by Rick Blechta
The cop bounced off as if he’d hit a solid wall. Bully for Viennese carpentry. Before I could offer to ask Tory to open the door voluntarily, the cop tried again. This time the doorjamb splintered a bit and finally crashed open on his third try. Everyone streamed into the room.
I was almost in myself when I heard Müller shout, “Wo ist sie?”
That’s when we noticed the open window with the fire escape beyond.
Müller turned and glared at me. “You were trying to delay us while your wife escaped out the window!” Then he turned and barked something at one of the cops who stepped forward with his gun drawn.
“Good God, Müller! No!” I shouted, trying to grab at the gun.
That got me yanked back by the other two cops, who slammed me painfully against the wall again.
The cop with the gun leaned out the window, then reached out with one meaty paw. It was as I might have expected. Tory, who is petrified of heights, once out the window onto the fire escape, could go no further. For a person as big as the cop was, it should have been a simple matter to pluck someone as frail as Tory back into the room, but he might as well have tried grabbing a rabid cat because Tory turned into a spitting, scratching demon when she felt his hand close around her wrist.
In the end, it took all three of the cops to subdue her, and they looked to have gotten the worst of it. All of them had scratched faces and torn uniforms. Tory lay on the floor wrapped and held securely belted inside a blanket they’d pulled off the bed. Elen and I had been herded into a corner and handcuffed. Müller had a smug expression which I would have loved to wipe off with a well-placed left hook.
“You can’t do this!” I spluttered. “At least allow my wife to leave here with a little dignity. I promise you that she’ll go with you quietly, as will the rest of us.”
Tory’s answer was a rapid string of words in Welsh which sounded vile even without a translation. The two cops sitting on her laughed as she squirmed.
“The time for dignity is past, Herr Lukesh,” Müller said, implacably. “You have told me all along that you did not know where your wife was located. Again I find another lie.”
“I have told you three times already that I only contacted him this evening!” Elen said.
“And he did not choose to call the police, as was his duty!”
I was beside myself. “That was because we were afraid of just this sort of thing happening! We came to talk Tory into giving herself up!”
My words might as well have been said to a statue for all the effect they had on the Viennese police official. With an indication of his head, our little party headed out: Müller strutting in the lead, followed by Tory over the shoulder of the largest cop, then Elen and me, each with a cop at our elbow. Müller had spoken at some length into a walkie-talkie, and I got the feeling that didn’t bode well for our arrival at street level.
Coming down the main staircase to the front door of the building, I watched the ominous blue reflections from the lights of the emergency vehicles bouncing off the walls. Müller drew himself up and sucked in his gut, preparing to meet the public.
As is usual in dramatic situations, a crowd, drawn by the swirling lights of at least a dozen police cars, had materialized like flies around a dead carcass. When Tory appeared with her head down the back of the policeman carrying her, they booed lustily, showing their displeasure.
What happened next will remained burned in my memory until I draw my last breath. A kid of maybe eighteen leaped over the yellow crime scene tape and spat right in Tory’s face. Another cop made a grab for him, but he dodged away, took a bow as he doffed his hat and disappeared into the crush of onlookers who roared their approval.
I struggled to get to Tory, but the cops on either side simply tightened their grip, even though they were both shaking with laughter. Next minute, Elen and I got shoved roughly inside a paddy wagon, where we were ordered to sit on the benches lining the walls.
Tory was carried in last of all and dumped unceremoniously on the
floor. The door slammed, plunging us into near darkness.
As the vehicle began to move, I heard Tory’s weak voice saying, “Rocky?”
“Right here, love,” I answered as I got down on my knees and began to inch towards where she lay.
“I guess we just hit bottom, didn’t we?”
Struggling to keep my balance as the truck bounced along the old streets, taking us to God-knew-where, I bent down to kiss her on the lips. It took three tries to land one dead on.
“We wonder whether it’s against the rules to give a Grammy to someone who has been accused of murder. If it’s not, then Victoria Morgan is a shoe-in for her Gypsy Passion CD . It’s a killer! Ah...sorry about that.”
—from a record review by James Krueger in the Los Angeles Times
Chapter 20
ROCKY
“My friends,” Schultz said, slowly taking in the thoroughly despondent group ringing the opposite side of his desk, “I do not need to point out that we are in serious difficulty.”
It was ten a.m. on the morning following Tory’s ignominious arrest. Müller hadn’t held Elen or me long once he’d gotten his mitts on the main attraction and his moment of glory on TV. The capture of this “dangerous and desperate criminal” had totally taken over the media’s myopic attention once again, and footage of us leaving the apartment building was being played so often on the cable news stations that I’d begun to think they’d simply looped the damn thing for continuous viewing.
When Schultz met us in the lobby of Vienna’s police headquarters after our release (which he’d engineered), he did nothing to hide his displeasure that I’d managed to make a bad situation infinitely worse by not waiting to speak to him before rushing to Tory the night before. It didn’t help that I was already kicking myself for the same thing. My stupidity had almost gotten her shot.
