Vengeance in Vienna

by Pierce, Blake

  Diana carefully looked around. “Maybe you can help me?” she started, trying to circle him back to the reason she was there.

  Dieter moved forward. “Oh. Right. What can I do for you? You’re not here for tickets?”

  “No . . .” she said, quickly cycling through excuses. Why else would she return? Oh, of course. She’d pulled something similar to gain access to Versailles, when she was in Paris. “I left my stole here last night.”

  “Stole?”

  “Yes. Like a wrap,” she said, motioning with her hands as if she was pulling something tight around her shoulders. “Is it possible I can—”

  “Sure, sure. Lost and found is right here,” he said, bending slightly to look at something at his feet. “I don’t think we got anything new since last performance, though. Hold on, I’ll let you in and you can go through it.”

  He disappeared for a moment, and a bit later, the lock on the door beside the box office opened and he ducked his head out, motioning her toward him. She quickly followed him inside. When she got into the cramped space, the girl grabbed her keys. “It’s a little tight in here. I’m going to take my morning smoke break. Okay, Dieter?”

  Good, Diana thought as she scanned the small office. Other than a cardboard box of left-behind items, there was nothing more than a desk with a computer on it. The information she was looking for was probably in there, and she wouldn’t be able to get it herself. It’ll make this easier if the girl’s gone.

  Diana stooped and started to go through the stuff, her mind churning. Meanwhile, the kid hovered behind her, gnawing on a fingernail. She knew that he was there because she looked over her shoulder, several times, to find him watching her and chewing noisily. She rifled through the box of things—mittens, a scarf, a billfold, even a single lost shoe-- and let out a dramatic sigh. “Not here!”

  He bent down to shove the box under the desk. “Sorry.”

  Think fast, Diana. If you have to leave this place empty-handed, you’re never going to get the information you need. Quick. Make a scene!

  “Oh!” She cried, covering her face with her hands. “This is awful.”

  The kid looked at her like, Get a grip.

  “It was my mother’s you see. And the last thing she ever gave me before she passed,” she said, conjuring up some fake tears to go along with it. “And the strangest thing is, I know exactly where I lost it. I was in the lobby, and I took it off because it was rather warm, and hooked it over my purse. But I must’ve dropped it.”

  He continued to chew on his pinky fingernail. “Yeah?” He wasn’t interested in the least.

  “And the next thing I know, I saw a woman, in the aisle in front of me, wearing it. And I thought, How funny. She has the same stole I have!” Diana threw up her hands dramatically. “Which is impossible, because it was one of a kind! But I never realized it then. She must’ve seen me drop it and stolen it!”

  He squinted. “She stole a stole?”

  Diana nodded. “If only I’d had the sense to realize I’d dropped it and confronted her then!” She sniffled. “Now, it’s too late. If only I could find the woman’s name and address. Then I could visit her and ask her to return it.”

  He spit out a little bit of fingernail and shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Okay, kid. Time to get the hint.

  But he just continued to stare blankly at her. “Sorry that happened to you.”

  Great. Sheila, the other box office attendant, would be back soon, and then she’d probably never be able to get the information. She glanced at the computer. “Hey,” she said as if it was a new idea that had just occurred to her. “Is the information of all the ticket purchasers on the computer?”

  “Uh . . . yeah, sure.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to look in there and tell me who had the seat, if I told you which one it was, would you?”

  He hesitated, then looked out the door, where the girl had left. “I could do that, but I really don’t think I’m supposed to.”

  “Oh. But my stole . . .” she sniffled a little.

  He rolled his eyes, wheeled the chair over, and sat in it, scooting himself to the computer. “Fine. Let me just find it.” He typed a few things in and pulled up a seating chart. “What seat did you think it was?”

  She did the calculation in her head as she moved forward and sat on the edge of the desk. “Middle. Probably row two, H? Maybe I? I think it was a single ticket, like mine.”

  He moved the mouse around and scanned the results. “I’ve got a single ticket, but that was given, no cost, to a member of the orchestra.”

  “So . . . does that mean you don’t have a name for the person who was sitting there?”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s here. We take down the names of everyone who gets a ticket now, for security purposes. It’s Nina Horvath, Floridusgasse 56.”

  “Oh! Thanks,” she said, reaching for a piece of paper from a note dispenser and a pen from a cup. “Do you mind?”

  “No,” he said as she wrote it down, then quickly closed out of it.

  “Thanks!” she said, tucking the paper into her pocket. “This is a huge help!”

  “Sure. I hope you get it back.”

  She almost said, Get what back? but then she remembered the stole. “Oh! I hope so, too. Fingers crossed.”

  She reached the door just as the other box office clerk was returning. “Have a good day,” she said innocently to the woman as she swept past her.

  Diana had a date with Nina Horvath, even if the woman didn’t know it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It turned out that Floridusgasse 56 was within walking distance of the music hall. Following the directions on her GPS, Diana found herself across the street from Burggarten, the former Habsburg private garden that was now a conservatory and butterfly house. Supposedly, with its old trees, blooms and many monuments, it was one of the loveliest gardens, anywhere. It’d been on her original bucket list. She looked up from her phone and saw the Mozart monument out front, among a riot of color from the many blooming flowers.

