An Exhibition of Murder

by An Exhibition of Murder (retail) (epub)

  ‘But you’re thinking it was a woman,’ Jasper supplied, forestalling him. ‘And don’t ask me how I know that, because you are smart enough to realise that your mention of an earring to me put the idea into my mind.’

  ‘Earrings can be worn by men too. Seamen for instance.’

  ‘They can be,’ Jasper admitted. ‘But in combination with his relaxed attitude as attested by his hands, it wasn’t a big burly sailor he didn’t know. It was a sweet innocent-looking woman he did know.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Baum beamed. ‘I think we can work together.’

  ‘What kind of earring was it exactly?’

  ‘A clip-on of solid gold with precious stones worked into it. A real piece of craftmanship. But many women wear such intricate jewellery.’ Baum looked a little less smug now. ‘I wasn’t paying much attention to ladies’ ears yesterday during the opening. Were you?’

  Jasper shook his head. He had seen the earrings Violet wore. Long diamond pendants, with the stones set in silver rather than gold. This earring Kurt Baum described wasn’t hers. But a person came to mind at once as a most likely candidate to be wearing such jewellery. A jeweller’s wife.

  He realised he needed more information before acting on this assumption and asked Baum, ‘Have you seen the earring?’

  ‘No, but I asked for a description of it and then they provided me with this little sketch.’ He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It showed the crude pencil outline of an earring consisting of two parts: the first part was attached to the ear and was studded with stones; hanging from it was the second part, also covered in stones, looking like a sculpted leaf.

  ‘What colour were the stones?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘Yellow and blue.’

  Anna Liebknecht had been wearing blue. And Beate Herziger yellow with blue embroidery. For both women the earrings would have been a perfect complement to their outfit. Jasper pursed his lips. He tried to recall whether he had seen earrings when he had found Beate seated away from the crowd after the murder. She had been quick to hide her face in her hands. Was it to hide her missing earring from view?

  Baum said, ‘A woman met Sir Peter in the room where he was casting a last loving look at the mask before it would become public property. You see, that is the dilemma of those who own something they consider rare: they want to show it off, but at the same time they also long to keep it to themselves. I bet that in those moments when Sir Peter was there alone with his prize he was exhilarated by the idea of the glory coming to him and appalled at the thought that all eyes would soon look upon something that had previously been his very own treasure.’

  Jasper said, ‘Hardly his very own, as he had found it together with others.’

  ‘One of whom died soon after.’

  Jasper eyed Baum. ‘What do you know about Karl Müller’s death?’

  ‘Nothing but what the papers wrote about it. He died and then there were two people left who could claim a right to the discovery, who could believe they would go down in history as those who had shed new light on the elusive Lykean kings.’ Baum gestured with his lean hands. ‘People who are after glory don’t like to share it. I think Sir Peter felt torn while standing there. His emotional turmoil made him vulnerable when the woman approached him. He wanted to show a smile to her and not let her see his doubts. His regrets perhaps? Who knows. She had the time to approach him quietly and slip the dagger in place.’

  Jasper tried to picture the scene. ‘And why would this woman have killed him?’

  ‘The recurring theme.’ Baum gestured again. ‘Love. Rejection. Infidelity. Strong affection turning into hatred once the beloved is no longer responsive. You know how it goes.’

  ‘A crime of passion.’ Jasper walked with his hands folded behind his back. ‘And you see no role for the mask in this whole sequence?’

  ‘But of course. The mask is highly significant. You see, after the woman had destroyed the man she loved, she could not bear to look upon his dead face, so she put the mask over it to give it an impression of decorum.’

  ‘A sign of respect from the killer?’ Jasper asked in disbelief.

