Vengeance in Vienna

by Pierce, Blake

  Leonie’s face was red. That’s not the face of an innocent woman. “You’re crazy. I think you should go now,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, as she reached for the door.

  She pulled it open a bit, but Diana reached over and closed it. “I’m not going anywhere until you admit what you did,” she said, her voice a low whisper.

  Leonie Winkler looked at Diana, then at the door, then at Diana again, and her face twisted into a scowl. The transformation from elegant debutante to devil was instantaneous, and quite remarkable. When she spoke next, her once-soft, musical voice was now cold and low. “I don’t think you want to do that, Ms. St. James.”

  Diana shuddered as her eyes darted toward the door, and from side to side, looking for a way to leave. But the way was blocked. At that moment, she had to agree with Leonie. Because now she was here, alone, in the house of a murderer, and there was no escape.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Leonie Winkler pressed her slim body against the door and dragged in a breath. She let it out slowly, and the next time she spoke, she was more her regular self. “You don’t understand. This isn’t my fault.” She patted her chest with both hands. “I’m the victim here. Really. You wouldn’t believe what he put me through.”

  Diana’s throat had gone dry, but she managed to squeak out, “Did Lukas Huber give you the ticket to his performance?”

  She nodded. “Of course. He’s given me many tickets to his performances, over the past few months. So I thought--” She stopped abruptly and shook her head.

  “You thought you were the only one.”

  She looked at the ground. Her voice was small. “Yes. It turns out that he had many women. At first, I thought you might be one of them, too. He loved women. Too much. Probably even more than the music.”

  “Were you engaged to him?”

  “Almost. He wined and dined me, whenever we were both in town. I’m an interior designer so I travel a lot, and so did he. But whenever we found ourselves in Vienna at the same time, we always would get together. And it was love. I was absolutely, head over heels, in love with Lukas. Sure, I knew he had millions of female fans, but I thought I was the special one. I thought it was a perfect relationship, and that he’d soon propose to me. He’d hinted at it,” she said hopefully, but suddenly, her tone changed, becoming bitter and sarcastic. “And then I found out he was simply playing me. I found out that he had half a dozen seats in every hall, in every country, that he kept filled, giving them to a rotating assortment of other women. Paid escorts, prostitutes, beautiful women of all walks of life, he’d meet and collect . . . he didn’t discriminate. He had them, all over the world, and I was just one of many women he liked to string along.”

  Diana’s heart hurt for the girl. She knew betrayal, too. Though Evan had the decency to ask Diana for a divorce prior to dating Tilda, his now-fiancé, it still hurt to know the man you loved had moved on to other women. “I’m sorry. How did you find out?”

  She snorted. “It was stupid, really. He was so careful, so good at hiding it, all the dozens of women he had all over. I never suspected anything. For months and months, I thought I was the only one. And then he sent me one text from New York, and it was suspicious. It had nothing to do with what we were talking about, but it was odd and flirtatious. And that one text brought everything down. I didn’t question him. The next time I met with him, I figured out the password to his phone, and I checked it. And I found all these names. All these women. He’d been stringing me along forever.” Hands on hips, she paced in front of the door. “I can’t even explain to you how betrayed I felt. This was the man I loved. The man I had given everything in my life to. And I was nothing to him. Just a game. He wanted to see how long he could string me along for.”

  Leonie swung around and met Diana’s eyes, as if prompting her to say that it was all right, that she understood.

  “That’s awful,” Diana offered. She could imagine how terrible something like that would feel, but she couldn’t say she understood. How could anyone be so hurt that they would consider murder as an acceptable response?

  “I didn’t tell him that I knew. He played the message off like he was tired after his concert, and that was all, but every time we were together after that, I thought about it. I was just biding time, waiting. I’d been in his dressing room before. I knew how lax security was back there, and that there were no cameras. I knew just how to get in there without being seen, and how to escape afterwards. Selling the ticket to you was the easy part. He didn’t even notice I wasn’t there. I always thought he didn’t look at me because he thought I’d make him nervous. I didn’t realize there were dozens of other women who were also thinking the same thing.”

