The Second Rider

by Alex Beer

  “At least find out where the men were stationed and what company they served in.”

  The bureaucrat motioned to the door behind him. “Do you have any idea how many unsorted documents there are in our subterranean storage vault? Can you imagine the level of chaos that the war and the collapse of the empire has caused? You are more than welcome to have a look with your own eyes and help us sort through everything.” He was sweating so profusely that the pince-nez slipped off his nose.

  “We need the information for a murder investigation. Because of you, more people may die.”

  The bureaucrat stooped down, picked up his tiny glasses, and wedged them back into place. He looked indignantly at the two detectives. “I would if I could, but I’m no magician.” He deliberately ignored Emmerich and handed Winter a form. “Fill this out. Your request will receive top priority. I’ll send notice to you at the commissariat as soon as I’ve found the records. There’s nothing more I can do.” In order to emphasize his words, he crossed his arms.

  Like it or not, Emmerich had to accept defeat.

  “How long is it going to take to get those records?” asked Winter when they arrived back at the commissariat.

  “No idea. Given the incompetence of the Austrian bureaucracy it could be a cold day in hell before we see anything.” Emmerich tapped his fingers on the desk. “We can’t lose too much time, but I can’t think of any other way.”

  “Are you really alright?” Looking at his boss seemed to cause Winter to worry. “You’re pale, and your eyes are glazed. I hope you didn’t catch something from Minna. Or in the Beehive. Germs are . . . ”

  “EMMERICH!” Sander’s voice boomed through the room.

  Emmerich cringed. What had he done now? He couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong, or at least not that Sander knew about.

  He gathered himself and smoothed out his pants. Then he turned slowly around, feverishly trying to dream up an excuse that could explain his unkempt appearance.

  “Guten Morgen, Herr District Inspector. Did you receive my report?” he said, suddenly stopping and furrowing his brow.

  Something was different this morning. Sander, who seemed even stiffer than usual, had two uniformed patrolmen with him, flanking him like massive watchtowers.

  It was so quiet in the room that the tick of the grandfather clock in the next room was clearly audible. Tick tock went the seconds, as if counting down to some ominous moment, and Emmerich suddenly felt thrown back in time. Back in a trench, just before battle, knowing full well that something horrible was about to happen but completely in the dark as to the details. It was the famous calm before the storm. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

  “What did you think of my report?” He couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

  “Your plans for the seizure of Veit Kolja aren’t exactly a stroke of genius. But that doesn’t matter. I’m going to hand the case over to someone else anyway.”

  “Who?” Emmerich stared at him, stunned. “But . . . ”

  “No buts!” Sander held up his hand, and dead silence overtook the room again.

  And then he finally said why.

  29.

  August Emmerich, you are under arrest for the murder of Josephine Bauer.”

  Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

  By all appearances, those present had been robbed of their voices. Winter and Hörl stared at Sander with incredulity, the two patrolmen stood there silently with stony faces, and Emmerich wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming. A surreal, grotesque dream.

  “Who . . . who is Josephine Bauer?” he heard himself mumble.

  Instead of answering, Sander nodded to the pair of uniformed men and they grabbed Emmerich by the arm on either side.

  “I’m sorry, Emmerich.” Sander stood before him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t like this any more than you do, believe me.” He sighed and looked at the floor. “Search him,” he said quietly.

  Emmerich felt someone pat him down roughly while someone else rummaged through his pockets.

  He allowed the humiliating procedure to happen without resistance. “Who is Josephine Bauer?” he repeated while he was cuffed and shoved outside. “I didn’t do anything to anyone. I didn’t murder anyone, and certainly not a woman I’ve never even heard of.”

  “The whole thing is just a misunderstanding.” Winter had followed him and watched incredulously as Sander got into an elegant black car while the patrolmen bundled Emmerich toward a green Heinrich. The multi-axle, windowless wooden wagon pulled by two horses was used exclusively for the transport of detainees, which was why a clutch of curious onlookers had gathered to witness what they hoped would be lurid events.

  “It’s one of them,” called a red-cheeked gossipmonger. “One of the cops.” Practically salivating, she turned to the other onlookers. “Look, they’re locking up one of their own.”

  “Corrupt rabble!” A toothless man raised his fist in the air.

  “Piss off, there’s nothing to see here!”

  One of the uniformed officers shoved a gawker so hard that she stumbled backwards onto the sidewalk and knocked over Winter, who was standing behind them.

  When he saw his assistant on the ground, Emmerich finally awoke from his trance. He kicked the uniformed man in the shin, causing him to let go, and leaned out the still-open door of the wagon

  “Don’t worry! It’s just a stupid mix-up. I’ll be back at work by afternoon at the latest.”

  Winter stood up and clapped the dust from his clothes. “Good,” he called as the uniformed officers pulled Emmerich back inside the wagon and knocked him to the floor. The door of the wagon was slammed shut, the coachman shook the reins, and the prisoner transport wagon headed off.

  “See you later,” Emmerich heard Winter call after him. “See you later, boss. I’ll get you out!”

