“This is going to be an interesting day, Paul,” Claude said. “But I can’t spend any more time out here. I have to get back to the kitchen. We’re preparing some special dishes for this evening.”
And then he left.
Burke felt a little foolish, standing there alone holding his bike as everyone disappeared. For his part, Burke didn’t know what he should do.
Then Thierry Delisle walked over to him. Two steps behind was Renata Hable.
“I need you to do something, Paul,” Delisle said, his voice lower than usual.
Burke nodded.
“Put together a couple of short rides in case any of our participants or their people want to do some cycling tomorrow or even the day after if we’re still here in Dürnstein,” Delisle said. “Try for some areas they haven’t seen. If the police don’t object, we could do the rides early in the morning. I need you to get back to me about the routes in a few minutes so I can alert everyone.”
Burke looked at Hable who shrugged and said: “I wish I had some ideas, Paul, but I only know the main route.”
Then Delisle grabbed her left elbow and they left to discuss how to deal with any potentially disgruntled participants.
Burke took his bike to a nearby bench and sat down. He looked around. It was a glorious day, perfect for cycling and for enjoying the beauty of this part of the Danube, but it was ruined. Wilson Talbot’s death had done that.
Burke wondered what had happened to the young man. A fall? A heart attack? A rock hitting him on the head?
He put aside those thoughts and focused on the task Delisle had given him. Moments later, he had an idea, based on a side trip he had done when researching the route. He could lead a small group back a few kilometres to Spitz an de Donau and then up a sleepy country road to the pleasant village of Mühldorf. The route retraced part of the tour, but that couldn’t be helped; there weren’t many options along the river valley. However, he doubted any participants would object to backtracking to Spitz. Most of the group had commented on the small town’s colourful appeal as they had cycled through it. Set against the Danube on one side and vineyards on the other, the community had a history dating back more than a thousand years and many of its pastel-coloured buildings, despite being centuries old, were in immaculate condition. Then there were its handful of lively, attractive cafés, most of which had outdoor beer gardens featuring beautiful flowerbeds and majestic trees that provided protection from the hot summer sun. Burke thought the village might be the prettiest along the entire Danube.
The new stretch would be the four-kilometre ride from Spitz to Mühldorf. It would be uphill, but nothing nasty. And there would be some fine views along the way, both of sprawling vineyards and the Danube itself. Once in the village, they could grab a snack and wash it down with a local wine or an area beer.
As for a second trip if it was needed, Burke thought Mautern an der Donau on the south side of the river would be perfect. It was a 20-minute ride from Dürnstein along flat terrain. When they reached Mautern, they could visit the old, beautifully preserved church that dominated the small community or visit another café to sample more wine and beer.
Since he couldn’t see Delisle, Burke pulled out his smartphone and texted his boss with his recommendations for impromptu rides – Mühldorf for the initial outing, Mautern for the following day – if the police permitted such excursions. Moments later, Delisle replied that both side trips sounded perfect and he would get the information to the participants.
Burke figured the police interviews would take up the rest of the day and probably extend into the following morning. The group aboard the long, sleek Sunna totalled almost 100 people and that meant the interviews would require a fair amount of time, even if there were several officers doing the work and most of the interviews were short.
He expected the police wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about any of the group going on a side trip while they conducted their interviews. Still, it remained a possibility that they might give their permission and so, since he liked to be prepared, Burke decided he’d take an hour or two and research Mühldorf, Spitz and Mautern.
Then he thought again about Wilson Talbot. He hadn’t spoken with Talbot beyond a couple of brief conversations, but he had liked the young man for his easy smile and obvious energy.
Burke recalled how, on the second day of the tour, Talbot had approached him, introduced himself as an aide to Bennett Blake, one of the English participants in the team-building group, and asked for any suggestions on where to go running since he usually liked to go for an hour before breakfast. After that, he had explained, his time belonged to Blake who could be demanding.
Burke had recommended a few routes along the way. Talbot had logged the information into his phone, saying he’d transfer the suggestions later onto his laptop where he’d map them out in greater detail. The young man had said he didn’t want to miss any training, even with the rigours of his job, because he was going to compete in the Vienna half marathon when the tour ended and in the New York City Marathon in the autumn. Twice in subsequent days, Burke had seen Talbot running in the early morning, covering ground quickly and easily with a long, effortless stride.
Now Talbot, who had been in his late 20s at most, was dead.
And he had died up at the castle ruins.
Burke was glad he hadn’t suggested Talbot go up there as part of a run.
Chapter 4
Two hours later, when it was his turn to be interviewed by the police, Burke found himself sitting in a corner of the cruise ship’s dining area which was on the lower deck. Opposite him was Sergeant Karl Plaschke from the Krems detachment, a notebook at hand.
Almost everyone in the large room had noticed Plaschke.
That was because in a country with few people of colour and where there was some animosity toward the recent influx of Middle Eastern and African refugees and migrants, the policeman was black.
