An Exhibition of Murder

by An Exhibition of Murder (retail) (epub)

Jasper seemed to come to life. ‘Yes, that singer. I’ve been meaning to speak to her. Thank you for reminding me.’ He reached out his hand. ‘Can I take that bit of letter?’

  ‘No, I’ll keep it. There’s not a lot I have of him.’

  Jasper surveyed him. ‘There’s not a lot you can cling to to clear Violet’s name. By agreeing to her scheme of putting pressure on Demain you put her in great danger. Didn’t you realise at the time?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he lied. He was ashamed to admit how much he had wanted the money, needed the money to travel and do his shows. Violet had just been a means to an end. Back then.

  Jasper’s expression didn’t betray whether he believed him or not. He turned away. ‘I can do very little with a snippet of paper accusing some unnamed female. By the way, the man she is supposed to be a danger to is not named either. How do you know it is Sir Peter?’

  Anton was caught off guard. ‘I uh…’ he stammered. ‘I assumed because he died.’

  ‘You assumed.’ Jasper laughed softly as he walked away. ‘Assumptions are not facts, my friend. And we must have facts before we can accuse anyone of murder.’

  * * *

  Isobel Maurin left her lunch table, winked at the waiter, indulged in the envious looks she got from the other women in the room and in the admiring glances of the men she passed, and stopped a moment at the tall mirror by the door to watch herself and decide whether her hat was at the exact right angle to convey a certain joie de vivre without going too artistic. She didn’t want to be counted among the bohémien.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ a voice said behind her. In the reflection of the mirror she saw the tall handsome man who had been attacked by Violet Treemore practically beside her father’s dead body. The silly girl should really learn how to control her emotions.

  Or use them effectively.

  She smiled. ‘Well, hello.’ She turned around. ‘Inspector Jasper I think it is?’ She reached out her hand. ‘Isobel Maurin. Delighted to make your acquaintance.’ She leaned over. ‘I wager you want tickets for tonight’s performance and think I can provide them to you?’

  ‘I have no intention of hearing you sing,’ he declared with a calm that took her by surprise. ‘I want to hear you talk. About your exact relationship with Sir Peter Treemore.’

  ‘Relationship?’ She widened her eyes. ‘Inspector… have you been listening to gossip?’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘How naughty of you. And how unprofessional. I had no relationship with Sir Peter at all. He came to hear me sing, but so does half of Vienna. Are you going to ask me about all of them?’

  ‘They’re not dead.’

  ‘No, fortunately not.’ She turned to the mirror again and brushed back a lock of hair. ‘But I can tell you nothing about the man. He was an enigma to me.’

  ‘Did you meet at the opening, away from the others?’

  She relived those stolen moments in the alcove, his lips on hers, the certainty rushing through her veins that she controlled him and could make him do anything she wanted. That was the thrill of it. Control.

  ‘Of course not. You make it all sound so sordid. I was there to see the golden mask of death.’

  ‘And you got a chance to see it. On him. How did you like it?’

  She turned to him again. ‘Rudeness doesn’t become you, Inspector. If you think you can shock me into some kind of revelation, you’ve picked the wrong woman. I think you should uh… try your luck with someone else. That naïve little jeweller’s wife for instance. Sir Peter was all over her the moment he got a chance.’ It had hurt when he had kissed her like he… loved her? Had she ever believed a man like him could love? Love anybody but himself?

  It had been so fitting to put the mask over his face.

  Jasper said, ‘Anna Liebknecht doesn’t strike me as a particularly passionate person. Nor naïve either. Rather cunning.’

  Good that he thought that. She smiled at him. ‘I wish you luck with your investigation, but I have other things to do. Goodbye.’ She wanted to walk away but Jasper caught her arm.

  ‘Can’t you tell me anything? How odd. All the others were so eager to tell all they knew. Divert suspicion.’

  Divert suspicion? To her? Who had pointed her out? What did they know? How could she counteract that accusation?

  She eyed him. ‘But you are onto them, aren’t you? You understand that their accusations are false.’

