behind him were a group of extraordinarily noisy Italian women, and some Austrian businessmen who clearly thought that ‘ladies’ should conduct themselves with greater decorum in a public place. A whistle sounded and somewhere a jet of steam was expelled. The air smelt of coal dust and oil.
Rheinhardt and Liebermann struggled through the stream of human traffic and made their way to the luggage lockers. They presented Fraulein Wirth’s ticket to the clerk and, after making an entry in his ledger, he gave them a key in return.
Each of the lockers was numbered, and they found number one hundred and six at the end of the first row. Rheinhardt crouched down. Before he turned the key he glanced up at his friend.
‘I am reluctant to open it up for fear of being disappointed.’ The bolt sounded and Rheinhardt eased the door open. ‘Yes, there’s something inside.’ The inspector reached in and took out a cylinder of rolled-up paper and some postcards. He rose and turned the first photographic image towards Liebermann.
It showed two young girls — naked. Their bodies were barely pubescent and they stood, rather awkwardly, in front of a floral backdrop. They affected interest in a horned figurine that had been placed on a stand. The second photographic image showed the same two girls sprawled on a rug, and the third showed them kissing.
Liebermann took the postcards and studied them closely. He picked out the first again and tilted it to capture more light.
‘This girl — the one with the birthmark on her stomach …’
Rheinhardt glanced at the naked model and then back at Liebermann.
‘She looks …’ He hesistated before adding: ‘Familiar.’
‘Yes, that’s what I was thinking.’
‘It can’t be — surely not.’
‘I think it is … and I strongly suspect that her companion is Selma Wirth.’
Liebermann turned the card over to see if he could find out where it had been printed. But there was no information of that kind. Rheinhardt began unrolling the cylinder of paper. He discovered that he was holding a very accomplished but extremely distasteful pencil sketch: two girls — clearly the same girls — lying side by side, their legs spread apart. One of them was wearing black stockings while the other was entirely nude.
Rheinhardt recognised the style: the emaciated bodies, the mass of baroque detail where their young thighs met. The signature confirmed his initial suspicion.
‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked Liebermann, pointing to the cursive scrawl in the lower right-hand corner.
60
RAINMAYR STOOD IN THE centre of his studio, admiring his own sketch.
‘Well, well,’ he said to Rheinhardt. ‘Wherever did you get this from?’ It’s not bad really. There are a few things I’d do differently today. The perspective is a little uninteresting and the faces are somewhat dull — but it’s perfectly acceptable. Of course, I could get the same effect with less effort these days.’
‘When did you make this sketch?’
Rainmayr shook his head: ‘Oh, I couldn’t say exactly. It must have been over twenty years ago.’ He made a knocking sound on the roof of his mouth with his tongue, before adding: ‘No, more than that, most probably: twenty-five, perhaps?’
‘Who did you sell it to?’
‘I can’t remember, inspector. I’ve done so many sketches like this. But you must tell me, where did you get it from?’
‘Herr Rainmayr, do you recall the names of these young models?’
‘No, it was too long ago.’
‘Do you remember anything about them?’
‘I do,’ said Rainmayr. Then, correcting himself, he added. ‘I mean, I don’t. No.’
Rheinhardt glanced at Liebermann. The inspector had become as sensitive as any analyst to the small and telling errors of speech described by Professor Freud. Liebermann nodded, confirming that the slip was significant.
Rainmayr noticed that something had passed between the two men and added nervously: ‘They were street girls. I don’t know how many street girls have worked for me over the years — hundreds. You can’t expect me to remember every single one of them.’
‘Herr Rainmayr,’ said Liebermann. ‘You know very well who these girls are.’
The artist laid the sketch down on his table and looked across the room at Liebermann: ‘No, I don’t. I honestly can’t remember.’
‘With respect,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘I have found Doctor Liebermann to be very good at determining whether or not people are telling the truth.’
‘What? He can read minds?’
Liebermann shrugged, as if to say:
‘Then maybe he should do a turn at Ronacher’s,’ said the artist, smiling. ‘They’re looking for some new acts.’
Rheinhardt circled the easel and considered Rainmayr’s unfinished painting. It was typical of the artist’s work: a young woman with wasted limbs, small breasts, and exposed pudendum. Rheinhardt focused his attention on the girl’s eyes. He searched for the person within but found no evidence of occupation. It was as though her soul had departed. The emptiness was chilling.
‘Herr Rainmayr, if you do not cooperate I will be returning this evening accompanied by my assistant and three constables. We will confiscate all of your work, you will be tried and you will spend many months in jail. Well, Herr Rainmayr? Are you going to cooperate, or are you going to put your trust in those powerful patrons of yours — gentlemen who I am confident will offer you little assistance at the first sign of trouble?’
‘You cannot intimidate me, Rheinhardt,’ Rainmayr sneered.
‘Good day, then,’ Rheinhardt replied, bowing curtly. He marched towards the door, inviting Liebermann to follow.
‘No — wait,’ Rainmayr called out. His voice had become thin and attenuated. The artist picked up a solitary cigarette from among the detritus on his table. Then he rummaged, without success, for some matches.
Rheinhardt offered him a light.
‘There. Now, who are they?’
Rainmayr drew on the cigarette and shook his head. ‘This girl here is Selma Wirth.’ He pointed at one of the reclining nudes depicted in his sketch. ‘You are already familiar with that name, of course. Like poor Adele Zeiler — one of Sprenger’s victims.’ He shook his head again. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I first read of Selma’s murder — and so soon after Adele’s. Two of them! It was like being jinxed. I was worried that you would discover that Wirth had also been one of my models once, albeit a long time ago, and make a connection. You will appreciate that I did not want to find myself arrested on suspicion of committing a double murder.’
‘Were you still acquainted with Selma Wirth?’
‘No.’ Rainmayr blew smoke out through his nostrils. ‘About a year ago we ran into each other by chance in a coffee house. We spoke briefly, but it wasn’t a very agreeable exchange. She asked me for money — which I didn’t have. She was bitter and quite rude as it happens.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
‘I have no idea and I didn’t stay long enough to find out. Apart from that one occasion, the last time I saw her would have been over twenty years ago. When she was sixteen or seventeen.’
Rheinhardt pointed to the other reclining nude.
‘And this girl? Who is she?’
Rainmayr grimaced and was evidently struggling to resolve some inner quandary. He sighed and said quietly: ‘Hofler. Erika Hofler.’