  “When did you go backstage?”

  It was after the Unfinished Symphony. I went in the back. I heard the last notes of it and saw him getting ready to walk out on stage. He never even saw me—he gets so wrapped up in his music and his own ego that he doesn’t notice anything. It was simple. He walked out, and I walked into his dressing room.” She smiled. “I waited there, listening to the whole thing. You know, the Jupiter Symphony, he said he’d written for me. That I was his muse.”

  Her face fell and turned downright frightening, twisting in anger.

  “And it was that music that played in my head when he came back, I crept up on him, and strangled him with his own cravat. He saw me in the vanity mirror . . . I know he did. And I’d like to think that maybe, for the first time in his life, he actually regretted something he’d done.” She shrugged. “I’m not the least bit sorry. The man was a pig. He gave me gifts, told me I was everything to him. And every last word out of his mouth was a filthy lie, made to bolster his own ego. He had a lone line of groupies that he was just rotating around, from town to town. He deserved to die, and I’m sure I’m not the only person to think so. If I hadn’t done it, one of them, I’m sure, would have.”

  “But you did it,” Diana whispered, still looking at the door. “You killed him.”

  “Yes. I did. And like I said, I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.” She smiled and glanced into the living room, at the photograph of him, above her mantle. “The funny thing is that he always believed he was a rock star, kind of like Liszt. He thought he would be memorialized for hundreds of years in the future, and that Vienna would erect a statue to him in a park somewhere. But he was wrong. That’ll never happen. Not now. He’ll never be considered one of the greats. In fact, there’s talk that he actually stole some of the lesser-known works of other artists. And I don’t doubt it one bit. He was snake.”

  “Well,” Diana said, as lightly as she could. “On that note . . .”

  She pointed to the door.

  Leonie planted her feet in front of it, an incredulous expression on her face. “You didn’t think I was going to let you leave, did you?”

  “Well . . .” I was hoping you would, truthfully.

  Diana’s mouth went dry as the pretty woman reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a long cord. Her eyes were wild, unfocused. Insane. She breathed, “I did it once before. I can do it again,” and wrapped the cord around each hand, pulling it taut in front of her.

  Diana had no doubt that she would. She held up her hands, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “Now, don’t get crazy. Of course, I won’t tell a soul. I just wanted to come here and thank you. That’s all. Now that I’ve done that, I’ll just be on my way to the train stat—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you walk out.”

  Diana inhaled sharply. “The police will be here. I already called them.”

  Leonie laughed bitterly. “Right. Then where are they? You’re bluffing.”

  “I’m –"

  Before she could say more, the woman’s face went rigid into a mask of hate and determination as she lunged forward. Diana let out a cry and backed away, then rushed the first place she could find—up the staircase to the second floor, her feet scuffing on the hardwood.

  L
eonie was right behind her, heels clicking noisily on the hard surface. “Stop!” she shouted. “Don’t you go away from me. Come back here!”

  Diana reached the top of the landing and flew into the nearest room, a neat bedroom with nothing more than a carefully made bed with a flowered duvet cover. She tried to close the door, but when she’d slammed it, found that there was no lock. She scanned the room, looking for an open window. Smart move, Diana. Now you’re on the second floor. Good luck climbing out. Instead, she found a closed one. She rushed to it, trying to pull it open, so that at least she could shout for help, but though she managed to unlock it, it was stuck. She pulled and tried to budge it with the heel of her hand, but it went nowhere.

  By then, Leonie was standing in the doorway. Trapped, Diana looked over her shoulder.

  Leonie was smiling a sick, sadistic smile. She knew she had pinned her quarry as she lifted the cord to wrap it around Diana’s neck. Diana’s hand instinctively flew to her throat as she imagined the tug of the cord around it, the gasping for air. “Listen to me. Be reasonable. If you kill another person, this will only be worse for you.”

