Vengeance in Vienna

by Pierce, Blake

  She went to her room, still playing over the events of the night. The nightmare meeting with Hans, that actually seemed quite pleasant now, compared to other things that had happened. The beautiful music. The encounter with Lukas. Yelling at him. And of course, finding his strangled body on the floor of the dressing room.

  She shuddered as she tossed her ruined dress in the garbage can and climbed into bed. Just go to sleep. Things will look better in the morning.

  She didn’t really believe that, but she told herself that little lie, again and again, until eventually, she managed to drift off.

  *

  Diana was sitting in her seat in the crowded Musikverein, waiting for the show to begin. For some reason, though, she was in the very front, away from the rest of the audience. In fact, she was nearly on the stage herself, as one of the performers. As before, the conductor came out, and everyone applauded. He stepped aside and began to applaud, too, as Lukas Huber appeared, smiling that dashing, confident smile of his.

  Lukas lifted his tails, stepped to the piano, sat down and started to play. But this time, he wasn’t playing the classical music he’d played the previous night. No, he was playing The Entertainer, and it sounded just like the flat notes, coming from her ringtone. Diana looked around to see if anyone was confused, but the audience was absolutely rapt by the simple performance.

  As he played, the members of the orchestra, behind him, began to dance, spinning around and putting their hands up in the air as if they were at some rock concert. Eventually, the audience began to clap along with the song, as they often did in the PBS New Year’s Concert, when a particularly lively waltz was being performed.

  As the music swelled through the renowned music hall, the concertmaster set down his violin and walked behind Huber, smiling from ear to ear. Huber continued to play, even as the concertmaster reached around his neck and untied his cravat. In fact, he seemed thrilled by it, still grinning, as the music began to speed up.

  In the audience, people began to clap faster.

  The concertmaster wound the ends of the cravat around his hands, and Diana knew what was happening. But she was glued to her seat. She tried to say something in protest, but her heart flew into her throat.

  Then, suddenly, the concertmaster reached over with the garrote and started to strangle Huber. He flew backwards, the top of his head resting against the concertmaster’s chest as the life was squeezed out of him, but even so, his hands did not miss a note. No, in fact, he began to play faster.

  People clapped even harder. The orchestra members began to spin even faster, until they were a blur.

  Diana finally ripped herself from her seat, and as she did, the entire back of her dress came off. People began to laugh at her, but no one seemed to notice that Lukas Huber was being murdered, on stage. She pointed, screamed, and shouted, and yet everyone just laughed at her, and clapped along to the music.

  She turned in horror to see Huber, still playing, his eyes bulging and his tongue protruding from his purple lips. He was still smiling.

  Then, she turned back to the audience, only to find that every single seat was occupied by a Hans. There were hundreds of baskets of wiener schnitzel, and he had his napkin around his collar, gorging on them. Diana tried to climb up onto the stage, but realized she was wading in a sea of wiener schnitzel, up to her waist, so much of it she couldn’t move. “Hans!” she cried. “Hans! Help him. He’s dying!”

  Hans merely laughed, chunks of chewed-up food sputtering from his fat lips, and said, “You’re nothing but a crook!”

  And he pointed at her.

  As he did, the police arrived. Officer Josef Moser parted the piles of wiener schnitzel like the Red Sea, handcuffs ready to snap onto her wrists . . .

  She jumped up in bed, heart pounding, and looked around. The morning sun was slashing through the blinds, and birds were singing cheerily outdoors.

  A dream. Nothing but a crazy dream.

  Diana threw her head back against the headboard, strange, disjointed bits of the dream still floating through her mind, and sighed. Well, it’s morning, and things are supposed to be better. How are they better?

  She really couldn’t think of anything other than that dream. Grabbing the remote control, she turned on the television, flipping to an English-language news channel. The first thing she saw was a still picture of Lukas Huber, sitting on a piano bench. On the ticker underneath, it said, RENOWNED PIANIST MURDERED! A pretty, grave-faced reporter said, “Sad and incredibly shocking news today from Musikverein. It appears the celebrated pianist Lukas Huber was murdered last night, as he was preparing to leave the venue. No suspect has been named and the police are still investigating. Huber was a noted composer who’d last night performed his new Jupiter Symphony to a sold-out crowd . . .”

  Diana turned off the television.

  No, things weren’t better. Not at all.

  She sat up in bed and called room service, ordering what was listed, on the menu, the Viennese Deluxe Breakfast, which included bread rolls, jam, a boiled egg, ham and cheese, and a mélange, Austria’s version of frothed milk and steamed coffee. Maybe a full stomach will make me feel better. And I’ll eat room service because there’ll be no chance of Hans dropping in on my meal.

  As she went to turn on the water for the shower, the phone to her hotel room started to ring. She rushed to grab it. “Hello?”

  “Guten Tag, Frau St. James,” a voice said, which she instantly recognized as the cop from last night. “This is Josef Moser.”

  “Oh. Hello.”

  “I wanted to make sure we had the right location for you.”