  ‘Not all declarations can be false.’ He smiled. ‘I’m giving you a chance to defend yourself.’

  She hesitated a moment. She had no idea what he knew. How could she ever choose the right person to pin it all on?

  Unless of course she just chose whomever she liked less.

  ‘I saw Demain enter the room where the mask was on display. He went in there while Sir Peter was already there. I had no idea what they wanted to discuss. But it can’t have been anything nice. There was a look of…’ It had been anxiety really, but she had to make more of it. ‘Anger on his face. Frustration. He never liked to live in Sir Peter’s shadow. And now he doesn’t have to anymore. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

  ‘Survivor takes it all?’ Jasper tilted his head. ‘It feels a little easy. And if there is one thing I have discovered since my arrival in Vienna, it is that nothing is ever easy here. And nothing is what it seems.’

  Her heart beat fast. ‘How fascinating, Inspector, but I must really be going. Good afternoon to you.’ And hopefully we will never meet again.

  * * *

  Jasper watched her as she left. He felt like he had failed, as she hadn’t given him anything but what she intended to give. Her accusation of Demain was so conspicuous and uninspired. Surely she could do better than that? He had sensed she had been slightly rattled at one point, but he didn’t understand why. Had she killed Sir Peter? Just because he didn’t choose her for his bride?

  Nonsense. Women like her would much rather be the mistress than the wife.

  A waiter passed and Jasper gestured at him. ‘I just saw someone I know leave the room. I need to speak with her urgently. Do you know where she might be going at this hour of the day? I assume she comes here more often?’

  The waiter looked out of the open doors to where Isobel Maurin was just getting into a cab. ‘Oh, madame Maurin. I assume she goes to the Café Herzog.’

  ‘But she just had lunch.’

  ‘She’s not going there to eat apfelstrudel. It is a meeting place for many of her countrymen. She wants to speak French every once in a while.’ The waiter leaned over confidentially. ‘I think it is also her sentimental heart. A need to relive the past when she used to go there with her husband. They parted on very bad terms but I like to think she still loves him.’

  Jasper was amazed. This was the first thing he had heard about an ex-husband. ‘She is divorced?’

  ‘Yes. They kept it very quiet. She always worked under her maiden name, Maurin, so a lot of people don’t even know she was married. It only lasted for a few years. But they are the sort of couple that… how do you say it?… can’t live with each other, can’t live without each other. Ah, love!’ He rolled his eyes and wanted to walk away but Jasper stayed him with a gesture.

  ‘Just to satisfy my curiosity, but who was she married to?’

  ‘Rupert Rohmann, the reporter.’ The waiter shook his head. ‘Took to terrible drinking after she left him. He should have moved to another city and started anew. But he can’t leave her. He’s obsessed with her. Good afternoon, sir.’ And he carried off his silver tray.

  Jasper stared into the distance. Rupert Rohmann. Who had gone through so much trouble to meet up with him, drag him to the Café Herzog, offer him coffee and cake and tell him a whole story about Demain and Iris Phelps and… At the time Jasper had wondered what Rohmann’s connection to the case might be. Now it was crystal clear.

  Rohmann’s ex-wife had been Sir Peter’s mistress. He was obsessive about her, the waiter had said. Obsessive enough to murder his rival?

  Did Isobel Maurin suspect it had
been him? Was she shielding him by diverting attention to Demain? It had sounded unconvincing. Did she know it had been her ex? Had she actually seen him on the scene?

  Had Rohmann seen her? Or had he just been defending his own position with that nice little act of being half drunk and then suddenly telling him so much…

  Jasper left deep in thought. He had a lot to consider.

  * * *

  Herziger paced his study. This should have been a wonderful time in his life. His museum was the centre of attention because of a fabled treasure on display, his daughter engaged to be married at last. It had been so difficult to find someone to take Beate off his hands. And now it had all fallen through.

  Oh, people flocked to the museum out of a macabre interest in the mask which had cost Sir Peter his life. But Beate didn’t have a groom anymore. She wasn’t herself, screaming about everything and attacking people. Her own friend, Anna Liebknecht. Because she had allegedly been having an affair with Sir Peter.