  Leonie shrugged, laughing. “Not if no one ever finds out. And who are you? A tourist? No one even knows or cares about you around here. No one will even notice you’re missing.”

  Diana stared. Even most murderers took no joy from committing murder. But Leonie Winkler was actually laughing at the prospect of taking someone’s life.

  This woman wasn’t just a jilted lover. No, she was stark, raving mad.

  And that meant . . . There’s no way you’re going to talk sense into her. Your only hope is to escape.

  Diana’s eyes darted to the side, looking for escape as the small woman advanced. In the very moment that Leonie lunged forward, letting out an animal cry, Diana noticed the other door and made a break for it, sliding across the wall and pulling it open.

  She expected a closet, something she could possibly hide in while she called the authorities. Instead, she found another room. But not just a room, she realized, as she whirled around and saw dozens—hundreds, maybe—of sets of eyes, staring back at her. All of them belonged to the same, smug, egotistical man she’d seen on the stage at Musikverien, just days ago.

  Lukas Huber.

  He was there in blown-up, life-size cardboard cutouts. Framed programs. Record covers. Piles and piles of CDs and DVDs. Posters. And absolutely every inch of the room was covered in photographs of the late virtuoso, staring down upon her. No, this wasn’t a room. It was a shrine.

  Diana could only stare in shock. It gave Leonie the time she needed to come up behind Diana and slip the cord over her head. Before it could find its place, snug around her neck, Diana’s hands flew to it, fingers locking around it, she pulled on it for all she was worth, loosening it, and managed to scramble out of its chokehold.

  Backing away, she grabbed hold of the first thing she could find—a CD entitled Live from Tokyo! and chucked it at Leonie.

  Leonie let out a cry, but undaunted, kept coming.

  Diana reached over and grabbed another, and another, throwing as much as she could get her hands on. DVDs, CDs, even a little bobble-head sculpture of the man. She tossed everything she could find. The pointed corner of a CD smacked into Leonie’s cheek, leaving an instant red welt. She shrieked. “Don’t you touch my things, you witch!” she shouted, holding her hands up for protection.

  Eventually, Diana was out of things to throw. Leonie, cheek now bleeding, long dark hair a wild mess, had transformed into some kind of rabid animal, intent on capturing Diana. Helpless, she scuttled behind the life-sized cardboard cutout of Lukas Huber, at his piano, and nearly tripped over something. She reached down to pick it up and realized it was a framed photograph. She lifted it and stared at the picture of Leonie Winkler and Lukas Huber, gazing at one another and smiling, and looking very much in love.

  So it wasn’t just in her head, Diana thought. He really did string her along.

  Leonie’s eyes widened as she saw the photograph. She let out a sad moan. “Please. Put that down. That’s the only photograph I have of me—and him—together.”

  Diana held the picture more tightly. Finally, she had some leverage, something to use against her. She motioned like she was going to throw it. Leonie flinched.

  “Drop the cord,” Diana said, her voice unwavering.

  For a moment, it looked as though she had Leonie right where she wanted her. She started to lower her hands, and her shoulders slumped slightly.

  But then, with a loud, rabid cry, she rushed forward, teeth bared in attack, hands ready to strike.

  Diana lifted the frame into the air, and with a swift, clean motion, brought it down, hard, right on Leonie’s head. Glass shattered, and Leonie let out a grunt before collapsing to the ground in a heap.

  Diana stared at the motionless figure at her feet, heart beating like mad.

  There was a sound in the hallway, shifting floorboards. Still gripping the ruined frame in her hands, Diana looked up, just as Marius Ugbodu and Detective Moser came through the doors.

  Her body sagged against the wall in relief. “This is Leonie Winkler. The person who killed Lukas Huber,” Diana said breathlessly.

  “Now, where have I heard that before?” Detective Moser said, as he looked around. “What the . . .”

  “She was obsessed. A jilted lover,” Diana explained.