  ‘You forget the duality of the human mind, Jasper. I just mentioned how people believe they abhor violence but in reality they relish bloodshed and run to see it by way of amusement.’ He sounded slightly disgusted. ‘In that same way, a person starts to believe they hate someone and would be better off with that person removed from their lives. They think about it, fantasise, and the dream takes on a stark reality for them until they can no longer restrain themselves, and commit the crime. But as soon as they have done it, they realise it solved nothing, or if it did solve something, it created new difficulties and they experience regret, if only for their own sake and the danger they’ve put themselves in by acting on their impulses. So you see, it is very well possible that the woman who killed Sir Peter with that one dispassionate stab was then gripped by a strong emotion and covered his dead features because she didn’t want to look upon them anymore.’

  Jasper couldn’t deny he had encountered killers who acted in an illogical way, but he wasn’t about to indulge the young man’s belief in his own theory. ‘I believe the mask has everything to do with the crime.’

  ‘In what way? Means? No, it was not used to club the man to death. Motive then? If someone had wanted to own it, wouldn’t they have taken it along when they could, with Sir Peter dead and the people who were coming to see it still gathered downstairs?’ He tilted his head. ‘And I have just explained a woman did it. Why would the mask be a reason to kill for a woman?’

  Jasper rubbed his temples. Despite the fresh air, he felt a headache forming. ‘Let me work on my theory as you work on yours.’

  ‘I gave you the information about the earring. Now you have to give me something in return.’

  Jasper wanted to say he didn’t have to do anything. But he bit it back. He didn’t want the young man to go and complain to Marktherr, who would be livid that he was looking into this despite his strict orders not to.

  ‘What would you like to know?’

  ‘I want to know why Violet Treemore accused you of having failed to save her father. She was quite emphatic.’

  Jasper flushed under the painful memory. ‘I can’t expound on that. It’s a private matter.’

  ‘Had she asked you to protect her father from a female preying on him? That singer perhaps? Isobel Maurin? She wore a golden dress so golden earrings could be a perfect match to that.’

  ‘I don’t know what earrings she wore,’ Jasper said truthfully. ‘And it seems highly unlikely to me that a famous singer with a bright future ahead of her would kill.’

  ‘She can’t stand being spurned. She craves attention, admiration from all around. She probably had a childhood without recognition and took to the stage to compensate.’ Baum sounded lofty again. ‘Yes, it is quite obvious.’

  A bit too obvious perhaps, Jasper thought, but he didn’t contradict the self-assured young man. He said, ‘Still, she must have so many admirers that the rejection of one widower with a grown daughter, a man also engaged to be married, can’t have hurt her so deeply she would take the immense risk of—’

  ‘What risk?’ Baum scoffed. ‘If she had killed him in her dressing room or in her apartment, yes, that would have been a risk. But at the museum with so many people around… Could there have been a better opportunity?’

  ‘She would have taken a risk anyway. Him resisting. The stab not being lethal. Blood getting on her dress.’

  ‘Murder is often not rational. The idea may be, but the execution…’ Baum shook his head with a sorrowful expression. ‘I read about a case where the killer prepared everything perfectly to the point of having an alibi for the night, but then took the pistol he had used home with him and put it back in the drawer thinking no one would ever bother to enquire whether he owned one. However, as soon as the news about the death became known, his butler talked about him owning a gun to another butler and t
he whole street got talking about it. The police got wind of it, came over, found the gun, examined it and arrested him for the murder. Now I ask you: what is the first thing a murderer is concerned about?’

  ‘Getting rid of the body,’ Jasper responded.

  ‘Yes, and then the weapon. Leaving it at or in the body can be a risk as it might lead back to the criminal. So you’d think any murderer would think up a way to get rid of the weapon. He even walked home past water. He could have flung the pistol into it. No, Mr Jasper, the actions of a killer after he has finally done what he has thought about for so long are far from logical or sound to our minds. But they make sense within his views of the situation. Because he had prepared his alibi, he was certain he would never fall under suspicion and his house would not be searched. He thought it was the safest place for the murder weapon to be. Quite ingenious in fact, and without his garrulous old butler it might have worked.’

  Jasper halted. ‘This is a fascinating conversation, Mr Baum. But I have other things to do today. I bid you goodbye.’ He turned away.

