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Authors: Frank Tallis
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friend.”
Fabian winked.
“And the priest?” said Schmidt. “Do you know the priest’s name?”
Fabian shrugged.
“Could you find out?” Schmidt pressed.
“Why do you want to know the priest’s name, Uncle Julius?”
“Never you mind. Could you find out?” he repeated.
“Well, I can ask Edlinger, if you like.”
“I would like that very much. When will you be seeing Edlinger again?”
“Tomorrow, actually.”
“Good,” said Schmidt. “Now, isn’t this zwiebelrostbraten splendid?”
Schmidt allowed another piece of meat to flake into nothingness. It was like manna, and he permitted himself an inner self-congratulatory smile.
11
“D ISGRACEFUL,” SAID D ETECTIVE I NSPECTOR A lfred H ohenwart , tossing the folded copy of Vaterland onto his desk. He was a stout man with short gray hair and a square mustache that occupied only the space between the bottom of his nose and his upper lip. He was an experienced officer, and one whom Rheinhardt respected.
“I can only assume,” said Rheinhardt, “that the censor does not make a habit of reading through Catholic newspapers—otherwise it would never have been published.”
“How did you find it?”
“My informant was one of Stanislav’s confrères, another Piarist called Brother Lupercus.”
“So it would seem that Brother Stanislav wasn’t as popular as the abbot wanted you to believe.”
“The abbot was a kindly old man, and, for what it’s worth, I judged him to be a decent fellow. He probably wasn’t aware of Stanislav’s hateful essays.”
“Or he was deliberately withholding information to protect the reputation of his community.”
Rheinhardt shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“Stanislav,” Hohenwart continued, thinking hard. “Stanislav. I seem to recall…” His sentence trailed off before he suddenly said, “Excuse me a moment.” Hohenwart rose from his desk and vanished into an adjoining room. Sounds issued from beyond the half-open door—noises of rummaging, papers being flicked through, and a private grumbling commentary. In due course, Hohenwart produced a triumphal “Eureka!” and emerged holding a large cardboard file. A paper label had been gummed to the spine, on which was written Christian Nationalist Alliance .
“Do you remember Robak? Koell was the investigating officer.”
“Yes,” said Rheinhardt. “The Jewish boy…”
“Found beaten and stabbed to death on the Prater. He was discovered after a rally. A rally held in Leopoldstadt and organized by the Christian Nationalist Alliance.”
“Who are they?”
“A fringe political group. They’re an odd coalition of Catholics, pan-German sympathizers, and extreme conservatives. In reality, the various factions of the alliance don’t have very much in common. What holds them together is anti-Semitism.” Hohenwart opened the file and laid it in front of Rheinhardt. “Stanislav! I thought the name was familiar. Brother Stanislav was one of the speakers at the Leopoldstadt rally. The local Jews were offended by his immoderate views. They protested, a fight broke out, and the constables from Grosse Sperlgasse had to be called. No one was seriously hurt—but Robak’s body was found later.”
“Did you interview Stanislav?” Rheinhardt asked.
“No. We were too busy helping Koell trace alliance members. I’d already collated this file on them, which contains several names and addresses. Needless to say, the murder investigation took priority. We didn’t have time to pursue the lesser infringement of religious agitation, and the troublesome monk was quite forgotten.”
12
A NNA K ATZER AND O LGA M andl were seated in the parlor of the Katzer residence in Neutorgasse. It was a pleasant room with landscape paintings on the walls and old-fashioned furniture. Opposite Anna and Olga sat Gabriel Kusevitsky and his older brother, Asher. Although Asher shared his brother’s diminutive physique, he was generally judged to be the better-looking of the
Fabian winked.
“And the priest?” said Schmidt. “Do you know the priest’s name?”
Fabian shrugged.
“Could you find out?” Schmidt pressed.
“Why do you want to know the priest’s name, Uncle Julius?”
“Never you mind. Could you find out?” he repeated.
“Well, I can ask Edlinger, if you like.”
“I would like that very much. When will you be seeing Edlinger again?”
“Tomorrow, actually.”
“Good,” said Schmidt. “Now, isn’t this zwiebelrostbraten splendid?”
Schmidt allowed another piece of meat to flake into nothingness. It was like manna, and he permitted himself an inner self-congratulatory smile.
11
“D ISGRACEFUL,” SAID D ETECTIVE I NSPECTOR A lfred H ohenwart , tossing the folded copy of Vaterland onto his desk. He was a stout man with short gray hair and a square mustache that occupied only the space between the bottom of his nose and his upper lip. He was an experienced officer, and one whom Rheinhardt respected.
“I can only assume,” said Rheinhardt, “that the censor does not make a habit of reading through Catholic newspapers—otherwise it would never have been published.”
“How did you find it?”
“My informant was one of Stanislav’s confrères, another Piarist called Brother Lupercus.”
“So it would seem that Brother Stanislav wasn’t as popular as the abbot wanted you to believe.”
“The abbot was a kindly old man, and, for what it’s worth, I judged him to be a decent fellow. He probably wasn’t aware of Stanislav’s hateful essays.”
“Or he was deliberately withholding information to protect the reputation of his community.”
Rheinhardt shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“Stanislav,” Hohenwart continued, thinking hard. “Stanislav. I seem to recall…” His sentence trailed off before he suddenly said, “Excuse me a moment.” Hohenwart rose from his desk and vanished into an adjoining room. Sounds issued from beyond the half-open door—noises of rummaging, papers being flicked through, and a private grumbling commentary. In due course, Hohenwart produced a triumphal “Eureka!” and emerged holding a large cardboard file. A paper label had been gummed to the spine, on which was written Christian Nationalist Alliance .
“Do you remember Robak? Koell was the investigating officer.”
“Yes,” said Rheinhardt. “The Jewish boy…”
“Found beaten and stabbed to death on the Prater. He was discovered after a rally. A rally held in Leopoldstadt and organized by the Christian Nationalist Alliance.”
“Who are they?”
“A fringe political group. They’re an odd coalition of Catholics, pan-German sympathizers, and extreme conservatives. In reality, the various factions of the alliance don’t have very much in common. What holds them together is anti-Semitism.” Hohenwart opened the file and laid it in front of Rheinhardt. “Stanislav! I thought the name was familiar. Brother Stanislav was one of the speakers at the Leopoldstadt rally. The local Jews were offended by his immoderate views. They protested, a fight broke out, and the constables from Grosse Sperlgasse had to be called. No one was seriously hurt—but Robak’s body was found later.”
“Did you interview Stanislav?” Rheinhardt asked.
“No. We were too busy helping Koell trace alliance members. I’d already collated this file on them, which contains several names and addresses. Needless to say, the murder investigation took priority. We didn’t have time to pursue the lesser infringement of religious agitation, and the troublesome monk was quite forgotten.”
12
A NNA K ATZER AND O LGA M andl were seated in the parlor of the Katzer residence in Neutorgasse. It was a pleasant room with landscape paintings on the walls and old-fashioned furniture. Opposite Anna and Olga sat Gabriel Kusevitsky and his older brother, Asher. Although Asher shared his brother’s diminutive physique, he was generally judged to be the better-looking of the
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