  I’ll stop on the way back, she told herself.

  Locating the street Nina Horvath lived on, she meandered down the tree-lined street, looking for number fifty-six. As she did, she stopped at the sight of a newspaper vending machine, on the corner. The front headline of the paper read, in glaring black block print: LUKAS HUBER MORD.

  She didn’t even have to guess what that meant. But wow, news moved quickly in this part of Austria. She understood the morning news carrying word of the murder, but the newspapers, too?

  When she found the right house, she gazed up at it, a narrow but well-kept home with a gray stone façade. I wonder what a young, single woman like her does in order to afford a place like this? Diana wondered as she climbed the steps.

  She rang the doorbell.

  Not a moment later, the woman answered, wearing what looked like yoga gear. She was fit and trim, muscular, definitely—but was she the type of woman who would have had the strength for strangulation? She had her curls up in a messy bun at the top of her head, and no make-up at all. Her eyes were red-rimmed—had she been crying? Before, Diana had placed the woman at mid-twenties, but now, she looked like barely a teenager.

  Nina squinted, then shook her head, a hint of disgust on her face. “Das interessiert mich nicht.”

  Did she think Diana was selling something? She was about to close the door, but Diana spoke up. “No . . . I’m not. Here to sell you anything. I just came from Musikverein. I was at the Vienna Philharmonic performance last night. I believe I saw you last night? You were there, as well?”

  Her brow wrinkled with worry. “I was. I went to Huber’s performance. But I told everything to the police already.”

  “They contacted you?”

  “Yes. They were here this morning.” She frowned. “You are not with them, then? Who do you work for?”

  “No one. I was actually at the performance last night, too. I was in the back right before Lukas Hube
r died. I saw you there.”

  “Yes . . . I was.” She seemed even more confused. “But I had nothing to do with his death, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I barely even knew the man. I wasn’t a fan of his music.”

  That felt like a lie, considering how they’d whispered to one another. “Oh? You seemed quite close, last night.”

  She snorted. “Perhaps we were.”

  “You’ve been crying, though.”

  She sighed. “Well, it was a shock! I was just with him. And we were . . . intimate.”

  “I thought you just said that . . .” Diana stopped as the pieces clicked together. “Are you telling me he . . .” Her eyes widened.

  “Yes. He engaged my services.” The woman shrugged, without a hint of shame. “Look. I don’t know. I heard it was customary for Huber to hire a woman to keep him company prior to any performance. It loosened him up, they said. But that was my first time; he requested me.”

  “He requested you?”

  “Yes. From the service I work for. Angels Vienna. That’s the one he uses. It’s not unusual to get calls from strange men, but I had heard Huber’s name before. He’s used a few of us. I suppose he just found my picture on the website.”

  Diana frowned. “I find that interesting that he’d hire an escort, considering he had so much obvious, um, interest from women, you know . . . afterwards. It’s not like he needed to pay someone.”

  She smiled. “Most men who hire me don’t like the entanglements, if you know what I mean.”

  Diana nodded. “So when was the last time you saw him?”

  “Right after the performance. He asked me to stay around for a little bit, but once the rest of the crowd cleared out, he told me he wouldn’t be needing me anymore. He paid me well, gave me a nice tip, and I left the concert hall on my own, just before ten.” She shrugged. “That’s what I told the police, too.”

  Diana stood there, trying to take it in. She sounded sincere. “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “Sure can. Because since it was still early, I booked another appointment. With a gentleman in East Vienna. One of my regulars. I was at the Hotel Melia from about ten-fifteen until two-thirty. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask to see their lobby tapes. I’m sure I’m on video there. At least, that’s what I told the police.”

  So she wasn’t getting any further than the police had. She frowned. “And that’s it?”

  “Yes. Around three, I got home and went to bed. Nothing more I can tell you. So of course this morning when my door’s being beaten down, and when I heard the news from the police, I was afraid. I wondered who could do such a thing. He was a big head, thought he could do no wrong, was only a mediocre lover, but he did not deserve to die.”

  “Were you in his dressing room?”

  She nodded. “Like I said. Before the performance. And yes, he was a jerk. Wanting things just so, if you know what I mean. But I’ve had worse clients, that is for certain.”

  “So then . . . did you see anyone acting strange?”

  She laughed. “I saw all of them acting strange. All of those fans of his, crazy women. Taking off their panties and giving them to him, acting like they were at some kind of hard rock concert. They were awful! I’ve never seen such a thing in all my life. One of them even threatened me, because I was so close to him. I have no idea how he could not only live with that kind of obsessive attention, but enjoy it. It’s terrible!”

  “One of them threatened you?”

  She nodded.

  “Who?”

  “A blonde woman. She had a braid down her back. Seemed like Lukas knew her, because he called her by name. Pia. That was it. He told me he’d met her at a lecture or benefit or something he did at the MDW—”

  “MDW?”

  “Oh, the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna. She was a piano student there, and she wouldn’t stop following him around afterwards. She’d show up at his concerts, because she had special passes because she was a student. She didn’t miss one, and afterwards, she’d hang around, wanting to talk to him. Drove him mad, he said. She was in love, absolutely obsessed with Lukas Huber—or so he said.”