  Ugbodu said, “You say that. But where’s your proof?”

  “She told me! She confessed. She tried to kill me, too,” Diana explained. “She told me that she thought they were going to get engaged, but then she learned he had a lot of other women. And since she’d been to many of his concerts, she knew that the security would be lax. She knew how to avoid it all. She was waiting in his dressing room when he got there.”

  “She confessed to you, maybe,” Ugbodu said.

  Moser nudged him. “Look around you. This woman clearly has something wrong with her.”

  Detective Moser cleared away the glass and turned Leonie over. She was semi-conscious, trying to blink her eyes open. He snapped some cuffs on the woman and said, “You’re coming with us, down to the station.”

  She seemed to awaken with the sound of the cuffs being placed on her and looked around. Scowling at Diana, she snapped, “I knew you’d tell someone! And fine. I don’t care. I’m glad you know. I’m glad everyone knows! I’m happy he’s dead.”

  “Aha!” Diana shouted. “I told you!”

  Moser froze, then brought her to her feet and looked at her. For the first time, Diana was sure she could see a smile on his face. “Thanks for the confession. You are going to jail for a very long time.” He led her out the door.

  Ugbodu lingered, watching Diana as she clasped at her chest, willing her breathing to return to normal. “So I suppose you’re innocent. Again.”

  She smiled. “I told you I was.”

  “Yes,” he said, refusing to return that smile. Did he smile? Was he even capable of such a thing? She wasn’t sure about that. “And I’m assuming that you’ll be moving on again?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And where will you be off to?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m thinking Barcelona, maybe. I was on my way there when this idea about Leonie Winkler suddenly occurred to me. She was the one who sold me the ticket. She told me she couldn’t make it because she couldn’t find a sitter. When I realized that it was just a single ticket, I remembered what I’d been told at the box office.”

  “Which was?”

  “That the best single tickets were usually reserved for the performers themselves. Meaning that Lukas Huber had personally given her a ticket. And that was when I knew her story was a lie, and she was more than just a fan—she knew him personally.”

  He nodded, and for a split second, she almost allowed herself to believe that he looked a bit impressed with her. But then he shrugged. “You’d better go catch your train.”

  “Thank you.” She began to
step over the piles of tossed CD and other Lukas Huber memorabilia, on her way to the stairs.

  “And Ms. St. James?”

  She whirled. “Yes?”

  His voice was more of a threat than a goodbye. “Stay out of trouble.”

  She nodded. She had no doubt, that if she didn’t, she would see him again.

  But for now? A new country, and new possibilities, awaited. And she couldn’t wait.

  EPILOGUE

  As Diana stood at the platform, waiting for the next train to Barcelona, she got a text from Detective Moser. Dieter’s being released as we speak. He isn’t too angry at you.

  After the excitement with Leonie Winkler, she’d decided to have dinner in Vienna and take the late-night train out, so that she could sleep for most of the twenty-hour excursion through Zurich. She’d thought a lot, though, about poor Dieter, and the strife she must’ve put the young man through. So this was very welcome news.

  Please, tell him I’m sorry again, she typed in.

  A moment later, he responded with, He says no hard feelings. He also says he should be thanking you because you inspired him to audition for the principal pianist position at the Philharmonic. He says that if you come back to Musikverein, he’ll save you a seat.

  She smiled. Right now, she couldn’t see herself coming back anytime soon. But she could definitely see the name Dieter Hausman in lights, all over the world, just as the name Lukas Huber had been. And maybe he’d actually compose his very own stuff, without having to steal from the greats.

  Maybe, then, she’d come back to Vienna and finally be moved to tears.

  But for now, it was time to move on, and she was excited to shake off the dust of this city and head onto the next leg of her journey.

  She peered down the rails and saw the headlight of the bullet train, nearing. She looked around, taking in that one last look of Vienna, and breathed deeply, savoring her last taste of Vienna air. Then, as she lifted the bag at her feet, she heard it.