looking for some kind of scapegoat, some success, however temporary.
Meindl, however,
was
aware of the stature of the man they had in custody, Werthen knew. Heads might roll over this arrest, and his would not be among them if Meindl could help it. IfGross, using information supplied by Meindl, could solve the case, proving Klimt innocent, then Meindl would surely take the credit. Then again, if Klimt was actually proven the guilty party, Meindl’s machinations might well go unnoticed, as he had pledged Gross and Werthen to secrecy. Either way he won. No wonder the man had risen so far in the Presidium, Werthen thought. He knew exactly how to maneuver through the system. Such talent would not go unnoticed by a man such as Prince Grunenthal when searching for protégés.
“There is something none of us is mentioning,” Gross said.
“And that would be?” Meindl asked.
“The drained blood, the severed noses,” Gross prompted.
Meindl replaced his pince-nez. “Yes. One of our inspectors was examining that angle as well. Running down any leads there might be on extremist Jewish groups.”
Werthen shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling his blood rise.
“There’s not much in that avenue of thought, however,” Meindl quickly added.
Gross had the temerity to look disappointed, Werthen noticed.
“There is something that did turn up in that context, though,” Meindl said, consulting the file on the desk in front of him. “One of the few connections we were able to come up with between the victims. Two of them had employed the services of a local nerve doctor of Jewish heritage.”
He passed a piece of paper to Gross, who handed it to Werthen. He read the name and address: Doktor Sigmund Freud, Berggasse 19.
But first they had a more urgent visit to make. Liesel Landtauer rented a room from a Frau Iloshnya in Vienna’s Third District. Uchatiusgasse was a long and undistinguished street, not far from the Landstrasse
Stadtbahn
station. It was named after one of those curious nineteenth-century autodidacts, Baron FreiherrFranz von Uchatius, an inventor and military man who once ran the Vienna Arsenal. Among his inventions was a primitive projector for moving pictures that predated the American Edison’s by fifty years. He gained military renown and a general’s rank for his invention of steel bronze that proved effective in casting military weapons. However, when one of the cannon cast from this metal exploded while being demonstrated to the emperor, Uchatius took the Viennese way out and killed himself.
Werthen, a student of his adopted city, was tempted to regale Gross with his own fund of knowledge, but doubted the criminologist would be amused. Instead, he followed Gross to number 13, where the building concierge was busy mopping the hallway. Inquiring directions of her, they were sent to the third floor, to apartment 39. Gross, who was claustrophobic, ignored the elevator in service and took the stairs, huffing mightily by the time they reached the third floor.
Gross bore an official letter from the Police Presidium, given him by Meindl, that convinced the landlady, Frau Iloshnya, to let them into Liesel’s room.
“Her roommate, Helga, was so shaken that she left for her parents’ in Lower Austria,” the lady explained. “She cleared out all her things. Otherwise, the room is the same as poor Liesel left it before her …”
“Yes, quite,” Gross consoled her with a timid patting on her upper arm.
“She was a good girl, no matter what the papers are saying.”
The tabloids had already picked up the story of Klimt’s arrest. The afternoon editions hit the streets early, with headlines declaring a LOVERS’ QUARREL GONE BAD and BEAUTY AND THE BEAST . The latter paper juxtaposed a photograph of the bearlike and rather demonic-looking Klimt against his sketch of Liesel for his painting
Nuda Veritas
. A newspaper artist had clothed the parts of the body that might offend the good Viennese
Meindl, however,
was
aware of the stature of the man they had in custody, Werthen knew. Heads might roll over this arrest, and his would not be among them if Meindl could help it. IfGross, using information supplied by Meindl, could solve the case, proving Klimt innocent, then Meindl would surely take the credit. Then again, if Klimt was actually proven the guilty party, Meindl’s machinations might well go unnoticed, as he had pledged Gross and Werthen to secrecy. Either way he won. No wonder the man had risen so far in the Presidium, Werthen thought. He knew exactly how to maneuver through the system. Such talent would not go unnoticed by a man such as Prince Grunenthal when searching for protégés.
“There is something none of us is mentioning,” Gross said.
“And that would be?” Meindl asked.
“The drained blood, the severed noses,” Gross prompted.
Meindl replaced his pince-nez. “Yes. One of our inspectors was examining that angle as well. Running down any leads there might be on extremist Jewish groups.”
Werthen shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling his blood rise.
“There’s not much in that avenue of thought, however,” Meindl quickly added.
Gross had the temerity to look disappointed, Werthen noticed.
“There is something that did turn up in that context, though,” Meindl said, consulting the file on the desk in front of him. “One of the few connections we were able to come up with between the victims. Two of them had employed the services of a local nerve doctor of Jewish heritage.”
He passed a piece of paper to Gross, who handed it to Werthen. He read the name and address: Doktor Sigmund Freud, Berggasse 19.
But first they had a more urgent visit to make. Liesel Landtauer rented a room from a Frau Iloshnya in Vienna’s Third District. Uchatiusgasse was a long and undistinguished street, not far from the Landstrasse
Stadtbahn
station. It was named after one of those curious nineteenth-century autodidacts, Baron FreiherrFranz von Uchatius, an inventor and military man who once ran the Vienna Arsenal. Among his inventions was a primitive projector for moving pictures that predated the American Edison’s by fifty years. He gained military renown and a general’s rank for his invention of steel bronze that proved effective in casting military weapons. However, when one of the cannon cast from this metal exploded while being demonstrated to the emperor, Uchatius took the Viennese way out and killed himself.
Werthen, a student of his adopted city, was tempted to regale Gross with his own fund of knowledge, but doubted the criminologist would be amused. Instead, he followed Gross to number 13, where the building concierge was busy mopping the hallway. Inquiring directions of her, they were sent to the third floor, to apartment 39. Gross, who was claustrophobic, ignored the elevator in service and took the stairs, huffing mightily by the time they reached the third floor.
Gross bore an official letter from the Police Presidium, given him by Meindl, that convinced the landlady, Frau Iloshnya, to let them into Liesel’s room.
“Her roommate, Helga, was so shaken that she left for her parents’ in Lower Austria,” the lady explained. “She cleared out all her things. Otherwise, the room is the same as poor Liesel left it before her …”
“Yes, quite,” Gross consoled her with a timid patting on her upper arm.
“She was a good girl, no matter what the papers are saying.”
The tabloids had already picked up the story of Klimt’s arrest. The afternoon editions hit the streets early, with headlines declaring a LOVERS’ QUARREL GONE BAD and BEAUTY AND THE BEAST . The latter paper juxtaposed a photograph of the bearlike and rather demonic-looking Klimt against his sketch of Liesel for his painting
Nuda Veritas
. A newspaper artist had clothed the parts of the body that might offend the good Viennese
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