Deadly Communion by Frank Tallis

sigh.
    ‘It hardly matters now.’
    ‘Come, Oskar,’ said Liebermann, standing. ‘Let us retire. If I am not mistaken, we will have much to discuss this evening.’
    The two men entered the smoking room and sat in chairs that faced a modest fire. Liebermann poured brandy and offered his friend a cigar. When they were both settled, Rheinhardt produced an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to his friend.
    ‘As I expected,’ said Liebermann, taking out the contents. The envelope contained photographs.
    A young woman, lying on grass.
    Coat open, striped stockings, ankle boots …
    ‘Her name is Adele Zeiler,’ said Rheinhardt. ‘Age nineteen. She was discovered in the Volksgarten by a constable early on Monday morning. Her underwear had been removed and traces of dried semen were found on her dress. There were no signs to suggest that a struggle had taken place. Her fingernails were unbroken, there was no bruising, and no tearing of clothes. Moreover, Professor Mathias did not find any significant’ — Rheinhardt coughed into his hand — ‘internal indications of injury.’
    A close-up of her face.
    Another of her right hand — the long nails intact.
    ‘She consented to intercourse?’
    ‘So it would seem. I found one of the buttons from her coat under the eaves of the Theseus Temple. I imagine that she and the perpetrator had become intimate while sheltering beneath the roof of the monument. Perhaps he became intemperate in his excitement and began to pull at her coat — breaking the thread. Whatever, in due course she must have agreed to find a place where they would be better concealed and they chose a row of bushes close by.’
    ‘How did she die?’
    ‘She was stabbed.’ Liebermann inspected the first photograph again and frowned. ‘With this,’ Rheinhardt added. The inspector reached into his pocket for a second time.
    ‘A hat pin?’
    ‘Precisely.’
    Liebermann took the hatpin from his companion and studied the silver acorn. Then he ran his finger along the length of the needle and tapped the sharp point.
    ‘We know that it was purchased,’ Rheinhardt continued, ‘from a small shop on the Hoher Markt called Jaufenthaler s. It was one offive supplied by a Pole called Krawczyk. Herr Krawczyk hadn’t been able to persuade many jewellers in Vienna to stock them. In fact, only two outlets other than Jaufenthaler’s bought these silver-acorn hatpins and I understand that, to date, they have yet to make a sale.’ Rheinhardt paused and exhaled a vast cloud of cigar smoke. ‘Herr Jaufenthaler, on the other hand, was able to sell all five of Krawczyk’s hatpins, and, significantly, he recalls that one of these customers was a gentleman.’
    ‘Did you get a description?’
    ‘Yes, but not a very good one: dark hair, pale complexion — well mannered. Late twenties. No distinguishing marks.’
    Liebermann placed the hatpin on the table and returned his attention to the photographs.
    ‘Where was she stabbed? I see no bloodstains on her dress — particularly near her heart, where I would have expected there to be some.’
    Rheinhardt remained silent.
    ‘Surely,’ Liebermann continued, ‘Fräulein Zeiler wasn’t stabbed in the back. Inflicting a fatal wound, or rather, an instantly fatal wound, from behind with such an inconsequential weapon would be virtually impossible. One could puncture the lungs, I suppose … but that would be so very inefficient.’
    Rheinhardt derived a shameful degree of satisfaction from the sight of his friend floundering. It was an infrequent occurrence and he intended to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible.
    ‘Professor Mathias was rather impressed by the killer’s ingenuity,’ said the inspector.
    Liebermann, now evidently irritated by his own inability to solve the mystery, glared at his friend: ‘Well?’
    Rheinhardt took a leisurely sip of brandy.
    ‘The pin,’ he said — before pausing to delay his disclosure a fewseconds more — ‘was