An Exhibition of Murder

by An Exhibition of Murder (retail) (epub)

  It never bothered him to invent a wife when he needed one as long as it was an innocent lie and hurt no one.

  The attendant assured him Liebknecht made some of the most beautiful pieces in circulation, not just in Vienna but in all of Europe, and pointed him in the right direction, telling him he could better take a taxi or a carriage as it was a bit of a walk.

  Back outside again, Jasper almost clapped his hand to his forehead when he realised what he was contemplating. Confronting Liebknecht at his store would be a grave mistake in several respects.

  First of all, he could not expect the man to be open with him if his staff were about. Even if a lie about a precious gift for a non-existent wife could get Jasper into a private office, he would get no answers as soon as Liebknecht knew what it was about. Secondly, he’d give away the photographer who might then somehow feel the mighty man’s wrath.

  No.

  If he wanted to keep his source safe, he had to play it differently. Approach not the man but the woman. Anna Liebknecht. She stood to lose a lot. And he intended to make her feel it so she would cooperate.

  Chapter Eleven

  From the lobby of a hotel Jasper placed a call to the residence of the Liebknechts and asked for Frau Liebknecht. He assumed that a well-bred lady of her social standing would be out at this time of the day and indeed, he was told she had gone out to the Kultur Freunde. The hotel clerk explained that this was a charitable society which enabled talented artists to practise, develop and perform. He was kind enough to provide the address and Jasper stepped outside, into a sudden downpour which dampened the temperature but also ruined his plan to take an open carriage to his destination.

  Instead, he hailed a cab and listened to the patter of the rain on the roof, as it took him along the Danube away from the inner city. With regret he recalled the plans he had made when traveling to Vienna to go boating on the river, explore a vineyard or see the nearby Alps, while all he did now was dig into murder.

  The sky started to clear just as he stepped out of his cab and the sun breaking through the clouds painted the Kultur Freunde building a blinding white. Its high front was adorned with marble cupids playing musical instruments that were full of gold-embossed details: violins, harps, trumpets and flutes. Staring at them, Jasper believed he could almost hear them playing. Drawing near to the open entry doors, he realised there was actual music flowing from inside. In the hall a quartet consisting of two male violinists and two female flutists played Mozart. The mesmerising music floated up to the high ceiling where small planets attached to thin rods revolved around a golden sun.

  ‘Created under orders from the Lenzdorf family, who lived here for generations,’ a voice said beside Jasper. A short wiry man smiled at him. ‘Franz Lenzdorf especially had a deep interest in mechanical things like music boxes and automatons. His collection is on display at the family home in Salzburg where Franz was born. Perhaps you will have the time to go there if you’re interested in such things?’

  Jasper explained to the man he was very caught up in matters in Vienna and asked if he could leave Red with him while he went to see Anna Liebknecht.

  ‘Of course. You’ll find her upstairs. In one of the rooms off the corridor on your left-hand side.’

  ‘Danke.’ After a pat on the head of his loyal canine, Jasper made his way up to where a row of doors lined a corridor with a thick blue carpet and paintings on the walls.

  Some were lively oil paintings of Gothic church spires, fountains adorned with satyrs, and the Sunday afternoon crowd in the Prater; others, abstract work in harsh squares of black lines enclosing primary colours that were almost painful on the eye.

  Jasper knew what he preferred, but assumed it took skill to paint in either style. He heard a tinkling laugh and, peering in through a half-open door, caught sight of a bearded young man playfully extending a dripping brush to a young woman’s cheek. She evaded his gesture but her entire posture betrayed she wasn’t serious about her rejection.

  He cleared his throat and entered.

  Anna Liebknecht’s expression changed from coy to welcoming as she breezed over to him and smiled. ‘May I help you? You must be lost. These rooms are for artists to work in. Normally only members of the society come here. You are not a member, I dare say. And probably not a struggling artist either.’

