Hélène turned to Paul and said she was going to skip the evening’s entertainment to catch up on some sleep. Her hotel was about a kilometre from the ship and she’d walk there.
“Get a good night’s rest,” Claude told her. He looked at Burke and wagged a finger. “And that means no romance tonight, my friend. She needs her beauty sleep. Tomorrow will be an especially full day since we’re going into Vienna.”
Burke smiled and looked at Hélène. She was nodding.
“Don’t forget to be here by 6:30 tomorrow morning,” Claude told Hélène. “And bring your luggage. We’ll be leaving shortly after cleaning up, or so the captain and Monsieur Delisle tell us.”
“Don’t worry, Uncle, I’ll be here bright and early.”
She kissed him three times on the cheeks which was the Provence style and then took Burke’s hand. They began walking out of the dining room, exchanging a few words with the half dozen passengers still lingering.
Outside, it remained warm, hovering close to 30 degrees. The sun was just beginning to set, bathing the river in a shiny glow that Burke hadn’t seen before on the Danube. Evening birdsong filled the air and the scent from nearby flowerbeds was enticing. A dozen people were sitting on a few benches at the dockside, clearly enjoying the tranquil scene.
As he and Hélène walked hand in hand toward her hotel, Burke thought about the day ahead. From an earlier meeting with Delisle and Renata Hable, he knew the final day’s ride into the great Austrian capital would be filled with challenges, requiring lots of care and diligence. The distance wasn’t much from Tulln to Vienna, just 45 kilometres, but the route twisted and turned, going from quiet countryside through busy, outlying communities, onto the Danube Island for 21 kilometres, before turning into central Vienna where it would end at the Prater, a huge public park dominated by an enormous ferris wheel dating back to the 19th century.
After that, there would be two days for everyone to explore Vienna. One night would be spent attending a concert at the famed Opera House. The second night was a free one without anything planned. Then everyone would return home.
Of course, the police might have something to say about that, Burke thought. Or maybe they wouldn’t since they didn’t seem to be getting too far on the Bennett Blake murder. And once in Vienna, it would be easier for the murderer to disappear.
Burke walked with Hélène to the hotel room, kissed her good night and then went to the Donaubühne.
When he arrived at the outdoor theatre, it was still a half hour before the start of the event but people were already showing up. In the reception area at the side of the stage, there were two large tents which quickly got busy with spectators getting a glass of wine or champagne and having a snack. Burke was still full from supper and opted to find a seat in the back row of the outdoor theatre which would offer not just a panoramic view of the stage and the backdrop of the Danube, but of all the spectators.
When the first musical notes began, the Donaubühne was almost full, not just with the Sunna passengers but with special invited guests from the area. Burke was impressed by the talent of the performers. They sang, danced and acted with panache. The costumes were clever and the stage setup changed rapidly from song to song with the lighting matching any switch in mood. The sound was flawless with the music drifting down the Danube.
But Burke struggled to enjoy himself. He spent most of his time watching the audience, even though the evening was quickly getting darker.
The inner circle of participants, he noticed, stayed together with their partners. As for Niklaus Gast, he remained apart from them, sitting with Froon and Kimura, his attention fully on what was happening on stage. The other team-building participants were scattered throughout the audience.
During the mid-performance break, Burke grabbed a glass of champagne and chatted with Carmen Moreau and Jean Poirier about nothing much.
He did notice, however, that Niklaus Gast excused himself from his companions and began walking toward the dock where the Sunna was anchored. Gast’s departure was a surprise to Burke who thought the entertainment was something the Swiss had been enjoying. It couldn’t be Gast needed some sleep; he looked full of energy.
Burke thought about following the Swiss, but knew, if detected, he wouldn’t have a plausible reason for his action. So he just watched Gast disappear and wondered if he’d return later for the second half.
He didn’t.
The second half went by with Burke hardly noticing anything on stage. He was consumed by his thoughts.
When the performance ended to a standing ovation, Burke watched the inner circle. They were all in a good mood, laughing and obviously discussing the evening’s entertainment. Then, once again as a group, they went to the reception area to have champagne and desserts.
Burke watched for a few minutes, saw nothing unusual and then left, strolling alone toward the ship. After half the distance to the Sunna, Burke heard a car pull up behind him. He glanced back and saw Karl Plaschke get out.
“Monsieur Burke, I wouldn’t mind a word with you,” the policeman said in French. “There’s a good beer garden just around the corner from here. Maybe we can go for a drink and talk.”
Burke was puzzled. Plaschke was usually direct and abrupt, offering no charm. Now he wanted to have a beer together? What was the flic playing at?
“In case you’re wondering, I’m not here on official business,” Plaschke said, seeing Burke’s reluctance.
Burke shrugged and said he was good for one beer.
“Good, because I think we might both profit from a conversation.”
Five minutes later, they were seated in a corner of a small beer garden shrouded by trees and overlooking the Danube. It was quiet with only six other patrons, all of them a few tables away.
