An Exhibition of Murder

  ‘Still you presented to the outside world this image of two men with a common goal and—’

  ‘In business we were united. What we did in our private lives was our own concern.’ Demain pursed his lips. ‘I never agreed to his behaviour around women.’

  ‘He told you the man who sent the letter would be at the opening. And then?’

  ‘He laughed at me and sent me off.’

  ‘He didn’t mention a name or—’

  ‘He did.’ Demain sat and looked at him.

  Jasper almost told him to please get on with it instead of forcing him to pull every answer out of him, but he waited for the other to speak of his own accord.

  ‘I didn’t believe it was possible. He said it was Anton Müller. Karl’s son. But Karl had broken off all contact with his son. The boy had disappointed him, choosing to give up his studies to follow some daydream of becoming an illusionist.’

  ‘A what?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘An illusionist, a magician. Someone who does tricks. Makes things appear and disappear at will. Karl thought it was utter nonsense, not a serious profession, and he broke off contact with the boy and even threatened to disinherit him if Anton failed to come to his senses.’

  ‘And did he come to his senses?’

  ‘No, he wrote a final letter saying that he had to pursue his dreams and that his father should understand as he had also followed his. The nerve. It was right Karl no longer wanted to hear from him.’

  ‘So there was bad blood between them? Up until Karl Müller died in the accident.’ Or was murdered.

  ‘Yes. I can’t understand why Anton would want to appear here in Vienna and accuse us of involvement in his father’s death. If anyone made Karl Müller unhappy, broke his heart, it was Anton himself. Why would he feel the need to avenge a father he had disappointed?’

  Perhaps for that exact reason, Jasper thought: to make up. But he didn’t say so. ‘And is Anton here in Vienna?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sir Peter mentioned something about him lurking about, but I never saw him. Sir Peter mentioned he looked like Karl. His mirror image. But I never saw him, at the opening or before. You must believe me.’

  ‘Still, you are here, claiming you are in danger. Do you believe Anton Müller killed Sir Peter as vengeance for his father’s death and is now after you?’ Jasper added, ‘That would imply he took both of you to be guilty. But the letter said murderer, singular, not plural.’

  ‘Who cares about grammar? I’m in danger. I have to get away from Vienna.’ Demain licked his lips. ‘I can go back to France. But if I leave, just like that, the police might suspect me. You have to tell them about the threats.’

  ‘Again, I ask, why me?’

  ‘Because you knew about them prior to Sir Peter’s death.’ Demain’s expression turned sly. ‘Violet said you have not protected her father. You failed. That means you knew he was in danger. You were aware that Anton was coming for him. Or perhaps,’ he added quickly, ‘you didn’t know about Anton but you were worried in general that someone might use the opening to harm him.’

  Jasper could hardly deny this. Violet had screamed her accusations for everyone to hear.

  He said, ‘Do you really think I will go to the police to tell them what I know? How would that help the case? Besides, they are looking for the cat burglar as killer.’

  ‘What nonsense. It wasn’t him. Anton Müller is the one you need. There were photographers at the opening. They snapped photos of the crowd. You must look at those. Anton Müller must be in them. Not in all, but in one or two. That would be enough.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘An arrest. He sent threatening letters and the man he threatened died. He was present on the scene. They have to lock him up and then I will be safe.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not all that straightforward. The letters were unsigned.’

  ‘Sir Peter knew they came from Anton. He told me so.’

  ‘You claim he did. But he is dead and I can no longer ask him.’

  Demain rose to his feet. ‘If you do not believe me, I will go. But if I die, my blood is on your hands. I told you I am in danger and you do not take it seriously.’ He laughed. ‘Funny after the mistake you already made. Sir Peter died in your care. Doesn’t that bother you at all?’

  He turned and went for the door, tore it open. In the corridor the butler stood with the tray of coffee cups. Jasper realised it had taken him a long time to bring the coffee to them. Had he been standing there for a while, listening in on the conversation? What for? Under whose orders?

  Herziger’s? Beate’s?