  “Well, you found me,” she said. Even if you haven’t found Huber’s killer, yet. “Good job.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t seem amused. In fact, his voice sounded distinctly, well, angry, just like he looked. “Can I bother you for a moment?”

  “Uh. Yes. Sure.” She took a deep breath. “What can I help you with, officer?”

  “Well, I’m just trying to get the timelines straight. What time do you think you left the music hall, the first time, after interacting with the victim?”

  She hadn’t checked, but last night, in bed, she’d put together her timeline, so she could answer these questions easily. It helped to have gone through this kind of thing before; she knew exactly what the officers were going to want to know. “The concert ended at around nine-fifteen. I remember that because I did look at my phone. So probably about nine-thirty, nine-forty?”

  “And you returned . . . ?”

  “I was only outside for a few minutes. Actually, maybe more like fifteen, twenty. I checked my watch before I went back. It was about five of ten.”

  She hoped that information, as clear as she’d made it, would get her off the hook. After all, at what point did they think she’d committed this murder? The first time, when she was surrounded by his admirers, or the second time, when she’d only been there for a period of no more than three minutes? Plus, there was the matter of—how could any woman be strong enough to strangle a man, even a smaller one? She wouldn’t even know where to start with that. Wouldn’t want to know.

  Instead, he simply said, “Hmm. Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

  And then the line went dead.

  Great. Nice talking to you, too, Detective. Have a great day.

  She hopped into the shower, thinking about Lukas Huber. Sure, the police were probably way ahead of her. But every moment they spent concentrating on Diana as a suspect was one moment that took away from focusing on the real killer.

  But who could that be?

  Diana’s mind automatically went to the rabid fans that had been crowding around Lukas Huber after the concert. Many of them hadn’t seemed quite right in the head, with the way they were excessively fawning over the man. Maybe it had been a fan with a couple of screws loose, who’d taken her love for the pianist a bit too far.

  That was probably a safe bet.

  But then again, a woman, murdering a ma
n in that way? Huber was a slight man, but it would have had to be a woman with a considerable amount of strength.

  Or, who knew? Maybe there was someone on the orchestra who was jealous of Huber, for having the talent that they didn’t have to be a soloist. Not to mention that Huber had a personality that probably rubbed many the wrong way. In fact, it could’ve been anybody who’d been in the building in the time between when she’d left him with that crowd, and when she returned. Considering security hadn’t seemed very on top of things, last night, anyone could have sneaked into the back area, there. Maybe someone was lying in wait, in his dressing room, just anticipating his return?

  But who?

  As Diana finished her shower and stepped out, someone knocked on the door. Her room service. She twisted her hair into a towel and threw on the hotel-provided robe, then rushed for the door. The smell of cooked ham, fresh bread, and coffee made her mouth water as the tray was wheeled in.

  “Thank you,” she said, signing her check on the billfold and handing it to the man. “It looks lovely.”

  He bowed and left, and she pounced on the food, slathering strawberry jam on a piece of warm, fresh bread. She took a bite and let out a moan of delight. It was so good, her stomach thanked her.

  “It’s got to be one of his fans,” she said aloud. She polished off the bread and licked the jam from her fingers. “Guaranteed. They were a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

  She made a mental list of the women who’d been there. There’d been the lady with her son. It seemed pretty safe to knock them off the suspect list, since she was with her son, after all, and Diana had watched them leave. Plus, the lady was small, frail. No way could she have done something like garrote a man.

  Then there was the woman who’d fainted. Well, she was certainly larger, but she likely wouldn’t have had the strength. She was older, too. No, she didn’t seem like a likely suspect, either.

  Diana closed her eyes and tried to remember the other people who’d been there. The security guards were a possibility. And of course, Mr. Gruber could’ve done it, too.

  But her thoughts kept going to the many fans, just because they’d been so, well, fanatical.

  Suddenly, her mind fastened on the woman who’d been standing very close to Huber while he spoke, almost at his elbow. She’d been so gorgeous, it was hard not to notice her, even in a sea of people. Her bare shoulders were muscular, the sign of someone who was fit and strong enough to murder a small-statured man like Huber. She’d had that dark, wild ebony hair, so beautiful and shiny that Diana had noticed it while sitting in the concert hall, waiting for the music to begin. She’d been sitting a couple rows ahead of Diana.

  Diana lowered herself down onto the edge of the bed.

  Of course.

  The concert halls kept record of everyone who bought a ticket, didn’t they? If she could get back to Musikverein, and somehow go through the list of people who’d gotten tickets for the performance, based on the general location of the seat, she might be able to find out the woman’s name.

  That was someone the police probably weren’t looking into. When Diana had gone back, the second time, the woman was nowhere to be found. They likely didn’t even know she’d been there.

  But Diana did.

  I should probably call the officer and tell him what I know, and stay out of it. Yes, that would be the smart thing.

  She grabbed her phone and found the card for Josef Moser, then dialed the number. He answered at once. “Moser.”

  “Hi. Detective Moser. This is—”

  “Frau St. James. What can I do for you?” His voice was slightly nicer than a bark.

