by Alex Beer
“I’d rather sell my soul to the dev . . . ”
All of a sudden Sander threw up his arms. “Help!” he cried. “This nut wants to kill me.”
Emmerich glanced to the side and then opened his eyes wide. In the open door stood two uniformed patrolmen.
“This is August Emmerich,” said Sander. “The escaped murderer.”
Emmerich stared into space and lowered his weapon. It was over.
“Arrest him!” It was none other than Horvat himself who came into the adjoining living room and gave the patrolmen the order.
They hurried over to Emmerich as Sander exhaled, got out of bed, and, with his arms spread wide, went toward Horvat. “Carl, am I glad to see you.”
“Not him!” shouted Horvat at the patrolmen. “Sander!”
The two looked surprised for a moment, but then did as they were ordered. They cuffed the stunned district inspector and led him to the door.
Horvat nodded to Emmerich. “I’ve heard enough. You can put the pistol away. He’s not worth it. Give me your weapon. I’ll make sure justice is served. You have my word.”
“Let him go!” yelled Sander, widening his eyes. “Shoot, Emmerich. Shoot! End this, you son of a whore.” He looked almost grotesque standing there in his blood-spattered nightshirt, his eyes wide open. “These miserable creatures, these subhumans . . . they deserved to die!”
Emmerich looked back and forth between Horvat and Sander. “No mercy . . . ” he mumbled. “No mercy . . . ” Then he lowered his gun.
Emmerich watched as Sander was taken away, protesting loudly. A leaden fatigue had suddenly overtaken him. He slowly realized that he’d made it through everything, and yet he felt no satisfaction.
“Clever move,” said Horvat. “And bold. It could have gone wrong. How did you know I would come?”
“I was certain that Minna would be able to convince you, and I just had to take the risk.” He sighed. “And now? Transition to the order of the day?”
“Good that you mentioned that.” Horvat scratched his neck. “As I’m sure you are aware, since the war the mood of the people hasn’t been exactly friendly towards uniforms and authority. As a result, the police cannot afford a scandal.”
Emmerich breathed heavily. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That means we’ll hold the proceedings against Leopold Sander behind closed doors, and it would please both myself and the police superintendent if you would refrain from talking about these events. It won’t work against you.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that I could use somebody as good as you. What would you think about a transfer to Leib und Leben?”
Emmerich rubbed his eyes. “To be honest, I don’t know. My belief in the rule of law is not exactly the strongest at the moment.”
“Think it over.”
“I will.”
“Oh yeah, I believe that’s mine.” Horvat took the pistol from Emmerich and snorted. “Concerning the circumstances under which you came into possession of it, we should also maintain silence. Sound alright to you?”
Emmerich nodded, closed his eyes, and nearly fell asleep in another strange place.
EPILOGUE
With his hands buried deep in his pockets, Emmerich watched the door on the opposite side of the street while fat snowflakes swirled around him as they fell to the ground. Winter had definitively arrived and covered the roofs and streets with a layer of snow and ice that veiled over the many blemishes and left Vienna looking tranquil and clean.
But appearances were deceptive. Emmerich knew this. He knew all too well the depths and shallows—of the city and its residents. The Second Rider had left a trail of destruction behind and created more societal flashpoints than ever before. The war may have been over, but the ravages had just begun. There were many demons to battle. Too many wounds that needed healing, too many loose ends that needed tying up.
Tying up a couple of loose ends was the reason he’d come here today. To a place that had once been his home. He touched the amulet hanging from his neck, and gulped. Let go. As easy as it sometimes was, it could be just as difficult at other times.
There were too many losses. Still.
When he went to Minna’s to thank her for everything, he’d found her dead. She was lying in bed in her white ball gown, infinitely fragile and pale. The dress had become her funeral garb. “Auf Wiedersehen, my plucky princess. May the place where you are now offer you all that you dreamed of,” he whispered.
Emmerich wrapped his arms around his body. The cold had crept into his bones and he could barely feel his feet anymore. At that moment, he saw Luise at the end of the street. She broke his sad reverie and made his heart jump. Though she had her head down, he recognized her instantly. She had a bucket full of coal briquettes in one hand and was holding little Paul’s hand with the other.
He took a step toward them. “Lu . . . ” he called. He swallowed the rest of her name. Xaver Koch had appeared behind her—a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, his hands buried deep in the pockets of a warm jacket. “What the hell . . . ”
Emmerich hid behind a horse cart parked on the side of the road, and stuck his hands in his pants pockets. He felt for his new badge and clenched it. August Emmerich, detective in the Leib und Leben division. He had accepted Horvat’s offer with the condition that Winter—whether he was disabled or not—would remain his assistant. Horvat had agreed with gritted teeth. Now the little guy just needed to recover.
Just before they entered their building, Luise paused. As if she had sensed his longing gaze, she turned and scanned the street.
And that’s when he saw it: not just that she had been crying, no, but that her right eye was swollen and her upper lip split.