  Her directness could be offensive but it was accompanied by elegant gestures and a charming smile that softened her features. He could imagine men losing their heads over that smile. Still, there had been that singer, a completely different type of woman, with her ostentatious dress and openly flirtatious manners. Compared to Isobel Maurin, Anna Liebknecht’s beauty was that of a Meissen china statue: delicate, refined, to be admired from a distance rather than actively pursued. Sir Peter could not have fallen for both, could he?

  Jasper had to refocus his thoughts. ‘I’m sorry to intrude upon you, Madame.’ He kissed her hand. ‘But you are the only one who can help me. I must abduct you for a moment.’

  ‘You hear the man, Friedrich. It can’t be helped.’ She offered her arm to Jasper. ‘Lead the way.’

  Jasper took her into the corridor and closed the door. Looking both ways, he led her to the far end, past more paintings. ‘Are you an admirer of the abstract or the realistic?’ he asked to break the ice.

  ‘Realism can be terribly boring,’ she replied with a double meaning that didn’t escape his attention. She might be young, but she was skilled in subtly flirting with men. He wondered how her husband bore that.

  ‘You said I was the only one who could help you. That sounds terribly dramatic. I am of course flattered. I do have to say that if by help you mean financial support, I am not at liberty to donate money without my husband’s knowledge. You really should see him then. We take all such decisions together.’

  ‘How remarkable,’ Jasper said.

  She immediately picked up on his tone, retorting sharply, ‘I don’t follow.’ She frowned her finely drawn eyebrows, but he detected a hint of nervousness.

  ‘That you and your husband have similar tastes. Anyone who has met you both can’t help but notice he’s considerably older than you are.’

  ‘I’ve heard it put more delicately,’ she said in a correcting tone. ‘But you’re of course right. I’m younger and perhaps more inclined to take chances.’ She batted her lashes at him. ‘A fault of youth.’

  ‘Some chances are riskier than others.’ Jasper had brought her to the furthest window which looked out into a yard where small trees grew and threw shade across vases filled with blossoming plants. ‘Unfortunately, when one plays with fire, one can get burned.’

  She wet her lips. ‘I’m sure my husband can assess the financial risk.’

  ‘Yes, I understand money is no object to him. He can keep any scandal away from the public eye. At least, that is as long as the police are not involved. I doubt that serious evidence could be ignored.’ He waited a moment. ‘Or does your husband also intend to buy off Inspector Marktherr?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Your earring. Missing. Found on the corpse of Sir Peter Treemore.’

  She gasped for air. Then she laughed. ‘Oh, I wondered what had happened to it. You see, I lost it. He must have picked it up and put it in his pocket.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it was in his pocket. More in a place where it would get stuck if two people had an… intimate encounter.’ He could imagine her head having rested on Sir Peter’s shoulder and then when she had pulled back, the earring had caught on the fabric of his lapel.

  She stared at him. He could see her thoughts racing behind her eyes. He waited for the outcome of this hurried search for an explanation. When it came, it surprised him by its force and ingenuity.

  She burst into tears. Hiding her face in her hands, she spoke so he could still hear. ‘That man was a brute. He had been after me since coming to Vienna. He wanted to meet with me alone. I always avoided that. Yesterday he sought me out and drew me
aside. He tried to kiss me. I fought him off. I must have lost the earring in the scuffle. How humiliating. How… I can’t bear to think of this becoming known. You must…’ she paused pulling her hands away and looking at him with tear-stained eyes. ‘…keep this matter to yourself. Promise me.’ She blinked and a lone tear coursed down her cheek. She looked very vulnerable and very young.

  Someone without Jasper’s experience might have promised her never to speak another word about it. But Sir Peter Treemore was dead and Anna’s husband had been quite anxious to hide what his wife had been wearing to the opening. At least, there was no other light in which he could see the bribery of the photographer.

  ‘He forced his attentions on you?’ He studied her. ‘I had the impression when I saw you together that it wasn’t unwelcome.’