  Baum grabbed his arm with surprising strength. ‘You can’t lock me out, Jasper. I have ways of my own to find out about things. Either you work with me or against me, that is your choice.’ He let go and walked away with short angry strides.

  ‘Was that a threat?’ Jasper asked Red. The Labrador looked up at him with tilted head as if in puzzlement. Jasper rubbed his forehead. The drawing of the earring was seared into his brain. He’d recognise it anywhere. But if the lady in question had noticed the loss, which seemed inevitable if she had gone home and undressed, she would ensure she never wore the remaining earring again. So how could he find out which lady had been wearing it the other day?

  Demain had mentioned photographers present at the opening. He had urged him to find Anton Müller in their takes. But right now Jasper also wanted to look for earrings. And discover which one of the ladies whom he was considering had met with Sir Peter right before his death.

  Chapter Ten

  Violet stood on the bridge, clenching the rail. She stared into the water at the vague reflection of her face. The reflection of a young woman who should be happy, unconcerned, young, free. But instead she saw the face of someone desperate and alone.

  She tried to remember whether her lie to Iris had been plausible. The woman shouldn’t suspect anything.

  Plausible? She almost laughed out loud. Was there a plausible reason for a young lady whose father had just died, to go out in public? She should have stayed at home and discussed funeral arrangements, but she couldn’t have sat there facing the solemn undertaker in his morbid black suit without screaming. She couldn’t bear the idea that her strong father with his lively face and able muscles was a corpse now, laid out on a slab, to be put in a coffin soon and buried under the earth.

  She shivered and clenched the railing harder. It was all a bad dream, nothing but a nightmare.

  But whereas she had always been able to wake up from her nightmares to ascertain there was no real blood on her hands and no dead body at her feet, she had woken up this morning to find her father still very dead.

  ‘Darling.’ An arm slipped around her waist and his scent enveloped her as he leaned in to kiss her on the lips. She turned her face away. Even his kiss felt cold like ice.

  ‘We shouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘We talked about it and decided—’

  ‘I know. But it was rash. Risky.’ She breathed fast. ‘Involving Jasper was a mistake.’

  ‘He won’t find anything.’ He leaned closer to her again. ‘He won’t find me.’

  ‘But he will come to me.’ She eyed him, panic beating under her breastbone. ‘He will ask me why I accused him and—’

  ‘Say you were upset. Who wouldn’t have been in your position? Fake a headache. Evade answers to his questions. Burst into tears.’ He sounded almost impatient. ‘It can’t be that hard.’

  She stood up straight. ‘Because I am so emotional anyway?’ Overemotional, as Iris put it. Iris, who was always so infuriatingly calm, whom she could strangle at times…

  Violet closed her eyes a moment. Her head throbbed and her throat hurt. Perhaps she was falling ill? Perhaps she could keep to her bed and avoid Jasper? He would understand the shock had affected her. Given her brain fever, or whatever it was called.

  But she couldn’t stand hours in bed, lying still, looking up at the ceiling. Breathing hard so she could hear the sound of her breaths and know she was not dead yet… but she should have been. She should have died back then and she should have died now. She was the one to blame.

  He touched her cheek, caressed it with his fingers. He gently rubbed her temple. ‘Relax, darling. There is nothing to be afraid of. Soon it will all be over and we can be together.’

  She kept her eyes closed as his tenderly touching fingers erased the headache and took the edge off her panic. He had always been able to calm the turmoil inside. Because of him she had become a better person. A new person who wanted to start a new life.

  But her old life, the past, had a hold on her, like bony clutches clawing at her skirts. Mud sucking her under. She couldn’t get away.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pleaded, ‘Take me away with you. I can’t go back. I can’t face Iris. She sees right through me. She will start suspecting me. Everything will be ruined.’

  ‘I can’t take you now. You know that. Be strong, darling. Just a little while longer.’

  ‘You must take me now. I can’t go back. And I won’t.’ She clung to him, pulling his head against hers. He struggled for release.