Burke couldn’t help notice the stares. It was strange, though, since many of the passengers originated from countries with a strong mix of races. Moreover, a few in the group were people of colour themselves.
To Burke, Plaschke didn’t seem to notice or, more likely, he didn’t seem to care about the attention he was getting.
Plaschke began by telling Burke they could conduct the interview in German, English or French. Burke, who was also capable in German thanks to his years of travel as a pro cyclist, selected English.
The policeman, who wasn’t much older than 30 and who spoke in a soft voice, had the look of someone who had done some boxing in his past. He had scar tissue around his eyes plus a broad-shouldered, slim-hipped build that suggested he still kept himself in good shape.
Burke answered the basic questions about the last time he had spoken with Wilson Talbot, mentioning he had given some advice about running routes.
“Did you recommend Herr Talbot try a route that included running up to the castle ruins here in Dürnstein?” Plaschke said.
“Not at all,” Burke said, recognizing the danger in the question. “I’ve walked up there and it’s not easy. I definitely wouldn’t have suggested running up there.”
Plaschke nodded, studying Burke. “What was your impression of Herr Talbot?”
The question surprised Burke. The flic wanted more than simple facts? Burke paused, studying the man facing him. Dressed in a dark blue uniform that hugged his muscular build, Plaschke had the sharp, probing eyes not of a street cop but of a detective, at least in Burke’s estimation. Having talked to more than his share of police detectives the last two years, Burke sensed the Austrian cop was destined for bigger things in his career than serving in a sleepy town along the Danube.
“He seemed nice enough and definitely loyal to his boss,” Burke said. “He talked about how most of his waking hours were devoted to helping Bennett Blake.”
“Did he seem unhappy or angry about having to work so hard?”
“Not
really. In a way, he sounded ambitious. As for working long hours, he seemed to accept that as part of the job and a way to get ahead.”
Plaschke nodded, looking to Burke like he was making a mental note. “Did you ever see him go for a run?” the policeman asked.
“I saw him a couple of times when he was coming back and I was getting the bikes ready for the day’s ride.”
“Did you talk with him on those occasions?”
“We just wished each other a good morning.”
“Anything else about Talbot?”
“He said he was going to run in the half marathon in Vienna when we’re done with the tour and then in the New York Marathon in the fall. He said he had to train early in the morning because he was busy the rest of the day with work.”
“What do you know about Herr Blake?”
“Not a great deal. I’ve talked with him a few times as part of critiquing the group’s cycling efforts and once we chatted about the wines produced in this region.”
“Is Herr Blake an oenophile?”
Burke didn’t know the word and said so.
“It’s someone with a devotion to wine,” Plaschke said.
Burke nodded. He was learning about his language from an Austrian. “He said he likes the Riesling wines grown in the Wachau because they have a richer, more tropical taste than Rieslings from other areas. He didn’t say much beyond that.”
Plaschke scribbled a note.
“Why do you care about wine?” Burke asked. “Is it important?”
“Right now, it’s just about obtaining information. As you might recall from your efforts with local police forces back in France, you never know where some bit of information can lead.”
So Plaschke knew about Burke’s involvement in the murder investigations in southern France over the last two years.
“You’ve done some homework on me,” Burke said.
“A little, but I basically know about you because I’m a cyclist and I’m familiar with your blogs.”
“And you read my work in French?”
“I do. It’s a beautiful language.”
Five minutes later, they were done.
Plaschke stood. “If you think of anything unusual that has occurred in the last few days and might relate to what happened to Herr Talbot, please let me know.” He handed Burke a business card.
“Do you think Wilson Talbot’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“We’re just being thorough with our investigation.”
Then the policeman left.
And Burke wondered what had really happened among the ruins of the old castle.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Burke looked at the 10 people standing before him by the dock. He had expected Delisle’s message the previous evening about a short ride, which the police were permitting, might produce one or two interested individuals, but not this many. The mood during dinner had suggested most people were still shocked by Wilson Talbot’s death and wouldn’t be up to doing much for another day or two.
He was especially surprised to see Bennett Blake among the group. He figured the Englishman would still be busy with the police since Wilson Talbot worked for him. Had the police already interviewed him? Or had they postponed any talk until later?
The Englishman definitely looked glum but, at the same time, seemed ready to ride, shaking his legs and rolling his shoulders like a boxer loosening up.
Burke told them he would be leading them back to Spitz and then up to Mühldorf. As he spoke, he studied the faces. No one was smiling. At the same time, no one was objecting to his suggested route. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll also stop at a couple of good places for panoramic photos.”
Lots of nods.
They were waiting for him to get rolling.
“I’ll lead out and, once we’re on the road, we’ll ride single file, no more than one bike’s length apart from each other.” He tapped a small mirror he’d attached onto his handlebars. “I have this mirror here so I can check on how we’re doing. If anyone has a mechanical issue, just yell and we’ll stop.”
