. ‘You say that you
‘I’m sorry … The agent
‘Selma told you this?’ asked Rheinhardt.
‘Yes. She did.’
The inspector bit the end of his pencil: ‘Frau Vogl. Why did you not mention this before?’
‘It had slipped my mind. You must understand — this conversation — we had it almost a year ago. And Selma never referred to it again. I naturally assumed that after Selma had refused him the landlord’s agent had refrained from making further advances. Nor did I imagine that Shev — … Shev —…’
‘Shevchenko,’ said Rheinhardt.
‘That Shevchenko would perhaps — one day — force himself upon her. If I had thought such a thing I would have demanded she leave the apartment — whatever she said, however she objected — and made appropriate provision.’
Rheinhardt looked up from his notebook. Liebermann sighed as he saw the flame of admiration reignite behind his friend’s melancholy eyes.
They found a coffee house close to the cathedral.
‘I’m going to telephone Haussmann,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘I’ll get him to locate Shevchenko and call me back here if he has any success.’
Rheinhardt went to find the telephone booth and on his return Liebermann saw his friend talking to the head waiter. A few coins changed hands and the waiter bowed obsequiously.
‘Ah,’ said Rheinhardt, delighted to see that their order had arrived. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this.’ He sipped his Turkische and cut through the plum flan with the edge of his fork. It was a generous portion: a slab of moist pastry, covered in crescents of purple fruit and sprinkled with icing sugar. He chewed slowly to prolong his first moments of pleasure. ‘Excellent. What did you order?’ He looked at Liebermann’s nondescript white wedge.
‘Cheesecake,’ said Liebermann.
Rheinhardt shrugged, took another sip of his coffee and resumed eating. When he had consumed roughly half of his flan he remembered his companion and said: ‘Well. What did you think?’
Liebermann stirred his Schwarzer and stared into his cup as if the answer he should give was written on the spiral of light brown froth.
‘Something isn’t right.’
Rheinhardt stopped chewing.
‘You thought she was, what? Lying?’
Liebermann put down his spoon.
‘From the moment she saw you, she seemed anxious to disarm you. She offered her hand, flattered you, and smiled like a coquette.’
‘Perhaps she saw in my person an admirable figure of manhood — and was unable to contain herself.’
Rheinhardt smiled into Liebermann’s surly visage.
The young doctor considered his friend’s remark and proceeded as if it had never been made.
‘She said that Selma Wirth had looked different and was about to say that Wirth had bought a new dress; then, on remembering that Wirth was in no position to make such a purchase she changed her mind and opted for an innocuous comment concerning the woman’s grooming habits.’
‘You are not a psychic, Max. That is pure supposition.’
‘She seemed bemused when you first mentiond the man with the bowler hat, and I strongly suspect that this