  Demain stormed past the butler and Jasper heard the front door slam. He told the butler to take the coffee back to the kitchen. He didn’t want anything right now.

  Demain might claim he didn’t care at all that Sir Peter had died in his care. But he did. It gnawed at him and he knew he couldn’t accept the Viennese police’s burglar theory. Now he had a tantalising lead. Anton Müller, the son of the man who had died on the expedition.

  An illusionist by trade. A man who could make things appear and disappear.

  A man who could make himself appear and disappear?

  Chapter Nine

  Jasper looked up the steep steps leading to the door of the enormous building towering over him with its marble pillars. He took a deep breath and started to ascend them with Red in tow. The dog trotted up with more energy than Jasper felt. He had spent the night in a fitful state between waking and sleeping, trapped in dreams of Violet accusing him of having failed or of Violet buried beneath the walls of the museum that had collapsed on top of her. He had cried for help to save her but, although everyone had been watching, no one had lent him a hand to pull the rubble away from the place where he believed she was.

  He narrowed his eyes a moment to shed the emotional turmoil his dreams had left him with and assume the cool objective assessment he’d need to start his inquiries. Here in this building he might find traces of the criminal or if not, he could at least ask the police officers present if they knew the photographers who had been attending the opening. To his surprise he found the entry hall full of people milling about, not officials engaged in the case it seemed, but visitors to the museum talking animatedly about what had happened the previous day. Jasper left Red with the caretaker. The dog greeted the man like an old friend.

  Half smiling, Jasper went to the first floor and found the stairs to the second floor guarded by a policeman willing to let him go through and speak with Marktherr who was in the room where the mask had been on display. He found the detective in a heated discussion with Herziger gesturing at him with both hands. ‘The mask has not been stolen. It belongs here. The people want to see it. It should be restored to its place.’

  ‘We need to see if—’

  ‘You can take your fingerprints or whatever it is that you do. Here. The mask is not leaving the museum.’

  Jasper closed in on the men and said, ‘Good morning.’ He continued to Herziger, ‘I can assure you it’s very important for the police to analyse any object which has been handled by the murderer. The mask is valuable and will be treated as such. It will be returned and—’

  ‘It is not leaving the museum.’ Herziger waved at him as if he was an obnoxious fly. ‘It’s part of my exhibition and I decide about it.’

  Marktherr looked uncomfortable. Jasper felt a flash of sympathy as he recalled his own attempts to satisfy the needs of his investigations while at the same time maintaining pleasant relationships with high-placed persons who didn’t want to be associated with any kind of violent crime.

  Unfortunately, he knew from experience that the investigation sometimes lost.

  ‘Werner, please.’ He placed a conciliating hand on his friend’s arm. ‘Try to see it from the police’s point of view. Or even better, think of Sir Peter who died. Surely you want to find out who killed him?’

  For a brief moment there was a look in Herziger’s eyes – anxiety, worry – that gave J
asper pause. Did he not want to find out? Herziger had been the one giving the speech downstairs, being in full view of the crowd the entire time. Could he have killed Sir Peter before the speech?

  Or did he have an idea who might have done it and was protecting them?

  Marktherr said to Jasper, ‘Are you here to see me?’ He added, ‘I assume if you had wished to discuss something with Mr Herziger you would have done so over breakfast. You are staying with him, are you not?’

  ‘Correct. And I am here for you. Could we speak for a moment?’ He stepped away and Marktherr followed him. Peering over his shoulder, Jasper saw Herziger hovering over the place where the mask of death lay on the floor. The dead body had been removed to be examined.

  Jasper said to Marktherr in a low tone, ‘I wanted to know if you’ve found anything on the body that gives you a clue as to the manner of his death.’

  ‘He was killed with a thin blade, one stab, straight to the heart. A very composed killer, I’d say.’

  ‘Stabbed? Such a big strong man… Could it have been a woman? Or should we focus our attentions on men?’