  Diana blinked. This sounded promising. “Pia, you say? And you said she threatened you? How?”

  Nina rolled her eyes. “Oh, she said I should keep my hands off Lukas if I knew what was good for me. I didn’t think it was serious, at the time. But now . . . who knows?”

  “Was she in that back room, when Lukas was signing?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. That was when she threatened me.” She tilted her head. “Wait . . . I know you from somewhere. Why are you asking these questions? Are you a friend of Huber’s?”

  “No, I’m—”

  “Ah, I know you now! You’re the one who told him off, right to his face! Ha, ha! I loved that,” she said, clapping her hands. “You told him that he was a pompous jerk whose head wouldn’t fit on the stage with the orchestra. That was a good one. And you’re totally right.”

  She slapped her knee. Diana smiled. “Yes, well—”

  “Did you take him up on his proposition?”

  So she’d heard that? “No, of course not. I—"

  “Wait. You were part of that group of crazy women who wanted their programs and bodies signed by him. Are you a big fan of his?”

  Diana shook her head. “Not really. I just wanted to have my program signed as a keep—”

  “Do you know something the police do not?” A sly smile spread across her pretty features. “You seem like a smart one. I bet you figure it out way before those dummies.”

  After the conversation she’d had with Officer Moser earlier that day, where he shut down her theories, she tended to agree with Nina. “Thanks. That depends. Tell me, did you tell the officers about this woman, Pia?”

  She tapped her chin. “Come to think of it, no. I didn’t. They didn’t ask me who I thought did it, or I would have. I don’t think she had a seat at the concert, either. She somehow sneaked in because she had special admission, for standing room only, as part of the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna. That’s what I heard her tell someone.”

  “That’s interesting,” Diana said. Because it means that the police won’t be asking her questions. And only I can. “As far as the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna . . . where is it? Do you know?”

  She smiled and spun her finger. “Just turn around and march right back where you came from. The conservatory is right across the street from Musikverein.”

  “Oh. Thank you!”

  “No problem. I hope you catch the killer before the police do,” she said with a smile, closing the door. “Schönen Tag!”

  Diana climbed the steps to the sidewalk and wandered toward the Mozart statue at Burggarten, which she promised she’d do. As she walked, she jabbed things into the Google search bar on her phone. Pia Piano University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna.

  Quite a few search results came up, including one, with a pretty blonde girl, standing next to her piano, named Pia Zimmerman. She was a student in her third year at the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna.

  “That looks promising,” she murmured as she studied the girl’s face. “I bet—”

  She stopped when she nearly collided face first with a lamp post. Sidestepping it, she continued on.

  When she got to the base of the statue, she looked up at the marble image of Mozart. He stood there, blank-eyed, as statues often were, one hand turning over the sheet music on the stand next to him. A real pigeon perched atop his head, which made Diana think of Papageno from The Magic Flute. On the front relief, were two scenes she recognized from his opera, Don Giovanni, as well as an assemblage of instruments.

  “So what do you think, Mr. Mozart?” she asked the statue. “Shall we go and speak to this Pia Zimmerman?”

  Maybe it was because she was overtired, but she could’ve sworn she saw the statue’s head nod slightly. She looked around. The last thing she needed was De
tective Moser, seeing her talking with another dead musician.

  All right, she thought, bowing her head solemnly to the great composer and turning on her heel. Pia Zimmerman. Let’s go back to Musikverein and see what she knows.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time Diana made it back toward Musikverein, it was almost noon. Despite the large Viennese breakfast she’d had, her stomach was rumbling. There was a food truck across the street, at the park, so she got a Bratwurst and nibbled it while watching a string quartet, playing an impromptu concert. She listened as they played Josef Haydn’s String Quartet in C Major, Op. 76, No. 3, the Emperor Hymn, smiling as a small crowd gathered, listening to the mournful song.

  Her heart soared. That was the way music was, to her. Weekends at her grandparents’ home would always fly by because she’d constantly be listening to the music. By the time the performance was over, her Bratwurst was gone without her even remembering finishing it, and she’d almost forgotten the reason she’d come back to this spot.

  As the crowd applauded, Diana noticed that the cellist was wearing a t-shirt with a logo emblazoned on it for the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna. Of course. Maybe he knows Pia Zimmerman.

  She approached him. “That was wonderful! You’re beautiful performers. I’m very moved.”

  He looked up from the case, where he was settling his instrument and bow. He seemed embarrassed. “Thank you. I am glad you liked it.” He motioned to Musikverein. “We played it in honor of the Great Lukas Huber. A terrible loss to our community. Whenever one of our own falls, we always play a concert of remembrance here.”

  “Oh. Yes. I know,” she said. “Very sad. You sounded lovely together, the four of you. You attend the conservatory?”

  He nodded. “First year.”

  “Have you seen Huber perform?”

  He nodded. “He was always playing concerts for us students. He attended the university for a time, so he was always around here, kind of like a fixture. I didn’t know him well; I’ve only been here a year. But a lot of people at the school feel the loss greatly.”