  Through a narrow slit in the rear wall of the wagon, Emmerich was able to see where they were going, though his head hit the side wall every time they turned a corner: Maximilianplatz, Universitätsstraße, Landesgerichtsstraße . . . It was no surprise to him where they were headed.

  “Here we are,” one of the patrolmen stated the obvious after the green Heinrich came to a standstill in front of a large, gray building complex.

  “Thanks for the information. I’d never have figured it out on my own.”

  “Shut your mouth. Out with you.” The officer ripped open the door and kicked Emmerich in the back so he fell out onto the cobblestone street.

  “Been a real pleasure,” he mumbled, looking at his scraped palms and examining his leg before finally looking up.

  The regional court, also called the Landl, loomed over him, huge and menacing, but Emmerich didn’t let himself be intimidated by the imperious-looking building. He’d been through the green door and the long, dark hallways often enough before to attend an interrogation or to accompany a suspect. The institution was so familiar to him that he forgot for a moment that he was on the wrong side of the law on this morning. It was only when he was led to the court officers at registration, where a bureaucrat took his personal information with an indifferent look on his face, that reality began to dawn on him: he was suspected of murder.

  “Listen, I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything.”

  “If I had a crown for every time I heard that, I’d be richer than the Kaiser. You must have done something. Nobody’s here for nothing.”

  Emmerich realized there was no point discussing it with the man. “I wish to speak with Herr District Inspector Sander. Please have him brought here.”

  The bureaucrat remained unfazed. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, dipping his fountain pen in an inkwell and giving a sign to two strong men who’d been sitting unobtrusively in the corner.

  The two of them got up, and while one of them held him, the other, red-faced and muscle-bound, searched him.

/>   “Shoelaces, underpants, waistband,” dictated the one searching him, confiscating the items mentioned.

  “What’s the meaning of this? You can’t just take my things,” Emmerich protested, but his words fell on deaf ears.

  “Suspenders, handkerchief,” the muscle-bound man continued. “Take it easy. It’s for your own protection,” he said when Emmerich began to squirm.

  “I’m not going to hang myself, and definitely not with a snotty handkerchief.”

  “Rules are rules,” was the only answer.

  Next Emmerich was photographed, fingerprinted, and finally a morose officer took him for a medical examination. There’s one silver lining, thought Emmerich, I can ask for pain medication and something to give me a boost.

  He felt so dog tired, he was dizzy, and there was cold sweat on his brow. How was he going to get through the coming hours?

  Dr. Stranner, the prison doctor, showed much more interest in the newspaper he had open on his desk than in his patient.

  “Undress,” he barked without dignifying Emmerich with so much as a look.

  “You don’t need to examine me. I’m not sick. My only problem is a war wound. Just give me some pain medicine.”

  “Undress,” the doctor repeated, showing just as little interest as the bureaucrat at the registration desk.

  “I just said . . . ”

  Stranner looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Either you undress yourself or a guard will take care of it for you. Whatever you want.” The guard removed his cuffs. Emmerich grudgingly removed his clothes. He got through the humiliating exam with his teeth gritted. “All clear,” said Stranner when he was finished, sitting back down with his paper.

  “What does ‘all clear’ mean?” Emmerich got dressed, then stepped toward the doctor. He was immediately grabbed by the guard. He quickly put Emmerich’s cuffs back on. “I’m not all clear! Can’t you see this? Look!” He stuck out his leg and began to pull up his pant leg, which was no easy task with his hands bound.

  “No bugs. No infectious diseases.” Stranner’s words weren’t directed at Emmerich but at the guard. “Take him away.”

  “You’re a doctor. You swore an oath. You have to help me. Please give me something. Anything.”

  “If you don’t stop carrying on right this second you’ll get something—a punch in the face.” The guard opened the door.

  Emmerich started to protest but it was quickly ended when two strong arms lifted him by the armpits.

  “You can bring in the next one,” was the last thing he heard out of the prison doctor before he was dragged away.

  No sympathy, no help, no medicine.

  Emmerich knew the room he was taken to next all too well. It was an interrogation room, a small greenish chamber with a metal table fixed to the floor in the middle of it—a massive bulwark representing the line between good and evil. Emmerich was taken to the back side, the one for the villains, and now sat in the same spot as thousands of scam artists, thieves, and murderers had sat before him. He was cold, he was thirsty, and his leg hurt more and more.

  “Can someone bring me something to drink? And perhaps a cigarette?”

  He tapped his fingers on the table and hoped this insanity would soon be over. He wanted out as quickly as possible.

  In all the years he’d been going in and out of the Landl he’d never noticed how meager the rooms were and how awful the air was. It stank of cold sweat. Emmerich felt as if the walls were closing in on him every minute.

  Finally the door opened, and it wasn’t a guard who entered but Sander. “Damn it, Emmerich, what the hell did you do?” he fumed, his face red.

  “Nothing,” Emmerich replied. “I didn’t do anything, and I especially didn’t murder anyone.”

  “To have to arrest one of my own men . . . Do you have any idea what this will do to the reputation of the department? Ach, what am I saying. To the reputation of the entire Vienna police force.”