They ordered two large dunkel beers from a plump, middle-aged woman. As soon as she was gone, Plaschke leaned forward. “I would like to know your thoughts about Bennett Blake’s murder.”
“You’re the policeman. You’re the one who’s supposed to know what’s going on.”
“That’s true, but I know you’ve been doing your own investigation and I believe you’re smart enough to have some ideas that might be useful to helping find who’s behind Blake’s murder and Wilson Talbot’s death.”
“So, you believe Talbot was murdered as well?”
“Yes, I do,” Plaschke said. “He was too good a runner to simply take a bad fall up there. There’s also evidence that indicates he was pushed.”
Burke saw the server come back with two dark, malty beers. Once she was gone again, Burke considered Plaschke’s last statement. “So, why are you telling me this now? And why is this conversation of ours so unofficial?”
“I’m curious about some matters.”
“Well, your boss, Inspector Martin, made it clear I was supposed to keep out of police business.”
“But you haven’t. I know that.”
Burke instantly felt a chill run down his spine. If Plaschke knew about his detecting efforts, so too could the murderer. That meant Burke might well be in danger and, if that was the case, Hélène could also be at risk due to her association with him. And Claude as well. He cursed himself for being foolish with his little investigation.
“What’s the matter?” Plaschke said, interrupting Burke’s thoughts.
“Nothing,” said Burke, focusing back on the flic. “I was just thinking about something. But I am curious about why you want to know what I think about Blake’s murder.”
Plaschke smiled, but his eyes remained hard. “You may have noticed that Inspector Martin has been leading the investigation, at least into Monsieur Blake’s death.”
Burke nodded.
“By the way, I’d like this conversation to be strictly between us,” Plaschke said.
“OK, I agree.”
“That’s good. So I’ll begin by telling you Inspector Martin is a decent man, a smart man, but he’s also predic
table. He follows rules and guidelines. He goes by the book and he gets good results, but he’s not so successful when a crime is bizarre or complex.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”
“Because I don’t feel bound exclusively to a book of rules and regulations. I know the law is the law, but I also think there’s a need to think outside those restrictions. I believe you think outside the box. You see things that others sometimes miss and you pursue theories not many would consider.”
“Fair enough but why are we sitting here?”
“If you give me a chance, I’ll explain.”
“Go ahead.”
“Most criminal acts are done by people who aren’t very smart. They do something out of greed, lust or anger or even because of mental issues. They unknowingly leave a trail of clues that make it extremely easy to find them. It’s part of my working life. But when I come across something like what we’re dealing with now in the cases of Bennett Blake and Wilson Talbot, I understand we have to be more creative and try different ways of thinking. Yes, we have to follow procedures, but we need to be flexible, not become our own worst enemies. Your little investigation tells me that you know the murders of these two men were done by some very intelligent, analytical individuals. As your police friend in Nice, Inspector Fortin, said, you can be a pain in the ass, but you can also be useful.”
Burke stayed quiet.
“Inspector Martin pays complete attention to regulations and guidelines. That’s why he’s never going to find out who murdered Bennett Blake – and Wilson Talbot. But you and me, we have different ideas, different ways of thinking.”
“You’re a sergeant in the police so why can’t you assert your authority and follow your own hunches?”
“You may have noticed my skin colour,” Plaschke said, rubbing his bare forearm.
Burke shrugged. He didn’t know what to say.
“I’m a born-and-bred Austrian. I’ve lived my entire life in this country and I love it a great deal. But I also recognize we still have issues with people of colour. I’m a black Austrian cop and to get to where I am now, I’ve had to work twice as hard and be twice as careful.”
“Careful?’
“I learned at the start of my policing career that if I get too aggressive with other officers in pursuing my hunches, it comes back to bite me. They’re polite to me and they generally respect me, but many of them have doubts about me being a leader. They’ll have my back in a fight, but they don’t want me to go off exploring on my own. That’s the way it is.”
“Sorry to hear that, but I don’t understand what you think I can do that you can’t. Besides, maybe my ideas are crap.”
“That could be the case, but somehow I doubt it. I dug around some more and learned just how much you contributed to those cases back in France. You were invaluable to the investigations. I’ve also seen how you eliminated the possibility that a Roma or some refugee might have been behind Blake’s murder. You went to their camps, talked to some people, came back, did some thinking and then dismissed them as real suspects. Your questions the other day indicated that.”
“So, you agree they’ve got no involvement in Blake’s death.”
“I discounted it within a day, but I was the only one. Inspector Martin and some of his superiors still wanted to consider the Roma or refugees as potential suspects. They had their minds made up and so we wasted time trying to find someone in either camp who might have murdered Blake. I continued to make my argument and they continued to disagree. Now, they’re finally convinced neither a Roma nor a refugee is behind Blake’s death. The trouble is they’ve wasted valuable time. The longer an investigation goes on, the less chance of success it has. That’s what the statistics tell us.”
“Why did they spend so much time going after the Roma and refugees?”