  He meant to hark back to Sir Peter kissing her hand but she misunderstood and jumped to the bait right away. ‘You saw us? I thought we were… I mean, if I had known anyone was near, I would have called for help. I assure you it was most unwelcome. I can’t understand how one can view a struggle to get free as… something intimate.’

  ‘Can we perhaps put it this way that Sir Peter misinterpreted your kind and open behaviour as an invitation to more?’

  ‘He is older than my husband.’ The disgust was thick in her voice. ‘And was going to marry my best friend.’

  ‘Oh yes, your best friend, Beate Herziger.’ Jasper nodded slowly. ‘You see, I’ve been thinking about her. How unfortunate it would be for her if on top of having lost her groom she’d find out he was less than faithful to her.’

  Her eyes filled with more tears. ‘What do you mean, sir? To take advantage of my situation? Is it money you want to stay silent? About what you claim to know?’

  He wasn’t sure if she was indignant or trying to feel him out to see if he would take money if she offered it.

  ‘You mistake my intentions. We are on the same side. I’m a close friend of the Herziger family. Her father.’

  Her eyes turned pensive. ‘Yes, now I remember I saw you with Herr Herziger at the opening. But I don’t understand. Why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘I only want to spare Beate more pain. It would be the worst for her to discover that the man she loved…’

  ‘She knew he was betraying her.’ Anna spoke rapidly. ‘We all knew. That singer, Isobel Maurin. Beate kept telling us Sir Peter went to her concerts to please his daughter, Violet, but no one believed her. I know for a fact that Lavinia tried to warn her.’

  She waited for a moment, then her remarkable eyes lit with something almost triumphant. ‘I also know what she said to Lavinia.’

  Jasper waited for what would probably not be very revealing. But her next words took him by surprise. ‘She said she would kill him.’

  * * *

  Anna saw the shock on the man’s features. Good. Anything to divert suspicion from herself. It had been so unfortunate she had lost the earring. And now this visit implied more people knew about it. She had to control the damage. Quickly. ‘Lavinia is Beate’s oldest friend. Nadja and I only came to them later and to be honest, we are just outsiders to their bond. They are so close… It can be hard sometimes to feel excluded.’

  She batted her lashes. ‘But Lavinia can speak to her in ways we can’t. And Beate is always candid with Lavinia. Perfectly honest. I’m sure Beate meant it when she said she’d sooner kill Sir Peter than let him humiliate her. Lavinia thought she was joking at first, but then sensed some… bitter, desperate determination in her.’

  She had to make this good. ‘Beate has been waiting for a husband for so long. She would never accept anything endangering her upcoming wedding. She would indeed do whatever she had to to keep her future groom to herself.’

  ‘I don’t see how killing him would solve her problems.’

  ‘Don’t you? She is a respectable, grieving fiancée now. Everyone pities her instead of laughing about her like they would have done had word of his infidelity gone out. She can sit at home, mourn for a bit and then start over.’

  ‘You just told me this was a sort of… last chance for her.’

  ‘Beate is much too idealistic. She doesn’t understand that men are not perfect. That they have… habits you have to get used to. I indulge my husband’s habits.’

  ‘And he indulges yours?’

  Not really. The bruise on her arm still hurt where her husband had grabbed her and squeezed hard to have her admit where the earring had gone to. She had lied to him and she could only hope he would never learn the truth. She might not survive that. But right now he knew nothing, at least nothing that was really dangerous. She had to keep playing, staying one step ahead. ‘Beate believed that Sir Peter loved her. That he doted on her. That he didn’t see other women. Which is of course… unrealistic. He is a man with a reputation and women love that. They look at him, smile at him. He smiled back. He liked the attention. Beate got jealous. In fact, she completely changed over the past few weeks. It ate at her, we could tell. I fear… our friend lost her normal common sense.’