  Marktherr laughed softly. ‘I appreciate your offer of help, Mr Jasper, but we are not cooperating in this matter. I can investigate this case on my own.’

  ‘Can you?’ Jasper held his gaze. ‘I’m positioned inside the victim’s inner circle. I’m staying with Herziger, I have contacts with the other parties involved. In fact, one of them came to see me last night and begged me to help him.’

  Marktherr arched a brow. ‘Who?’

  ‘I will not disclose that. Yet. What I’m meaning to say is that it could be beneficial to you to share some details with me.’

  ‘And in exchange you will share with me?’ Marktherr’s tone was sarcastic. ‘I’ve heard of your reputation, Mr Jasper. You are not a man who shares. You were very good on your own and in your own country. Here you are a foreigner out of your depths.’

  Jasper smiled slowly. ‘Do you know about the threatening letter the victim received? Do you know who it came from? What it referred to? A shadow from the past hanging over this whole exhibition.’

  Marktherr rolled his eyes. ‘Do not tell me you believe in this nonsense about a curse which Rohmann has been writing about.’

  ‘Not a curse as in some non-human activity harming the people involved. But the very real curse of crime committed and retribution demanded. An ongoing chain that needs to be broken.’

  ‘You speak in riddles.’ Marktherr looked back at Herziger. ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ He quickly closed in on him. The museum director backed away from the mask, but Jasper had also seen that he had been handling it. His heart skipped a beat.

  Marktherr fumed at Herziger, ‘How dare you touch something clearly marked as crucial evidence in the murder case.’

  ‘I thought I saw a scratch on it. I only wanted to ensure it was unblemished.’

  Marktherr turned to Jasper. ‘Did you agree to distract me so he could tamper with the evidence?’

  Jasper pulled his shoulders back. ‘If you think me capable of that, we cannot work together. I’m sorry I was mistaken. I’m leaving now.’ He nodded also at Herziger who stood up straight with his hands behind his back like a child caught in a forbidden act. Jasper left the room.

  He was on the first floor on his way out when a young man with reddish hair and a short beard tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me?’ His English had a heavy German accent. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing what you said.’

  Jasper eyed him. ‘How could you have overheard? The second floor is forbidden to all people but officials engaged in the investigation.’

  ‘I am engaged in the investigation.’ He beamed at Jasper. ‘My name is Kurt Baum. I came to work under Marktherr a few weeks ago. He doesn’t like me much because he thinks I have too many new ideas. I study psychology.’

  Jasper blinked. ‘Psychology?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, the ideas of our great countryman Freud, who has developed a theory about dreams. I know some scoff at his beliefs but I think they can be quite valid to learn to understand the criminal mind. I’m writing about this and my uncle arranged for me to work with the police on some criminal cases that might be interesting for my research.’

  Jasper immediately understood that this uncle must be someone influential, probably titled or with a position in the government, who could decide such a thing and demand cooperation. Poor Marktherr.

  However, for his own purposes the young man could be quite useful.

  ‘I didn’t see you here yesterday when the police arrived at the murder scene,’ he observed.

  ‘No, I wasn’t with the police. I was among the audience. I was one of the first people to enter the room after Mr Herziger and to see the dead body.’ Baum’s clear blue eyes looked into Jasper’s without blinking. ‘It wasn’t my first dead body. I was a medical student before I decided to turn my attention to psychology.’

  ‘I see. Did you notice anything particular about this dead body?’

  ‘The hands.’

  ‘What about the hands?’

  ‘They were quite relaxed. When a killer approaches a victim to stab him to death, one would expect the victim to show signs of panic or an attempt to defend himself against the attack. But he lay there quietly as if he had gone to sleep on the floor and someone had placed the mask over his face.’

  Jasper had to admit this was quite a sharp observation on the young man’s part. But he didn’t praise him. He had a feeling Kurt Baum thought enough of himself and didn’t need compliments. He might even feel above old school inspectors like Marktherr – or Jasper himself – and only be using him to get what he wanted: a case to try his ideas on. ‘Anything else?’ he asked in a curt tone.