  Herziger took a deep breath. He knew how fond Sir Peter had been of the ladies. So the suggestion might have been true. Had Beate learned of it only recently after his death? Or had she known before?

  He couldn’t forget her agonised whispered words after he had led her away from the murder scene. ‘I can’t shed tears over him, Papa.’

  If she hadn’t known of the affair, why would she not want to cry over the man she had lost, over the loss of the future connected with him? He had never known her to be cold-hearted. Practical, yes, down to earth. But not cold. And her response to Sir Peter’s murder had been cold. Almost protective of herself.

  His heart beat in a nervous flutter. What was Jasper up to? He was away all day long. Sightseeing in the city? Enjoying the beauty of Vienna?

  No. Herziger would have found that hard to believe anyway, knowing how Jasper had loved his profession. But he also knew, for a fact, that Jasper had been sending out telegrams for information. The answers had been delivered the previous day and today. They just kept coming. Every time his doorbell rang, he jerked and cringed as if someone was ready to beat him with a whip. What would it say? What could it prove? What was Jasper after?

  Would he harm Beate? Would he ruin Herziger’s life?

  Herziger took another deep breath. He was a cautious man by nature, who didn’t like to jump to conclusions or act when it wasn’t the right time. But now it was. Or perhaps the right time had already been and gone. He wasn’t sure. He only knew that he had to do something, anything, in a desperate bid to save his daughter and his own future.

  He turned to the door and almost ran for it, as if hesitating any longer would make him change his mind again. He wouldn’t like to think later he had been a coward. His knees were filled with jelly, but he walked to Jasper’s guestroom and knocked.

  ‘Come in.’

  He opened the door.

  Jasper sat by the hearth with the telegrams he had received on the table beside him. He was making notes in a book. Herziger’s courage waned as he saw the hand of the former inspector move quickly across the page taking down his thoughts. Thoughts? Assumptions? Or conclusions based on hard facts?

  ‘Is anything the matter?’ Jasper asked with a worried look.

  Herziger came in and closed the door behind him. His pale expression must give him away but he could hardly pinch his own cheeks to put colour in them. ‘I just wanted to ask if there is anything I can do to assist you in your inquiries.’

  Jasper tilted his head. ‘What inquiries?’

  Now anger took hold of Herziger. Did that man think he was an idiot? ‘The information you are gathering about the case.’ He gestured at the table with the telegrams.

  Jasper kept his gaze. ‘Marktherr told me in no uncertain terms it is his investigation.’

  ‘Of course, but you will not forsake a friend. Violet Treemore asked you to keep an eye on her father and you felt you owe her something. To find out who killed her father.’ He looked for the admission that this was true, in Jasper’s eyes, in the lines around his mouth. But that face betrayed nothing. To be so inscrutable.

  Jasper said, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t share anything about what I am so busy with. But I assure you you will find out soon enough.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘In that sense it is convenient you’ve come to me now so I can ask you right away: would it be possible for me to have the room where the golden mask is on display for just… an hour?’

  ‘That room? For an hour?’ Herziger faltered. His heart beat so fast he was shaking on his legs. ‘Why would you need it?’

  ‘I want to do a little experiment there. It can help solve Sir Peter’s murder.’

  ‘So you admit you are working on the murder. Against Marktherr’s wishes.’

  ‘He assumes the cat burglar is guilty, but I know he is not. And we can’t let a killer go free, can we?’

  We can if the killer is my daughter, Herziger thought. He wet his lips. ‘The museum is open all day long and—’

  Jasper made a hand gesture. ‘The museum can be open like it always is. I only need the room where the mask is for an hour. Then the visitors can see the mask again.’

  What did he intend to do? ‘You won’t do anything to the mask?’

  ‘No. It’s the room I’m interested in, not the mask.’

  Herziger’s mouth was dry. What did Jasper know, or think he knew?

  The room? There wasn’t anything special about that room, was there?