Elen was terribly upset when she learned that it had been her landlord who’d confirmed for the police that Tory was indeed hiding in the apartment. He even went so far as to unlock the door for Müller. So much for doctor/patient confidentiality. I only found out later that ole Maxy had been rather more than a landlord to his tenant.
Roderick blamed himself that he hadn’t been available when Tory really needed him, especially since he’d been out enjoying himself. So it was massive depression all around.
In keeping with his status and personality, Schultz had an overwhelming office: tall windows and even taller ceilings, thick rugs and polished antique furniture, all dominated by his ornate desk, more like a table on massively-thick, carved legs. Considering what the lawyer charged for his services, it was easy to see how he could afford such opulence. Still, when you need the best (and did we ever need that!), you have to be prepared to shell out. At least he served clients a very good complimentary continental breakfast.
“It is very unfortunate that Müller was assigned to this case,” Schultz said, as he polished off a third Danish. “I have heard it said that he wishes desperately to become the next head of our Gendarmerie, and realizes that the capture and conviction of Victoria Morgan will do much to further his career. This man is clever and quite ruthless. He knows how to use the press, and it is this that makes him so dangerous to us. ”
“Yes,” Roderick agreed. “His press conference was brilliant.”
We’d just finished watching one he’d held for the Englishspeaking media on a TV Schultz had tucked in a ornate cabinet in one corner of the room. Müller had appeared weary at being up all night to bring “this notorious criminal to justice.” He then went on to state that Tory had been charged with the murders of Rudolf von Heislinger and Thekla Grillzer and that his department was pushing for the earliest trial date possible so that “this sad episode could be brought to a quick and satisfactory close.” The questions which followed were all answered in a manner which put Tory in the worst light possible, while being carefully couched to make it seem as if Müller regretted having to say the things he d
id. From his standpoint, it had been an excellent performance.
“Sadly, the damage is now done. Müller was boasting to me last night that the case against Fräulein Morgan is already almost complete. He thinks to beat me for the first time.”
The room was silent except for the ticking of a wall clock as that statement sank into our heads.
“We all must rededicate our efforts on Fräulein Morgan’s behalf,” Schultz continued.
“How strong do you think Müller’s evidence is?” I asked.
“I hope to see their documentation very soon, but from Müller’s boasting and the information they have allowed to the press, the evidence in the murder of Baron Rudolph is quite strong. It is a very bad thing that only Fräulein Morgan’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. As for the Grillzer murder, my sources tell me that the evidence is less strong, although Fräulein Morgan’s fingerprints were found in many places around that unfortunate apartment and on the body, as you are well aware. I must be frank when I say that a conviction on either charge will result in Fräulein Morgan being incarcerated—most likely for the maximum sentence.”
“Which is?” Elen asked.
“Twenty years.”
Roderick and I sagged at this news.
Elen, though, sat up with an indignant expression. “But what about the terrible things that bloody bastard, von Heislinger, did to Tory?”
Schultz raised an eyebrow in query, urging Elen to continue. I already knew a bit of what was coming, but the news blindsided poor Roderick.
“She, ah... He... Oh hell! There’s no nice way to put it. He raped Tory!”
Elen spoke bluntly about the little Tory had been able to tell her, the medical attention that she had needed and what Doctor Max had said about its apparent cause. When she finished, Schultz looked pained (but to my mind, slightly pleased), Roderick quite upset, and me? I knew that it was a good thing von Heislinger was dead, because I would have done it myself—slowly and painfully.
Schultz leaned back in his large chair, resting interwoven fingers on his ample stomach. “This is a most horrible thing that Fräulein Morgan has been subjected to, but knowing about it heartens me. All is not lost yet, my friends, even though it looks grim. This is valuable news.”
“So what happens next?” Elen asked.
Elen’s continued presence surprised me. I had figured that when we’d all been hauled down to the cop shop, only to be later released (since Müller had caught his big fish and didn’t need the “tiddlers” as Roderick put it), that Elen would fade away into the night.
“I have made arrangements to interview Fräulein Morgan as soon as it is allowed,” Schultz said in answer to Elen’s question. “They are speaking of a court appearance as early as this afternoon. I need to find out everything she does remember about the night Baron von Heislinger died.”
“And what is happening to her in the meantime?” I asked.
“Müller has questioned her long, and Fräulein Morgan generally refused to answer. Very wise. However, it is less wise that she says she does not want me to be present.”
“So Tory’s okay?”
The lawyer shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. My sources tell me she is withdrawn, but that is only to be expected, considering all that she has gone through.” He turned to Elen. “You have been with Fräulein Morgan the most since her, ah, troubles began. Is there anything else you wish to tell Schultz? Even the smallest information could be useful!”
Elen spoke for a long time, as Schultz probed for information. I began to see the magnitude of what Tory had been going through. Her inner strength, though fading fast, astounded me. I would have been catatonic.
His cross-examination over, the fat lawyer fixed us all with a pointed gaze. “Is there any other thing you can think of? Schultz prefers not to have any more surprises.”
Elen looked over at me, rolling her eyes. “Well, Tory seems to have lost her ability to play.”