  She hung her head as in dejection. In reality, she asked herself how dumb one could be. Beate hadn’t really believed Sir Peter loved her, had she? That would have been too naïve. He had much handsomer women to choose from. He had only picked her for her father’s connections. Well, it was better than being left on the shelf. But of course, overly righteous Beate had to get upset about it and…

  ‘I guess she was just so angry. It frightened me at times, I must confess. I wasn’t sure what she might be capable of.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m glad you are a friend of the family and will keep this to yourself.’ But if you are not – and why would you not have lied to me – and you will spread it all around, that is perfect for my purpose.

  ‘I might not be able to. There’s a murder investigation going on.’

  She widened her eyes. ‘What do you mean by that? It was a burglar who killed Sir Peter. For the golden mask of death. That horrible thing. Nadja was right. It does bring bad luck.’

  She waited a moment and said, ‘You cannot seriously believe in any other explanation for his death. You cannot take my words… I never meant to reveal something implicating.’

  It was a miracle she could make it sound so sincere. ‘You must not speak of it ever again.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. But I’m certain there is more to this case than a mere thief slaying a man who caught him red-handed. After all, he could have taken his loot along and he didn’t.’

  ‘How can you tell? Perhaps it was too heavy.’

  He studied her through narrowed eyes. ‘Did you touch it? Have a chance to see it up close?’

  ‘No, never.’ She kept smiling at him. She just had to live through these nerve-shredding moments and then she could breathe again. ‘I must be getting back to the painter. If that was all…’

  ‘Yes, that was all. I think we understand each other. You don’t tell your husband about me coming here and I don’t tell Beate about your… relationship with Sir Peter. No need to aggravate her further. In her state of mind, she might blame you and… well…’

  A cold shiver went down Anna’s spine. The wrath of quiet people might be the worst of all. Because they had kept it inside of them for so long, stewing until it boiled over. She didn’t want to find out, first hand, how angry Beate could get.

  ‘We understand each other,’ she said lightly and took her leave. But as she halted in the door a moment to watch him walk down the corridor, she wasn’t so sure he intended to keep his end of the deal.

  After all, what had he wanted? What did he want still? Nobody meddled with murder for no reason.

  She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Then she put on the smile she had forced so many times before. Regret was pointless. The only way was ahead.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Violet.’ A cool hand touched her face. She moaned but didn’t open her eyes. Her head was full of muddled thoughts: of the park, their meeting, her anger as she had wa
lked away. Had staggered away. Had she had a dizzy spell?

  ‘Violet, there is someone here to see you.’

  That voice. It was Iris.

  Iris? Was she in the park? Had she followed her? Did she now know?

  Violet opened her eyes and stared into the face of her companion who stood leaning over her. She wanted to say something to defend herself but knew it was pointless. Iris would despise her for what she had done. Probably justly so.

  She moaned again.

  ‘Hush, child.’ There was no anger or disgust in Iris’s features. She caressed her cheek and smiled. ‘There is nothing to worry about. He only wants to speak with you a few moments. I told him you are very weak and he mustn’t upset you.’

  Violet felt about her. She wasn’t lying on the path of the park. She was in bed. At home.

  Had it been but a dream? Hadn’t she met him at all? Her head felt so light and her thoughts kept scattering like frightened birds. She blinked and looked questioningly at Iris.

  Iris moved aside. ‘You see she is not in a fit state for normal conversation, Inspector.’

  Inspector? Jasper?

  She almost cried out, No! but restrained herself in the last instant. She could better act confused and emotional rather than angry and rebellious. He had to pity her, not suspect her of anything.

  Jasper stepped up to the bed. His expression was worried as he leaned over her and studied her. ‘How are you? I wouldn’t have come to you, but I heard you collapsed in the street.’

  ‘Collapsed?’ Violet looked at Iris.

  ‘Someone put you in a carriage and paid the coachman to take you here.’ Iris smiled at her. ‘You mustn’t go out on your own, girl. If it hadn’t been for this kind passer-by, something dreadful might have happened.’