Read Online Deadly Communion by Frank Tallis - Free Book Online

Rheinhardt.
    ‘She says she has information that will be of interest to you.’
    ‘What information?’
    ‘I have no idea, sir. She wouldn’t say.’
    ‘Did you try to find out?’
    ‘I did, sir, but my powers of persuasion proved insufficient.’
    ‘Well, I take it, Haussmann, you persuaded her to divulge her name — that much at least, eh?’
    ‘Pryska Sykora, sir.’
    ‘I’ve never heard of her. Even so, I suppose you’d better bring her up.’
    Haussmann stepped back into the corridor but suddenly froze.
    ‘Yes?’ said Rheinhardt: ‘What now?’
    Haussmann’s cheeks darkened. ‘This isn’t very relevant, sir, but I think you should know. It says something about Fräulein Sykora’s character. In addition to insisting that she should be allowed to talk to you, sir, she also suggested that I might want to consider taking her to the theatre one evening this week.’
    ‘I see. And did you?’
    ‘What, sir?’
    ‘Consider it.’
    ‘If I am to be perfectly honest, sir, I did. She is quite pretty; however, I was quick to point out that if I acted on her proposal this would very likely provoke your displeasure.’
    ‘Haussmann,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘you are wise beyond your years.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    ‘Not at all. Now, if you would be so kind as to fetch this femme fatale I would be most grateful. The day is already advanced and I regret to say I have done very little.’
    After Haussmann’s departure Rheinhardt opened one of the drawers in his desk and removed a cardboard box. It was full of his wife’s Linzer biscotten. She had made them in the shape of hearts.
    Rheinhardt was particularly fond of his wife’s Linzerbiscotten because she always coated them with a thick crust of sugary icing and cemented the shortbread together with a superabundant quantity of raspberry jam. The inspector wondered if his wife’s baking (never stinting and conspicuously bountiful) betrayed something of her innermost nature. According to Liebermann, those things which were usually considered insignificant (for example, a person’s choice of pastry cutter) often supplied the richest seams for psychoanalytic inquiry. The inspector picked up one of the biscuits and contemplated its dimensions, its telling shape and the extravagant applications of icing and jam. Surely, he thought, all indisputable signs of a generous spirit. He was overcome with sentiment but then laughed out loud. Professor Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams had received mixed reviews. What would the world make of The Interpretation of Biscuits? Perhaps it was better to leave the psychoanalysis to Liebermann.
    Rheinhardt ate one of the Linzer biscotten and was contemplating eating a second when Haussmann returned with Fräulein Sykora. She was very young, perhaps no more than seventeen, small, and almostbeautiful. Her face was flawed by a quality that Rheinhardt could only think of as ‘hardness’.
    ‘Fräulein Sykora,’ said Rheinhardt, rising from his chair. ‘Please, do come in.’ He observed some crumbs on his blotter and discreetly brushed them aside. ‘I am Detective Inspector Rheinhardt.’
    Haussmann took Fräulein Sykora’s coat and offered her the chair in front of Rheinhardt’s desk. She did not make eye contact with the assistant detective and did not say ‘Thank you.’ Haussmann withdrew, hung her coat on the stand, and maintained a safe distance.
    ‘Well,’ said Rheinhardt, sitting down again. ‘I understand you are in possession of some information which you believe may be of interest to me.’
    ‘Yes,’ Fräulein Sykora said. ‘I am.’ Her accent was rough, unrefined — but the timbre of her voice was pleasantly husky. ‘You’re the detective who’s investigating Adele Zeiler’s murder, aren’t you?’
    ‘That is correct.’
    ‘I heard all about it yesterday.’
    Rheinhardt registered that she had heard about the murder — and not read about it in the newspapers.
    ‘From whom?’
    Pryska Sykora swung