More nods.
“OK, let’s go,” Burke said.
As he mounted his Cannondale bike, Burke heard a voice calling the group.
He turned and saw it belonged to Felicity Blake, Bennett Blake’s wife, who was riding up to the group on a hybrid machine.
“I want to join you,” she said. “I need the exercise. It’ll help me.”
“Good,” Burke said, not knowing what else to say.
Felicity Blake was in her early 30s, at least 15 years younger than her husband, and clearly in good shape. Burke had seen her go for solo rides on a couple of occasions, pedaling effortlessly. He had also seen her out running twice. Her trim, muscular build indicated she did plenty of exercise.
She rode up beside her husband who nodded in response, looking somewhat surprised.
And then the group started riding.
Within a minute, they were out of Dürnstein and heading west toward Spitz along a quiet country road. Burke checked his mirror, glad he had brought it on the trip, and saw everyone was riding neatly in a single line. He heard no conversation, but that didn’t surprise him; the death of someone in their group was hardly going to make most people want to chat.
Within 20 minutes, they were in Spitz. They had to be alert to avoid two busloads of travellers piling into the old part of the village, cameras in hand, gawking at the lovely buildings that greeted them.
Burke went another block and then pulled over, stopping by a small park. “Anyone interested in taking some photos?”
No one was. That surprised Burke; despite the day’s events, he figured at least a couple of people would want to snap a few shots. “OK then, let’s keep going.”
Before he turned his attention back to the road, Burke noticed that Felicity and Bennett Blake were separated by two other riders.
Then he started riding again.
He took the turn toward Mühldorf and felt the road kick up. However, the incline wasn’t severe and Burke saw his riders keeping a nice, tight line as they pedaled.
After three kilometres, Burke turned into a small clearing and stopped. “Take a look behind you,” he said, waving an arm at the view.
They did with several remarking how panoramic the scene was below them as the Danube twisted and turned, and vineyards stretched from the flat riverside up into the hills. They could see Spitz and, in the distance, Mautern. The view was the stuff of postcards and several of the group put aside their bikes, hauled out cameras and took photos.
Burke watched as Bennett Blake carefully put his bike against a tree trunk and snapped some shots. His wife, however, stayed astride her bike, paying little attention to the view.
When she saw Burke looking at her, she managed a smile and then it disappeared, replaced by sadness.
It was going to be a long day for her, Burke thought.
And for others as well.
Chapter 6
They rode slowly through Mühldorf with no one interested in taking more photos. But then someone spotted a small winery and asked if the group could stop.
“Anyone else interested in visiting the winery?” Burke asked.
Everyone but Felicity Blake indicated they’d like to.
“OK, I’ll watch the bikes if you want to go in,” Burke said. “Let’s say we’ll start back to Dürnstein in 30 minutes. Is that fair?”
It was.
Everyone put their bikes against a tree or wall, and then walked into the old stone building.
Except Felicity Blake.
“Not interested?” Burke asked her.
She shook her head. “Not today,” she said, mustering a fleeting smile. “Besides, I’ve been through this area before although not to this spot. I traveled along the Danube with a college chum years ago and so a lot of the places where we’re visiting are familiar.”
“So, is the to
ur boring for you?”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s a lovely area and worth exploring more than once. But after what’s just happened, it’s hard to be enthusiastic about the trip. I just came along with the others to get some exercise.”
They sat on a stone bench by the church entrance.
“Did you know Wilson Talbot well?” Burke said.
“Not particularly. He seemed a nice man, though. Very diligent and dedicated to my husband. I don’t know what Bennett will do without him.” She paused. “I guess now we’re going to find out.”
Despite her sorrow, Burke thought she seemed comfortable discussing Talbot. “What did he do for Mr. Blake?”
“Mostly, he did whatever my husband wanted him to do. He’d produce financial reports or do cost evaluations. He was also very good with computers. If Bennett had a problem, Wilson would fix it even though Bennett is somewhat tech savvy and has plenty of technical staff at his disposal.”
Burke wasn’t surprised at hearing about the young man’s technological expertise. Whenever he had seen Talbot, the younger man was always holding either his phone or his tablet.
“It feels strange to talk about him in the past tense,” Felicity Blake said.
Burke wasn’t sure, but thought she had tears in her eyes.
“Did your husband treat him well?” Burke asked, knowing it was the kind of question which could bring a fiery response. But he was curious.
“My husband is a very intelligent man, but he’s not blessed with patience. He expects people to think as quickly as he can and that can make him hard to satisfy. I think he was probably hard on Wilson just as he is with all his staff.”
Since she was still talking, Burke asked how she had met her husband.
“I worked for a rival organization. He liked what I did and so he had me headhunted. He offered me a position and a salary that was too good to reject.”
“What did you do?”
Deception On the Danube Page 2