  “I’m innocent,” Emmerich insisted, looking at his superior imploringly. “I don’t even know who Josephine Bauer is.”

  Sander looked him over and twisted the end of his bushy mustache. “If you did it, at least confess,” he said, with a touch of doubt in his tone.

  “There is nothing to confess. It wasn’t me. Either someone is trying to frame me or it’s a stupid mix-up. What exactly happened?”

  Sander sighed. “I don’t know the details myself. I was just given orders from above to arrest you for murder. Normally such orders are based on accurate information.”

  “Then I’m the exception that proves the rule.”

  Sander snorted and then nodded. “You’re a disobedient malcontent, but you’re no murderer.”

  Emmerich was so happy that tears nearly filled his eyes. “Thank you, Herr District Inspector.”

  Leopold Sander patted him on the shoulder. “Hang in there. This confusing situation will be cleared up soon, I hope. I’ll see what I can do.” He said goodbye and left the room.

  Shortly thereafter the door opened again, and a man in a perfectly-fitted dark-gray suit—probably custom made—entered the room. His full black hair was combed back with pomade, and he was engulfed in a cloud of expensive aftershave.

  “I’m Chief Inspector Carl Horvat.” He sat down opposite Emmerich.

  “I know.”

  Emmerich’s stomach cramped. The somewhat better mood he’d been put into from Sander’s visit immediately dissipated. Here he was sitting with the man he’d wanted to meet and impress for years, but instead of shining, he was doing exactly the opposite. He was disgraced, exhausted, and suspected of murder. If it was true that first impressions count, he might as well put to rest his longtime dream of working for the Leib und Leben division.

  “Your name is August Emmerich?” Horvat’s voice showed no emotion, and his facial expression was also neutral.

  Emmerich gritted his teeth and sat up straight. “Could I possibly find out what happened and why exactly I’m a suspect—”

  “Just answer my questions,” interrupted Horvat. “Is your name August Emmerich, and are you an inspector first class in service of the police corps?” He took a thin folder from his briefcase, which was on the floor next to him, and put it down, lined up perfectly with the edge of the table.

  “Yes and yes.” Emmerich found it difficult to hide his uncertainty and maintain his composure.

  “Is this your service weapon?” Horvat opened the folder, took out a photo of a Steyr repeater pistol, and pushed it across the table.

  Emmerich became hot and cold at the same time when he realized what must have happened . . . Someone had killed Josephine Bauer with his gun. “I . . . I can explain.” He hid his sweaty hands below the table because they had begun to shake uncontrollably. “My service weapon was stolen. I was jumped and robbed. Here, look.”

  He bent his head down so Horvat could see the lump, which was still somewhat swollen. Horvat didn’t dignify his pitiable condition with a look.

  “Did you report the loss?” Horvat made a few notes and then put the paper and pen back down, again flush with the edge of the table.

  “No, it was . . . ” Emmerich searched for the right words. “It was complicated.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Emmerich wrestled with himself, playing out the various scenarios in his head, but he couldn’t come up with any credible excuse.

  “I’m listening,” repeated Horvat, looking at Emmerich coolly.

  It suddenly occurred to Emmerich that the Chief Inspector had two different colored eyes. One was gray, the other blue, and together they gave him a piercing gaze, one that left no doubt that Horvat could see through any lies.

  There was nothing left but the truth. “The husband of my woman, who we thought had died in the war, showed up out of the blue, back from a prisoner of war camp. That led t
o me drinking in Beppo’s Bar and waking up the next day in the hospital. At some point between I must have been attacked and robbed,” Emmerich summarized the events.

  “When was this exactly?”

  “Four days ago.”

  “And what kept you from reporting the incident?”

  Emmerich stammered. “Well, to be honest . . . District Inspector Sander and I . . . there were a few disagreements between us. I didn’t want to give him a reason to demote me.”

  “Are there witnesses to the attack?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “And at the hospital? Were you checked in and registered officially?

  Emmerich sighed. “No.”

  Horvat, who’d been taking notes nonstop, looked up. “Ach . . . ” Before Emmerich could explain himself, he continued with the questioning. “Where were you this morning?”

  Emmerich ran his hand through his hair. The handcuffs, which made this move awkward, just further reminded him of how miserable his situation was. “This morning?” Horvat leaned back and made a show of looking at his watch. Emmerich rubbed his nose. Fatigue and pain were hindering his ability to think. Normally he worked well under pressure, but this situation was different. “I was in the commissariat until about eight,” he remembered finally. “After that I went for a walk. Maybe an hour . . . Then I made a detour to the medical examiner’s office to speak to Alberlin Wiesegger, Professor Hirschkron’s assistant, about something.”

  “Can Herr Wiesegger confirm this?”

  Emmerich felt ice-cold sweat running down his brow and wiped it away with his cuffed hands. “He wasn’t there. He’d been called to a crime scene. I . . . ” He paused as something clicked in his head. “I suspect it was the scene of this Josephine Bauer’s murder.”

  Horvat didn’t offer his assessment of things. “Before that, you said, you were walking around. Can you be more specific?”