Emmerich balled his hands into fists and admonished himself to stay under control. Paul was with Luise. He couldn’t settle the score with the father in the presence of the child. He would have to wait. But one thing was clear: he was going to do something about it.
This story was not over.
AFTERWORD
Many of the locations and individuals in this novel are based on reality—Poldi Tant, for instance, on Nußdorfer Platz, was for a long time known as the most seedy bar in 19th district, until the Renner family took it over in 1970 and made it into a wonderful pub (Gasthof Zum Renner, Nußdorfer Platz 4, 1190 Wien).
The Chatham Bar also existed. The renowned Café Hawelka has occupied the space since 1939 (Dorotheergasse 6, 1010 Wien). The adjoining room that once held booths is today a storeroom.
The traditional Café Central has stood the test of time and still shines with imperial luster (Herrengasse 14, 1010 Wien). Also still around are the Hofburg (Michaelerkuppel, 1010 Wien), the Schönbrunn Palace (Schönbrunner Schloßstraße 47, 1130 Wien), the Vienna Skating Club (Lothringerstraße 22, 1130 Wien), and the Palais Coburg (Coburgbastei 4, 1030 Wien). As is the building so hated by Kaiser Franz Josef, “the house without eyebrows,” designed by Adolf Loos (Michaelerplatz 3, 1010 Wien).
The medical examiner’s office was indeed led by a Professor Albin Haberda in 1919, and his assistant was an Anton Werkgartner. Haberda was the medical examiner in charge of the case of Francisca Hofer in 1898. The murder was never solved. My characters Alwin Hirschkron and Aberlin Wiesegger are based on Haberda and Werkgartner.
The apartment building called the Beehive was torn down in the 1930s. The building on Blattgasse where once a homeless shelter had been housed is still there. It is now apartments.
Fortunately, these days nobody needs to live beneath the city anymore, the Fortress has been abandoned, and the entrances to the sewers are properly secured. Anyone who wishes to have a look at the city beneath the city can do so as part of the Third Man Tour (www.drittemanntour.at or +43 1 4000 3033).
Many of the events and circumstances are also rooted in facts
. Everyday life after the war was plagued by hunger and hardship. The economy was destroyed, there were housing shortages, and unemployment was higher than ever before. Sicknesses, epidemics, and suicide were common.
Since fuel was scarce, thousands of Viennese went out into the nearby forests and cleared entire sections. Fuel for heat wasn’t the only thing in short supply; food, clothing, shoes, and medicine were as well, which led to a booming black market.
Many people tried to mitigate their plight by planting garden plots, upstanding women turned tricks to supplement income, and at some stage the shortages were indeed so extreme that even zoo animals from Schönbrunner Zoo were eaten.
The activities of the American Relief Administration were unable to help much. A multitude of citizens saw no future in Austria and opted to try their luck abroad, aided in many cases by emigration agencies, as described in the book.
Another way to make it through the hard times was with alcohol (there are many mentions of a liquor epidemic) and drugs. Diacetylmorphin was brought to market in 1898 by Bayer under the name Heroin. It was initially considered a cough medicine, but it soon came to be seen as effective against pain, depression, high blood pressure, and many other ailments. A true wonder drug. Because of low dosages and the slow rate of ingestion through oral usage, there was little addiction. Only when people realized its effects were enhanced through intravenous use or snorting did the number of addicts explode.
Another core theme of the book is the atrocities of the First World War. The victors insisted on investigating them, leading in 1919 to the foundation of the Commission for the Inquiry into Military Breach of Duty. The commission’s work was cursed from the beginning because nobody had an interest in bringing the atrocities to light. The conservative powers of the new republic did not wish to besmirch the reputation of the imperial army, while the social democrats made every effort to leave the Habsburg past behind and look forward instead. Files disappeared, witnesses failed to come forward, and information remained hidden. The commission was also poorly funded. Four hundred and eighty-four complaints were brought, but only eight cases were ever taken to court. These led to just two convictions. The commission shut down in 1923.
I could not have written this book without reports and descriptions from eyewitnesses. I must mentioned first and foremost the two pioneers of social reportage, Max Winter and Emil Kläger, but other writers and historians also contributed important information about the times through their works.
Another great help was ANNO (AustriaN Newspapers Online), the virtual reading room of the Austrian National Library. Available there, for free, are more than 15 million pages of historical newspapers and magazines (Anno.onb.ac.at).
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are people without whom this book would not be what it is. First and foremost my agent Kai Gathemann, the man who makes it all possible, who can motivate like no other, and who always finds the right word at the right moment. I would like to thank Kathrin Wolf for the warm welcome in the Limes publishing family and her engagement with Emmerich and company. Margit von Cossart made very valuable contributions in the form of excellent tips along the way; with her patience, accuracy, and understanding of the historical context, she greatly helped polish the manuscript. Last but not least, a huge thank you to the people without whom nothing would be possible—my readers. You’re the best!
Alex Beer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alex Beer was born in Bregenz, Austria, and now lives in Vienna. The Second Rider is her English-language debut.