  Baum pursed his lips. ‘If I had been allowed to examine the body, I could have told you much more. But not even the doctor was allowed near it. You yourself said nothing should be disturbed. But I do know that they found something in the clothes.’

  ‘The clothes?’ Jasper repeated.

  ‘Yes. The victim was removed and examined and they took off his clothes. One of the examiner’s assistants hurt his hand because of the earring. It was hooked on Sir Peter’s jacket, at shoulder height, half hidden by the lapel. The assistant hadn’t expected something with sharp edges to be stuck in the fabric.’

  They were talking standing close to the stairs to the entry hall with people pushing past them all the time. Jasper gestured for the young man to follow him downstairs. ‘I think we are better off continuing this conversation outside.’ They had to work hard to push through the people all moving in the exact opposite direction: into the museum, with wide-open eyes and gaping mouths like children allowed for the first time to stay up on Christmas Eve.

  ‘Psychology,’ Baum said in an elated tone.

  ‘What?’ Jasper queried, half over his shoulder.

  Baum waited until Jasper had collected Red and they were at the bottom of the steps in front of the building. Fresh air breathed around them. The sun shone in the clear blue sky, and horse-drawn carriages rattled by. ‘Psychology. All those people are thronging in there because of psychology. They want to be near the place where the golden mask of death took another life.’

  Jasper frowned. ‘That can’t be right. People panic when they hear about murder. They should be fleeing the scene, not flocking to it.’

  ‘That’s exactly where psychology comes in. You see, one of the principles of the human mind is that we believe ourselves to be much better than we really are. We believe we abhor violence, death, injustice, lies, secrets. But in reality, we relish those harmful things like little children drawn to the red-hot stove. Newspapers with a headline about murder sell out in an hour. Soirées where they can whisper about a friend’s infidelity are much more fun than those where some respectable lady plays the piano. Humans say one thing and do another. Think another.’

  Jasper couldn’t deny that his work had taught him the mind and the heart were much more t
reacherous than one would ever acknowledge.

  Baum continued with a smile, ‘I knew people would be eager to come to the museum today. And tomorrow and the days after. Their interest will eventually die down of course. Unless there is another murder.’

  Jasper tightened. ‘It sounds like you are eager for one.’

  ‘I’m merely observing a fact. The thrill of this death and the circumstances surrounding it will wear off and people will look for other diversions. However, should another person connected with the expedition die, this will reinforce the earlier ideas about a curse in people’s minds and their interest will rekindle. In fact, it will flare stronger than ever.’

  Jasper let out a huff. He began to feel like with Baum he had picked up a double-edged blade. There was no doubt the young man was smart and resourceful and very interested in this murder case. Not to mention the information he seemed to have access to: like the earring he had mentioned in passing. On the other hand, he seemed to revel in crime and in people’s responses to it; in combination with the sensationalist tales about the curse that filled the papers, it could become a lethal cocktail.

  ‘About this earring…’ He tried to lead Baum back to his earlier revelation.

  But Baum stopped and studied him with twinkling eyes. ‘Do I annoy you, Inspector? Or merely amuse you like a child playing in the mud? Let me tell you that my ideas are not odd or illogical but that they will soon prove to hold the key to solving crime. If I can solve the murder of Sir Peter Treemore, the whole world will see that psychology deserves much more room in criminal investigations.’

  ‘Not to mention the interest there would be in your research,’ Jasper added.

  Baum held his gaze without flinching. ‘Is there any shame in that? I don’t want to work for nothing. I want my voice to be heard. But I can’t achieve anything without solid evidence. And it can be found in this case. I know it can. You see, Sir Peter Treemore might have not resisted his killer because he knew that person very well. He was at ease in the presence of that person, letting down his guard and unwittingly allowing himself to be stabbed before he even knew what was happening.’ Baum started to breathe faster as he continued, ‘I’m saying ‘that person’ on purpose, Inspector. Do you know why? You’re thinking it must have been a man who stabbed him.’