  ‘Don’t… People are looking at us.’

  She let go and met his eyes. There was a flash of something there she couldn’t quite define. Worry, dismay even? Did he really love her? Did he really want her? Could she trust him?

  She raised a hand to her forehead. The pain was back, stabbing her as if with a long knitting needle right through her skull. She couldn’t think. ‘I must go.’ She turned and staggered away.

  Someone asked, ‘Are you unwell, Fräulein?’ She ignored it. She followed the path she had come by. At least she thought it was the path. It looked like the path on the estate, leading to the old chapel. The place she never wanted to go back to. Never. It had all begun there.

  And it hadn’t stopped. It was back. Here. It kept following her. Like she wasn’t supposed to be happy. Like she was supposed to be… dead.

  * * *

  ‘Sell them?’ The photographer, a tall thin man with wild white hair, smiled sardonically at Jasper. ‘Yes, I suppose I could have sold them now with the city in a flurry about the death at the opening. The Lynx striking again and this time with lethal power.’

  Jasper frowned in annoyance that this cat burglar was brought up again. He couldn’t explain the open window yet but to his mind it was impossible that a human being had climbed up to that level, particularly without being noticed, so he had dismissed the Lynx as a player in the game altogether.

  The photographer said, ‘But I won’t. I already got my money. I’m not selling anything anymore.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Jasper asked.

  With a gesture of resignation the photographer leaned back on his heels. ‘I was paid not to publicise them. Well, what is a man supposed to do? I only want to make a good living. If I get paid for not bringing them out in the open, it’s as good to me as the opposite.’

  ‘You were bought off not to make them public?’

  ‘I was asked very politely to spare a certain lady of good name and fame the ill fortune of getting mixed up in something as unsavoury as murder. I agreed that this would be wise and I was handsomely paid for my understanding. You have to know when to bend to the wind. Now that is all I have to say about it.’

  Jasper shook his head. ‘Not so fast. Who paid you?’

  The man laughed heartily. ‘You don’t think I am going to give you the name, do you? The money provided included my discretion. I have no reason to tell you a
nything other than I already have. Just a courtesy because you’ve been with the police.’

  Jasper smiled. ‘I appreciate it. And really you need not mention any names. I only want you to nod or shake your head when I suggest someone who might have paid you to keep the photos out of public circulation.’

  ‘I don’t see why…’ the man spluttered. But Jasper had already produced his wallet and showed the money inside. The photographer hesitated. ‘You say a name and I merely shake or nod? Just one name?’

  Jasper took a deep breath. He’d have to gamble. Werner Herziger trying to shield his daughter or the jeweller anxious to protect his wife? ‘Just one,’ he confirmed.

  The man said, ‘Oh well, it’s not uncommon to mention the name of a common acquaintance when in conversation, wouldn’t you say?’ He held out his hand and Jasper put money in it. The photographer nodded and slipped it into his pocket. He looked at Jasper expectantly.

  Jasper assumed that the photographer didn’t believe he could ever guess the right name in a single try. But the man didn’t know the information about the earring Jasper had received from Kurt Baum.

  Jasper waited a moment to stretch the suspense. Then he said. ‘Liebknecht.’

  The photographer paled. ‘Can you read minds—?’ Realising he was breaking the code they had agreed on, he fell silent abruptly and only nodded once. Then he turned away and fussed with the equipment on his desk. Jasper took his leave.

  Outside he said to Red, ‘That poor man got a scare. But I have what I came for. Liebknecht offered money so the photos wouldn’t become public. That means he or his wife or both are somehow involved. If he didn’t know about the affair, I wonder why he would now…’

  He pursed his lips and stared ahead deep in thought. A telegram boy brushed past them muttering something about people blocking the way. The little push broke Jasper’s reverie and he began to walk again. After a few steps he halted and turned into an open shop door. He excused himself to the attendant and asked for the finest jeweller in all of Vienna. ‘Liebknecht, I was told. It’s very important. A present for my wife.’