  He tried to recall whether he had seen anything out of the ordinary when he had come upon the body. Had Jasper realised mistakes had been made? Had he discovered a clue that gave away the identity of the killer?

  Jasper should never have been present. He was too intelligent, too good. If the case had been left to Marktherr and his men, so ready to believe it had been the Lynx…

  But Jasper had been present. And he was not letting go.

  Herziger moved closer. He pretended to be torn about Jasper’s request. But he tried to read what was on the papers lying on the table. They were upside down. It was hard to see. But one of them mentioned Rupert Rohmann, the journalist. Was Jasper suspecting him?

  Or had he rather wanted to find out if Rohmann was reliable and he could trust things the reporter had shared with him? What could those be?

  He also caught a snippet of information about Sir Peter, his birth date, date of marriage, Violet’s birth date, the death of his wife. And the name Jane Bell.

  Who was Jane Bell?

  Jasper looked up at him. ‘It would be helpful if you lend me the room for my experiment. If not, I must ask Marktherr to commandeer it.’

  Herziger forced a smile. ‘I will gladly lend you the room if you think it can aid in finding Sir Peter’s murderer. Beate has been so distraught. You must not hold her emotional outbursts against her. She isn’t herself.’

  ‘I wonder’, Jasper spoke slowly, ‘if she was already not herself before Sir Peter died.’

  Herziger’s shoulders tightened. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘It can’t be pleasant to discover one of your friends is being too friendly with your fiancé. What if she discovered it that day, before the opening?’

  The room seemed to close in on Herziger and his head went light. He turned away from Jasper and supported himself on an empty chair. ‘I can’t imagine—’

  ‘Sir Peter met with Anna Liebknecht. That I know for a fact. And the police know it as well. Because of evidence found on the body.’

  ‘Then her husband must have killed Sir Peter. Liebknecht is terribly jealous.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Jasper nodded. ‘Therefore, I want to conduct my little experiment. You see, I’ve come to believe that Kurt Baum is right. He is a young psychologist I met through the case.’

  There was a silence as if Jasper expected him to admit he knew Baum. ‘Never heard of him,’ Herziger grunted.

  Jasper said, ‘Baum told me he firmly believes in psychology as a tool for solving criminal cases. And
I think he’s right. So much can be read from people’s actions. Their words, posture.’

  Herziger pushed himself away from the chair. He said, trying to sound calm, ‘You can have the room for whatever you like. Just don’t disturb the order in the museum. I don’t want people talking about it.’

  ‘Good. Thank you. Then I can send my invitations.’

  ‘Invitations?’ Herziger eyed him.

  ‘Yes. To all the people I want present.’ Jasper smiled at him. ‘Including you and your daughter.’

  ‘Beate won’t come. Going back to that room will only upset her.’

  ‘I do admit there’s a risk of that. And it won’t be pleasant for her to see Anna Liebknecht either. But I must insist on her coming. You see, if she were to stay away, it might work to her own disadvantage.’

  Herziger swallowed. ‘How come?’

  ‘If she isn’t there, others might conclude something from it.’

  ‘Is it so odd a young woman shocked by the death of her fiancé doesn’t want to return to the room where he died? If you value psychology, you should understand the reasoning behind it.’

  ‘I certainly do. But not everyone has this same…’ Jasper gestured with both hands. ‘…insight into human nature? And some may simply be spiteful and want to suggest the worst. You know how people are. I can’t imagine Anna Liebknecht liking your daughter any better after what happened recently.’

  ‘Beate was not to blame. Anna has acted shamefully with Sir Peter and—’

  ‘So you know for a fact there was something between them? How long have you actually known that?’

  Herziger stepped back. ‘I have things to do. We will speak again later.’ He quickly left the room and closed the door, took a deep breath as if he had escaped danger. But he wasn’t sure he had. He had gone in here to plead for his daughter, and instead he had only made the risk for her that much greater. He should never have allowed Jasper to have the room at the museum for his experiment, whatever it may be. But Jasper had said that if he didn’t provide it, Marktherr would claim it and…