  “I was just thinking of last night, and some possible people that might have done it,” she said. “There was a woman who was sitting a few rows ahead of me. I noticed her because of her dark hair, and she was also backstage after the—”

  “We’re already contacting all the people who were at the concert. But thank you. We’ve got it under control,” he said, in a tone that said, Stay in your lane.

  “Well, you had asked me to call if I remembered anything, and—”

  “Yes. Thank you for the help. But right now, we’re on it. If you remember anything other than people we’re already looking into, feel free to call.”

  “Oh.” So basically, when you said, “Call me if you remember anything,” you meant, “Call me if you want to confess?” “All right. Have a good day.”

  She hung up, feeling silly. The police didn’t want her help. They just wanted to catch her in a lie. Was that it?

  “Fine,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll stay out of it.”

  But then, she smiled. Or maybe I could just look into it myself.

  That, she was sure, would bring her closer to the killer. Plus, if she did that, then she could be absolutely sure that something was being done that wasn’t focused on her as the main suspect.

  Diana finished polishing off her breakfast, grabbed her bag and phone, and stepped out the door, heading back to Musikverein.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was a gorgeous mid-summer day, the sun shining brightly among the many trees and historic buildings, the cloudless blue sky overhead, not a threat of rain anywhere. A perfect day for sightseeing. But as she hurried down the street, past the statues and memorials for various important Austrian figures, Diana had something else on her mind.

  Murder.

  She reached the building and gazed up at it. In the full sunlight, she could admire more fully the Neoclassical architecture. It was red plaster, with ionic columns in the front, and several statues above the door and on the roof. Even in her haste, she couldn’t help gazing at it in wonder. She imagined all of the historical figures who had once graced the halls over the centuries, and wondered what other secrets it held. Its walls knew who had murdered Lukas Huber. Had anyone else ever been murdered there?

  She shuddered a little at the thought.

  Then she followed the signs around the corner, to the box office, hoping it wasn’t too early. As she arrived there, she noticed two police cruisers, parked at the curb, and two officers stationed near the back entrance to the theater. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as she kept her head down and quickly stepped into the vestibule for the box office.

  There were two young people inside the box office, talking in low voices. They seemed so intent on whatever they were talking about that they didn’t notice when Diana appeared in the window. She listened to them, trying to make out the words, but she realized they were speaking in German.

  She cleared her throat.

  One of them, a pretty young girl, turned to her and started to speak in German. She seemed angry, but then again, German always sounded angry to Diana.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “No ticket sales today. In case you haven’t seen it on the news, there’s been a bereavement. Lukas Huber, the pianist, was murdered.”

  She seemed to take great delight in imparting that bit of gossip, but then she sighed in disappointment when Diana’s expression didn’t give off the shock she was clearly hoping for. She went to pull a shade closed, when the other one in the box said, “Hey. Wait.”

  Diana squinted to look behind the glass, into the shade of the box to get a better look at the other person. It was the kind young usher who’d showed her to her seat, last night. Diana relaxed. Maybe he’d help her, and her mission wouldn’t be so hard.

  “Hello,” he said, sounding less enthused than he had last night. “I know you.”

  She smiled. “Yes. I was at the performance last night.”

  His face turned grave. “Oh, then you’ve heard. The police said they were going to contact everyone.”

  The girl laughed. “Dieter, you Dummkopf. Everyone’s heard. I told you, it was on the news this morning.”

  Diana nodded. She didn’t really want to go into the fact that she’d been the one to find the body. “It’s a shock, I’m sure, for ev
eryone.”

  The girl snorted. “The only shock is that it didn’t happen sooner.”

  The boy laughed. “That’s the truth.” He looked at Diana and shrugged. “The guy was a bit of an . . . arschgeige.”

  “A what?”

  He shook his head and laughed. “Never mind. He knew how to push people’s buttons, that was for sure. Let’s just say he didn’t have a lot of friends around these parts.”

  “I heard he was a bit arrogant,” Diana offered.

  “That’s an understatement,” the kid scoffed. “I’m not denying he was a great pianist. You obviously saw his talent. Even if he was a little . . . boring.”

  “Boring?” Diana was confused.

  The girl laughed. “A lot of women would beg to differ on that.”

  He shrugged. “Silly women, who don’t know a movement in classical music from a bowel movement. He was too technical for my taste. No emotion at all. And as a composer, he was a Blödmannsgehilfenanwärter. A complete fraud.”

  Diana’s jaw dropped. That was news to her. “A fraud? Really?”

  “There were about a dozen other composers who have accused him of stealing their work. But he gets all the notoriety. There are people around him—mostly women—who love him so much and think he can do no wrong.”

  The girl smiled. “He is—was—really gutaussehend, Dieter.”

  “Yeah, yeah . . .” The boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Sheila. So what if he’s good looking? He was still a sneaky piece of trash, hoping no one would catch on to his little ruse.”

  Sheila giggled. “Oh, and you did! You’re so smart, Dieter. Go tell the board of the Philharmonic and see what they say.”

  His lips twisted. “I did. And they—”

  “They laughed you out of the room. I know. You’d better stop that, if you still want to have a job here. Huber had some powerful friends. They can make it hard on you!”