by Frank Tallis
Amelia Lydgate lowered the microscope carefully to the table's surface. Then, sitting down, she said: 'I would like you to tell me more of what transpired, Doctor Liebermann. I read in the Zeitung that the "Leopoldstadt demon" had been caught, but the article contained very little detail.'
'Very well,' said Liebermann, and he proceeded to give a full account of the investigation, from Rheinhardt's presentation of Fräulein Löwenstein's note to his own almost fatal encounter with Bruckmüller on the Riesenrad. As he was describing the point at which he was forced out of the gondola and his grip was failing, Miss Lydgate reached across the table and touched his sleeve. The moment of contact was so brief, so inconsequential, that it could easily have been missed. Yet this simple sign of concern had a profound effect on Liebermann. He felt as though his thoughts had become like dewdrops trembling on a cobweb. He felt insubstantial – weightless and airy.
'You were very brave, Doctor Liebermann,' said Miss Lydgate. Her gesture had been apparently unconscious. She showed no sign of embarrassment or self-awareness.
Liebermann cleared his throat and, after managing to utter some self-deprecatory remarks, gradually recovered a sufficient degree of composure to complete his story.
'It is strange, Doctor Liebermann, that the two murders were so different. One meticulous and clever – the other crude and brutal.'
'It is of course possible,' said Liebermann, 'that this was part of Herr Bruckmüller's plan. Perhaps he intended that the police should think that there had been two different murderers, in the hope that they would also conclude that the killings were unrelated. But I do not think this was the case. Fear is a very fundamental emotion. It strips away our sophisticated veneer and reduces the person to his or her core elements. Bruckmüller feared discovery, and in a state of panic his true, savage self found expression all too easily.'
Miss Lydgate seemed extremely interested in the workings of Bruckmüller's mind, and prompted Liebermann to speculate about the man's personal psychology.
'He wanted to be Mayor of Vienna, almost certainly – but I suspect that his ambition was even more far-reaching. When he was dissociating, he began talking about the Empire unravelling, the need for leadership. I believe that he may have seen himself as some kind of Messiah. The German people have a highly evolved mythology in which a semi-mystical hero figure almost always appears to usher in a new dawn. When Herr Bruckmüller's house was searched by the police, a horoscope was found with an attached commentary suggesting that his birth was in some way auspicious. It was both Fräulein Löwenstein and Herr Uberhorst's misfortune to threaten his appointment with destiny.'
'And it was almost your misfortune too,' said Miss Lydgate pointedly.
Liebermann smiled.
'Yes,' he replied. 'I am lucky to be alive.'
When Liebermann glanced at his wristwatch he realised that he had stayed for several hours longer than he had originally intended. Evening had given way to night, and it was no longer proper for him to be alone with Miss Lydgate. He stood to leave. Amelia Lydgate requested again that he should thank Inspector Rheinhardt for her gift, and escorted him to the door. They descended the dark stairs, and the sound of her skirts rustling behind him made a sensuous music – teasing and haunting.
Liebermann did not attempt to hail a cab. He felt like walking. In due course he passed the Josephinum, where he paused in order to admire the statue of Hygieia. Elevated and unattainable, eternally feeding the great serpent that coiled around her arm, the goddess looked down at him with regal indifference.
Bracing himself against the chill night air, Liebermann marched through Alsergrund and down Berggasse to the Danube Canal. There he stared into the dark water and enjoyed a cigar in solitude.
When he returned to his apartment he still felt restless, and contemplated playing some Bach – something undemanding, like the two- and three-part inventions – but remembered the time. Such was the level of music-making in Vienna that there was a general edict banning the playing of musical instruments after eleven o'clock. He needed something to occupy his mind.
Liebermann drifted from the piano to his writing bureau where he switched on the electric lamp. He collected some loose papers from the bottom drawer, sat down, filled his fountain pen with ink, and began writing:
It was the day of the great storm. I remember it well because my father – Mendel Liebermann – had suggested we meet for coffee at The Imperial. I had a strong suspicion that something was on his mind . . .
Acknowledgements
I WOULD LIKE to thank my agent, Clare Alexander, for taking me out to lunch in September 2002 and suggesting that I might want to think about a detective series; Hannah Black and Oliver Johnson for providing indispensable editorial guidance, Steve Matthews for his finely honed critical faculty, Sarah Liebrecht for translating various documents from German to English, David Coffer for alerting me to the existence of the inestimable Raymond Coffer (a walking encyclopedia of early twentieth-century Viennese lore), Eva Menassa in Berlin for yet more help translating correspondence, Sonja Busch and Fabrizio Scarpa for being splendid hosts in Vienna, Wolfgang Sporrer for recommending some very useful books, and Toni Nagel and Anna Maxted for advising on Jewish observances. I would also like to thank Maria Käfer of the Austrian Embassy in London, Bruno Splichal and Herr Winter of the Bundespolizeidirektion Wien, Harald Seyrl of the Wiener Kriminal Museum, and Dr Ulrike Spring of the Historisches Museum der Stadt Wien. Finally, I would like to thank Nicola Fox, yet again, for helping in ways that really are too numerous to mention.
Frank Tallis
London, 2004
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