Roderick sat up sharply. “Did Baron Rudolph injure her hands?”
“No, they’re fine,” I answered. “It’s like she has some sort of mental block. I heard her playing for a few moments when I first got to the apartment last night, and it was pretty appalling. You would have thought you were listening to a very mediocre beginner. It will probably turn out to be short-lived, but you can imagine the effect it’s having on Tory.”
Elen added, “Since she found that second body, even though she could hardly play, she practised until her fingers were bloody and kept going as if it weren’t happening. She’s also petrified of going to sleep, because she has horrible nightmares. I think she’s on the verge of a complete breakdown.”
“Elen’s not exaggerating. Tory looks terrible. She’s lost at least ten pounds since I saw her last, and heaven knows, she’s always been on the slender side. Roderick, I hardly recognized her. She’s chopped off most of her hair and dyed it brown.”
Schultz brightened up further. “You may have found the best defense for your wife.”
“That she’s going crazy?”
“Do not be so dramatic, Herr Lukesh! No, that she is suffering from severe mental distress due to what she was subjected to at the hands of Baron Rudolph.”
Roderick asked, “If you proved, ah, diminished responsibility due to her mental state, where would that leave Tory?”
“It will no doubt be demanded that she be institutionalized. Though the court’s order for that sort of thing will not have...er...a frame of time?” Schultz asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Time frame,” I corrected absently through a fog of very bad thoughts.
“Yes! That is it: time frame. It is usual in these situations that no time frame be specified for how long your wife is in hospital getting treatment. It will—”
“You mean they can keep Tory locked up for as long as they damn well please? This is your idea of a defense? My God! What the hell good is that?”
“Please stay calm, Herr Lukesh,” Schultz told me, smiling like some goddamn Austrian Buddha. “Allow me to finish my thought. I am sure after a reasonable period has elapsed, we can request that your wife be transferred to an appropriate facility in your own country, to be closer to her loved ones, you understand. Still...”
“Still what?”
“It will have to be—how do you say in English—packaged? Packaged. It will have to be packaged so that there will not be an uproar here in Austria.”
The three of us stared at each other, knowing what being committed would do to Tory. This wasn’t an alternative that came with a good ending.
“So you see, my friends,” Schultz continued, “the alternatives are quite limited. To try to defend Fräulein Morgan against such overwhelming evidence—at least in the von Heislinger murder—will be difficult. A plea of diminished responsibility under the circumstances would be much safer to my mind. We have a choice to make, because we cannot deal with this in both ways. That would be very foolish.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Roderick began slowly, “but don’t we have enough time to try to find out who did commit these two murders? You sound as if they’re going to start the trial tomorrow. We all felt that there was no chance Tory murdered anyone, and this Grillzer woman’s words to Oscar confirmed that. Why don’t we see what can be discovered while you prepare Tory’s defense in the manner you see fit? That way there’s a fall-back position in case we don’t have any luck.”
“You will need a lot of this luck. Our legal system does not run in the same way as you are used to. Things can happen very fast in Austria if the court decides it is to be that way. Once the State’s investigations are complete, the trial could begin in as little as two weeks. Where will you be if you have no conflicting evidence?”
“Two weeks?” I asked, totally stunned.
Schultz nodded and said patiently, “This is why I think we should have your wife medically evaluated. With luck, we can drag that out, and it will buy valuable time for you, ja?”
“Herr Whitchurch,” Schultz said forcefully, again looking at each of us in turn, “has come to the heart of this matter. Once we are certain Fräulein Morgan is innocent—”
The Austrian got no farther because the rest of us erupted in anger.
“No, no!” he said, holding up his hand. “You are looking at this with your hearts and not your heads. Too long have I been in this business to overlook this sad fact: sometimes people commit murders they do not intend. Circumstances transpire and... it happens. We have not heard from Fräulein Morgan’s own lips that she did not commit these murders. She says she does not remember.” Schultz glanced down at the notes he’d been taking. “Is this so?”
We all concentrated for several moments going over what Tory had actually said and not said on the subject. I had to admit that she had never categorically stated her innocence of anything to me. From the look on Elen’s face, she was realizing pretty much the same thing.
“Perhaps you begin seeing my point,” Schultz said. We all wish her to be innocent, but that will not make her so if she is not. This must be asked directly of her at the first opportunity. From her answer, I will plan her defense.”
“And when will that be?” I asked. “And when can I see Tory?”
Schultz didn’t get a chance to answer, since his phone rang. Frowning because of the interruption, he picked it up. Most of the conversation at our end consisted of the nodding of Schultz’s huge head and a lot of ja, jas. He finally ended the call with a pensive expression.
“You will all get your chance to see Fräulein Morgan very soon. I was correct. She will have her first court appearance in just four hours. I must leave immediately, since they have to allow me to speak to her before this takes place.” Schultz heaved his bulk out of the chair. “Herr Lukesh, let me be clear. I will be asking the examining magistrate to order your wife sent for psychiatric evaluation, since I feel that it is the best course in this situation. I am aware of your opposition to this, but I am asking for your permission to proceed.”