“Simple. It’s about prejudice. Many Europeans have a negative impression about both groups. They believe the Roma are sneaky and even dangerous if given the chance, and they believe every group of refugees contains at least a few terrorists-in-waiting. My boss and some of his bosses share that thinking.”
Plaschke leaned farther forward and Burke could almost feel the flic’s intensity. “If you doubt that, Monsieur Burke, let me tell you about a study that came out recently that examined European attitudes toward minorities. Guess who won the award for being least popular? The Roma. Second place? Muslims. Other minorities were way back although I’ll tell you that black people were generally the third least-popular group.”
“That answers my question about why the police spent so much time considering the Roma and refugees, but I still have doubts that I can provide anything useful. The fact is I’m not sure what I know at this moment.”
“You figured out very early that the weapon used to murder Bennett Blake wasn’t a standard knife. When you suggested a dagger, you were right. When you started asking questions that excluded the Roma and refugees, you were ahead of some of my colleagues. And now you’re wondering about some kind of inner circle within the team-building group. You may not know everything, but you have some hunches I want to hear.”
“How do you know about that inner circle?”
“I see things and I ask questions. But, as I mentioned before, I have to be diplomatic when I pursue a line of investigation that others aren’t considering.”
“OK, I understand you have to be diplomatic, but aren’t you being reckless right now by talking to me? What would Inspector Martin think about our conversation right now?”
“He wouldn’t like it and he wouldn’t understand why I’m doing it. His bosses would probably fire me if they heard. But I trust you. I know how you conducted yourself in those French murder cases and you’re not out for glory. You just want to know the truth.”
“And what do you want to get out of this conversation and from the Blake and Talbot cases, Sergeant? A promotion?”
“I’ll admit I’m ambitious, but I’m also realistic because I know the system won’t promote me too much higher. Solving these two cases would help me reach that ceiling a little faster, but, to be totally truthful, I want to catch the person or people behind these deaths. Murder is an ugly business, but I believe there’s something deeper and darker behind what has happened.”
The server showed up and asked if they wanted two new beers. Plaschke looked over to Burke, leaving the decision to him.
“Yes, please,” Burke said. “It seems we’ll be here a while longer.”
Chapter 54
A half hour later, after listening to Burke, Karl Plaschke sipped the dregs of his second beer and leaned back in his chair.
“So, you don’t think anyone in this strange inner circle murdered Bennett Blake,” he told Burke. “And thanks to some video clips which could easily be misread, you’ve narrowed your list of potential killers down to two or three.”
“You wanted my theories. Now you’ve got them for what they’re worth.”
The two men sat without speaking for almost five minutes, each lost in his thoughts. A couple of times some Sunna passengers strolled by, noticed Burke and waved. When they saw Plaschke, they ignored him and quickened their pace.
Finally, Burke decided to break the silence. “Have you been able to trace where the dagger that was used to kill Bennett Blake came from?”
“Not yet. It’s one of those daggers you can buy in a half dozen communities in this region and from online merchants all over the continent. Some experts call it a Richard the Lionheart dagger although it’s a modern knockoff and costs 40 or 50 euros.”
Burke was surprised at the type of dagger. Could it be a coincidence that it was used in the community where the English king was imprisoned? Maybe, but he doubted it. He also didn’t think it had been bought locally. The person who had murdered Bennett Blake had done a lot of planning and wouldn’t take the chance of buying the murder weapon in Dürnstein and then being remembered later by a sales cl
erk if questioned by police – and the police would likely visit every shop in the area where such daggers were sold.
“So, the murderer used a Richard the Lionheart dagger to kill someone in the area where the Lionheart was held for ransom,” Burke said. “That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“It would seem the killer wanted to make some kind of statement.”
“But to whom? To Blake? To others in the inner circle?”
More silence followed and Burke could feel Plaschke studying him and waiting.
Then he had an idea. “Maybe the murderer did it for the symbolism or for the irony. Let’s say Bennett Blake was trying to hide something on this trip, but someone else knew what that secret was and wanted to punish Blake for it. The killer might have thought it appropriate to use a weapon associated with Richard the Lionheart who traveled through this same area in his own disguise but was caught. If a king couldn’t get away with his deception, why would someone like Bennett Blake think he could? To the murderer, the Lionheart dagger would be the perfect weapon to kill Blake and make a point, if only to himself.”
“So, some kind of vigilante or avenging angel?”
“Maybe, or maybe someone who was being victimized in some way by Bennett Blake.”
“A blackmail victim?” said Plaschke, rubbing his chin. “That’s an interesting angle.”
“If it’s retribution for being blackmailed, whatever Blake had against the killer had to be truly significant to take such a risk.”
“There’s some logic in that.”
“Give me a minute,” said Burke, pulling out his smartphone. He went online and searched the website for Worldwide Events Consulting Inc. Five minutes later, he had his answers. “You know how I thought the killer could be one of two or three people?”
The flic nodded.
“I’ve narrowed it to one,” said Burke, pausing for dramatic effect and to let the notion sink into his own brain.
“Tell me.”
“It’s just a guess, based on very little real evidence.”
Deception On the Danube Page 18